Body Blows (29 page)

She slides a knife out of the rack and slices the lime neatly in half. My forearm twitches. One of these days I'll add up the war wounds I've incurred while in Leo's employ. All in all I think prizefighting may have been the less hazardous profession.

“That night is still ablank, is it?” Leo asks. “Psychiatrists and therapists and now a public revelation of family secrets and you still can't face what happened that night.”

“I have faced that night, Daddy dear. A thousand times. I've been hypnotized, regressed, drugged, and had my dreams picked over like pigeon entrails.” She stirs her drink once with the knife blade, has a sip. And another. “I know my mother died,” she says. “And I know that the only one who hated her was you.”

“I never hated Lorraine.”

“Could have fooled me,” she says.

“Would you mind putting the knife down?” I ask.

She looks at the blade in her hand as if surprised to find she's still holding it. She smiles at me. “Do I worry you, Joseph?”

“A woman was killed in this kitchen with a knife like that,” I say. “And as near as I can figure, so was your mother.”

She places the knife carefully on the cutting board and steps back. “There,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“Terrible coincidence, don't you think?” she says.

“I doubt it was a coincidence,” I say.

Leo comes toward us, his eyes cold. “If I thought you had anything to do with Raquel's death …”

“You'd what? Ship me back to the Websters?”

“That was for your own good.”

“You didn't really think I killed my own mother?”

“What was I supposed to think? You were covered in her blood. Your fingerprints were on the knife.”

“I found her body.”

“It doesn't matter now,” he says.

Roselyn erupts. “What unmitigated horseshit!” she yells at him. “Of course it matters. You didn't defend me. You made it clear to everyone that I'd done something unspeakable and then made me disappear. I was in shock. I was practically catatonic.”

“The police were going to take you into custody.”

“They had nothing. I've checked. I got my hands on a copy of their file. The prints were from my left thumb and finger. I picked it up like this.” The knife dangles like a dead fish.

“They didn't want to prosecute. We all thought it would be better for you …”

“And for you.”

“It had nothing to do with me. I wasn't there.”

“You came back early.”

“Someone did,” I say.

Chocolate truffles in the refrigerator sit beside a familiar baking pan. Date squares.

“I'm leaving now,” I say. I turn my special key and summon the elevator. “If it's any comfort to the pair of
you, you're both innocent of the murder of Lorraine Alexander.” The elevator bell rings. “And the murder of Raquel Santiago,” I finish.

“Joseph!” Leo barks. He walks across the room and faces me. “Who?”

“Check the refrigerator,” I say. “You'll figure it out.” The elevator doors close.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at security tapes. What are you doing?”

“Packing. I'm getting a lift to Tokyo.”

“Good. That's in the opposite direction.”

“Dee's coming over. I get to pick my own camera crew.”

“Is she happy about it?”

“Are you mad? She's doing handsprings.”

“I don't get you media types,” I say. “Smart people run away from danger. If someone tried to drag me into a war zone I wouldn't be doing handsprings.”

“You had your own war zones pal,” she says.

“With rules,” I say.

“What's on the security tapes?” she says, neatly changing the subject.

“Cars,” I say. “Coming, going, coming, going.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It's depressing.”

“Really? Why?”

“There's a car I didn't want to see, coming and going.”

After Connie goes back to packing I start on the security tapes for the fifth, sixth, and seventh floors. The most likely ones. When the cameras were made operational January 1st, they came with a monitoring station that was set up in the small office next door. I'm not sure who we ousted to get the space but these days it holds a number of TV sets and computers and the like. I rarely go in there and I'd be lost in my present pursuit if Todd wasn't handling the technical details, time codes, buttons to push, which monitor to look at.

“Roughly what time for these?” Todd asks.

“Between two and two-thirty,” I say. Can't be a lot of traffic that time of the morning.”

“Emergency exit cameras, east side, that's this one. Sixth floor. Nobody, nobody, and … somebody.”

“That's all I need, Todd, thanks. Keep that one and the parking garage one separate okay.”

“Sure,” he says. “Cracked it, right?”

