Death on a Short Leash (18 page)

“Has that nasty man found who murdered my Johanna?”

“I don't know what he wants. Just tell Nat where I've gone, okay?”

“Ja. I tell boss.” Picking up her large carryall, she rummaged in its depths, pulled out a greased-paper package and unwrapped it to reveal six brown, lumpy cookies. “I made them for Mr. Nat special. I give him some with his coffee.”

“Oh, he will be pleased,” Maggie said, hiding a smile.

Naturally, she had to wait for Farthing.
I'm sure he does it on purpose.

“So glad you could come,” he greeted her as he led her into his office. “Sit down. Coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Maggie remembered how awful the coffee had been on her last visit.

“I just want you to go over a few things.”

“I did fill out a statement, Inspector.”

“Yes, but I find it very odd that someone would dump that girl on your porch. Tell me again why you and Southby went to that commune place.”

Maggie sighed. “We were looking into the disappearance of Johanna Evans.”

“Who asked you to do that?”

“The girl's parents. They are friends of Henny, our office help,” she added quickly, before he could ask.

“Henny? That German woman in your office?”

“Dutch. She's from the Netherlands.”

“Whatever. So how did you get onto this commune place?”

Maggie, holding onto her temper, related how Johanna's boyfriend had said she was looking for some dog kennels in the Abbotsford area and the only name he could remember was similar to the name of the commune—The Path to the Golden Light.

“And then what happened?”

Maggie gave a brief version of their visit and meeting the young girl Jasmine.

“And this girl was the one found on your front porch.”

“Yes. But that was after I went back for the little dog.” Maggie could have bitten her tongue off.

“What little dog? You didn't mention you went looking for a specific dog.” He leaned over his desk and glared at her. “What else have you two kept from the police?”

“I meant dog kennels,” Maggie floundered. “You see, when I found the cages with all those poor dogs in them . . . I sort of recognized a dog belonging to a friend of mine . . . so I rescued it.” She could see herself sinking deeper and deeper.
Oh, Nat. Where are you in my time of need?

“So was it?”

“Was it what? Oh, you mean the dog. No,” she lied. “It wasn't hers.”

“So where is this famous mutt?”

“I took her to the vet and then gave her to my daughter to look after. I sure wasn't going to return her to that hellhole,” she added defiantly.

“Very noble of you, Mrs. Spencer,” Farthing said sarcastically. “But this doesn't explain why the girl was left on your porch.”

“Someone must have seen me talking to Jasmine just before I found the barn with the cages in it. They, whoever they are, must have followed me back to my place.”

“And where was the great detective while you were traipsing all over the countryside?”

“Away on business,” a voice said from the doorway. Nat slid into the seat next to Maggie. “Now you can direct the rest of your questions to me.”

“I am questioning
Mrs. Spencer
about the girl found on her porch, and you weren't there when Mrs. Spencer discovered her, were you?” Farthing said. “After all, it was in the middle of the night.” He smirked. “Or perhaps you were there and slunk off before the police arrived.”

Maggie saw Nat tense and start to get to his feet, and she reached over to put her hand on his knee.

“So these events—the Evans girl's death and this Jasmine's knifing,” Farthing reached for a buff folder, “are connected.”

“All we can tell you is that both Johanna and Jasmine were at that commune in Abbotsford,” Nat said.

“There were other women there?”

“We saw two older women and a girl around Jasmine's age,”

Nat answered. “There could've been more, I suppose.”

“We'll have you two in here again. Too many coincidences for my liking.”

“What about the baby?” Maggie asked.

“What baby?”

“Jasmine had a baby when we saw her at the commune—about six or seven months old. She must be asking for him.”

“She's still in a coma,” he answered tightly. “And I didn't know anything about a baby. But thanks for the information,” he added grudgingly. “We'll definitely look into it.”

