Deadly Legacy (A Carmedy & Garrett Mystery)

by Bruce, Alison

  "Mother!"

  Kate got the old eye roll from her mother, followed by a dramatic throwing up of hands. "Never mind Kate. Part of living your own life means me letting you make your own mistakes. I just wish sometimes you were as anxious to live up to my expectations."

  "If I had wanted to be a city administrator instead of a detective," Kate assured her, "I would try living up to your high professional standards, instead of Dad's. It's not that I don't want you to be proud of me."

  When her mother remained silent, David said, "We are both proud of you and your father was always proud of you, too."

  "Of course," her mother added quietly.

  Kate accepted this and decided it was not the time to discuss the possibility of her leaving the police force and taking over Garrett Investigations.

  9

  Jake left Valerio with barely enough time to reach his station when Leon Eldridge emerged from his downtown office. He followed his client, keeping back far enough to see anyone else following Eldridge. There wasn't anyone. They got to the parking garage, a few metres away from the site of the accident the day before. Eldridge stopped at the news box and pulled out a money card. His hand was just reaching toward the box's card reader when the glass front shattered.

  Eldridge ducked away from the site. Jake ran across the road and put himself between Eldridge and the shooter. Nothing happened.

  "Help!" Eldridge's voice was shrill. "I think I was hit."

  Jake pushed him into the shelter of the garage's pedestrian access. "Stay where you are."

  "I am not going anywhere until an armoured car takes me there."

  You have to wonder about a man who managed avoiding using contractions in the face of danger.

  Jake thumbed his PCS and said clearly, "Niner-one-one. Police. EMT."

  While he waited for the emergency operator, Jake looked around. A fine wire mesh held most of the broken glass together. The stack of flimsies inside was untouched except for a few shards. The projectile seemed to have ricocheted after hitting the glass and was probably what hit Eldridge. If it didn't go through, it must have been a low calibre or the shooter was far away or, Jake smiled to himself, seeing the solution, the glass wasn't hit by a bullet.

  "Just because it was a rock, not a bullet, doesn't mean I wasn't in danger."

  Eldridge was irate. He was nursing an excessively bandaged arm and an equally excessive grudge.

  The police were diplomatic about it. Someone throwing a rock didn't indicate attempted murder. The chief, who had intervened to settle things down, suggested the rock and the threats were all part of a malicious, but not necessarily dangerous, prank. Eldridge was too wound up to accept that.

  "I'll assign a couple of uniformed officers to watch you for a couple of days," said Thorsen.

  "And I will continue to investigate," Jake added.

  "No," Eldridge snapped. "You may submit your bill, Mr. Carmedy. I will not require your services any longer. How can you pretend to protect me when you don't even carry a gun?"

  Thorsen sighed and turned away from Eldridge.

  "We still need you to make a statement, Jacob."

  "Of course."

  "Please wait in my office."

  Thorsen sounded so serious Jake wondered if he was going to be officially chastised by the police as well as his client. He needn't have worried.

  "I've ordered pizza," Thorsen said, entering his office a few minutes later. "Maggie has parent interviews tonight and the girls have been farmed out to their respective friends for study dates, so we might as well hang out here. Vincent will be along as soon as he's changed."

  "Changed? Did the Gages sling mud at him after I left?"

  "Should they have?" Thorsen grinned. "No, Vincent just likes to freshen up at the end of the day. He's such a fashion hound. If he didn't change a couple times a day, he'd never get to wear half his wardrobe."

  Jake rolled his eyes.

  "It wouldn't hurt you to expand your wardrobe, Jacob. No one would know you left the armed forces. Everything you wear is khaki beige or olive green."

  "It works for me."

  On that line, Valerio entered. His well-tailored suit was gone and he was casually dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. He still looked more like a teacher than a cop. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses and polished them, adding to the effect.

  "What works for you?"

  "Khaki," Jake said.

  "Think you can do anything with him, Vincent?" Jake wasn't sure if Thorsen was joking or not.

