Amuse Bouche (28 page)

Well, I'm not buying it."

"What about the gunshot? Wouldn't that determine time of death? You told me yourself there are year-round residents at Pike Lake. The cabin is lakefront. I was out there and it didn't look to me like there were any neighbours in residence, but gunshots are pretty loud.

Someone could have easily heard it."

"I know what you're getting at, Quant. We asked around, and you're right, the properties nearest Chavell's are used only in the summer, so there likely weren't any people nearby. And now, knowing Tom could have been killed much earlier, we won't be able to narrow down the time frame to more than a period of several days. That makes it difficult for potential wit-Amuse Bouche nesses to remember anything specific. Chances are someone heard it and passed it off as a wayward hunter or backfiring car. Or maybe the killer used a silencer. At the end of the day, Quant, it doesn't help get your client off—actually it might point the finger even more strong-ly in his direction if he doesn't have an alibi for the time the gunshot was heard."

"But it might also point the finger at a whole lot of other people too."

He grunted, unconvinced.

I grunted, mad. "I think the police department is scared to consider Chavell might be innocent because they have no idea who else might be responsible. You're desperate for a successful and quick conviction on this one. The Saskatoon Police Service has been going through a thorny time in the garden of public opinion and there've been too many unsolved murders in the last few years. Your reputation is on the line here."

Darren's eyes were flashing again, but this time it wasn't from curiosity. "We have a suspect with motive and ownership and possession of a murder weapon, which is covered with his fingerprints and, depending on time of death, no clear alibi. What does that sound like to you?"

"Sounds too easy is what it sounds like." I 322

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knew I was making Darren spit fire out of his ears, but it wasn't because of what I was saying.

It was because I was picking at the doubt he already had in his mind. "Has your department done any real police work on this case? Or have you simply let it all fall onto the silver platter served to you? Have you any idea what this is doing to the reputation of a respected business-man? Before all of this, Harold Chavell was a name that meant success, now it will forever be tied to a gay murder, no matter the outcome.

This city is too small for that to ever go away.

He will never have the life here he once had. So you'd better be damn sure you have the right man in jail because he's already begun paying the price." I knew the pressures and expectations Darren faced in the department and from a sometimes untrusting public, but I needed him to understand the implications to Chavell before it was too late.

We saw Treena approaching us with two banana splits. He leaned into me. I could feel his breath hot against my chilled cheek. "You really piss me off, Quant," he said.

I nodded.

It was coming up to midnight when I pulled into the garage off the back alley behind my Amuse Bouche

house. It had been a long day and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed. I couldn't believe it was still Wednesday. It seemed like eons since I'd attended Tom Osborn's funeral but it had only been that morning. When I swung open my car door, I knew the day was not done with me yet.

Barbra was barking. I knew something was not right. Barbra does not bother with more than a "woof or two when I come home. And the bark itself was suspect. It was high-pitched, whereas on the uncommon occasion Barbra does bark, from excitement or playfulness, it's a low and rich sound. She was upset or unsure about something. She was seeing something or someone she did not recognize. She was warning me of danger.

I stepped out of my car fingering the pistol still in my jacket pocket from my meeting with Clark Shiwaga at Pike Lake. Thankfully I hadn't had to use it, and I hoped I wouldn't have to use it now. I tiptoed to the rear of the garage and eased open the door that leads into my backyard. At first, all I could see were blocky shadows as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Although my backyard is overhung with frothy birch trees, a protective red oak or two and some spruce, the darkness was not absolute thanks to the garden lights which come on automatically at sunset and stay on until 2:00 a.m.

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The wattage is low but enough to give the yard an otherworldly hazy glow as if it's being lit from underneath. The garage door is hidden from the rest of the yard behind a bluff of mock orange bushes, caragana and Russian olive trees. I peered around it looking for intruders.

But, to reverse an old saying, I couldn't see the trees for the forest. There was still too much stuff in my line of view. Maybe I'd have to rethink my landscaping next summer. I could still hear Barbra barking. What was she seeing or hearing? Whatever it was, I was blind and deaf to it.