• • •

“COFFE?” NAT ASKED
when they were both outside. He pointed to the doughnut shop across the road, and a few minutes later they were sitting opposite each other, dunking doughnuts into their hot coffee. “I sure needed this,” Maggie said, leaning back in her chair. “I've got lots to tell you.”

“What Farthing had to say before I came in?”

“No. About my weekend. But just promise to keep quiet until I've finished, okay?”

Nat groaned. “Don't tell me you've been sleuthing on your own again.” He stood up and headed for a refill. “I've got a feeling I'm going to need it.” After he had fortified himself, she told him. His face got redder and redder. “Do you realize the trouble you and the agency would have been in if you had been caught in Williams' house?” he demanded. “Not to mention if you had been caught in the hospital room. I just can't believe you could have been so . . . so . . . irresponsible!”

“But I didn't get caught, and . . .” She leaned forward and touched his hand. “And I found out a lot.”

“Still . . .” Then she noticed his face creasing into a grin. “I wish I had seen him playing cowboys. How did you manage to keep quiet?”

“With great difficulty. Especially having a horrified Joan Betteridge standing next to me. But Nat, we have to do something about Pru Williams. We can't just leave her in that hospital. God knows what Williams will do to her next.”

“I hate to say this, Maggie, but it's none of our business. She is his wife, after all.”

“And the law says he can do whatever he wants with her . . . I know . . .” But she also knew that she was going to do something with or without Nat's help. She stood up and slipped her coat on. “We should get back to the office.”

“You're off to see Peterskill this afternoon, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I'm going to take the bus.”

“Good thinking. Georgia is bad for parking. Let me know how it goes over dinner tonight. My treat.”

While seated on the bus heading for her downtown two o'clock appointment with Rolland Peterskill, Maggie reviewed all that she knew about the man. According to Henny, he owned several apartment buildings as well as the huge house in Gibsons Landing, and he had something to do with the theatre, but neither Marie nor Henny knew exactly what it was. Maggie opened her briefcase and took out her steno notepad with Peterskill's business card clipped to it. All it said was “Peterskill Entertainment,” which didn't really tell her anything.

The office block was one of the new three-storey buildings on Georgia Street as it went down toward Stanley Park, and as she took the elevator to the third floor, she recalled the last big case they had worked on and Nat's description of the bizarre artwork in the Nash Advertising office, located on the second floor.

But Peterskill's office had no bizarre artwork. The reception area was furnished with Swedish modern teak, complete with a long, low glass-and-chrome table with neatly stacked magazines. After giving her name to the receptionist, she walked over to have a closer look at several black-and-white framed photographs lining the walls. Jack Benny and Rochester with a grinning Peterskill, Yvonne DeCarlo without Peterskill, Wayne and Schuster with Peterskill in the middle, his arms around the comedians' shoulders. The next picture showed Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and Peterskill.

Maggie had read somewhere that both Hope and Crosby had rented places on one of the Gulf Islands.

“Having a look at my gallery?” Peterskill was standing in his open office doorway. “Come in. I hope you haven't been waiting long?”

“No,” she answered. “Impressive photos.”

“One meets all sorts in my line of business. Now, what can I do for you?”

“We're just trying to understand Johanna's life better,”

Maggie said, sitting across from Peterskill. “Mrs. Evans told us that you've known the family for a number of years.” She paused for a moment. “And you also own the apartment block where Johanna lived.”

“That's right. Johanna must've been about fourteen when the wife and I moved up the coast.”

“We know you got her the job with Dr. Carl Williams, but we've discovered she had another job.”

“Ah!” Peterskill steepled his fingers. “And now you're shocked because you've found out what the second job was.”

“She was a stripper in Pandora's.”

“That's correct. She wanted extra money and she had a great body. She was a natural.”

“I take it you found that job for her too?” Maggie didn't wait for his answer before she added, “Do you own Pandora's?”

“Certainly not!” He gave a derisive laugh. “My agency supplies the dancers. That's all.”

