Torque (14 page)

“That's right. Fran, or Frannie. I already
talked to the other policeman—nice chap. Told him I seen this
woman; real cheap like, trouncing over to 8A. Wondered to meself;
why ever is that man paying for it when I'd have kept him company
for free!” She threw her head back to laugh, revealing uppers and
lowers only a dentist could love.

“So you knew him, Mrs.—”

“Fran. Or Frannie. Not really. Well, we said
mornin’ to each other once or twice, but apart from that, he was …”
She trailed off and stared for a moment at a corner of the ceiling.
Lareault followed her gaze but there was nothing there for him.

“Anyway,” she resumed, adjusting the tea cosy
about her ears. “What I’d remembered was that the gentleman might
have been a bit of a gambler. I saw him in the variety store the
other day.”

“Which day was that?”

“Last Saturday. I remember because he was
buying some cigars—and a racing form. I like a bit of a flutter,
meself, on a weekend. Never win much though as I guess you can
tell.”

Lareault smiled sympathetically. “Do you
remember anything else?”

“About what?”

“The gentleman downstairs.”

“Shame that. Was he killed or what?”

“We’re still working on that.” Lareault
sensed he’d got all he was getting and rose from the chair. “I
appreciate your time.”

Fran, or Frannie, stood up and adjusted her
robe. “Oh, it’s no bother. Come by later if you want a tea. Or was
it coffee?”

Lareault made his way back down to the
parking lot, stopping on the stairs to palm the cat hair from his
slacks. A flatbed tow truck stood waiting to transport the Buick to
the forensics bay. A constable opened the car’s trunk at his
approach. It contained only a blanket and a camera bag. Lareault
spent a moment admiring the equipment then did a quick inspection
of the car’s interior coming out with a racing form, a pair of
sunglasses, a few coins, and three stamps from a packet of ten. The
team at the station would no doubt find a lot of finite stuff. He
nodded to the tow truck driver who advanced with chains.

Inside 8A voices were being raised. Cy, the
fingerprint guy, came out, fuming.

“Problem, Cy?”

“Cecil B. DeMille in there just kicked my
powder bottle over.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his
hand. “I need a break anyway. You look like you do, too. I guess
Detective Sergeant Rowan is going to be off for a while.”

“Yeah. And it could be quite a while.”

“So you think the misconduct charge will
stick?”

“There could be more to it. I hate cliché’s
but where there’s smoke—”

“—there’s an asshole fanning the flames,”
finished Cy.

Lareault decided to leave it at that. The
forensic expert obviously had a bond with Brian Rowan. During a
routine drug bust Rowan had been named as
a friend
by
someone a law enforcement officer shouldn’t be named as
a
friend
by. The internal review was ongoing.

The videographer, having wrapped up, exited
the unit. He ignored Lareault, glared at Cy, and walked briskly to
his vehicle.

Lareault leaned around the doorframe.

“Is it safe to go in?”

Cy nodded. “Just watch for the dust by the
television.”

CHAPTER
21

The rest of Thursday ran as scheduled for
Fenn, though longer than usual since Asha had rebooked most of his
cancelled lessons from Wednesday into the next day. He’d caught a
short nap, mid-afternoon, but as the clock approached 8 p.m. he was
glad to be finishing the last lesson.

The student was to be dropped off at a local
cinema so Fenn had her back the car into a parking spot not far
from the marquis. He made a point of watching her meet friends and
enter the complex, then spent the next few minutes updating his
client files. Thanks to the long shift he’d pretty well made up for
lost time. He was about to drive away when two people who looked
very familiar ascended the steps to the cinema.

“Oh, say it isn’t so,” he muttered and leaned
forward for a closer look. The uneven lighting of the parking lot
had left a bit of room for doubt, but when the couple reached the
spotlit theatre entrance there was no mistaking that Asha Fabiani
was going into the show with Joe Posada, her arm looped through
his.

Well, well, well. Those sly buggers.

As Joe held the door open and followed Asha
inside, Fenn was uncertain about how he felt about his co-workers,
close friends really, acting as a couple. With the car in gear, his
foot stayed on the brake while he tried to digest this unexpected
discovery.

