Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (42 page)

A call to the high school
verified that Earl Archman was at home, recuperating from his fall in the Canadian Tire parking lot. His admin assistant expressed some concern and asked Neil to call her back if Earl needed her help with anything.

His phone rang as he pulled up in front of Archman's house, a small, neat bungalow with no distinguishing features except a life-sized stuffed Grinch sitting on a rocking chair on the porch. “Ed. What's up?”

“Have you talked to Earl Archman yet?”

“I'm just about to. I'm in front of his house now.”

“Glad I caught you, then. I remembered something I meant to tell you on Monday when he had his accident. I forgot, sorry. I've delivered three babies since then.”

“Forgot what, Ed?”

“He didn't break his arm when he fell on the ice on Monday morning.”

“What? The guy got hauled into the ER on a stretcher. Cornwall and the manager of the store saw him fall.” Had they watched the man actually fall? Or did they just notice him lying on the ground?

“I'm not saying he didn't fall. But the x-ray showed the break was just starting to heal, and inflammation was too pronounced for an hour-old injury. He had some other bruises that were a day or two old. He said he took a spill on his front walk the day before, Sunday, but didn't realize he had broken a bone until he slipped again on Monday and was in too much pain to get up.”

“Is that possible, Ed? Can you fracture a bone and not realize it?”

“Sure. Especially when you carry as much weight as this man. I x-rayed his feet while he was in the hospital in case he had stress fractures there.”

“What are you saying? He's overweight?” Neil thought of the photo in the yearbook, a young man who looked to be thirty or so, good-looking, slim …

“Morbidly obese. He's only mid-forties, but I doubt he'll see fifty. And I told him so. No point pulling your punches with people in that stage of denial. Anyway, I just thought you should know.”

Sitting across from the man in his living room, Neil was glad of Ed's heads-up. His right arm was encased in plaster. The furniture was shabby, the type of furniture a single man kept because he never actually looked at his surroundings. A fine coating of dust covered the surfaces of the tables, and piles of magazines dedicated to hunting and the gun enthusiast littered the bare hardwood floor.

The man's eyes were almost fully hidden by folds of flesh and Neil couldn't tell their colour. His hair was plentiful and dark brown, with no hint of grey. Mounds of flesh overflowed the flowered armchair, and Neil struggled not to let the unexpected wave of compassion he felt for this hulk of a man show.

“Sorry to bother you, sir. I know you need your rest, but I'm hoping you can help us in our investigation.”

“Let's see if I can save us both some time, Chief Redfern. I knew both the victims, Faith Davidson and Sophie Wingman, or Sophie Quantz. The girls were students of mine many years ago.”

Archman shifted uncomfortably and took a drink of water from a plastic bottle he held in his left hand.

“Do you remember anything about the victims that might shed some light on what happened to them?”

“Well, now, Chief, that's a broad question. Faith was a good student, excellent in math. She applied to, and was accepted at, Ryerson in Toronto. I can't remember what she was studying, but whatever it was, she would have done well. Life really is a bitch sometimes, because that girl had potential.

“Sophie? Now, Sophie was a good student as well, but her focus was more on screwing every boy in her class, even the ones with steady girlfriends. But she did a complete turnaround after high school graduation, if I heard correctly. Went on to Divinity College, then returned as an Episcopal priest. Surprised everyone. Married Kelly Quantz, who had been lusting after her since she was fifteen. As far as I know, he worshipped from afar and never stepped over the line into sex with an underage girl.”

He paused for another sip of water and to catch his breath. He slipped an inhaler out of his shirt pocket and took several puffs.

“Asthma,” he explained. “My own fault. I should have given up smoking when I was twenty-five, instead of waiting until I was forty-five. Last month.”

“Both girls were murdered,” Neil pointed out.

“I realize that,” Archman snapped. “What else do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the rest of the class.”

“You mean, the few that are still here?” He indicated the 2000 yearbook resting on the coffee table between them. “I refreshed my memory. Not that I really needed to. That class was unforgettable, and not in a good way. There are only four that still live here, four that are still alive, I should say.”

“And they are?”

“Come off it, Chief. You know who they are as well as I do. Fang Davidson, Charles Leeds, Michael Bains, and your own Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall.”