“I'm afraid so,” I say.

Olive's is mostly quiet on Monday nights. Olive usually takes the night off. Sometimes Barney takes the night off. Not much reason for Weed to be there other than at my invitation.

“You're sure about this?” he wants to know.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“All pretty circumstantial,” he says.

“You didn't come down here because you think I'm nuts.”

“I'm just saying. We don't actually have anything concrete.”

“All you need,” I say. “Security cameras from the parking garage, and the sixth floor emergency exit, dates and times, licence plate, and parking receipt.”

“I kept thinking this had to have some connection to the Calgary thing. It was just too damn symmetrical.” He's drinking coffee. This isn't a night for merriment. “Cold cases never go away,” he says. “Some cops go to their graves still gnawing on something that happened fifty years back.”

“Roselyn said that Madge found her huddled under a table, covered in her mother's blood. If that's true, only two possible explanations: Rose Alexander, age nine, stabbed her mother to death; or, Madge got back from Calgary a little earlier than she told the police.”

“Okay,” he says, “grab a couple of hours sleep. We'll get an early ferry.”

“My vehicle isn't roadworthy at present,” I say.

“I'll drive,” he says.

chapter twenty-six

W
eed is wearing a tie that boasts, I swear, the Little Mermaid swimming with a lobster.

“My granddaughter,” he says. “I promised I'd wear it.”

“Goes with the turquoise jacket,” I say. “Nautical.”

The day is perfect, the sky is blue, the water is bluer. We're portside on the promenade deck, watching the mainland slip behind.

“Pazzano's nose is out of joint that you found the bad guy while he was eating lasagna,” Weed says.

“Can't please everybody.”

“He asks how your arm is coming along.”

“Tell him if he's really that desperate for a boxing lesson, I'll introduce him to a mechanic I know.”

We count gulls and cormorants for a while.

“How much did you get from Dimi?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The perfect crime,” he says. “Poor sap. Except for his idiot accomplice tagging along.”

“You can't charge him with Raquel's murder.” It's not a question.

“I've got no murder weapon, no motive, and with all the other heavy crap Dimi's facing, he won't make a deal on that one. She was dead when he got there. All that wreckage and dirt and broken glass came after. When he slipped in the blood, it was already starting to dry. Lab guys say she'd been dead for a while.”

“Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That's his story and he's sticking to it. He tells his idiot partner to wait outside. He sneaks in, stumbles over the body, knocks down a bunch of platters. He's covered in blood and sandwiches, looks up to see his accomplice, who panics and runs for the door. Dimi can't let him do that, he'll set off alarms, so he grabs Farrel and wrestles him back across the room, smashes the French doors, gets him out onto the patio. Farrel's screaming, he won't shut up, he tears loose and falls against the railing and when Dimi tries to grab him he loses his balance and goes over.” Weed shakes his head. “Or that's the story we're going with this time around.”

“You buying it?”

“It sounds loony enough to be true. Might be hard to prove he deliberately tossed his pal overboard, but I wouldn't be surprised if the Crown went after First Degree for this one anyway, homicide during the commission of a felony.”

“How about Dimi's other accomplice?”

“The gorgeous Ms. Duhamel? Ha! She insists she had nothing to do with the scheme, or with Mr. Starr. She says Starr had developed an unhealthy obsession for her. Says he must have got the inside info, combinations, and security codes et cetera by perfidious means.” He laughs. “She's almost credible.”

“And Theo?”

“Theodore Alexander denies that there ever existed any inappropriate relationship between he and Ms. Duhamel. He is less credible but probably not complicit. However, I understand his wife has retained a divorce lawyer.”

“No happy endings.”

“Not today, anyway.” He turns from the rail and we start promenading aft.

The Alexander Library has three cars in the lot. Madge Killian's Austin Healey Sprite is parked to the right of the space reserved for the man who has never visited.

“Right there,” I say, pointing at Leo's name. “He won't be showing up.”

