Flashback (11 page)

'No, thank you, Reid.' She picked up her purse. 'Oh, and George phoned me. Congratulations on the baby.'

I thanked her and we shook hands and I put her into her pickup. Then I went back in and got the details of the swarming. Nothing much had been stolen, but they had ripped down a couple of pyramids of cans and used one big pop bottle to smash a bunch of others. I made soothing noises and got the owner to make a list of his losses and damage. Then I went back out to talk to the kids outside. One of them had seen the dog being killed and they confirmed the description Mrs Horn had given me. Yesterday's events had turned them all into good witnesses. I thanked them and made a note of the girl's name in my book against the time the case came to court, then I went to the station and reset the telephone to cut directly into my radio if it wasn't picked up.
 

I stood there for a moment, thinking what to do next. There was nothing much I could do until I'd traced the registration of the van and a policeman had spoken to the owners. But before I called the registry I called George Horn's office in Toronto. He was in court, his secretary told me so I gave her the message that his mother's dog had been killed, not saying how, and suggesting that a new puppy might make a good birthday present.
 

Then I rang the licence bureau and gave them the name of the gang's Magic Wagon, 382 HHD. The operator was back within fifteen seconds. 'Yeah, it's registered to a company, called Painters' Nook, 331 Main Street, Parry Sound.'
 

'Thank you,' I said and hung up. The long arm of coincidence had overreached itself again. Painters' Nook was the store run by the Jeffries.
 

That information sent me back up to see Holland at Pickerel Point Lodge. He was standing outside Waites' room, smoking a cigarette. 'Tryin' to stop but it's impossible when you're working,' he apologized. 'How'd it go?'
 

'The gang was driving a wagon registered to Painter's Nook. That's the Jeffries' place, right?'

'Yeah.' He stubbed his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and put the butt in his pocket. 'How in hell did they get their hands on that thing?'
 

'Maybe they stole it. But if so, where from? It wasn't at the store yesterday when you were there, was it?'

'No. I checked with the girl at the store yesterday, after we wondered how Jeffries had got away without taking his VW or the Waites woman's Accord. I meant to mention it to you, but with this killing it slipped my mind. Didn't seem that important anyway.'
 

'Maybe it's not. It could be coincidence, like winning the lottery the same day you're struck by lightning,' I said. 'Think about it. The Waites' Accord is stolen by what looks like a gang. The Jeffries woman is dead in the trunk. Then a gang, the same gang we had in town yesterday, turns up in Jeffries' other car. It sounds to me like Jeffries is behind this whole thing.'
 

'I've already broadcast a description of him as a missing person,' Holland said. 'Him and Moira Waites. I'll have it reissued, with the note that we want to talk to them about two homicides.'
 

'Did you check if this Jeffries has a record?'

'Yeah, he's clean. He's an American, from Milwaukee.'

'From the description I got the Jeffries are a crunchy granola kind of couple but I'm starting to doubt it. This gang using his car is just too much of a coincidence. Maybe it was him who put his wife in that car trunk and let the gang kids drive it into the lake. Maybe he and Moira Waites are off somewhere now, playing Mom and Pop.'
 

Holland swore softly. 'Hold on here, please, Reid. I'll phone the office, put out a stolen car call on that Magic Wagon, and get Jeffries posted as a homicide suspect.'
 

He pattered off downstairs and I went into the bedroom where Stinson was putting his camera away. He's a thin, balding guy, in his early thirties, looking more like an accountant than a cop. He stopped to shake hands with me. 'I hear tell you're a mother, congratulations.'
 

'Thanks, Dave. Yeah. Fine big girl, three point six kilograms.'

'Which is what? Close to eight pounds? Your wife OK?'

'Fine, thanks. I'm going up to see her later.' I wanted to talk about the case but you can't rush courtesies and he was genuinely concerned for Fred, so I let him get back to business.
 

'Well, I'm through taking pretty pictures. We turned the guy over. He's been stabbed in the chest, and then his throat was cut. Whoever did it wasn't fooling. They wanted the guy dead.'
 