Neil winced. Talk about a conflict of interest. “Let's start with Fang. What was he like in high school?”

“As you know, Fang lives in Dogtown. There was a certain mystique surrounding students from Dogtown back then, and there still is. A collection of mobile homes outside of town, a closed family unit. We've had a lot of kids in our schools over the years from Dogtown, and, on the surface, it's hard to tell them from any of the others.”

“On the surface?”

“Not as many go to university or college. But they're just as smart. Our best mechanics, hairstylists, clerks, snowplow drivers, caterers, landscapers — they all come from Dogtown. They keep Bruce County running. And the teeth! My God, I never met a kid from Dogtown who didn't have naturally perfect teeth. A geneticist would have a field day testing those families.”

Neil pictured the finely formed teeth in the skull found in the locker. “So, no trouble with Fang?”

“Just the usual pranks. Nothing malicious. Played well with others, as they say. Well-liked.” Archman shrugged. “Nothing special comes to mind.”

“How about Charles Leeds?”

“Again, nothing special. A good enough student, but not interested in a career other than taking over the Canadian Tire franchise from his grandfather. Earned a business degree. He was under the thumb of a girl a year behind him, Tabby, or Kitty, or some such stupid name. He was part of Bliss's posse. She led him around by the nose, and I think he had a crush on her, but like I said, his girlfriend kept him on a pretty short lead. A regular kid. Got kids of his own now, I hear.”

“Three of them,” Neil answered. “And Mike Bains?”

Archman paused for more water and another puff of asthma inhalant. “Ah, Michael. A cut above the rest, that boy. A bit of a sociopath.”

Neil nearly dropped his pen. From what Cornwall recounted of her conversation with Archman, the sun shone out of Mike Bains's ass. “Sociopath? Why do you say that?”

“He analyzed people and stored the information until he could find a way to manipulate them with it. He knew where he wanted to go and didn't care who he stepped on to get there. He knew even in high school that he was going to become a lawyer first, then go into politics. He's always had his eye on the prime minister's job. Would he resort to murder to achieve his goals? I can't say, but then, I'm not an expert on personality disorders.”

Neil thought for a moment. “I don't suppose you remember who was dating whom their final semester?”

Archman laughed, and this turned into a coughing fit. His face turned an alarming purple colour. Neil was ready to pound the man's back or call for an ambulance.

When the coughing subsided, Archman continued. “You must be joking. I had that class for forty minutes per day. I couldn't begin to keep their liaisons straight. I heard rumours that Sophie
dated
a lot of the boys briefly. Charles was as good as married already to his grade-eleven charmer. Mike …”

He paused. “…Mike was more discreet about his dating. Too bad Bliss didn't realize he was a selfish, spoiled little prick.”

Neil started. “Bliss? I thought she and Bains didn't date until university.”

“That's true, but she mooned over him in high school like all the other girls. A shame, too. Guess he realized she was his best bet for a meal ticket, somebody to help him pay for law school. Pretty, loyal, smart, but not twisted enough to figure him out. She never did see him for what he is, not until he abandoned her when someone with political influence came along. And, to think, Andrea Whitmore was Bliss's lawyer during the divorce proceedings. Bent the law and got away with it. But Bliss is well out of it. Andrea and Michael deserve each other.”

He fixed Neil with his eyes. “I hope you're being good to Bliss, Chief. She's a smartass, and her attitude used to give me migraines, but she has a good heart. I'd like to see her find someone who appreciates her.”

The skin on Neil's face heated up. “Does anything come to mind about the grad night that might hint at what happened to Faith, now that we suspect she never left on that bus?”

“Between you and me, I had a wee bit of Johnny Walker in my pocket flask. I was drafted for the chaperone duty and it was as heinous an experience as I expected. The kids were all shit-faced but I couldn't catch them at it. They were running all over the school, shrieking and spilling food on the floor. And the fucking music blasted my eardrums out, so I mostly stayed out of the line of fire and waited for the worst night, or my life, to end. And I didn't care which, not at that point. At midnight I unlocked the doors and they left. That's it.”

“Did you check the school for loiterers before you and the other chaperones left?”