Madge Killian is conducting a tour. Two couples. The older man and woman have the glowing complexions and crinkled eyes of yachting enthusiasts, the pretty girl and handsome lad accompanying them are holding hands. The little group dutifully follows Madge from station to station, pausing at photos and artifacts and paying close attention to her running commentary. Weed and I stop in the foyer and keep our voices low and our presence circumspect.

“Let's wait 'til she's done with that lot,” Weed says.

“Could be a while,” I say. “They haven't made it past the trophies yet.”

Weed goes to the visitor's book and signs in. I do the same. It seems fitting somehow.

“Now isn't this a lovely surprise,” Madge says, clapping her hands together as she gives us the once-over. “Two of my favourite men showing up unannounced on the same day.”

“We tried the house first,” I say. “Took a chance you'd be here.”

“Some nice people from Seattle,” she says. “They were supposed to come last week but couldn't make it.”

“You go ahead and show them around,” says Weed. “We're in no rush.”

“They'll do fine on their own,” she says. “The older couple are the girl's parents. They're trying to get their prospective son-in-law hooked on sailing.”

“If he knows what's good for him, he'll take the bait,” says Weed.

“Why don't you sit in my office for a minute?” she says. “I'll be right back.” She bustles off to attend to her guests. She's wearing heels. She's wearing a skirt and jacket and pearls. She's wearing a diamond ring.

Weed takes the nice leather club chair across from Madge's desk, leaving the straight-backed wooden one for me. It reminds me of a classroom.

“I'm showing them a movie,” Madge says, coming back. She plops herself on the other side of the desk and settles in like a broody hen. “It's quite exciting. Should keep them occupied for twenty minutes or so.”

Weed looks in my direction.

“Madge, we have a tape of your little Sprite exiting the parking garage very early Wednesday morning.”

“Of course you have,” she says brightly.

“And a security tape shows you on the sixth floor at 02:34, coming in through the emergency exit.”

“I was so sure you were going to catch me on the stairs,” she says. “Of course, I didn't know it was you at the time.” She giggles like a little girl. “Oh, don't be embarrassed, Joseph,” she says. “I knew this could happen sooner or later. Too many connections could be made. It wasn't planned. It was impulsive.”

“You can have a lawyer, Madge,” Weed says. “You don't have to say any more.”

“I know my rights, Detective Weed. Maybe we can do without a big trial. I wouldn't want to put Leo through more pain.”

“I don't think you can,” I say.

“What about the first one?” Weed asks. “On the ranch?”

She nods at the memory. “So long ago.” Her eyebrows pull together. “Impulse again,” she says. “Not planned. Although I'll admit I was never fond of the woman. One time she threatened to make Leo fire me. She said she could do it.”

Weed frowns. “So you came back early? That counts as planning.”

“It was an accident that I came back,” she says. “Leo and one of the corporate wives disappeared. He was a terrible roué in those days. I didn't really mind. I turned a blind eye. Those affairs never amounted to anything anyway. But I didn't care to wait around so I checked out of the hotel and drove back. I've always preferred having my own transportation. It's liberating.” She gets up briskly and takes a stack of file folders from the top of a cabinet. “Now these,” she says, placing them squarely on the desk, “are all the most important papers. I insist that they be given to Leo's lawyer for safekeeping until he can find someone to replace me.” She divides the stack into two separate piles. “Now this one is the complete inventory, and this is the history. Everything comes with identification numbers. It's really quite simple to understand.”

“I have to know what happened, Madge,” I say.

Madge nods quietly. “I suppose so,” she says. She stares into the middle distance and her expression is calm, thoughtful. “I have a key. From when he first moved in. She was very surprised to see me. I told her I'd brought a birthday present for Leo. And some maiden cake because Leo loves it so. I told her I'd give her the recipe.” She sounds like she's reading a book report. “She said she'd save the date squares for some other time. Hid them away.” Madge waves away the insult, resumes her account without emotion. “She told me she was getting married. To Leo. Showed me the engagement ring he gave her. It was so beautiful. I asked her if I could try it on. Please, she said. She was very happy. She told me she was pregnant, that it was Leo's son. She was putting out platters and singing something in Spanish, and I picked up the chef's knife to make her stop singing.”