Memory Lane

by Laurence Gough

  Uh-oh.

  He staggered out of the bathroom. A tall guy in a dark suit and a very attractive woman with the blackest hair he’d ever seen were shouting at him, pointing guns at him.

  Yelling, mouths open.

  Kelly could feel the blood rising up in him, a hot tide that kept rising and rising. He felt the blood flooding his lungs, creeping into his throat. His world turned a bright, pulsating red, the way it did sometimes when everything got all fucked up and he had no idea why.

  But then — and this had never happened before, so it took him completely by surprise — his world turned black.

  Chapter 29

  By the time the cops finally stripped the last of the tape away, Ross was primed to go home to mother and sleep for a week. But, unfortunately, the night had just begun. Downtown, in a room filled with audio and video equipment, the detective with the flinty look in his eye — Jack — asked him if he wanted a lawyer. Ross said, “What for? I didn’t do anything.”

  The nice-looking woman, a stunner, really, said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Ross?”

  “Yeah, okay. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be a smartass, but how far back d’you want me to go?”

  “How did you and Kelly get tangled up?”

  Ross told them the whole story, from start to finish. How he and Garret had met, back there at William Head. That first time he’d ventured into the yard, and there was Garret, another white boy, of similar age. Looking tough but not homicidal. At first glance, a person he thought he could get along with, especially since he sensed he wouldn’t last a week unless he had someone to watch his back.

  He explained the history of his involvement with Shannon Brown. How he and Garret had paced the yard in all weather, Garret telling him over and over what a beautiful, passionate and wise woman she was. How he’d come to know her so well, in a weird kind of way, thanks to Garret. He told them about writing a letter of sympathy to Shannon following Garret’s untimely death by natural causes. How they had become pen pals.

  He tried to explain how he had become obsessed with her, couldn’t wait to meet her when he finally got out. He readily admitted he was in violation of his parole, should have stayed at home with his mother instead of moving in with Shannon. But hey, it wasn’t like he knew how it was going to turn out in the end. Right?

  He couldn’t help smiling as he told them all about Kelly’s wild ideas regarding the missing loot from the armoured-car heist. That Hoffman and a cop friend of his who was on duty the night of the robbery had the dough. He explained that Hoffman and the cop were buddies, apparently. They bowled in the same league… No, he didn’t know the cop’s name.

  He told Willows and Parker that Kelly originally believed that Garret might have somehow made off with the missing loot. How he’d manage to do that was a mystery, since he’d been arrested at the crime scene. But, for years, Garret worked hard at convincing Shannon that he knew what he was talking about. Some of his chatter must have rubbed off on her, and Kelly. So that finally, when he’d run out of alternate possibilities, the crazy bastard decided Ross must know where the cash was stashed.

  No, Ross said, straight-faced, Kelly had never even mentioned the name Donald E. Mooney, or any variation thereof.

  Yes, Kelly had shot George Hoffman. Shot him as he lay there on the bed. Shot him without warning, and showed no remorse.

  No, neither he nor Shannon had any idea that Kelly was going to pull the trigger until he’d actually done it. In fact, Ross doubted if Kelly had any idea what he was going to do until at least several minutes after the fact. And Ross had the impression that even then, Kelly was often unaware as to why he’d acted in a particular way. In Ross’s opinion, Kelly was no deep thinker. More of an action-figure type of guy.

  No, he didn’t know anything about a grocery store robbery, or a shooting on Cambie Street, just below King Edward Avenue. But, come to think of it, Kelly had come home last night carrying a bunch of flowers and a pocketful of candy bars… The guns? Both the pistol and the revolver belonged to Kelly.

  Ross was amazed they’d even ask him if he owned a gun. He was an ex-con, he’d done time for a violent crime and he was on parole. Of course he didn’t own a gun. What did they think, that he was nuts?.