“There were no loiterers. They were all pounding on the gym doors by eleven forty-five, but since the program said midnight, I made the little shitheads wait until midnight. That being said, I didn't count them as they escaped. Once they were gone, I helped Kelly pack up his equipment. He left, I checked the boys' locker room, called into the girls', ushered the lady chaperones out, turned off the lights, and we left. Thus ended one spectacularly loathsome night.”

“But you locked the doors?”

“No, I did not. The decorating committee was supposed to come back the next morning and clean up. The school was abandoned already. Why lock the doors? Although the front doors had been locked all evening, to keep the kids in.”

Neil waited while the man caught his breath. “We found a dead girl in one of the lockers. Chances are good it's Faith Davidson.”

“I know that!” Archman looked like he wanted to spring out of his chair, if only he wasn't weighted down by a hundred excess pounds. “Ever since I heard her body was found, I haven't thought of anything else. What if she wasn't dead? What if I could have saved her if I'd gone right into the locker room or asked one of the ladies to do it?”

“I don't think she was still alive, sir.” Not with that hole in her skull. “But then you reported you saw her later at the bus stop.”

“That's what I thought. When she was reported missing and the police investigated, I told them I saw a young girl in a white dress with long dark hair waiting at the bus stop. At the time, we thought Faith disappeared at the other end. In Toronto. Now we know it wasn't her at all.”

Archman pressed his left hand against his temple. “Plenty of remorse and guilt for this boy, whichever way you look at it.”

Neil wanted to believe him. But some people were just born liars.

Neil stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Archman. I may have to talk to you again. Here's my card. Please call me if anything occurs to you, no matter how minor you think it is. How long will you be off work?”

“I'm taking the next semester off. That doctor in ER made me realize I'm a dead man walking. It took ten years after my wife and I split up for me to get into this condition. But I don't have ten years to get back in shape. I have to do it quickly or I won't make it, and I realize I don't want to die. I just hope it's not too late.”

“I don't think it's ever too late,” Neil told him. “Dr. Reiner mentioned you broke your arm earlier than Monday morning.”

“Okay. Let's clear this up once and for all. I fell outside my front steps on Sunday morning. Several of my neighbours saw me and ran over. They had to help me up, which was embarrassing to say the least. My arm hurt, but then so did a lot of other things. I was barely able to drive and decided to see my doctor before going to work on Monday. I stopped at Canadian Tire first to pick up some furnace filters and fell because that idiot Leeds boy didn't de-ice his parking lot. Again, my right arm took my weight, which as you can see is considerable. I knew there was something seriously wrong.”

Neil nodded. “Is there anyone I can call for you? A relative or friend. Maybe someone at work?” He was thinking of the concerned admin assistant.

Archman waved him away. “Thank you. I'm okay on my own. I'll call if I think of anything helpful.”

“Just a couple more questions, Mr. Archman. Are you right- or left-handed?”

“Left.”

“Do you own any firearms?”

“I have a Ruger Mark II for target shooting. Although I haven't been to the range for several years. I do have a Possession and Acquisition Licence for it.”

“The Ruger uses .22 calibre ammunition, I believe.” Neil didn't take his eyes off Archman's face. “Is that all you have?”

“That's it.” Beads of sweat popped out along his forehead, but he didn't move to wipe them away.

“And can you account for your time Sunday
morning
from midnight to 6:00 a.m.?”

The man looked around at the barren room and laughed.

After three hours
at the greenhouse tuning up negligent customers and updating my business timesheets, I returned home to a foot-deep flood on the street in front of my house. It took me twenty minutes to shovel the mush away from the storm grates to drain the water.

I wore a yellow slicker over my coat, and a matching sou'wester hat to prevent my hair from kinking any tighter. I was overdressed, and opened the raincoat to let some steam escape.

Fang's truck shuddered to a stop in my driveway as I was putting the shovel back in the garage. “I'm not repairing your eavestrough for free.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his quilted jacket and mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth.

“I don't expect you to do it for free. When did I say that?”

We stood under the overhang of my open garage door, meagre shelter from the pelting rain. The temperature had risen overnight and through the morning, turning the snow into piles of dirty slush. Mr. Davidson had been right.

Fang turned his head and said something I pretended not to hear.

“Just give me a price and get at it.”

“I wouldn't even be here except Lester made me come. I'm not working on your roof in the rain.”

“Lester who?”

