Black Fly Season (28 page)

It didn’t take long to establish that Mrs Tilley knew essentially nothing about her son’s activities. A few more questions, and then she saw them to the door, bobbing along behind them, dabbing at her eyes, and thanking them for being so kind.

‘The thing I’ll never get used to about murder,’ Delorme said, back in the car. ‘Is how many more victims it has than just the one that ends up dead.’

‘We’re going to find the guy that did it, Lise. That’s why we’re in this business. Tell me about this Sam Deans you mentioned. Kind of threw me for a loop in there.’

‘See, that’s what I mean. A senior detective like you doesn’t get to know the right class of people.’

‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘Sami Deans. Lives in a frat house, so to speak. In Greenwood, like Mrs Tilley said.’

Greenwood was one of the first subdivisions built in Algonquin Bay. At one time it had been an address with some cachet, but Greenwood, like much of Algonquin Bay, had come down a peg or two. Mostly, now, Greenwood was a haven for retired people on modest pensions, subcompact cars parked beside brick bungalows with bright green lawns. Unfortunately, some of the streets had taken a less picturesque turn.

Such a street was Marsden Road, just beyond the Becker’s convenience store. It had only three houses. The first was occupied by a half-mad old coot who wore a World War II trenchcoat even in the blazing sun. The second had been gutted by a fire two years previously and for complicated tax reasons had been neither repaired nor torn down.

The last house on the block had once been a two-storey, white-brick affair, but now the brick

was grey and black. The lawn, those parts of it that were not utterly bald, was a field of litter. Warped plywood covered missing windows. Weeds sprouted through the asphalt drive, where a seventies-era Malibu appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

‘Listen to that,’ Cardinal said as they rolled up.

‘Listen to what?’ Delorme said.

‘I can hear that car rusting. It’s actually audible.’

‘I didn’t know you were a car buff.’

‘I’m not. I just hate to see machines mistreated.’

They went up to the front door and knocked loudly.

‘It’s only the middle of the afternoon,’ Cardinal said. ‘What makes you think they’ll be awake?’

Delorme rapped again. The, I don’t care if they’re up yet.’

A voice came from inside.

‘Who is it?’

‘Police. Open up.’

Cardinal glanced at his watch.

‘How long you want to give them to flush everything?’

‘I figure one minute. They’ve got the routine fine-tuned by now.’

The door was opened by a young man whose clothes looked two sizes too big for him. Oily hair hung in a pointy fringe over one eye.

‘You should know I already have an attorney,’ he said. ‘So I don’t personally plan to answer any questions.’

A

Heroin addicts, Cardinal thought. It’s like they’re under ten feet of water. They form their words with great concentration, as if they have to be transmitted in bubbles.

‘We’re not here about you, Sami,’ Delorme told him. ‘At least not at the moment. May we come in?’

‘Do you have a warrant?’

‘We’re not here to search the place,’ Cardinal said. ‘We’re just here to ask some questions about Morris Tilley.’

‘Toof? Haven’t seen him for days.’

‘When was the last time?’

Sami flicked the fringe of hair. It didn’t move.

‘Don’t know, man. Eternity. Mists of time.’

‘Try to be more precise,’ Cardinal said.

‘How come? You guys haul him in again?’

‘Somebody shot him twice and bashed his head in with a baseball bat.’

‘Oh, man. That’s egregious. That’s like seriously traumatic’

‘It’s a crime, Sami. We’re going to put someone away for it - assuming we can get any coherent information.’

‘Fuck. Sorry, man, I just woke up. I’m just not sure how to react.’

How lost can you be? Cardinal wondered. And the answer came unbidden: as lost as you want to be.

‘Do you know a guy named Kevin Tait?’ Delorme said.

Sami shrugged. ‘He’s a friend of Toof’s. Seen him around.’

‘Is he a dealer?’

‘Hey. I said I’ve seen him. I didn’t interview him. I never like examined his curriculum vitae or nothing.’

Cardinal and Delorme walked by Sami into what had once been a living room. It was now a bedroom with a mattress on the floor, a boom box with a dozen scattered CDs, and a Razor scooter. Somewhere upstairs a toilet flushed.

‘Sit down, Sami,’ Delorme said. ‘You look like death.’

‘That’s okay. I’d rather stand.’

‘Sit down, Sami.’ Delorme pressed his shoulders and he sank toward the mattress. ‘Now think back. When was the last time you saw Morris Tilley?’

