Flashback (13 page)

'That's another theory shot to hell,' I said. 'I'd been hoping we'd find they belonged to Kershaw, that escaped con.'

Holland shook his head. 'No dice. The guy in Toronto checked Kershaw's prints individually. It's not him.'

'So what's the second thing?'

'Second thing is that a hotshot lawyer from Toronto came into town and sprung the kid you arrested last night, this Hanson.'

'What was his name?'

'Hers. A Ms Freund. Works for the same firm as this Waites guy. She gave me one of their cards and Waites is on the list as a partner.'

'I just found out that Waites' firm works for a movie producer, Marcia Tracy, she's staying at her own place in Murphy's Harbour. He was on a retainer to cover the company's butt if any of their people got in legal trouble.'
 

'This Hanson kid works for her?' Holland was only half interested, he hadn't been with me to see the way all the strings in my caseload led back to Marcia Tracy.
 

'Not yet, apparently. She's considering him for a part in a movie but maybe he knew about Waites from that, talking to other actors, stuff like that.'
 

'Maybe.' Holland was looking smug, holding the most interesting news for last, I guessed. 'There's one more thing.'

'Helpful, I hope.'

'Could be. Could tie the both homicides together in a neat knot. We found prints on the car, that Honda Accord. No ID of course, because they're the same as the prints on the glass in Waites' room.'
 

We sat and sipped our coffee, staring at each other sightlessly. The whole thing was tying together. After a little thought I had an idea. 'Hey, have you checked the Jeffries' house for prints? Could be that he's the guy responsible. Just maybe he found out, say, that Waites was boffing his wife. He kills the wife and puts her in Waites' car so we figure Waites is behind it. Then, for whatever reason, he goes to see Waites and kills him.'
 

'Doesn't hold water,' Holland argued reasonably. 'If some guy came to my house after, God forbid, his wife had been murdered in my car, I wouldn't send out for drinks.'
 

'Waites was yuppie. Who knows how guys like him think?'

Holland was still unhappy. 'You know the rules of evidence as well as I do. I can't print Jeffries without arresting him or having his consent.'
 

'No sign of him anywhere?'

'Naah.' Holland finished his coffee and scrunched up the cup, tossing it at the garbage can. It missed and he grunted and picked it up. 'I've done everything I can but unless we go nationwide with this thing we can't stake out every car rental, every ticket agency, for him or the Waites broad to show.'
 

'And it's his car that the teen-gang used to buzz Murphy's Harbour.' I thought out loud. 'Maybe we should concentrate on finding that car. It'll be a mass of fingerprints by now but we might find his in it somewhere.'
 

'It's an idea.' He swung his feet down. 'I'll put the car out as wanted for investigation in a homicide. That'll wake up the troops more than it just being stolen.'
 

'Good idea. Now, while I'm here, I have to file a statement about the Hanson arrest. Can you get me a typewriter?'

He sat me down with a machine and I did my thing and he witnessed it and I was on my own. By now it was six in the evening and I was hungry enough to take a bite out of Sam but I drove back to Murphy's Harbour to eat. The presence of the car on Main Street would remind the good folks where their taxes were going.
 

It was a good to be back at the Harbour in any case. I like the spot. It's been home for three years and they're good people. Right now, on a bright summer evening, it was at its best with the shadows lengthening across Main Street and everyone moving slowly in the warmth. I sat at the window of the restaurant and ate a good dinner. Yung Luk is a gourmet cook if you let him do things his way and I had his Thai soup and Szechuan beef while most of the other customers ate fish and chips. Then I paid and took Sam for a stroll around town.
 

I went into the grocery and the bait store. Both owners were glad to see me. They'd already heard about Waites' death so I didn't have to explain where I'd been all day, but I got the usual small-town feeling that they wished I'd give them more attention and quit showboating, which is the way people look at a murder investigation when they're not involved.
 

It was seven o'clock and night was coming down on the town. The two lights on Main Street were on already with their usual halo of mosquitoes, and so was the big light at the dock of the Marina.
 