  "It took me a year to get Kate dressing for success. My fashion guru days are over. Besides, Chief, anyone who wears Hawaiian shirts in November can't say anything to anyone."

  "It's not like I wear them to work."

  "True, and that is a nice suit, though why you're wearing it after five is beyond me."

  Jake grinned.

  Thorsen shook his head.

  Valerio put on his glasses and looked over their tops as he counted off three of the basic rules of fashion Jake had heard repeatedly from Valerio and Joe. "No white shoes after Labour Day. No Holiday-wear after the holiday. No suits after five."

  "Yeah, Chief." Jake mockingly wagged a finger at Thorsen. "At least I'm not wearing a suit at," he checked his watch, "five-forty."

  This ended the fashion critique.

  Thorsen took off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves and asked for a report on the Gage family interviews. Jake was surprised to find Valerio expected him to contribute his impressions, as well as filling in any gaps. When dealing with the police, Joe had always taken the point, though he generally conferred with Jake beforehand. If they were reporting to Thorsen, the chief might direct a question at Jake, but Joe was always in command.

  "Good job, gentlemen," Thorsen said when they were done. He scrolled through his own notes. "When Eldridge was listing the people who might have grudges against him, he included Delano Gage and Felix Proctor. In your report, you indicate Proctor and Eldridge were possible suspects for Gage's murder. This strikes me as too much of a coincidence. Could they be related?"

  Jake half shrugged and almost shook his head. "Maybe. Maybe not. I was looking over Joe's notes last night. Eldridge has an impressive list of people who might be out to get him. Almost anyone in the city could have been killed and it would tie to Eldridge, at least in his estimation."

  Thorsen huffed.

  "Joe checked out most of the people on the list," Jake continued. "Most of them either couldn't place Eldridge or they didn't feel strongly about him one way or the other. All Gage had to say was he was glad his old colleague was doing well. Proctor wasn't quite as convincing. I can't imagine him throwing rocks. Not exactly his style."

  "What about Eldridge killing Gage?" Thorsen asked.

  "It could be argued he had a motive." Valerio polished his glasses again. "They professed to be on friendly terms. That doesn't mean much. Perhaps Eldridge held a grudge for being forced out. But he would have had to know about Gage's heart condition."

  "Would Gage have shared the information with Eldridge?" Jake shook his head. "Seems out of character. There is another connection, Moonlight Games. We couldn't find sufficient cause to connect Moonlight to Gage, but it turns out Magpie hired Eldridge to do a risk assessment of the company."

  The pizza arrived. Thorsen signed for it while Valerio passed out the soft drinks and napkins. Once they were settled, Thorsen picked up the thread of their discussion.

  "Arson, murder, threats and three interconnected people."

  Jake grinned.

  "Looks like another visit to Sabrina Yao is in order. And maybe Magpie bears investigation."

  "That's why I hired you."

  Valerio waved a slice of pizza at them. "You're missing a closer connection. Joe Garrett. He was consulted on the arson case and threats. He knew everyone involved."

  "Joe knew everyone," Jake said. "Can't see him killing Gage though."

  "That's not what I meant and you know it. Jo
e might have known how to connect the dots."

  Jake couldn't argue. He'd been thinking the same.

  Thorsen slapped the pizza box. "Joe is gone. Unless something else comes up connecting him with either or both crimes, he's a dead end—"

  "Literally," said Valerio.

  "Vincent, take the lead on the Gage family and Touchstone. Jacob, take the lead at Moonlight Games and Magpie. Use each the other as backup on the interviews, but you'll cover more ground if you split your focus." Thorsen paused, then said, "He was my first partner."

  "Mine too," said Valerio. "Much later of course."

  Thorsen snorted. "Not that much later."

  Jake smiled. Thorsen had a decade on Valerio. Valerio seemed older than his years, partly because he had that colour of hair prone to premature greying, and because of his inclination to take new detectives under his wing. In that respect, he reminded Jake of Joe.

  "My first partner was a sergeant with a huge chip on her shoulder," Jake said. "She made my life hell for eight weeks. I hated her so much I volunteered for peacekeeping duties just to get away from her."