“Lester, my dad. For some reason, he likes you. Beats me why. Anyway, you better get that wet snow off your roof pronto. It's sliding into the troughs, and you'll end up with a worse problem than you have now.”

I handed Fang a shovel and pointed to the ladder.

Since I'm not one to ask people to do something I wouldn't do myself, I joined Fang on the roof with a second shovel. We worked productively for a while. The scrape of metal on shingles and the plopping sound of rain on my vinyl hat were quite soothing.

Fang sent me dark looks I ignored. Up and down Morningside Drive, my neighbours had the same concern for the snow load on their roofs and had taken the day off work. Some of them had cases of beer and sandwiches with them. Others dragged up boxes of Christmas decorations. We all waved. Rain and slippery roofs never stopped Lockportals from getting the job done. Most of the houses on this street were bungalows and the worst you could expect from a tumble into the shrubs was a scratched face and a spilled beer.

Fang broke his silence. “You remind me of Donald Duck in that getup. You remember the cartoon where he's on a sinking ship?”

“If that's a metaphor for something deep, Fang, good one. Hurry up. Chico should be here soon. I asked him to bring some food and coffee with him.”

Fang perked up, and then his face fell again. “Look at this.” He indicated a strip of eavestrough that had ripped away from the house.

“No problem. I have a hammer and some roofing nails. You can fix it temporarily, then come back tomorrow and do the rest. Oh, I think that's Chico's truck coming down the street.”

“I can't do this for you tomorrow. I have a lot of other jobs ahead of you, not to mention deliveries. And salvaging.”

“Give me a price.” He pulled a figure out of his ass, and I said, “I'll add 15 percent if you place me at the head of the line.” The money wasn't coming out of my pocket. I was just the tenant. Sort of. By renting a room to Rae — for a modest amount — I actually made a few bucks every month.

Fang agreed so readily, I suspected his initial figure was a little high. But better to pay extra now rather than chance the roof collapsing and the eavestrough falling onto the driveway.

My feet began to slide and I gripped the chimney. “I'll finish here if you go over the peak and do the other side.” Watching him scramble over the top of the house, I felt some concern for his safety. I'd better check the homeowner's insurance policy to make sure my dad was covered if Fang missed the shrubs and hit the patio in the backyard.

I leaned my shovel against the chimney and sat on the edge of the roof with my feet planted firmly on the top rung of the ladder. Chico's vehicle splashed through the melting snow and parked in the driveway behind Fang's truck. He got out, his arms filled with paper bags of fast food.

“Come on up, Chico,” I called. “We can have a picnic. Fang is on the other side, but he should be finished there soon.”

“I'm not dressed for it, Bliss. You come down.”

Chico wore his Canadian Tire parka and a matching toque. “You're dressed perfectly. How's the tread on your boots? That looks good. Come up.”

Fang struggled back over the top of the roof. He looked like a wet dog, and kind of smelled like one as he accepted a Styrofoam container of chili from Chico.

“Why did you call me, Bliss?” Chico hadn't opened his chili, but if he gripped the container any tighter, the lid was going to fly off and take his eye out. It occurred to me that not everyone was comfortable sitting on a slick roof.

To repress the simmering mutiny I sensed in my motley crew, I started talking. “Okay. The three of us are on the suspect list for two murders. Sorry, Fang, but that includes Faith. Just because you're her brother, doesn't mean the police won't be considering you.”

“What can we do about it?” Chico still hadn't opened his chili. “My only alibi for Sophie's murder is my wife. Same probably for you, Fang. And we know the cops don't believe family. All we can do is hope they find the real killer before one of us goes down for it.” After one look at my black eyes, Chico talked over my head to Fang.

“One of you two,” I clarified. “Chief Redfern doesn't really think I did it, but he doesn't know you both like I do, so he has to suspect you.” No point mentioning that I had the best alibi ever for Sophie's murder — I was in bed all night with a cop.

“Like the man said, what can we do?” Fang had finished off his chili and eyed Chico's. Chico silently handed over his container.

“The other four suspects are the Weasel, Mrs. Brickle, Kelly Quantz, and Mr. Archman. It wasn't one of us, or Mrs. Brickle either. That leaves the Weasel, Kelly, and Mr. Archman.” I carefully opened the tab on my coffee and sipped. Good old Hortons. Their coffee was still scalding despite the trip in Chico's truck and the rooftop airing.

