Law and Disorder (33 page)

“We’ll look into it,” he said, meaning he would not give it a moment’s thought, and the notes would end up filed under N for Nutcase along with those unfortunate souls whose hobby is confessing to crimes they haven’t committed.

I thought that a visit to Loreena Holmes was next in order. For years, she’d been running Ottawa Bereavement Services with a gentle touch and a heart full of hope and caring. Of course, OBS would be closed on Sunday and Loreena’s home number was unlisted. Luckily, we’d been chummy enough because of Justice for Victims that I knew exactly where she lived. She was warm and hospitable to her friends and colleagues too, and I’d been invited more than once to her home. I was back on the Queensway in a flash and on my way to Foster Street. I found Loreena in the vine-festooned backyard, relaxing in a lawn chair, and enjoying what was not the first glass of ruby red wine with a woman friend she introduced as Gillian. A heavenly aroma drifted from the charcoal barbecue on the patio. The cheerful women were about to have their afternoon ruined, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.

“Won’t take a minute,” I said, sliding onto a bright yellow chair, before she could say a word. “Shattered Families. Tell me what you know.”

Her friend snorted and said in the crisp way of the transplanted Brit, “Bunch of nutters.”

Loreena nodded gently. “I’d have to agree that they are a bit off the wall. They seemed much more interested in payback than in healing. A lot of forgiveness issues.”

“Who was involved? Any names?”

“Why?”

“I just need you to trust me on this. It’s really important.”

“All right. Glass of red, Camilla?”

I shook my head. “Do you think any of them would actually be dangerous?”

“Without a doubt,” said Gillian.

“Hard to say,” Loreena mused. “Why do you ask?”

“Rollie Thorsten’s gruesome murder.”

“Oh, boy. That dangerous. Well, there were rumours, but you have to be fair to people. They’d all been through hell, and who are we to say they can’t be furious?”

“Let me help you. I’ve heard of Annalisa Fillmore, France Cardarelle, a cop called Wentzell and a young lawyer named Jamie Kilpatrick. Were they part of your organization? Maybe didn’t fit in because of anger issues?”

Loreena leaned forward and refilled her friend’s glass, then her own. She shook her head. “Camilla, you know I can’t tell you that.”

Short of writing “yes” on the grass in red paint, her expression told me what I wanted to know.

“Annalisa’s body was found after she apparently torched my client’s home.” I didn’t bother to explain the nature of my relationship to Bunny. “She had an iron-clad alibi for the time of Rollie’s death although she hated him with—”

“A white-hot passion,” Gillian said, raising her glass.

“Right. I need to know if you think these ‘nutters’ could band together to plot to kill people they felt had taken their loved ones.”

Loreena shook her glossy silver hair. “I really wouldn’t like to say anything like that. They’ve all been through so much.”

“I’d bet the farm on it,” said the friend. “Two farms.”

“I think they provided alibis for each other. I think someone else on the team killed Rollie, and in return Annalisa planned to kill someone for that person, although she failed.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Gillian agreed.

Loreena pursed her lips and sent her friend a warning glance.

“Anyone else you can think of, Loreena?” I said. “I believe there are five of them, as five people have received, um, anonymous communications from this group.”

She didn’t meet my eyes. “I can’t really tell you that, Camilla. You of all people should understand confidentiality. There’s no way I can reveal anything about the people who pass through our group. It would be unconscionable.”

I tried to read the expression on her friend’s face. She wasn’t about to blow the whistle and may not have known enough to, but there was something there. I decided to stall and get a bit of useful information. “Mind if I use your phone?”

Loreena nodded distractedly. Inside the house, I switched my cell to mute and called it from her telephone. Sure enough. Loreena’s number showed when I checked. I returned to the backyard and said. “Did I mention there might have been a child in the home that burned? I think the incendiary device was in a stuffed toy, a big green dog. Call me if you think of anyone.”

Loreena paled but shook her head again. “I’m sorry, Camilla.”

“That’s my cellphone number, in case that family being burned out, or the woman who was run down on her bicycle or even Rollie Thorsten being shot in the knees before being dumped from a boat to drown bothers you in any way.” I half-expected to hear my name called as I walked away. I tossed my card on the table.

Next I squealed to a stop in front of Elaine Ekstein’s second-floor apartment on Spruce Street, on the crosshairs of what is known as Little Italy and Chinatown. Elaine’s battered Pathfinder was parked in the driveway. There was no other vehicle. Mombourquette must have slipped through the trap yet again.

As usual, Elaine’s place looked as though something had just exploded. She appeared to be in the middle of a project that involved taking all of her clothing out of every cupboard and drawer and rearranging it somehow. Under normal circumstances, I might have speculated as to how the fastidious Mombourquette could stand visiting her there, but I didn’t want to distract myself from the matter at hand. Anyway, Elaine was not pleased by my impromptu visit.

“No, he’s not here, and you’ve got to stop hounding him, Camilla. Give the poor guy a break. He’s under a lot of pressure over that Rollie Thorsten case. And now this horrible fire and the dead woman.”

“The woman killed in the fire was trying to murder Bunny and his family as collateral damage. I’m just reminding you of that. So, my calls on that topic are important. And wouldn’t you think if he was working a case he’d answer his cellphone at least occasionally?”

“He picks up his calls, Camilla. Just not yours.”

“But does he listen to my messages at all? Has he passed the information along?”