“Weren't you worried that Johanna's parents would find out what she was doing?”

“My dear Mrs. Spencer, I'm a businessman. Don't get me wrong; I was very fond of the girl, but she was of age.”

“The other girls at the club mentioned that Johanna was often picked up by a car and driver. Do you know who it was?”

Peterskill shook his head. “What she did with her private life was her own affair.”

“Did you ever see her when she visited her parents in Gibsons?” Maggie paused for a moment. “Socially, I mean.”

“What are you getting at, Mrs. Spencer?” he said, glaring at Maggie. “She was young enough to be my daughter.”

“But you said you've known her since she was a kid.”

“In all your snooping, you must have found out that her mother occasionally cleans house for us. We're hardly on a
social
footing. Now, if you don't mind . . .” He stood up behind his desk.

“One last question, Mr. Peterskill. Did you know she was pregnant?”

He showed no emotion. “No, I did not,” he said calmly. “But as I said a few minutes ago, her private life was her own. And now, Mrs. Spencer, I have a busy schedule.”

Dismissed, Maggie left the plush office and the building and crossed the road to her bus stop.
He knew she was pregnant.
The bus was crowded and she had to stand most of the way, but she had ample time to go over the interview in her mind.
Methinks Peterskill and his agency need a little more delving into.

“Henny, you've known the Evans family a long-time, haven't you?” Maggie had arrived back at the office just in time to catch Henny before she left for the day.

“Marie, ja. I don't know the mister very much. I know Marie when we are girls. Then she marry and I marry and they move to Gibsons.”

“And Johanna?”

“Ja. Marie comes to shop in Vancouver every month and she brings Johanna to visit. Such a pretty little girl,” she said sadly.

“And Rolland Peterskill?”

“I never meet him, but Marie tells me he was very good to Johanna. He didn't charge her any rent until she got herself that job with vet.”

“Did you know Johanna had two jobs?”

“Ja. Marie did not know, but Johanna told me.” She paused.

“Mr. Peterskill found her that job too. Waitress or something like that at nighttime.” Henny thought for a moment. “Must've been a big restaurant.”

“Why do you think that?”

“She tells me she makes big tips.”

N
at was in Pandora's once again. Taking no more than a quick glance at Bubbly Bella, who was blowing some extraordinary bubbles while contorting her supple body backwards, he followed the manager backstage. He hoped it was going to be worth the fifty bucks he had just paid out—twenty-five to get into Pandora's and another twenty-five to grease the hand of this so-called manager.

“Keep it short,” the man said, leading the way.

The girls didn't seem overly pleased to see him either. “Not you again,” Paula of the pecking pigeons greeted him.

“We told you everything last time you were here,” Linnette chimed in, adjusting her black fishnet stockings.

Nat tried not to look. “It's about the man who picked Johanna up,” he explained. “Are you sure you didn't recognize him?” He looked around the windowless room.

“No,” Gretel answered. “We told you last time that he never came in.”

“But last time you said that you'd seen him.”

“Just his car when he picked Johanna up at the back entrance.”

“So tell me about the car he was driving,” Nat persisted.

“Don't know much about cars, do we?” Linnette answered, looking around at the other girls.

They all shook their heads.

“It was black, “Gretel said suddenly. “I saw it one time when I was having a quick puff at the back door. Bert won't let us smoke in the dressing room,” she explained.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” Nat said encouragingly, but inwardly he was thinking about the thousands of black cars that were out there. “Okay. Big, little, long, short?”

“Sort of . . . longish,” she answered slowly. “And it had a shiny thing on the hood.”

“You mean an ornament?”

“Yeah. I remember now. The light out back was shining on this thing on the hood.”

“I don't suppose you can remember what the ornament looked like?”

“No. But it's the kinda thing you see on posh cars.”

“None of you others saw it, I suppose?” he asked hopefully.

They shook their heads dismissively.