'You going to print the glasses?'

'Thought I'd take them with me. I'm going to print the surfaces in here and seal the room. I'll do the glasses back at the office, I prefer working there.'
 

'Before you go, I've got a present for you. It's a glass used by a guy called Hanson. I arrested him last night for possession of drugs so I guess they've printed him now, anyway. If you get some prints maybe you can compare them with these.'

'Thanks, I guess,' He said. 'Means more work but what the hell.'

'What'd you make of the suit?'

He scratched the dome of his head and frowned. 'Been thinking about that. Whoever killed him took everything else but his golf shoes and the suit. And those pockets being turned inside out. Why would somebody do that?'
 

'That's what I was thinking. The only thing I came up with was that they wanted to draw attention to the suit, which means away from something else. Only I don't have any idea what else that could be.'
 

'Nor me.' He bent and picked up the suit jacket. He squeezed it in his fingerprints. 'Feels like silk. Waites had money, that's for sure.' Then he frowned. 'You'd figure he'd take better care to keep it pressed.'
 

'It's rumpled all right.' I said, and fingered the fabric. 'Shouldn't have got in that shape just from being dropped on the floor.'
 

Stinson gave a little chuckle. 'Looks like he's been swimming in it.'

'That's it,' I said. 'That's what must have happened.'

He looked puzzled so I explained about the car in the lake, with the dead woman in the trunk. 'This could be the suit he was wearing when he drove off that rock.'
 

'Why would he do that?' Stinson looked at me disbelievingly.

'Maybe he was planning suicide but chickened out.'

Stinson cocked his head suspiciously and took the suit from me. 'Could be. Anyway, I don't know if the Forensic lab can prove that it's been in the lake, but I'll ask them to check.'
 

'Good. Put it in a bag right away. There might be weed or something on it. Will you get a sample of lake water to compare?'

'Sure. There's one chance in a zillion it'll help, but those guys are good. They're using the OPP lab as an example in textbooks in the States these days.' He sounded wistful and I guessed he was sick of working in the sticks and wanted to get to Microscope Central in Toronto, where the miracles were performed.
 

'The other thing he left was the golf shoes.'

'Overlooked them, is my bet.' Stinson picked them up. 'Dinky little feet for a guy Waites' height.'

'Are they too small to be his?'

'Naah.' He shook his head cheerfully. 'Typical yuppie lawyer. Small hands, small feet, neat. And fussy as well. Lookit, shoe trees in his golf shoes.'
 

He snapped the little triggers on the trees and pulled them out. Surprisingly, they weren't normal shape. Instead of being pointed as the interior of the shoe would have been, both were cut away at the ends. We looked at one another without speaking, and Stinson tilted the shoes and gave them a shake. Inside each one was a small bag of clear, very strong plastic. And inside each bag were two neatly folded bindles of the kind street dealers use to package cocaine.
 

'Well, well,' Stinson said happily. 'So the late lamented had a hungry nose.'

'You sure it's coke?' I was thinking of Hanson and his own stash of powder, together with the evidence of his behaviour. He hadn't been using coke.
 

'I can't tell.' Stinson opened one package carefully, not breaking the neatness of the folds. 'I'll have forensics take a look at it. Why'd you ask?'
 

'The kid I pulled in was high on angel dust.'

Stinson refolded the bindle and put it back in its plastic bag. 'Wouldn't expect a guy like this to be on that kind of crap. Coke, yeah, seems like half the guys in his bracket are.'
 

'I'd appreciate knowing, please, Dave. Right now I've got a call to make.'

'OK, I'll give you a ding when I find out, OK?'

'Thanks.' I went back to my car and got the bag containing Hanson's Scotch glass out of the glove box. A bunch of little kids had gathered around the car, trying to get Sam's attention. I let him out so they could pet him and they did, happily, while I went back into the lodge to find Holland. He was using the telephone in Mrs James's office and I waited until he'd finished, then gave him the glass, with the news of where I'd got it.
 

'OK, thanks.' He took it. 'Where're you headed?'

