A Killing Spring (21 page)

It was no easy task. The tension in the room was palpable. Ed Mariani had told me once that everyone who taught this particular group had been struck by their cohesiveness. Kellee Savage hadn’t been one of the elect, but her absence seemed to change the balance for the others. They were unusually quiet and uncharacteristically tentative in proffering their opinions. The minutes seemed to crawl by, and I was relieved when my watch finally indicated that it was time to go.

Val Massey and Jumbo Hryniuk were the last to leave. Beside Jumbo’s cheerful bulk, Val looked both slight and vulnerable. As they passed me, I reached out and touched Jumbo’s sleeve.

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” I said.

Val looked at me questioningly. “Should I wait for him in the hall or is it going to take a while?”

“It might take a while,” I said.

A flicker of concern pass across Val’s face, but he didn’t ask me anything else. He mumbled something to Jumbo about meeting him at the Owl, then he left.

Jumbo looked puzzled. “What’s up?”

“It has to do with a book. Did you check out a copy of
Sleeping Beauty
from the Education library?”

He grinned. “One of the guys got you to ask me that, right? Very funny.” He frowned. “Except I don’t get it.”

“It’s not a joke,” I said. “Actually, it might be pretty serious.”

“Then seriously,” he said, “I didn’t check out
Sleeping Beauty.”

“Did you lend your library card to anybody?”

Jumbo was no poker player. It was clear from his expression that my question had hit a nerve. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why would you?”

For the first time, the gravity of the situation seemed to strike him. “Professor Kilbourn, can you tell me what this is about?”

“Of course,” I said. “But why don’t you sit down. I’m getting far too old to get a crick in my neck from looking up at a football player.”

The joke seemed to relax him, but as I told him about Kellee and the book and the note that had been left in her place at the seminar table, Jumbo’s amiability vanished, and he looked first confused, then frightened.

“I didn’t write any note,” he said. “I give you my word.”

“I believe you, but there’s still a problem. Jumbo, that book was taken out on your card. I know that because I had somebody at the Education library check it on the computer.”

I could see him mulling over the possibilities. He was not what they call in football a thoughtful player; nonetheless,
that afternoon, Jumbo Hryniuk called the right play. “I’ll talk to the person involved,” he said.

“Make sure the person knows how serious this is.”

“I will,” he said.

Neil McCallum was happy to hear from me. Chloe had been running in the fields and come home full of burrs. It had taken him all afternoon to get them out of her coat, and as he worked, he had worried about Kellee. As it turned out, Neil was way ahead of me. He’d already asked his mother if she remembered the name of Kellee’s aunt. She didn’t, but she knew someone who she thought might be able to help. Neil said his mother was doing her best, and he would call me as soon as he heard anything.

Tuesday morning when I got back from taking the dogs for their run, the phone was ringing. It was Margaret McCallum, Neil’s mother. She was as affable as her son, but her news was disappointing. The woman she was counting on for help was a widow named Albertson who had spent the winter in Arizona. When Margaret had finally tracked down the woman’s number in Tucson, she learned that Mrs. Albertson, like many other snowbirds at the beginning of April, was on her way home. Echoing her son, Margaret McCallum told me that as soon as she had any information, she’d let me know.

I thanked her, wrote her name next to Neil’s in my address book, then went into the kitchen to hunt up my recipe for crême brulée. The kids were on Easter holidays, so I doubled the quantities and left a dish for them and put the one for Jill in a cooler and took it to the university with me. I had some newspaper articles I wanted to track down in the main library, so it was close to 11:30 when I got back to my office. Ed Mariani was sitting at the desk, marking papers.

“Finally,” he said theatrically. “I was just about to send out the bloodhounds.”

“Does this mean I’m grounded, Dad?” I said.

He grimaced. “Sorry, I guess that did sound a little paternalistic. It’s just that Jill Osiowy called, and she wanted to make sure you got her message before you headed off to her place.”

“What message?”

“Jill can’t be there for lunch. She had to fly to Toronto – Nationtv business. They’re apparently experiencing a crisis.”