  All of this came slowly, word by word, over a period of many hours. Ross established the pace right from the start, considering each question the cops put to him from every angle he could think of. When they tried to rush him, he apologized for taking up so much of their valuable time, and slowed down even more. He took his time partly to retain at least partial control of the situation, but also because he sincerely did not want to miss any of the important details. Much of his story they already knew, if they’d bothered to talk to Hoffman. And there were a few things Shannon could tell them, if she was in the mood. All he could do about that was cross his fingers and hope for the best.

  Another cop came in, a white-haired old guy with a limp, carrying a tray. He’d brought coffee for the men, tea for Parker, donuts for all. He put the tray down on the table and left the room. Ross never saw him again.

  He and the cops sat there, taking a coffee break, acting as if they were the best of friends. He was hungry. No, a better word, famished. The donuts smelled delicious. There were two cinnamon and one jelly.

  He waited patiently for the cops to choose. When they saw what he was up to, they told him all they wanted was coffee. Neither of them ate donuts, if you could believe it.

  Ross ate all three, the cinnamon first, the jelly for dessert.

  He asked them how Shannon was doing and the woman, Claire, said she was doing just fine.

  Willows asked him if he thought that he and Shannon would be staying together, when this was over.

  Ross said no. He sensed that the cop was trying to lull him into a false sense of security, asking him what he’d do when he was free to do anything. As if that time was only a moment or two away. But the truth was that he didn’t want anything to do with Shannon. She was not the girl for him, at least not unless he had to go back to prison, do some more time. If that was the case, it turned out the only way she could touch him was with a letter, well, that would be just about perfect.

  Claire asked him point-blank, staring him right in the eye, so close he could hardly focus on her, if he knew what had happened to the missing two hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

  Ross said no. He wet his finger and cleaned up the sugar and cinnamon the donuts had shed onto the paper plate. Parker was still eyeing him, making up her mind. He told her no again. Not forcing it, because that would be asking for trouble and trouble was the last thing he wanted.

  He asked Willows if they were going to violate him, and Willows told him he believed Hoffman had already set the wheels in motion. Ultimately, the decision as to whether Ross’s parole would be revoked would be made by his new parole officer.

  Ross pointed out that he was cooperating fully, to the very best of his ability, and that he certainly hoped that was taken into consideration.

  Excuse me, what was he doing where? At the Crown house? Kelly had told him George Hoffman wanted to meet him there, that Hoffman had phoned and left an urgent message. Yeah, you bet he’d thought it was kind of an odd request. Or order, or however you wanted to put it. No, it hadn’t occurred to him that Kelly was lying. Hoffman’s Camry was parked there in the garage, so naturally he’d assumed everything was okay.

  Parker asked him if he believed Kelly was going to kill him. Ross said he knew in his heart he was going to die.

  *

  When Shannon’s time came to make the simple choice of spilling the beans or being charged with at least one and maybe two counts of first-degree murder, not to mention kidnapping and unlawful confinement and various and sundry other charges, she thought it over for the blink of an eye. She was innocent. Of course she’d cooperate. What did they want to know?

  Everything.

  Yes, she had seduced Hoffman. Effortlessly t
alked him into meeting her at the Crown house, after Kelly had determined that the house was vacant, the owners scattered to the four strong winds. It was Kelly’s idea. What did he have in mind? She had no idea. She hadn’t asked. Kelly was a mean sonofabitch. He terrified her. Was always watching her, spying on her. Ask Ross. Kelly hit her, sometimes. Look at the eye he’d given her.

  Is that why she’d stabbed him, because she was afraid he was going to hurt her again?

  Shannon wasn’t too sure what had motivated her. She was pretty sure she’d stabbed Kelly to save Ross. Kelly had told Ross he was going to kill him, if Ross didn’t give up the money. She knew he’d meant it, because she’d seen him shoot Hoffman, and he’d admitted he’d shot the grocer, and she believed he had murdered that policeman, Donald Mooney…

  Back up a minute. What money?

  From the armoured-car robbery. They listened patiently while she told them about the armoured-car robbery, everything she knew.