He had to acknowledge the slight sense of
betrayal was one that he had no right to feel. Despite the tangible
chemistry in their flirting, Asha had given no sign that he might
have a claim on her. Or had she? They’d casually discussed office
flings but exactly who had said what he couldn’t recall. Hardly
mattered now. From what he’d just seen that was all water under the
bridge.

If she had given him a hint, along the way,
he’d been terminally unaware of it and Joe had obviously filled
that void with the right move at the right time. Posada was
certainly more cavalier in that department. He slumped back in his
seat and watched other singles and couples make their way in.
Something had brought those two together and Fenn hadn’t seen it
coming. While it was possible that he never had been in the
running, it still felt like an opportunity missed.

And that just fit right in with the week he
was having. Joe Posada had got himself a hot date, and all Fenn
would be getting tonight was cold pizza. Wearily, he lifted his
foot from the brake. Screw it. The only thing he really needed to
get, right now, was some sleep.

== == ==

Friday, October
23rd

Fenn awoke Friday morning refreshed and in a
better frame of mind. He’d picked up a new toaster so breakfast was
cream cheese on a toasted bagel with orange juice. To save washing
a plate, he ate over the sink. The juice had to be in a mug since
none of his glassware had survived the break-in. Over the weekend
he would try to replace some of his furniture, then he would look
for a new place to live.

That thought drew a dark cloud over his
disposition and for the first time in a long time a quiet rage
began to percolate within. It grew steadily and rose like magma, a
volatile force that he had learned through experience to keep in
check. Muscular and athletic, he hadn’t been in a scrap since he
was a teen. His last punch had been a haymaker. And it had killed a
boy.

Or so he had thought. The kid came to after a
couple of minutes, but the scare effectively turned Fenn away from
future fights. It was a hard stance to take in the old Montreal
neighbourhood yet the pacifism had served to thicken his skin and
hone his diplomatic skills. But this was different. The assault on
his apartment had been unprovoked and without parlay. The next time
he’d be ready and there’d be no holding back.

He wrung out the dishcloth and put it with
the mug on the drainboard. He hated being in this kind of mood—even
more so because a couple of assholes had steered him to it. Life
was too short for that sort of crap, and he made a conscious effort
to focus on something more mundane. Mundane, however, turned out to
be last night’s sighting of Joe and Asha.

Even after sleeping on it he still thought
they were an incongruous pair. Posada’s reputation as a Don Juan
was no secret, though Joe always dismissed it as semantics; ‘I
guess I just find a new partner before the old one realizes we’re
done.’

On the flip side, Asha brooked no fools and
would kick the ass of anyone who trifled with her affections. Joe
must be aware of that but, hey, if it didn’t work out, Fenn at
least knew Asha was receptive to dating co-workers.

Whatever.

For now he’d have to consider other avenues
to end his involuntary celibacy. Five months without a date was way
too long. It wasn’t like he didn’t have options. He could think of
at least…one, and he resolved to act on it without delay. He’d see
Posada at the King’s Head pub tonight, and it would be gratifying
to turn up with an assignation of his own. Not that he was bitter
about Joe and Asha. It was just time he got some.

With no drapes to get in the way, the morning
sun threw a bright rectangle of light across the living room rug.
Mogg, seemingly recovered from the home invasion, occupied the
center of it. Seeing her there gave Fenn an idea. He’d decided to
disregard Reis’s request to hand the package over, at least until
the contents were scrutinized to his own satisfaction. Security was
a problem since his front door didn’t lock, and hadn’t stopped
anyone when it did, so to safeguard the disc he would stash it in
the one place the burglars had overlooked. Mogg’s litter box.

They’d not even gone near it. Who would?

After freshening the box he wrapped the
package in plastic then placed it on the bottom beneath two liners.
He added an extra scoop of litter for good measure. If Mogg noticed
the difference she didn’t let on. But then again, cats know how to
keep a secret.