'I'm going to break the news about Waites to Marcia Tracy. She knew him and she knows this Hanson, the kid who was leading the teen-gang yesterday. She's got to know something I don't. If I find anything out I'll let you know.'
 

'Thanks. When will that be?'

'I'm coming up to see my wife in the hospital, See you after, say around four this afternoon.'

His single eyebrow came down gloomily. 'Yeah, may's well. I'm supposed to be off at three but I don't see that happening today.'

I put Sam back in the car and drove up to Marcia Tracy's cottage. Her Mercedes was parked in the shade and she was lying on a blanket in the sun, wearing a one-piece swimsuit without straps. She had a good body, lean and well-shaped. She was an attractive sight and I felt the normal male excitement. Her radio was beside her, playing what sounded like Mozart.
 

Her eyes were closed but she turned her head when I opened the car door, then sat up, hugging her arms around her knees. She looked relaxed and languorous and I got the feeling that she had no idea of the big things that had happened since we had spoken last.
 

'What is it now?' she asked, snapping off the radio.

'I'm afraid I have some disturbing news, Ms Tracy.'

'Oh?' She cocked her head, surprised by my formality. 'What happened to Colombo and "just one more thing, ma'am"?'

'Mr Waites was killed last night. At the hotel in town here.'

She gave a half shriek. 'What are you saying?'

'I'm sorry to have to tell you but I've just come from there. Somebody stabbed him.'

She stood up in one fluid movement, holding one hand over her mouth. 'Oh my God.'

She was genuinely shocked but there were no tears in her eyes. A very contained woman. 'Who did it?'

'We're trying to find out. So far we don't have any idea, but there are some fingerprints in his room. We're hoping they'll help.'
 

She took a deep breath, then another. 'Come inside,' she commanded and led me to the verandah. 'Sit down.'

We both sat and she composed herself for a further few seconds, then asked, 'Why did you come to see me?'

'I knew you were friends with him. You drove him to the gas station yesterday. I wondered if you knew anything about him that might help us.'
 

'He was my lawyer,' she said tightly.

'Yes. You said that before. But I find he's a criminal lawyer. Do you have call for a criminal lawyer in your business?'

Her face tightened even further. 'And just what do you know about my business?'

'Not much. Just what you've told me, but I don't know of any business outside of crime that needs a criminal lawyer.'

She glared at me, her lips pursed, a study in anger. 'I was charged with a driving offence. He represented me.'

'When was that?' It kept it conversational, I didn't believe her.

'How should I know? A while back. He got me off.'

'And that's it? He acted for you and you remained friendly and when he ended up in Murphy's Harbour, you knew he was here and gave him a hand when his wife walked out and her girlfriend was murdered?'
 

'What are you saying?' It was a hiss.

'I'm asking, not saying. I've got a murder to investigate and I don't know much about the guy except that he knew you. So I came to see you.'
 

'I've told you all I know about him.'

'Then why did you ask me in? You could have told me to go away without inviting me in.'

She shuddered suddenly and I saw that the skin on her arms was drawn up in tiny goosebumps. 'I'm frightened.'

'It's unlikely anyone else locally is in danger.'

'How can you say that? You don't know who killed him.'

I played my second card. 'Might have been his dealer.'

Her eyes flashed. 'Are you saying John used drugs?'

'Yes.'

She didn't reply and I let her sit for a few seconds longer. 'So does that guy Hanson we talked about yesterday. I found him high and murderous on something, probably PCP.'
 

She stood up, taut and tanned. If Fred hadn't been part of my life I would have wanted to get to know her a lot better. 'How many more bombs are you going to drop on me?'
 

'I was hoping you could help me a little. You didn't tell me a lot that was useful last time we talked.'

'I know very little about Eric Hanson.' She waved one hand airily. I got the feeling she was happier talking about Hanson than about the dead lawyer. 'Oh, his work, of course. He's more intelligent than the usual run of actors. Most of them are unbelievably dumb.'
 

'I gather he was doing some kind of research yesterday, when he rode with that gang. When I saw you together I assumed that he was auditioning or whatever for some movie you were making.'