Chico shifted his bony butt on the ledge. “Who's the weasel?”

“That's Mike Bains,” Fang answered for me. “I don't like thinking about anyone killing Faith, but if it was Mike, he needs to pay for it.”

“I don't know,” Chico said. “Mr. Archman was pretty mean back then. Remember all the detentions he gave us?”

I snorted. “Grow up. We were rotten kids. It's a wonder any of us managed to graduate. I would hate to find out that I was married to a murderer for eight years, and I can't think of a reason for the Weasel
or
Mr. Archman to kill Faith. And the discovery of Faith's body has to be tied in with Sophie's murder. It's a mess.”

Chico was sitting above the damaged trough, gripping the metal. If he fell, he was taking the whole length of it with him. Fang would charge me extra, plus 15 percent.

“Why are we up here, anyway?” Chico asked. “We can talk inside, or in your garage.”

“Fresh air, privacy. Relax. Just don't look down. In any case, let's go with the idea that the perpetrator is Mr. Archman or Kelly Quantz. Or the Weasel.”

“Go where? You're no Miss Marple, and we're not Cagney and Lacey. What if we stir something up, and the murderer strikes again?”

Obviously, Chico didn't remember that Cagney and Lacey were women. “We won't stir anything up. We need to piece together grad night. One of you may have seen something you've forgotten. Maybe Faith argued with someone, or maybe she was followed into the locker room.”

“You're saying you don't remember that night either? Any of it?” Fang crushed his empty coffee cup and stuffed it into one of the dripping paper bags. “We were pretty blitzed.”

“Give me a break. I don't even remember leaving.” I could almost taste the tequila. A wave of nausea hit me, and I guessed it wasn't entirely from the chili.

“They locked us in.” Chico straightened and I grabbed his arm to stop him from toppling over. “That's against the Fire Code.”

Fang lay back against the shingles, one arm cushioning his head, letting the cold rain wash over his face. You can't get any wetter than soaked. “I remember bits and pieces. But nothing about Faith especially.” He closed his eyes. “I drove my truck…. Where did we end up?”

“In a field. We built a fire.” Images flashed through my mind, but they disappeared so suddenly, I couldn't be sure they were my memories or dreams. Maybe even movies I had seen. “I woke up in the back of Fang's truck. Do you remember driving home, Fang?”

“Shit, no. It's a miracle I didn't drive right into Ghost Swamp and sink without a trace. Then my parents would have lost both of us that night.”

“I would have gone down with you,” I said, morosely. Looking back on our teenaged years, it was a miracle we survived to adulthood.

“Tyger graduated the next year, and they didn't hold a party after the ceremony. There hasn't been one since ours.” Chico leaned against the chimney and sniffed his coffee. If he poked his tongue through the tab hole and got stuck, I was going to have to laugh.

Tyger was Chico's wife's real name. She had been the girlfriend who had bossed him around through four years of high school. “Chico, you told me the other day in your store that you took a lot of pictures that night. What happened to them?”

“I had a Nikon and a Polaroid. The photos from the Nikon are the ones that ended up in the next year's yearbook. I know I took some Polaroids because I didn't have any film left, but who the hell knows where they went.”

Fang took out a battered cigarette and lit it. “What about the pictures that didn't make it into the yearbook? Maybe we can look through those.”

“Tyger threw them out years ago. And the negatives.” He looked across at Fang. “Is that weed?”

“Yeah, but it won't stay lit in this fucking rain.”

Chico's head swivelled to a spot down the street. “Bliss, isn't that Chief Redfern's Cherokee? Hell and damnations.”

“He isn't stopping. But if he asks later, tell him we were just reminiscing about old times … no, wait, don't say that. We were discussing the food bank benefit.”

“Sure, I'll lie to the cops for you. No problem. Whatever you say, as usual.” Fang gave up on his joint and stuck it back in his pocket. “I'm leaving. Not that this hasn't been a blast, but next time, haul up a case of beer. I can smell your neighbour's Bud Light from here.”

Whoa, didn't that give me an idea. A really good idea. “We need to conduct an experiment,” I said. “Both of you be back here at eight o'clock tonight. Dress for the weather. And bring flashlights.”