== == ==

Burlington’s driver test centre was always
busy, and despite health department notices to the contrary had a
constant clot of smokers just outside the door. Half of them
weren’t even taking a test. Fenn held his breath until he got past
the cloud then queued up inside. The facility was overdue for
expansion and the line shuffled about as people maneuvered through
the small common area.

“Afternoon, Chas. Here for a test?” Roy
Halliwell, one of the examiners, clutched a clipboard to his chest
and turned sideways to squeeze past.

“Just booking, today, Roy. How’s your day
going?”

Halliwell made a face. “It was fine until I
got to work.” His driver applicant, a kid who looked about twelve
but had to be at least sixteen, held open the door. Roy nodded to
him and walked through.

A raised voice at a far wicket drew Fenn’s
attention. A parent was protesting the offspring’s test failure.
Fathers tended to protect the reputation of the family gene pool—my
son can handle any situation—but mothers focused more on social
standing, as in my daughter needs to get to her clubs and
activities. This one followed a familiar script.

“Eight months before she can take the exam
again? That’s ludicrous!” The woman looked around for support but
the queue was looking elsewhere. “The girl made one mistake. And
that was in the parking lot!”

“It’s okay, Mom,” said the teen vainly trying
to stop disappointment from turning into embarrassment.

“No. It is not okay. I’ve heard about that
examiner. He always fails kids the first time.”

Fathers denounce faceless institutions and
their policies. Mothers go straight for the jugular. Unfazed, the
clerk returned her stare.

“Your daughter came into contact with another
vehicle, Ma’am. That’s an automatic disqualification.” She made a
couple of clicks on her keyboard. “We have the tenth of May
open.”

The line shuffled again and Fenn’s attention
shifted to the other clerk on duty, a petite blonde in her late
twenties. This one still smiled for each customer even after six
months on the job. Most clerks lost their love of humanity after
only three. When her wicket came open Fenn stepped up and waited
patiently while she made a show of straightening forms and
collecting paper clips.

“Morning, Chas.” There was no eye contact but
Fenn could see she was suppressing a grin.

“Morning, Kim.”

“What do you want?” she appeared to have
found something interesting in a drawer.

“How about a large fries?”

The smile broke through and she leaned
sideways to the clerk beside her. “What do you think I should do
with this guy, Antonella?”

Antonella pretended to give Fenn the once
over. “Well I know what I’d do, girlfriend, but he’d need more
calories than just fries.”

“I think you’re right,” said Kim. “Let’s make
it poutine!”

“Well it figures that you would think of
that,” countered Fenn.

“What do you mean?”

Fenn leaned into the wicket. “Oh come on,
Miss Innocent. Even your licence plate spells KINKY.”

“It does not,” she said but her cheeks took
on a pink tinge. “Those are my initials. K N K for Kimberly Nadine
Klaasen.”

“Okay. If you say so.” Fenn opened his
binder. “So tell me, Kinky, er, Miss Klaasen, which exam dates are
you booking these days?”

“For you? Oh look, we’re all booked up.
You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Antonella chuckled. “You tell him, Kim.”

Kim adjusted her monitor and tapped a couple
of keys. “I’ve got one on May tenth at two-twenty. After that, the
fourteenth at ten-thirty.”

“The tenth will do.” He gave her the
student’s name. “I could also use a favour.”

“What did you think that was?”

“Could you run this for me?” The paper he
gave her had the plate number of the Grand Marquis.

“It’ll cost you.”

“How much poutine do you want?”

“Actually, I want dinner. Out. And
drinks.”

Antonella raised an eyebrow. This was new
ground.

Hardly believing his luck, Fenn closed the
binder and tried to remain cool. “How’s tomorrow night? I’ll pick
you up at seven.”

“Seven it is. What’s the dress code?”

He thought for a moment and then said,
“denim.” He leaned back into the wicket. “And spurs if you’ve got
‘em.”

“Oh I’ve got ‘em!” she shot back, laughing as
Fenn turned to leave and collided with the next person in line. So
much for making a smooth exit.

CHAPTER
22

Saturday, October 24th:
CKKC 1140 The Morning Show.