All the berths at the Marina were full, and, as I always do, I started my evening patrol at their hotel, the Lakeside Tavern. I went in by the back door and ambled through the kitchen with Sam at my side. The cook had a hamburger someone had sent back as too well done and he gave it to me for Sam who crunched it down and wagged his tail.
 

Amy Vanderheyden was at the desk in the back and she greeted me happily and bent to pat Sam, the only dog allowed in there. She chirruped happily about Fred and the baby and tutted about Waites' death and I smiled and nodded and looked around. The usual crowd of boaters and cottagers were in for dinner and the trumpet, piano, drums band was playing 'Don't cry for me, Argentina' well enough that a couple of Moms and Pops were pushing one another around the dance floor. A typical Thursday night in Murphy's Harbour, except for the homicides I was working on.
 

The Vanderheydens' daughter, Beckie, was waiting table, flirting happily. She's a good-looking blonde of sixteen and like all smalltown girls she's waiting for someone from Hollywood to drive into town and discover her. But she has her Dutch parents' level-headedness and when she saw me she excused herself from the table and bustled over.
 

'Hi, Chief. Congratulations on the baby.'

'Thank you, Beckie. How's things with you?'

'Good,' she said, then put her hand on my arm, which surprised me, she's not forward. 'Chief, you know those kids who ripped off the grocery today?'
 

'I wish I did. I'm looking for them.'

'I saw one of them a while back. Mom sent me to the store for some Parmesan cheese and I saw the biggest one, he was on his own and I think he was going into the Murphy's Arms.'
 

'That's the kid with the dark hair, around five-nine?'

'That's the one. I heard tell that he killed some Indian lady's dog. He's got some nerve, coming back to town after that.'

'He sure has. Thanks very much, Beckie.' I nodded to her mother and left the place quickly, getting back in my car for the short ride to the town's other hotel. It's below the lock, a standard beer joint with draught beer and no food facilities, the place our locals do their drinking.
 

Again I went in through the back door. No kitchen here, just a corridor with the beer storeroom to one side behind a solid steel door. I came out behind the bar where Eddie the barkeep was running the beer tap full steam, moving one glass after another under the spout without turning it off. He looked at me and made an offering gesture with a glass but I shook my head. 'Maybe later, thanks, Eddie. I'm looking for a kid in here.'
 

Eddie completed his order and turned off the tap, wiping his hands on his apron as his waiter strode away. 'Under age, is he?'
 

'No sweat. That's not why I want him.' I looked around, recognizing most of the crowd. And then I saw the boy. He was sitting alone with a beer in front of him, smoking a cigarette. He had the pack stuck in the sleeve of his T-shirt, the same T-shirt he had worn when he killed the Horns' dog. I studied him for almost a minute. He seemed nervous, probably because he was under age but also because he was out of his element. These were real people around him, guys who worked hard and came home tired. He didn't. I could tell that from this distance. He had to buy his muscles at Hermann's Gym.
 

He was watching the door, and that worked in my favour as I moved towards him between the tables. I was half way there before he saw me and bolted for the door. I didn't give chase. Instead I told Sam 'Track' and he bounded after him, grabbing the heel of his right shoe so that he tripped and sprawled headlong. Before he could sit up Sam was over him, snarling an inch from his face.
 

Then noise in the bar stopped as if someone had switched off the sound on a TV. Then ony guy shouted, 'Go get 'im, Sam,' and everyone cheered and I knew they were on my side, Sam's at least, and that was just as good.
 

I've taken the same psychology courses as any policeman these days and I even took a couple at college when I came out of the Marines. So I knew the worst punishment for this kid was to hurt his pride.
 

I did it by pulling his arms behind him and snapping the cuffs on his wrists. He went scarlet with shame but I was glad. He'd caused a lot of distress for the Horns. Now it was his turn.
 

'You're under arrest for malicious damage, assault on a woman and for causing undue pain and suffering to an animal,' I told him. Then I pulled out the card from my notebook and read him the formal caution and the rest of the Charter of Rights ritual. I did it loudly enough that the beer drinkers all heard and the kid's eyes filled with tears of frustration. Then I eased him up on his feet and bent to fuss Sam and tell him he was a good dog. He does a lot of my work for me and earns me the biggest chunk of the respect our locals have for their law enforcement system. A couple of them cheered, and one of them, bolder than the others, dared to reach out and pat Sam's head.
 