‘I think it was about three weeks ago. Yeah, it was three weeks ago. I saw him at the pool hall. Toof’s a pretty sharp pool player.’

‘Was,’ Cardinal corrected him.

‘Was.’

‘But he shared the house with you,’ Delorme said. ‘Why is it so long since you saw him?’

Sami tugged at his fringe. ‘I dunno. Toof kinda took up with a new circle of acquaintance.’

‘Oh?’

‘Some Indian guy he met. Out-of-town guy. Toof was all secretive about it, but it was

obvious he was like seriously impressed with this character.’

‘This person have a name?’ Cardinal said. ‘An address?’

‘No address. Toof didn’t say anything like that. But name, I don’t know. Black Cloud. Something like that. You know, an Indian name.’

‘Did you ever meet him? See him?’

Sami shook his head. He was hugging himself even though the room was overheated, and there was a fine sweat on his upper lip.

‘You guys wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?’

‘Sorry,’ Delorme said.

‘How many other people live here?’ Cardinal said.

‘Seven or eight.’

‘Which is it?’

‘Seven, I guess. If Toof’s not coming back.’

‘He isn’t. And we’d like to catch whoever made it that way. Who’s he hang around with, other than you?’

Sami looked shocked. ‘I don’t hang around with Toof, man. He just lives here. Lived.’

‘So who was he hanging around with?’

‘I don’t know, man. Give me a break, will you?’

Cardinal rapped on Sami’s forehead with a knuckle. ‘Hello-o. Sami? I’m not asking you who he bought his dope from. I’m asking you who he hung around with.’

‘I don’t know. Some doofus thinks he’s really hot shit.’

‘A name,’ Delorme said. ‘We need a name.’

Sami shouted up the stairs. ‘Hey, Paco! Who’s that jerk Toof hangs around with, man? Guy drives that butch car.’

A small, dark man appeared on the stairs, his face a comic exaggeration of fear. ‘Shit, man. You talking to the cops?’

‘Toof is dead, Paco. Just give me the goddam name.’

Paco came down the last of the stairs, scratching his head. The smell of marijuana wafted from his clothes.

‘Guy with the Batmobile? Leon something. I don’t know his last name.’

‘What’s he look like?’ Cardinal said.

‘I don’t know, man. Average, you know? Brown hair, sorta dirty. Drives some stupid muscle car. Black. TransAm or something.’

‘Oh, hey,’ Sami said. ‘I just remembered. He’s got like a scar on his forehead. Jagged thing. ‘Bout that long.’ He held thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

‘Creep probably bashed his head on the toilet,’ Paco said, and turned to go back upstairs.

‘Whoa, Paco. Hold on there, son.’ Cardinal stepped in front of him. ‘We’ll need to talk to you and everybody else who lives here. Bring ‘em all downstairs. Don’t worry - if we were looking for dope you’d already be in the paddy wagon.’

Cardinal and Delorme interviewed five other young men who lived in the house, each more forlorn than

the last. That was the thing about heroin addicts Cardinal had often noticed: they weren’t nasty people; they just seemed terminally bewildered. One or two of the young men they interviewed might have made something of themselves if they hadn’t fallen in love with the needle. Everybody has their crutch, he figured, but some crutches are more crippling than others.

None of Toof’s former housemates added anything useful to the information they already had. Yes, they’d seen a guy named Kevin Tait. No, they didn’t really know him. When they got back to the station Delorme sat down at the computer. Later, she came over to Cardinal’s desk with a printout.

‘I ran a search for all the guys named Leon we’ve arrested in the past three years. Guess how many there were?’

‘I don’t know. Three?’

‘None. Not one. But look what I got from Musgrave.’

‘Musgrave? Are you talking about Sergeant Malcolm Musgrave of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police? You called him already? Is there something about your relationship I don’t know?’

‘With Musgrave? You’ve got to be kidding.’

Cardinal took the printout and looked it over.

‘Okay, one Leon Rutkowski got himself pinched for running smack in Sudbury. Eight years in Millhaven. Also has priors for aggravated assault and bodily harm. Seems Leon has a bit of a temper.’

‘The description matches what they told us at Toof’s house,’ Delorme said, still with her back to him.

‘Brown hair, blue eyes, scar on forehead.’

‘Look what he was driving when they arrested him.’

‘Black TransAm. Known Associates doesn’t mention any Black Cloud, though.’

‘I’ll call Musgrave again,’ Delorme said.