“They’re always experiencing a crisis,” I said. I thought of Jill having to fly to Toronto when she was feeling lousy and looking worse. In the days of cutbacks and takeovers, corporate hearts were hardening. I started to pack up to go home, then I remembered the cooler sitting in my car. “How do you feel about crême brulée, Ed?” I asked.

“Love it,” he said.

“Good. Then let me snag us some bowls and spoons, and I’ll buy you lunch.”

Just as I was dishing up the dessert, Angus called. “Some of the guys are going over to play football on the lawn in front of the legislature,” he said.

“Is one of those guys you?”

He laughed. “Well, yeah, Mum. Why else would I call? Anyway, Leah wants to know if it’s okay for her to take Taylor over to her house to have tea with her Aunt Slava.”

“I guess so,” I said. “Have you met Leah’s aunt?”

“Yeah. She’s about a hundred years old, but she’s cool.”

“That’s certainly a ringing endorsement.”

“Whatever,” said my son. “I’ll be home at the usual time.”

After we’d eaten, Ed started gathering his books together for his 12:30 class. “Dynamite crême brulée, Jo. Jill’s loss is my gain.”

“That’ll teach her to go to Toronto,” I said. “Actually, I’m just relieved she was well enough to go.”

Ed looked at me anxiously. “Was she ill?”

“No, worse than that. She was mugged the other night. That’s why I made the crême brulée. Her jaw was bothering her.”

“My God, that’s terrible. You never think of that happening to someone you know. Did the police catch the mugger?”

“I don’t know any of the details. I haven’t seen Jill. My daughter went over there Sunday night. Mieka said Jill was pretty banged up, but when I talked to her on the phone, she seemed to be in good spirits.”

“So she
is
all right?”

“She must be if she’s well enough to travel. Didn’t she say anything when she called?”

“Just that she was in a rush.” He leaned towards me, his moon face creased with concern. “Joanne, Jill’s a kind of hero to me. The truth is she saved my life once – at least the part of my life that I value the most.”

It was a line that cried out for elaboration. Ed didn’t offer any, but his obvious affection for Jill gave me the opening I needed.

“Jill’s a hero to a lot of people,” I said. “This shouldn’t be happening to her.”

“You mean the mugging.”

“If it was a mugging.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Ed, I haven’t said anything to anyone about this, but I’m not sure I buy the story that Jill was attacked by a stranger. Since I started doing the political panel, I’ve walked through that parking lot every Saturday night. It’s a safe area: a lot of security lights and a lot of traffic. Nationtv vans are in and out of there all the time. Another thing – Jill would fight the good fight for a story, but I’ve never known anyone
who’s as indifferent about possessions as she is. If someone tried to take her purse, she wouldn’t have turned a hair.”

Ed gave me a searching look. “What do you think happened?”

“I think it was Tom,” I said.

“You think he hit her?”

“I think it’s possible,” I said. “And as soon as Jill gets back, I’m going to talk to her. I won’t let her put me off, Ed. Unless she can convince me that I’m way off base about this, and Tom is innocent, I’m going to go to the police.”

Without a word, Ed picked up his books and moved heavily towards the door.

“Will you be in tomorrow?” I asked.

Ed looked at me oddly. “I don’t know,” he said. Then he was gone.

I thought about the afternoon ahead. Angus and Taylor were accounted for, so it was a good chance to get some marking done. I tried, but it was a profitless exercise. All I could think about was Jill. When I realized that I’d read an entire essay without retaining even the faintest hint of its content, I decided to go home. On my way out of the office I spotted the dishes I’d borrowed from the Faculty Club; I dropped them into a plastic grocery bag and headed out.

Grace Lipinski, the Faculty Club manager, was at the entrance to the bar arranging some dazzling branches of forsythia in a Chinese vase the colour of a new fern.

“I brought back the dishes,” I said, “with thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said. “And while you’re here, you can take back the picture that the cleaning people found. It was just in with the paper towels, but I wiped down the frame and glass with disinfectant to be on the safe side.”

“You’re a wonder,” I said.

“Tell the board,” she said. “I’ll be right back. Enjoy the forsythia.”

Grace disappeared, but I wasn’t alone for long. Old Giv Mewhort was standing at the bar and, when he spotted me, he picked up his drink and started over. He moved with great precision, careful not to spill so much as a single drop of gin in the glass in his hand. It was mid-afternoon, but Giv had already reached the orotund stage of drunkenness.