'This the guy who killed that man at Pickerel Point?' he asked and I just smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary. 'He's in custody, I'm taking him in, if you'd get the door, please.'
 

'Yeah, sure.' He bustled ahead of me and I touched the boy between the shoulder-blades and sent him ahead. The crowd followed as I put him into the police car and drove off. I checked them in my mirror to see if they were going to follow down to the station but they just broke up again and went back in for another beer. Good. I didn't need an audience.
 

At the station I went in the back way, confronting my prisoner with the reality of law-breaking. The place isn't shocking, unless you're in handcuffs. There are four one-man cells along the back wall. Each one has solid walls and a cage front. They contain a bare plank platform, a toilet and a hand basin. That's it.
 

In the space in front of the cells there's a wooden desk and a chair. I unlocked the handcuffs and said, 'Sit.'

He sat, rubbing his wrists, not looking at me. His flush had gone now and he was pale under his tan.

'Turn your pockets inside out, lay all your possessions on the table.'

He sat there and said, 'I want to see a lawyer.'

'You'll get one phone call when we're through here.'

He didn't move. His face had drawn itself into a pout. He was frightened but proud.

I opened the top drawer of the desk and took out the arrests book and a pen. 'I'm just going to say this once more. Empty your pockets.'
 

'Or what? You gonna kick the shit out of me?' Even scared, his voice was schooled. He didn't say 'outa'.

I hissed at Sam and he snarled and thrust his muzzle an inch from the boy's knees. The kid licked his lips. 'I'm telling my lawyer you did this to me,' he said, but he was fumbling in his pockets as he spoke.
 

'Easy, boy,' I told Sam and he sat on his haunches while the kid stood up and turned his pockets inside out. All he had was a clasp knife and money, a few coins and a bundle of bills. I patted him down and checked there was nothing hidden in his socks or back pocket. 'Cigarettes too,' I said.
 

Angrily he took the pack from his sleeve and tossed them on the desk. 'Now take off your belt and shoelaces. And your watch, that goes with your other stuff.'
 

'Why are you taking my belt and laces?' he asked as he did it.

'So you won't hang yourself with them.'

'Why would I do that?'

'Happens all the time. What's your name?'

He looked at me and then away. 'I don't have to tell you.'

'It's all the same to me. Suit yourself.' I counted his money. 'You have twenty-eight dollars and fourteen cents. One Buck clasp knife. One yellow-metal wristwatch, Rolex on dial. One pack of Export A cigarettes.' I made the entry in my arrest book.
John Doe, 17-19 years old, 5ft 9ins., black hair, brown eyes. Wearing Levi jeans, Reebok running shoes. Charged with
... I wrote in the charges and looked up, putting the top on the pen, looking as satisfied as I could manage. I wanted him cracked. 'Right. Now you wanted a phone call. Come with me.'
 

In the front of the office I sat him on a stool and picked up the phone. 'What number do you want to call.'

His mouth was working as he weighed his alternatives. No doubt he knew a little law, knew that he could wait until I called a bail hearing and then leave town. That would give him a chance to explain his problems to his parents face to face, to cut down on the shock they were going to experience if he rang them now. 'You got a pizza place in this town?' he asked.
 

'No. Is that the only call you want to make?'

'Yeah.' His decision made he was tough again. 'Yeah. So stick me in your slammer. See if I care.'

'First I'm going to get a statement from you,' I said easily. 'Sit down there.' I indicated the chair beside the desk.

He sat down, crossing his legs, folding his arms, a closed book.

I ignored him and pulled out an occurrence form and started typing. He watched me, breathing very shallow.

'Right, now.' I lifted the top of the paper and read to him. 'John Doe, you are arrested on the following charges. You have been given the caution and advised of your rights under Canada's Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Now I'm going to ask you to make a statement. Name?'