I thought about strategy—the skulker's and mine. I decided it couldn't hurt to check things out from the front of the house. Besides, I was in no rush. I circled back around the garage into the back alley. I noticed Sereena's house was dark. Not home. If she had been I had no doubt my visitor would have been hog-tied and confessing a long time ago. I turned left and walked the full block back to the nearest corner and then up and over to my street. Not a creature was stirring. Lampposts gave off a bluish light.

The air was cool and smelled as fresh as new laundry. Two houses in, I saw it. A yellow hatchback. It looked like the same car I'd seen parked near Chavell's property the night I returned from France. Was this the same car? And could Amuse Bouche

this be the same "little yeller car" Mrs. Coyle saw outside of Tom's apartment building? But it was more than the colour of the car that alarmed me. It was the licence plate.

It read: TWIRP.

Apparently TWirp had decided to pay me a personal visit rather than return my e-mail. The car was parked several houses away from my own, so he or she was being careful. Or so they thought. My cheeks grew hot as I considered what TWirp might be doing in my neighbourhood. I doubted it was a coincidence. Did TWirp think I knew more than I did? Was 1

headed for the bottom of Pike Lake? I realized, too late, that I should have done more to find out the identity of my e-mail pal.

I crossed the street so that I was on the side opposite my house and did a quick walk-by.

Nothing. I reconsidered my game plan and decided I'd have better luck sneaking up on my predator in the maze of my shadowy backyard.

I retraced my steps to the garage. Again I stared hard into the green abyss. I pulled out my gun.

Things were getting serious. I cautiously tiptoed down a brick pathway. Along the way I took fleeting refuge behind large ceramic pots now empty of foliage, wooden arbours and trellises holding up clematis skeletons. Every two steps I stopped to listen for sounds. There was 326

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only Barbra's insistent bark behind the back door of the house. I dared a peek from behind an evergreen into the small grassy opening that led up to the deck attached to the back of my house. The first thing to catch my eye was Zeus, a four-foot high cement fountain in the shape of a male nymph who I'd relieved of his watering duties only weeks before. Even in the dark I could see the look on his chiselled face. Not pleased. I was about to move closer when I heard a sound. A scuffling of feet on crunchy autumn leaves that had missed the wrath of my rake. Who am I kidding? I hadn't even begun raking
yet
Good thing.

More scuffling. Someone was definitely in my backyard.

It sounded like only one person, but I had no way to be sure. The footfalls had stopped but I could sense a presence. I thought I could hear breathing but it may have been my own. My best guess was that someone was standing near or sitting on the metalwork patio set to my far right. I could have played it safe or gone back to my car and used my cellphone to call the police.

But pride and impatience make me do stupid things sometimes.

"Okay, just stop right there," I said. I didn't yell, but spoke in a loud, authoritative voice. I thought it best not to mention to whoever was 327

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out there that I had a gun until I was sure that they didn't. No use starting a fight at the O.K.

Corral if I don't have to.

"Who is it?" a man's voice called back.

I had to stifle a laugh. Shouldn't I be the one asking that question? There was something familiar about the voice. I knew this person.

"It's Russell. Who's there?"

"It's Kent Melicke," the voice said. "I've been waiting for you."

I put the gun in my jacket pocket but kept my hand on it as i circled the bush that separat-ed us and approached the figure in the sitting area. As I got closer I could see that indeed it was the man I'd met twice earlier that day. Tom Osborn's ex-lover. It was the same man but he looked different. His fashionably styled blond hair now looked dishevelled and the tortoiseshell glasses were gone. He looked younger and I wondered if maybe he was still in his twenties rather than in his thirties as I'd earlier surmised.

"You're TWirp?"

He looked surprised to hear the name.

"Wh.. .how did you know that?"

I gave my best "I'm a seasoned investigator"

look, wordlessly telling him he should know better than to try to fool me. "You really should avoid vanity licence plates if you're planning to break into someone's house."