“My dear,” he said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how distressed I was to see that young Cassius has taken your place on that political show. Did you step aside or were you pushed?”

“I was pushed,” I said, “by young Cassius.”

Giv sipped his drink and sighed. “ ‘Such men as he be never at heart’s ease/Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,/And therefore are they very dangerous.’ ”

I smiled at him. “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “But I think Tom Kelsoe’s done about all the damage to me that he can.”

Giv leaned forward and whispered ginnily. “Don’t bet the farm on it, Joanne.” He pointed towards the back of the bar and roared dramatically. “ ‘Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.…’ See for yourself.” I turned and glanced into the bar. On the couch in the far corner, two men were deep in conversation. They were so close together and so intent on their conversation that they seemed oblivious to everything around them. One of the men was Tom Kelsoe, the other was Ed Mariani. I felt the way I had in high school when I’d poured my heart out to my best friend and discovered her ten minutes later, laughing and intimate with the one girl in school I considered my enemy.

Grace came back with the photograph and handed it to me. “It’s all yours,” she said.

Giv Mewhort leaned across me and gave the picture of Reed Gallagher and Annalie Brinkmann the once-over. “So
he gave it back,” he said. “The Human Comedy never fails to surprise, does it? Although I must say that I never understood why he nicked that photo in the first place.”

“You know who took this?” I asked.

Giv waved his glass towards the recesses of the bar. “Young Cassius.” He laughed. “I warned you, my dear. ‘He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.’ ”

When I slid behind the steering wheel of the Volvo, I realized how badly the scene in the Faculty Club had shaken me. Like Giv, I didn’t understand why anyone would want to take an old newspaper photograph. But while the news that Tom Kelsoe was a thief was unnerving, it was the sight of Ed Mariani cosying up to him that had jolted me.

They were colleagues. There were a half-dozen innocent reasons for them to have a quick meeting in the Faculty Club. But in my heart, I knew there was nothing innocent about their meeting. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, Ed had run to Tom as soon as I’d told him my suspicions. For a moment, I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach. It had never occurred to me not to trust Ed. I had told him everything: first about Kellee, and now about Jill.

I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried to think. At the moment, there was nothing I could do about the situation with Jill. She was in Toronto. I couldn’t get to her, but neither could Tom Kelsoe. For the time being, she was safe. I didn’t have that assurance about Kellee Savage. I’d already failed her twice, but there was still time to make amends. It was April 5. If Kellee Savage hadn’t paid the rent for her room on Scarth Street, Alma Stringer might be interested in showing me the room.

When I got to Scarth Street, Alma was hammering a piece of laminated poster-board to the wall next to the mailboxes
in the front hall. “I thought you and me did all the business we were going to do,” she said.

I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and held it up. “I want to see room six. I just want to look at it; I promise I won’t touch anything. You can stand in the doorway and watch me if you like.”

Alma’s fingers took the twenty so quickly the act seemed like sleight-of-hand. Then, without a word, she turned and walked into the house. I followed along behind. She had an old-fashioned key-ring attached to the belt of her pedal pushers and she stopped in front of number 6 and leaned into the door to insert the key in the lock.

I don’t know what Alma had expected to find on the other side of the door, but it was obvious from her shriek of fury that she hadn’t anticipated being confronted by a room that seemed, quite literally, to have been torn apart. Whoever had destroyed Kellee’s room had been as mindlessly destructive and as efficient as the vandals who had attacked the Journalism offices at the university. Bureau drawers were pulled out and overturned; the sheets had been ripped off the bed; the mattress had been dragged to the floor. The table had been upended and the drawer that held utensils had been flung across the room.

Alma looked at the mess, and said, “If shit was luck, I wouldn’t get a sniff.”

“Are you going to call the police?” I asked.

She laughed derisively. “Sure. That’s what I’m gonna do. And have them all over the place, tracking in mud, leaving the door open, runnin’ up my heating bill. No, little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, I’m not gonna call the police. I’m gonna hand the rummy in the front room a ten and get him to clean this up, so I can rent it.” She started down the hall.