Flight of Aquavit (11 page)

sion,” Daniel said. “The next morning before I left

for work I stowed away a pair of swim trunks,

sandals and a towel in the trunk of my car, all the

while telling myself I probably wouldn’t go

through with it anyway. It was a Wednesday I

think and by lunchtime it was hotter than Hades

outside; work was sluggish, as were most of the

staff and clients. And…I did it. Just took off and

headed for the beach.

“I changed in a gas station bathroom on the

way out of town. It took me a while to make it

from the parking lot through the hills down to the

beach and when I got there I saw only a few other

people. But it was…exhilarating for some rea-

son…I felt like a six-year-old boy with a knapsack

on my back out on the adventure I’d been warned

against. I walked and walked until I realized I

hadn’t seen anyone for several minutes and it

looked like I was about to run out of beach. And I

did run out of beach. End of the line. I was pre-

pared to turn around and head back but I noticed

some trails leading up into the woods. So I fol-

lowed one. I almost fell over him.”

“SunLover?”

“Yeah. He was sunning in a clearing near the

woods, pretty much hidden by tall reeds and

grasses. He was handsome, not cute or attractive,

but all out handsome. Like a movie star. He was

older than me I think, fortysome, maybe more. He

Anthony Bidulka — 83

had blond hair, thick, and sideburns, and…oh, I

don’t know…he reminded me of…I don’t know,

maybe an older Brad Pitt. Slim, muscled, nice

shape, well-tanned and…well, that’s all I know

about him. We didn’t even talk. Not one word. I

never got his name and he never got mine,” he

added as if sealing his argument on why

SunLover couldn’t be the blackmailer.

“When it was over I got spooked. I was in

shock at what I had done. I almost knocked him

over getting out of there. I ran. I actually ran. I felt

like a real jerk afterwards, for a lot of reasons.” He

stopped there, looking sad, exhausted.

“Can you tell me anything more about him?

Did you happen to see the car he drove? Anything

he had with him on his beach blanket?

Anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Are there any more?” I asked.

He shook his head again and lowered it, glanc-

ing at an appointment book on his desk, his eyes

anywhere but on mine. I wanted to yell out,

“Don’t be ashamed! Please, don’t be ashamed!”

But I didn’t. I had a lot to learn about life as lived

by Daniel Guest.

As I considered SunLover, I was thinking two

things. This guy would be far more difficult to track

down than Jo and, unless I was mistaken about

what I saw, he didn’t quite fit Hugh’s description. I

pursed my lips in a way that would have made

Sherlock Holmes proud and asked, “What about

suspects other than a sexual partner?”

Daniel’s brows lowered over his eyes as if the

84 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

thought had never occurred to him. “Like who?”

“Well, you received the note at an awards cere-

mony. Wouldn’t the blackmailer have to be some-

one who knew you were receiving the award, who

had access to the envelope in order to slip in the

blackmail note and do it without a witness?”

He scowled at the thought. “Yes…I suppose

that is true.”

“Who knew you were getting the award? Who

was at the ceremony that night? Was James Kraft

there?”

Daniel nodded his head as if in patient appre-

ciation of my thought process, then said, “The SBA

informed me a month before the ceremony that I

would be the recipient of the award. I don’t know

how many people in their own organization

would have had access to that information, prob-

ably everyone.” That jived with what I’d heard

from Lois Vermont. “I informed my business part-

ners. And I told my wife and she told a few peo-

ple. By the time I walked up to that podium to

accept the award, a lot of people knew I’d be

there. As far as I know, Loverboy was one of them.

Maybe he works for the SBA or the salon where

my wife gets her hair styled or the hotel where the

event was held or who knows where. He figured

out who I was, saw an opportunity and went for

it. And it worked.”

Although I nodded, I was not totally con-

vinced. “What about other people who know

you’re…know you have sex with men. Friends?

Colleagues? Family?”

He shook his head. “I see what you’re getting

Anthony Bidulka — 85

at, but there’s no way…” he stopped and stared at

me. “Okay, you’re doing your job. You’re being

thorough. I appreciate that.”

“So?”

“No one in my family knows about me. There

is only one person, a friend—a colleague—who

knows. He’s one of the partners, Herb Dufour.”

“How does he know?”

Daniel hesitated for a second as if trying to

remember, then answered, “I told him…well, I

guess he asked. I don’t know why he asked. It was

about a year ago, after a staff party. Everyone had

gone home and it was just he and I in a hotel bar.

We’d both drunk more than we should have. He

asked because his tongue was loose. I admitted it

because mine was too.” He shot me a look, as if

revealing a truism. “And because it felt so good to

finally say the words to someone. The next day

when I remembered that I had told him, mixed

with the horror of what I’d done was incredible

relief at having done it.”

“How did he react?”

“He acted as if I was just confirming something

he already knew. Which I guess is why he asked in

the first place. It takes a lot of courage to admit it,

but it takes some courage to ask about it too.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Is Herb Dufour

gay?”

Daniel looked surprised at the question, his

bottom lip dropping. “Oh no. No, I’m pretty sure

he’s not. He’s always with a pretty girl. Not mar-

ried but he dates a lot.”