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"I wasn't breaking into your house."

"Then what are you doing here?" I asked/

noticing that his arms were shivering at his sides.

"
I came to see you. I have something to tell you. When you weren't home I thought I'd wait. But I started to think some of the neighbours might get suspicious if I hung around out front. So 1 came back here. I was waiting for a light to come on. That dog wouldn't stop growl-ing or barking the whole time."

Good doggie, I thought to myself.

I looked at the man. Quite a few smart-ass remarks came to mind. Hadn't he heard of a phone? Didn't he think a barking dog would alert the neighbours as much as a skulker in the front yard? Ever think of waiting in your car?

But I relented. He looked cold. And I was too. I couldn't be certain he wasn't dangerous, but I was bigger than he was, I had a gun and I didn't think he did. I felt safety was sufficiently on my side to invite him in.

It took a few moments to settle Barbra down.

She knew this man was the reason she hadn't gotten any sleep for the last while and she would not easily forgive him for that. I fed her some doggie treats to reward her for her heroism.

"This is a beautiful house," he said timidly, eyeing Barbra with mistrust.

Amuse Bouche

"Uh-huh." I was feeling a bit snappish. After all, it had been a long day, it was now well past midnight and this fellow had pretty much forced his way into my home. But, I wanted information from him, so I decided to make nice.

"Would you like some wine or something else to drink?"

"Just water would be great. No ice."'

I led him into the main living room and after I poured his water from the tap at the wet bar we sat down. Briefly, I inspected Kent Melicke as a man. Not quite my type, but definitely attractive. He'd taken off his jacket and his tight T-shirt showed off a nicely toned torso. I couldn't help think about how long it had been since I'd had a strange man over for drinks. Or anything else. For a second, it was oddly erotic.

"So you called this meeting," I said. "What did you have to tell me?"

His thin fingers strummed the rim of his glass as he looked up at me with liquid eyes.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I know about TWirp. Now tell me what it means. What does 'TW stand for?"

He looked unsure of what I was asking, but then caught on. "Oh! That means nothing. Just a slip of the finger when I first came up with my hotmail e-mail address."

"So it really is Twirp with a small 'w'?"

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"Yeah."

"Why?" I shouldn't have asked the question.

It was doubtful now that it had any bearing on my case.

"Nickname I used to have before I started going to the gym."

It was my turn to be confused. He flexed a not unimpressive bicep at me. "Gotya," I said.

"But do you really know who I am?" He repeated his original question.

This time I knew what he meant. " I know you and Tom Osborn used to be lovers. I know you had a meeting with him shortly before the wedding." I didn't really know the last bit, but I took a good guess.

"Yes. We were lovers. We had a wonderful relationship."

Couldn't have been that wonderful, I thought to myself. Where was this guy going with this? I wasn't in the mood to hear about how they once painted, their cozy kitchen bright yellow or bought a puppy together.

"We should have never broken up. I didn't want to, but Tom was so hurt. He couldn't see beyond it to remember how good we were together."

"See beyond what? What was he hurt about?"

"You know. I made a mistake."

Amuse Bouche

Mistake, in gay lexicon, especially when said so cavalierly, can mean only one thing. Kent had fooled around with another guy while he was seeing Tom. "Is this what you came to tell me?"

"No. I came to tell you 1 lied."

"You screwed around on Tom and you lied to him?"

"I lied to you. Earlier today. At Tom's sister's house when I told you I hadn't seen Tom in a while? That was a lie. Colleen wasn't the last one to see Tom. It was me. I saw him last."

Aha! The meeting TWirp referred to in the e-mail message. This was getting interesting.

"You had lunch with him at his apartment the next day. The day of the wedding." I took a chance., but I was sure I was right. It was Kent Melicke who shared the vegetarian meal from The Blue Carrot Cafe with Tom.

The young man looked at me as if I was the Amazing Kreskin. "How...?" Was all he asked.