While he was waiting, Cardinal called Catherine at her hotel. The chances of finding her in, he knew, were slim, and once again he wished she carried a cell phone. He left a message saying he was thinking of her. Worried about her would have been more accurate, and after he had disconnected he felt a burgeoning resentment that he was worrying about his wife while he should be focusing on a case. Then he felt guilty for the resentment.

Delorme was putting her coat back on.

‘Where you off to?’ he said.

‘Musgrave gave me a contact.’

Cardinal slid into the passenger seat beside Delorme. She backed up, making a sharp two-pointer, then left a little rubber in the driveway. Whenever she was driving, Delorme’s eyebrows knit in a frown. She had the most expressive eyebrows Cardinal had ever seen, and the fading checkmark wound only added to their appeal.

‘So, who are we going to see?’ Cardinal said.

‘Alan Clegg. He’s Musgrave’s man on the drug scene these days, at least as far as our neighbourhood is concerned.’

‘Get out. They haven’t had a detachment here for at least ten years.’

‘It’s not a detachment. They have a temporary post over at the Federal Building. Just two guys, but most days Clegg’s here alone.’

She parked around back of the Post Office, under a sign that said Authorized Vehicles Only. They took the elevator up to the third floor. Cardinal remembered when the RCMP had maintained a permanent detachment in Algonquin Bay. It had always been a small office, never more than

four men, and they’d mostly kept out of the local cops’ way. Then the age of cutbacks arrived and the detachment was only one of many that had been forced to close up shop.

Alan Clegg must have heard them coming, because he stepped out into the corridor, forming a sudden silhouette against the window at the end of the hall.

‘You must be Delorme,’ he said.

‘This is my colleague, John Cardinal,’ Delorme said.

They shook hands. Clegg had the T-shape of a middleweight. He looked to be in his late thirties but he hadn’t let himself go. He showed them into a cramped office with two metal desks for furniture and not much else. It smelled of stale coffee and chewing gum.

‘I understand you want to talk about the drug trade,’ Clegg said. ‘I’ll tell you everything I can, short of jeopardizing sources.’

Delorme looked over to Cardinal, who nodded. It was her lead, she could call the shots.

‘You’re probably aware of the two murders we’ve had recently,’ she said.

‘Wombat Guthrie, sure. I haven’t heard a name yet on your other guy.’

‘Morris Tilley.’

‘Morris Tilley?’ Clegg shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’

Delorme showed him a photograph they had borrowed from Mrs Tilley.

‘The face is familiar,’ Clegg said. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen him around. But where and in what context … you’ve got me.’

‘The two killings are linked,’ Delorme said. ‘The gun used on Morris Tilley was recently in the possession of Wombat Guthrie. It was also used in an assault ‘

Cardinal laid a hand on her arm. ‘We can’t go into that.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Delorme said. She didn’t manage to hide the note of irritation in her voice, perhaps she didn’t try.

A half smile formed on Clegg’s face. ‘I understand.’

‘What do you know about Wombat Guthrie?’

‘Ugly as sin, mean as hell. Lifetime member of the Viking Riders. Drug runner from way back. Not the most popular guy with the Riders’ new president is what I hear.’

‘Tell us more.’

‘Wombat was left guarding a substantial amount of dope. Exactly how much, I wouldn’t know, but substantial. Other Riders show up, dope’s gone, Wombat’s gone.’

‘Do you think they killed him?’

‘It’s certainly possible. They’re excitable boys.’

‘Tilley was living in a house full of other junkies up in Greenwood,’ Delorme said. ‘Why don’t we give you their names, and you tell us if any of them are connected to Wombat Guthrie in any way.’

Cardinal and Delorme ran through the six names they had. Clegg was happy to take them down in his notebook with a two-inch stub of pencil. He had heard most of the names, but did not connect them to Wombat. Then there was Sami Deans.

‘Sami Deans we’re very much aware of,’ Corporal Clegg said. ‘We’re wondering lately if he hasn’t branched out into dealing as well as puncturing his arm.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Delorme said. ‘We keep hauling him in for break-and-enter. What about his friend Paco Fernandez?’

Clegg laughed. ‘Paco Fernandez? Honestly, I think he studied the Cheech and Chong movies when he was a kid and decided he wanted to be just like them. I’m not even sure he bothers with the harder stuff. He wouldn’t be able to find his own vein with a map. But you know, we’re not interested in guys like Deans and Fernandez. They’re strictly a local problem.’