My eyebrows reached for my hairline, a look

86 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

that was obviously lost on my new client. “How

old is he?”

“About my age or a little older. Thirty-eight I

think.”

All I did was nod. If Herb Dufour was even

mildly attractive, dressed well and could occa-

sionally be spotted browsing in Pier 1’s house-

wares department for no apparent reason, I had

news for Daniel. But now was not the time.

“Does he know what’s happened?”

A short hesitation, then the answer, “Yes. I told

him a few days ago when I was considering

Beverly’s suggestion to hire you.”

I placed the pen I was using to take notes res-

olutely down on my pad and said, “Daniel, I

know you’ve been through this with Beverly—

more than once—but I have to try one more time.

What about the police? Shouldn’t we get them

involved? This is a serious crime.”

“No,” he answered quickly.

“Are you sure? The post office box number

alone would likely lead them straight to

Loverboy’s doorstep.”

“No. Yes. No. Not yet. Not now. Obviously I

want this to go away. If that can happen without

involving the police, that’s how I want to do it. If

I press charges it’ll just bring attention to the mat-

ter, which I obviously want to avoid. But, when

you find him, perhaps a well-placed threat of

involving the police might help convince him to

leave me alone?”

“Maybe.” We’d have to figure that one out

when the time came.

Anthony Bidulka — 87

“I want you to deal with this, Russell. No

police. Not now.”

“Okay,” I hesitantly agreed, “but in that case,

although I’ll focus on finding James Kraft, I also

want to meet some of the other people in your

life—people at work, family.”

He ruffled at this, sucking in his cheeks

momentarily. “That’s impossible.”

“Daniel, if I’m to conduct a full investigation, I

can’t be left with blinders on. I know you’re con-

vinced the blackmailer is James, but, as we

already discussed, there are other potential sus-

pects out there. I can’t identify them if I never

meet them.”

“Who? My wife? My business partners? My

secretary? Please, Mr. Quant, don’t be ridiculous.”

Mr. Quant again. What happened to Russell? I

knew he was uncomfortable but I had to push him

on this. I don’t like restrictions, especially when I

think they might hide the truth. “Daniel, I know

you wouldn’t accept a client if he only allowed

you to look at some of his records but not all of

them. Isn’t that right? Let’s cover all our bases.

Let’s be thorough. I’m a detective, Daniel. A good

one. I can find out things without people knowing

I’m finding them out. But I can’t do it from the

outside. I can be quite inconspicuous.”

He finally allowed himself a grudging nod. He

knew I was right. “Tomorrow night, we’re having

our annual Christmas party, staff, their spouses,

some clients, how about that? You could pose as a

potential new client of the firm’s.”

Undercover! Cool. “That’s perfect.”

88 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

I detected a slight shaking of Daniel’s head,

doubting the wisdom of what he’d just allowed

me. It was time to leave. As I headed for the door,

Daniel shifted his attention back to the asylum of

the papers on his desk.

Chapter 5

AFTER MY NEAR-DAWN MEETING with Daniel Guest I

found myself in my office earlier than normal. I

set a fresh pot of coffee to brew and retreated to a

favourite spot in front of the doors that open onto

my balcony…well, that is they used to open onto

my balcony. Sometime in November, they had

frozen shut for the winter. But even from indoors,

I still have a great view. Traffic on Spadina was

light, but the few cars there were seemed to chug

along easily despite thick plumes of exhaust visi-

ble in the icy air that made it look as though they

were working as hard as plough horses. Last

night’s skiff had left behind a pristine layer of

snow about the thickness of Kleenex.

I stood at my post for several moments,

mulling over everything I’d learned from my

meeting with Daniel, so recent, the scent of the

Burberry cologne he favoured still lingered in my

nose. And then I thought about my friend, Kelly,

and what she must be going through, physically

recovered from her illness but perhaps not men-

tally. I wanted to call her but it was too early for

that. The coffee ready, I prepared a cup and took

my place behind the desk to work on my case.

I booted up my trusty desktop and opened

up a new spreadsheet. I created several columns

and dutifully began to fill in the headings with the

names—as best I knew them—of each suspect I’d

so far identified. James Kraft. SunLover. Hugh.

90 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Blue Car Driver. I thought about it for half a sec-

ond and added “SBA” to the top of the fifth col-

umn. The sixth column I entitled “Others,” a

favourite of mine for all those miscellaneous

thoughts that pop into my head from time to time

during an investigation. I spent the next hour or

so filling in the columns with information I

already knew about each of the subjects as well

as ideas for potential investigative strategies. At

the same time I jotted down notes on a fresh piece

of paper:

Daniel’s office—surveillance?

Cheryl Guest—wife

Mick & Anita Soloway—neighbours

Darren Kirsch.

The fourth jot was the first one I followed up.

Darren Kirsch is the only cop on the SPS,

Saskatoon Police Service, who returns my phone

calls. The rest of them just ignore me. Most cops,

and I know this because I used to be one, think

private investigators are unprofessional money-

grabbers that will suck information out of you and

give nothing back in return. And sometimes this is

true. But to make a go of being a private detective,

you need a friend in the police department. And

Darren, a detective in the Criminal Investigations

Division, is mine—even though we’re not exactly

on each other’s list of best friends.