  "Where?" Valerio asked.

  "Iraq."

  "When?"

  "War of Independence."

  "You must have hated her a lot."

  Jake nodded.

  "I suppose Joe was my first real mentor, as an adult, in any case."

  "He was a mentor to a lot of detectives," said Thorsen. "I tried to persuade him to take a teaching job at the academy, after he was forced to take medical retirement. He said, 'Those who can't teach. I still can.' That line really pissed off my wife."

  Valerio sighed. "Poor Maggie."

  "Poor Joe!" Thorsen laughed. "She ripped him a new one over that comment. She takes her profession very seriously."

  "How did Joe react to it?" Jake asked.

  "He thanked her. Said she was the first one to treat him like a normal person since he had been shot."

  "Sounds like Joe."

  Thorsen raised his almost empty bottle of ginger beer in a salute. "To our mutual teacher Joseph Garrett."

  Jake and Valerio chorused, "To Joe."

  10

  The Station was cold and draughty. Most of the patrons had blankets around their shoulders. Many were there for the night, buying a coffee every few hours for the privilege of staying in town.

  The city had reduced homelessness by redefining the term to mean anyone who couldn't put a roof over their heads at night. Then they rounded up anyone who hadn't found a place in one of the charity-run shelters and dropped them off in a shantytown where other domicile-challenged individuals might have a little spare room in their packing crate home.

  If you got taken to Stinktown, it wasn't so bad. It was the first legitimized shantytown. It had the biggest and best organized community. Downwind of the wet-dry recycling centre, it got its name from the distinctive aroma of compostable garbage being turned into methane fuel. Other than that, Stinktown had a lot going for it, including its own community centre and soup kitchen, which acted as auxiliary shelter overnight. The shanties weren't so bad, either. Residents had an excellent source for building materials and recycled furnishings. They raided the city dump.

  The other towns stank in other ways. Better to take a turn sitting up all night and then hope for a free bed at a shelter in the morning.

  Kate felt bad about taking up a space. To offset, she bought a round of coffee and cookies for everyone. It was quietly done. She paid and a sign appeared at the coffee dispenser, followed shortly by a tray of cello-wrapped cookies. Over the course of the next few hours, a bus driver bought an urn of coffee and a taxi driver purchased a couple of carafes of vegetable broth. By this time, Kate was feeling the chill brought on by fatigue and the cold draught.

  Using an old eBook reader as a dummy for her eCom, she read everything she could about Eldridge, Gage and Touchstone. If anyone looked over her shoulder, she could replace the feed from the eCom with a page from Twisted Tales from Shakespeare, a book she knew so well she could easily discuss the contents if the need arose.

  Right now, she'd be hard put discussing the book or the case material. She was losing her concentration, dozing off and rereading the same passages over and over. Still, she hung in. This was where she had arranged meeting Ike.

  More people drifted in after the bars closed. Kate bought another urn of coffee and got herself a cup of soup. A man had fallen asleep over a flimsy opened to the daily crossword. Someone was curled up on a bench seat under an oversized rain poncho. An old woman was reading a battered copy of The Best of Munsch, lips moving as she silently sounded out the words. Two men were sitting together, playing Fizbin with three decks. The dealer looked up and nodded thanks as she went by. His opponent avoided her gaze.

  Kate ran the men's faces through a mental picture of her wanted poster wall and came up with a match. Apparently, the man avoiding her gaze did so with reason. His visage graced one of her current posters. Which one?

  Ever since being made a detective, Kate kept a generic cover on her eCom. Even if someone noticed it, it wouldn't give her away as a cop. The cover was worn enough she hoped it wouldn't draw attention. Regardless, the dummy eBook reader could only access static files and she wanted to make an active search of local, provincial and national bolos. It didn't take long. The gentleman in question had recently been brought in for peddling prescription drugs. He might have been the one selling those kids the narcotics they used on young Fania.