  Wait a minute. Kelly wouldn’t hurt Ross if he told Kelly where the money was. If he believed he was going to die…

  But Ross doesn’t know where the money is.

  How can you be so sure?

  Shannon said that Kelly had turned on the water, and it was running down that pipe, into Ross’s nose. Ross was drowning. He was helpless as a kitten. He knew he was going to die and that there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not a damn thing. He’d given up. She said she could see in his eyes that he had no idea where the money was, and that the look of helplessness in his eyes just drove her crazy. George was alive one moment and dead the next, it was all over before she knew what had happened. But Kelly was planning to kill Ross slowly, drop by drop. She had to do something, to try to save him. The knife was in her hands. Kelly turned and looked at her. He drew his revolver and she knew he was going to shoot her.

  How did she know he was going to shoot her?

  By the look in his eyes. And because he’d just shot George Hoffman, hadn’t he? Shot him dead and not cared in the least.

  Had Ross mentioned the grocery store robbery, or recent shooting?

  No. Absolutely not.

  Did she think he might be involved?

  No. Absolutely not…

  The interview continued. A Möbius strip of questions and answers, until Shannon was too tired to think straight. But by then, the interrogators were equally exhausted, incapable of summoning up a decisive verbal assault. Fresh troops were brought in. Shannon revived. She told her story all over again, from first page to last. There were inconsistencies but they were minimal, and unimportant.

  Shannon had turned chanteuse at the drop of a fedora. But though she desired to please, she lacked talent. She’d sung like a crow.

  *

  Bradley swivelled his chair towards the window. It was dark as dark can be. Late was long, long ago. He was beyond exhausted. His arthritic knee ached. He stifled a yawn.

  Willows said, “There’s no doubt Kelly James McConnell killed Mooney. The duct-tape, rubber tubing, security-officer’s uniform… We’ve got all the physical evidence in the world. And I’d bet every dollar in my wallet that we’ll get a match on the two guns that were used in the Cambie Street grocery store murder, so we’ll pin that one on him too. Plus Hoffman.”

  “I met George a couple of times,” said Bradley. “In court. He was a nice enough guy, but he had a reputation as a womanizer.”

  Willows nodded. He’d heard the same thing about George — that he had a fatal weakness for the weaker sex.

  Bradley opened his Haida-carved cedar cigar box. He selected a Tueros cigar, held it to his nose and sniffed appreciatively.

  Willows said, “We’ve got nothing on Ross Larson. No witnesses to the grocery store robbery, nothing to tie him to the Mooney killing except the gloves. But Jerry, the busboy at Brillo’s, did a pretty good job of describing Kelly James McConnell, when we asked him who paid him to punch out Ross.”

  Parker said, “The fact that McConnell was in the process of bumping off Larson could also be seen as a point in Larson’s favour, depending on how you look at it.”

  “I suppose.” Bradley rolled the cigar in his fingers. He was salivating. Over a cigar. He was getting old. But what a sweet scent! “What about the woman?”

  “Shannon Brown.”

  “Yeah, Shannon.” Bradley yawned hugely, apologized.

  Willows said, “We believe Shannon was involved in Kelly’s search for the missing two hundred and twenty thousand, Inspector. What we don’t know and have no way of knowing is the degree of her involvement. Did she set Hoffman up, knowing or even suspecting that he might be injured, or killed? I just don’t know. We’d never prove it, without a confession.”

  “She likely to confess?”

  “On her deathbed, maybe.”

  Bradley yawned again. His jaw creaked. He said, “It’d be awful nice to lock somebody up.”

  “We can nail her for break-and-enter,” said Parker. “Or we could give her a medal for saving Ross’s life.”

  “Is that what she did — saved his life?”

  “She thought she’d saved his life. She intended to save his life. She had no way of knowing we were in the house.”

  “She got a sheet?”

  “No, she’s clean.”

  Bradley said, “You finished with her?”

