Death in a Family Way (25 page)

“Ah . . . Southby,” Farthing said in an unusually quiet voice. “I need to see you.” He paused. “Say eleven this morning?”

“But what about Maggie? When can I see her?”

“I'll see you around eleven,” Farthing replied. The line went dead, leaving Nat, frustrated and aching, glaring at the instrument.

•  •  •

PROMPTLY AT ELEVEN,
Nat presented himself at the precinct, where he was shown into his old office and left to wait.
What does the son of a bitch want?
he wondered as he gazed around the room. Farthing had made a few changes since Nat had occupied the room. There were three certificates for athletic awards hanging on the wall behind the desk—Nat had never been one for overdoing exercise—a couple of framed photos showing Farthing with members of the police hockey team receiving a huge cup, a
factitious smile on his face, and on the desk, a picture of a very pretty woman and a couple of kids in a silver frame. Nat shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wished the man would hurry up and get there.

The door opened and Farthing stepped in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Southby,” he said, going behind the desk and sitting down.

“What's going on, Farthing?” Nat demanded.

“Considering the part you played in the affair,” the man intoned pompously, “I'm willing to bring you up-to-date on some of the circumstances, but then I have another matter to discuss with you. Which to my mind is far more important.”

“Can you please make it quick,” Nat answered shortly. “My arm is killing me.”

“I will tell you about Cuthbertson and Longhurst first,” Farthing went on in his ponderous way. “They're both out of hospital and in police custody. Cuthbertson sustained a broken collarbone when the net hit him, and the bullet from Ritchie's gun only winged Longhurst. You've got Ritchie to thank for saving your life, you know.” Farthing paused for breath. “Constable Kappa arrested Violet when they found her hiding in the house. In spite of us finding the room where she held Mrs. Spencer, she denies being a part of it. Says it was all Cuthbertson. He, of course, immediately started screaming for his lawyer.” He paused for breath. “That satisfy you?”

“Got anything from them?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you spoken to Maggie yet?”

“The hospital says we can see her today, but . . .”

“I want to be there.”

“Her husband's given strict orders that you're not to be allowed in.”

“That stuffed . . .”

“That's all I can tell you.”

“But I must see her.”

“My hands are tied,” Farthing said. “Her husband has the say until she's well enough to tell us what she wants.”

“But . . .”

“Let it go, Southby. If she wants to see you, she'll ask.”

Nat stood up. “Nothing's going to stop me from going there,” he said grimly.

“Sit down, Southby,” Farthing ordered. “There's this other business.”

“For God's sake,” Nat answered. “What other business?”

“The little matter of you taking payoffs just like your old boss Mulligan.” Farthing smiled thinly. “I've got proof, you know.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Farthing?” Nat towered over the other man. “Proof? What d'ya mean, proof? Proof of what? I never in my life took a bribe. Are you nuts?”

Farthing reached down and retrieved the folder from the bottom drawer. “This proof,” he said. “You didn't make a very good job of cleaning out your desk. You left this behind.” He opened the folder and took out the half sheet of paper. “I'll read it to you, just to refresh your memory—
I, N.M. Southby, accept the sum of three hundred dollars per month as settlement, and in return agree to make no further demands.
As you can see,” he concluded, “it was signed July 1952. That would be around the time you were working closely with Mulligan, wasn't it?” With a smirk, he pushed the note under Nat's face. What he wasn't prepared for was Nat's reaction. Instead of being defeated, the man was actually laughing. In fact, he had to sit down and hold onto his aching ribs. “What are you laughing at, Southby? This is serious.”

Nat wiped the tears from his eyes. “So that's what's been bugging you all this time, you jackass!” he said, gasping for air. “You
know, if I wasn't in so much pain, Farthing, I'd cheerfully smash your stupid face.” He shifted uncomfortably. “That document you've been so carefully hoarding was a draft of the monthly payment agreement with my ex-wife, Nancy Southby.” He looked witheringly at Farthing. “Although it's none of your damn business, it was included in the final divorce settlement, notarized, and made legal by a judge.” Painfully, he pulled himself up. “I'm leaving.”