She shrugged. “No idea. We never talk shop. Well, except for Thorsten’s murder and the fire at Bunny’s place. Bunny himself is off-limits. We’ve agreed to disagree.”

“Easy for you. I’m sure he takes every one of your calls.”

She didn’t bother to suppress her smirk. I didn’t suppress anything as I filled her in on what I now believed was going on with Shattered Families. She listened, white-faced without interrupting for once.

I finished up by saying, “Make goddam sure he takes the next call from you. Tell him what I told you. And suggest that he picks up the next call from me. Life and death and all that.”

SIXTEEN

-What do you call 10,000 lawyers
at the bottom of the river?
A very good start

I
t was six o’clock when I stepped through the door of my own house, as usual not sure what I’d find. Whatever it was, it sure smelled good. And in spite of my unsettled day, I was hungry.

“Alvin?”

Alvin’s beaky nose popped out from the kitchen. “Hi, Camilla. I’m just making a bit of chowder for the party tomorrow. Of course, there’s no room in the kitchen, so we’ll be holding it in the backyard.”

“Chowder? I’m starving. I’d like some of that.” Alvin had put bacon in this latest version, the same way my sisters do.

“Help yourself. But it’s better the next day anyway. You know that.”

I didn’t know that, because this was cooking knowledge, and I’d been born without the cooking chromosome, as well as the tall, blonde gene.

“Speaking of girls, where are they? Aren’t their events all over? I thought I missed them.”

He emerged carrying a dripping wooden spoon and sporting the Cape Breton tartan plastic apron. “They went on that cruise.”

“What cruise?” I said as evenly as I could considering I had a bizarre vision of Ray’s girls sailing off into the Caribbean with a crowd of retired accountants.

“That one they sent you the tickets for.”

“All right, Alvin. Start from the beginning. I don’t know anything about any cruise, not that it makes any difference. Who would be sending me tickets for a cruise? Cruises cost thousands of dollars. It’s probably some scam. I can’t believe you fell for it, whatever it was.”

Alvin gestured with the spoon. “Not that kind of cruise, Camilla. I’m not a fool. The lady phoned and said it was one of those on the Ottawa River, an evening cruise with dinner on the boat for you and a guest. She said that the guests on board would all be lawyers and I know you don’t really hang out with many and anyway, you weren’t here and the boat was leaving soon. I couldn’t imagine that you’d want the tickets.”

“I couldn’t imagine it either. It’s kind of amusing to think of the girls taking my place. But why did I have these tickets?”

“Maybe you won them in a raffle.”

I raised an eyebrow. “But I would have had to buy a raffle ticket in that case, Alvin.”

“A contest then.”

“Earth to Alvin, I don’t do contests. You do. Maybe you won the tickets. Okay, another mystery solved. That chowder smells really good actually. Is it ready?”

“They definitely came under your name.”

“Okay, step back in time, Alvin. Came how? By mail?”

“No, they were delivered to the door.”

“Really? By a courier?”

Alvin sniffed. “I found them in the mailbox. Now I have to check the chowder.”

I knew better than to snap “forget the goddam chowder” and face sulky chowderless silences for a week. I just wanted answers. I followed him into the kitchen, where a large chowder pot was on the stove. The wonderful smell was coming from that. So was a bubbling sound that appeared to be bothering Alvin. He lifted the chowder pot off the burner.

I was not the only audience for Alvin’s project. Gussie was already in the room, nose twitching enthusiastically. Mrs. Parnell’s cat was sitting on one of the sleek little chairs watching the show. Lester and Pierre were uncharacteristically silent. Perhaps bubbling pots made them nervous.

“Not a moment too soon. I really don’t need a lot of interruptions while I’m trying to make a home-cooked meal for two motherless girls.”

To my credit, I didn’t roll my eyes or utter a sharp remark.

“It’s just a bit weird about these cruise tickets, Alvin.”

Alvin didn’t respond. He was too busy stirring.

“Just explain again how the tickets came to be here.” I sat down at the tiny table and waited.

Finally Alvin turned around. “Nothing very dramatic. I was out for a walk, to get this beautiful big stainless pot at the Glebe Emporium, and when I was coming up to the house, I saw something sticking out of the mailbox.”

I did my best not to sigh, yawn or say “In our lifetime, please, Alvin.” I nodded encouragingly and hoped the chowder didn’t start bubbling again and set us back to the beginning.

He turned back to me. “Then the woman called and said there was something for you in the mailbox to express her family’s appreciation.”

He whipped around and worked that wooden spoon. Gussie’s eyes opened wide in case that meant serving time.

I said, “And what was in the mailbox, Alvin?”

“I told you it was a pair of tickets to the cruise. The envelope and the note are still on the front hall console.”

I got up and headed back to the hall. A plain letter-sized envelope had been slit open by Alvin. The letter opener lay next to it. My name was typed on it. Plain type, nothing unusual or distinguishing. Naturally, the envelope was empty.

“There’s nothing here, Alvin,” I called.

“That’s because I gave everything to Ashley and Brittany.”

“You said there was a note.”

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Alvin appeared in full outrage mode. That evaporated when he reached the table and I showed him the empty envelope. Our eyes met.

“Gussie.”

Sure enough, a slightly chewed piece of paper had been left on the sofa. What was left of it said, again in plain type, “In repayment for what you did for our family.” An indecipherable signature followed. Or Gussie might have drooled that.

“I thought it was kind of nice,” Alvin said. “All those years at Justice for Victims working for next to nothing to help people, and how often did either one of us get anything for our efforts?”