  “We aren’t finished with either of them,” said Willows. “Hoffman might’ve fooled around a little, but he didn’t deserve a bullet in the brain.”

  “Sounds good, Jack. When you and Claire are ready, let’s run through the evidence together, see what we’ve got.”

  Willows nodded. But he had a gut feeling the case was going absolutely nowhere, that no matter what crimes they had or hadn’t committed, Ross Larson and Shannon Lucy Brown were eventually going to walk.

  Parker said, “How’s Eddy?”

  Bradley revived a little. “He’s fine. A mild concussion, broken nose, sprained wrist.” He waited for Parker to ask him about Bobby Dundas, and then realized that she wasn’t interested. He glanced at Willows. He’d seen that look on Jack’s face before. He was interested, all right. In a cold beer.

  *

  The streetlights were still on, but the sky had brightened to the east, and in another half-hour or so the sun would be up.

  Willows parked in front of the house. There was somebody on his porch. He tensed. The sixty-year-old paperboy trotted down the steps towards him, cut across the lawn towards the neighbour’s house. Willows unbuckled Parker’s seatbelt, got out of the car, and went around to her side and opened her door. Her head came up. She opened her eyes and peered at him, a little disoriented. She smiled.

  It was too early for Annie to be awake. She’d left a message taped to the front door. Sheila was in Mexico, staying at Alvarado, a small town on the gulf. She was perfectly all right, and she was having a wonderful time. Parker went upstairs, to take a quick shower. Willows went into the kitchen. He turned on the cold-water tap, rinsed his face and dried himself with a paper towel, then got the bottle of Cutty down out of the cupboard and poured himself a small one. He read Annie’s note again, thought vague thoughts about Sheila and what it must be like in Mexico, then crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it in the garbage.

  Somewhere in the backyard, a Steller’s jay squawked unmusically. Now Tripod and Barney, who’d been sleeping on Sean’s empty bed, wanted out. He stood in the open doorway and watched as the two cats engaged in a short-lived hot pursuit of the jay. He shut the door, splashed a quarter-inch more Scotch into his glass, and started upstairs, fumbling with his shirt buttons as he went.

  Parker was in bed, snuggled under the duvet and showing only the tip of her nose. He softly called her name, but she had already fallen asleep.

  He got his terrycloth robe from the closet, taking care not to let the hangers rattle.

  A few minutes later, as he stood in the tub with the hot water beating down on his shoulders, he suddenly realized that he had all but forgo
tten about the Richard Beinhart case. Who’d stabbed Beinhart? Not his pals, Willows was certain of that. His primary suspect had to be the owner of the house, the dentist, Chris Bowers. Why had Bowers left on an unscheduled holiday the day after the murder, if not to avoid being questioned?

  It was easy enough to see how it might have gone down. Richie, given the responsibility of collecting and paying the rent, had fallen prey to temptation and squirrelled away the cash for his own benefit. Bowers had come to the house, let himself in. Everybody had been drinking, all five tenants were drunk. They were always drunk. Possibly, by the time Bowers arrived, they’d drunk themselves insensible. The dentist had shaken Richie awake. Been a little rough with him, maybe. There’d been an argument. Richie, angry or terrified, had snatched at one of the knives on the table. Bowers had grabbed the other knife…

  Well, maybe. Or maybe not.

  One thing for sure, the prospect of a murderous dentist was kind of appealing. It was certainly worth looking into.

  Willows sluiced away the last of the soap, turned off the shower. He stepped out of the tub and took a towel from the rack. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the dentist.

  He towelled himself dry and put on his bathrobe, went downstairs for one last drink, and a quick peek at the Atlas.

  Now then. Where in Mexico, exactly, was the small town of Alvarado?

  Chapter 30

  The cops left it up to Crown Counsel — the prosecutor’s office. It was a no-brainer, a non-starter.

  Ross walked.

  Shannon walked too, but in a different direction, which was just fine with him. He lit a cigarette, and watched the traffic roll by, as he waited for a bus to take him home.