•  •  •

NAT AWOKE THE FOLLOWING DAY
to brilliant sunshine. He rolled onto his back, stretched his one good arm above his head and planned his day. Call the hospital, breakfast in his usual café, a walk in Stanley Park and then to the office. It was time he got back to work. Dressing was still a painful business. The bruises had turned into various shades of yellow and purple, but flexing his good arm, he decided he was going to live. As he reached for the phone, it rang.

“Why haven't you been in to see me?” Maggie demanded.

“Maggie!”

“I've been waiting and . . . I just couldn't believe Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you wouldn't be coming in to see me.”

“That son of a . . .” Nat took a deep breath to control the anger. “Maggie, I'll be straight over.”

Propped up in bed, a pale, very weak Maggie greeted him with, “I'm sorry to have been so much trouble.”

Laying the crumpled cone of flowers he had hastily bought from the local grocer on the bed, he took her hand in his, and asked, “Sorry? What the hell for? I'm the one who's sorry for getting you into this.”

“Harry told me it was all because I meddled that the police had to get a rescue helicopter and . . . and . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Meddled! Listen, Maggie my girl,” Nat replied firmly, “if it hadn't been for your meddling, Cuthbertson and his lot would still be free.”

“It was so terrible, Nat.” Tears started to run down her face.

“It's over now,” Nat said briskly, patting her hand. He wasn't very good at dealing with tears. “Now,” he said, quickly changing the subject, “how did you cotton on to Cuthbertson?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I kept telling you, Nat, the cream containers.”

“Ah, yes. The cream. What about them?”

“Oh, Nat,” she said, laughing. “He built castles with them. The waitress in the café told me about them.”

“Of course,” Nat said, as he recalled the mess Cubby had left when they'd had coffee together.

“Now,” Maggie asked, “What's the whole story?”

“The trio's in custody. And Farthing's putting it all together. We'll know the rest in a few days.” Nat bent over and kissed her awkwardly on the forehead. “Get better quickly, Maggie,” he said brusquely.

“I'll be out in a few days.”

He looked down at her, the old smile creasing his face. “Then we'll beard Farthing together.” And with a wave of his hand, he slipped through the door.

•  •  •

“
I HOPE YOU REALIZE
what a worrying time you've put me through, Margaret,” Harry said.

Maggie, sitting in her favourite chair and stroking the ecstatic, purring Emily, looked up in surprise.

“Yes,” Harry continued. “The senior partner came in to see me. He was particularly put out.”

“Alfred Crumbly? He was worried about me?”

“Not you, Margaret. The publicity.”

“The publicity? I don't understand.”

“Well,” he said patronizingly, “the firm has a reputation to protect. But it should all blow over now that you're out of it.” He reached for his drink and took a sip. “Glad to see you've come to your senses.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“Well, as old Crumbly mentioned—lots of women go through a difficult time at your age.”

“My age?”

“You know,” he said with an embarrassed cough, “the change of life thing. That's probably what sent you off the rails.”

“But weren't you worried about me?”

“It goes without saying that the girls and I were very upset to see you in the hospital.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said dryly.

“Yes,” he continued, “but as Mother said, you've had your fling and now you can settle back to being a proper wife again. And you'll soon forget all about this . . . this . . .” His voice trailed off.

A feeling of intense exhaustion and sadness rushed over her. She leaned back in her chair and let the tears trickle unheeded down her face.

“You'd better go to bed, Margaret,” Harry said briskly, picking up his book. “The doctor told me you will need lots of rest.”

•  •  •

“FEEL UP TO SEEING
Farthing today?” Nat asked when he called.

“You don't know how glad I am to hear your voice.”

“Well, you've had a week to recover, and Farthing would like to see the two of us this afternoon. Two-thirty. You strong enough?”