  No, she reminded herself, he dealt strictly with self-medicators, people who couldn't get a doctor to prescribe all the drugs they felt they needed. On the other hand, his connection might be the same. She glanced over at the table. The dealer winked and at the same moment, her eCom flashed an incoming message. It was an animated graphic. Three red jacks face up and one card turned down. The card turned over and it was an ace of clubs.

  An ace in the hole. A member of the club. A fellow police officer. The three red jacks were half a Royal Fizbin. He must have had the message prepared for times like this. A one button fast-key and a simple program to seek out her eCom was all he needed.

  Okay, she wouldn't blow his cover. She couldn't leave before she finished her soup. That would stand out. So, she returned to her e-book and tried to keep Fania Michaels out of her head.

  She felt slightly guilty she hadn't thought about the girl until now. Thirty-six hours ago, the Michaels girl was her top priority. Had the body been released for burial? Had the three boys been arraigned? How much had happened since her life changed forever?

  11

  Thursday November 22

  Kate woke with a blanket over her shoulders. It created a tent of warmth over her upper body. From her knees down, she was cold and stiff. She looked around. None of the night crowd was around. A group of cabbies sat around a table eating three-egg breakfasts with a variety of side dishes and there was a line-up of early commuters at the counter.

  Swearing under her breath, Kate flipped off the blanket and folded it with reasonable neatness. She made a quick trip to the back and emerged slightly damp, but feeling a little fresher than when she went in.

  It was a cold, crisp day. The sky was clear. The sun was shining, promising to warm the air once it rose above the horizon. Kate considered bespeaking a taxi and going straight home to shower and change. She walked by the depot. Ike might have left note at the office. She would check there first. En route, Kate downloaded the activity reports from headquarters. If anything had happened to Ike overnight, and assuming it involved some member of the emergency response or law enforcement teams, the information would have been uploaded by now.

  There was nothing on Ike. A posting about Eldridge was flagged. The activity report gave the bones of the incident. Kate fleshed it out. One of the first things Kate learned about Ike was he avoided confrontation, didn't like violence and he hated guns. Throwing stones was about as forceful as Ike would get. She couldn't think of anyone else who would toss rocks. It was
pretty pointless, except as a means of getting attention. Perhaps that's what Eldridge wanted, attention.

  There was no sign of Ike at the office. There was no sign of anyone. An over-achieving law clerk, en route to the second floor, yawned a good morning to Kate on her way out. A little later, she received a similar greeting from her roommate. Magnus didn't comment on her being out all night. He just told her to have a good breakfast and bid her goodnight before retiring to his room.

  What Kate wanted most was a hot shower and a warm bed. Once she was clean and fed, her concern for Ike overrode her desire for sleep. She donned a denim coverall, riding boots and an over-sized, hand-me-down leather jacket that had belonged to her father. It had a handy inside pocket for her eCom and was sloppy enough to mask her shoulder holster. She borrowed her roommate's scooter. She was headed where the transit system didn't go.

  Back when she was in uniform, she often pulled the duty of rounding up the unsheltered and taking them out to the shanties. Bumsville was okay. It didn't have the same sense of community as Stinktown, but the residents were respectable. Graveyard, an unofficial shantytown on a plot of land owned by the railroad, was not supposed to be a destination. If Stinktown and Bumsville were full, Graveyard was a better place to leave someone than Riverview. Riverview was a real Mos Eisley (wretched hive of scum and villainy) and only maintained its legitimate status by the skin of its teeth.

  According to her father, Ike lived in Graveyard. It was a cemetery for forgotten box cars and abandoned auto bodies, now turned into housing units. There was a tradition amongst the criminal classes of dumping vehicles there, sometimes with bodies in the trunk.

  Within hours, batteries, engine parts and electronic modules would be stripped and fenced. The shell would become part of someone's home. Forensic evidence would be compromised, often beyond recovery.

  On the other hand, any bodies found were wrapped and tidily stored in the crypt—an old cattle-car at the edge of the community—after a brief 'there but for the grace of god' funeral service. Except for valuables too tempting to be left, some care was taken to make sure everything else associated with the body, including trunk carpets, was wrapped up with the corpse.