“Of course I am.”

“Good. You're beginning to sound like your old self again.”

“Meet you at the precinct?”

“Come to the office and we'll take my car.”

“Two o'clock?” Maggie said.

“Fine.”

Replacing the phone, she bent down and swooped up a surprised Emily, burying her face in the cat's fur. “Oh, Emily, if it hadn't been for you, my life would still be so tame and uninteresting.”
Now, what shall I wear?

It was five after two when Maggie parked her Morris, which the police had returned to Harry during her hospitalization, outside the office building. Her boss was already on the sidewalk waiting for her. “I thought you weren't coming,” he said. Maggie smiled as she climbed into his car.

A subdued Farthing gave a curt nod to Nat, and after shaking hands with Maggie, indicated the two visitor's chairs across from him. “Glad to see you've recovered, Mrs. Spencer. That was a bad affair.”

Maggie drew her chair closer to the desk. “Can you tell us the whole story now? Were we right about the girls? Where did Cuthbertson fit in? And . . .”

Farthing put up a hand. “We're still putting things together. And whatever I say to the two of you today stays in this room. Do you understand?”

Both Maggie and Nat nodded. “We both agree to that,” Nat answered, wishing the man would get on with it.

“As far as we can see, Larry and Violet got into the baby racket accidentally.”

“Accidentally?” Maggie interrupted. “How . . . ?”

“If you wait, Mrs. Spencer, I'll explain,” Farthing said. “Apparently, in his last year of high school, some girl told Larry that she was pregnant. God knows why she told him.”

“Perhaps he was the father,” Maggie suggested.

Farthing shrugged. “The girl in question was from a good Catholic family, so abortion was out.”

“Where did Cuthbertson fit in?”

“A bit of a coincidence, I think,” Farthing said, reaching for a cigarette. They waited while he lit up and finished coughing. “You see, Larry often crewed for Cuthbertson—we've since found out that they had a nice little drug-running business going between the States and the Gulf Islands.”

“So Larry turned to him for help with the girl,” Maggie said.

“Yes. Cuthbertson made the necessary arrangements, and before the girl showed too much, whisked her down to Washington.”

“How did Violet get involved?” Nat asked, looking longingly at Farthing's cigarette.

“They needed a holding place, and Violet was willing to oblige—for a price.”

“What happened to the girl?” Maggie asked.

“She was one of the lucky ones. They managed to slip her down to Seattle in Cuthbertson's boat. Arrangements were made for her to stay in a small private hospital until the baby was due, and when the time came, the woman who was buying the baby stayed there with her.”

“I see,” Maggie said slowly. “The girl leaves and the new mother takes the baby home.”

“Yes. The birth certificate was made out in the woman's name and the girl, minus baby, returned home. All very neat.”

“And her parents didn't suspect anything?” Nat asked.

“Apparently not. They were just so pleased to see the girl back.” Farthing leaned forward and stubbed out the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “I guess they figured she'd just run away.”

“How do you know about her?” Nat asked. “Was she listed as missing?”

“Her name came up quite a long time ago, when we started to pull all the files for missing girls that might fit into Larry's little racket.”

“But you knew she'd returned?” Maggie said.

“Yes. Finally tracked her down. Very reluctant to talk at first. She's married now and doesn't want her husband or parents to know. But when I explained about the other girls, she agreed to talk.”

“So the racket grew from that.”

“Apparently. Cuthbertson and his
US
lawyer friend could see they were onto a good thing. We're talking tens of thousands of dollars here, you know. And between them they soon had a lucrative business going. Larry made the contacts in the different high schools and introduced them to Cuthbertson. But from the onset, they were very choosy.”

“Choosy?” Maggie asked. “What's choosy about being pregnant?”

“The girls had to come from good middle-class homes—to impress the clients, no doubt—and they were not to be prostitutes, so they could rule out venereal diseases. And before Cuthbertson would agree to help them, they had to go through a thorough medical examination.”