Corkscrew (12 page)

Kowalchuk made an apologetic little shrug. "He's the duty inspector. He lives and dies by the damn book."

"Well, I hope he drops it on his foot," she said.

We all grinned, and then I sat down with Kowalchuk and brought him up to date. He was over his head, as he soon admitted. He didn't normally do detective work, but at least he could keep tabs on things until the detectives showed.

"When will that be?" I wondered.
 

"Not until tomorrow now. There's nobody closer than Gravenhurst, and they're working on a stabbing at the Magnetawan Indian Reserve. But forget about Anderson. If anything breaks while I'm here, I'll call on you." He paused and cleared his throat. "Like, it'll have to be off the record. That guy would have my job quick as winking if I didn't play along with him."

I stuck out my hand. "Well, it's an ill wind. We'll go home and make like this is a normal weekend."

"Good enough. Enjoy it. This nonsense isn't going to come to anything," he said.

I hissed at Sam, and he came out after Fred and me to her car. "I hope you don't mind a few dog hairs on the seat," I said, but she didn't play along.

"Why aren't you mad?" She was blazing now, her hands up in a half-fighting stance. "Why didn't you tell Anderson what a nerd he is and ignore him?"

I puffed out a slow breath. "That's not the way it works, except in the movies," I said. "The guy has right on his side. I should have arrested that biker after the hey-rube. I didn't, so his story is the authorized version."

"Well, why didn't you arrest him?" We were standing now on opposite sides of her car as she shook out her keys from the little leather holder.

"It wasn't going to help," I said, and left it at that.

She opened her door and sank out of sight into the driver's seat. Then my door clicked, and I let myself in, putting Sam into the rear seat first.

Freda was facing forward, wriggling the key into the ignition. I reached over and put my hand on her wrist. She stopped fiddling and looked at me. In the gloom of the car interior her face was nothing but a pattern of angles and shadows, but her perfume was light as summer. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm mad as hell about all this, but it doesn't help. So let's just go home and kick back. Okay?"

"Sorry, Reid," she said, and bent toward me. We kissed, and when we stopped, she said, "Let's go right home and have a drink. Maybe you've got a steak in your fridge for a hungry woman."

"You've been peeking," I said. "Did you find the bottle of wine under the sink?"

"Pouilly-Fuissé," she said approvingly. "Was that intended to loosen some other lady's elastic?"

"You mean that stuff works?" I asked, and she laughed, and the knot in my gut slackened a little. So I was suspended? I'd been through this before. So what? I wouldn't quit this time, the way I had in Toronto after I'd killed those other bikers. This time I'd sit in my little house and live on my savings until the hearing, and then I'd decide, in cold blood. And then I'd quit. My gut tightened up again, and I reached out and patted Fred's arm as she drove out onto the roadway.

"Well, at least we can try out the wine without my having to rush off and play cops and robbers."

"Good," she said. "If you're not doing that, I was going to suggest we play nice. How does that sound?"

When we got to the house, I put Sam in his pen on the front lawn, making sure his water dish was full; then we went inside. Acting the clown, I carried Fred over the threshold, and she didn't laugh or protest. She put her arms around my neck, and we kissed so hard I almost stumbled on the top step. "No wine for you," she whispered. "Forget it, anyway. Let's go upstairs."

I tightened my grip on her, but she laughed and swung her legs down. "I don't want you with sacroiliac problems. I'll walk up. You can carry me down later if either of us has got any strength left."

"Brave talk," I said. And then the phone rang.

It was Carl Simmonds, his light voice squeaky with alarm. "Reid, what's happening? I phoned the station, and somebody told me you were off duty."

"It's a long story." My mind was still on Fred, who was standing three steps up the creaky old stairs, slowly pulling off her blouse as if a saxophone were playing "Night Train" somewhere.

"But can you come? There's people all over the place, and they're calling out all kinds of things." He sounded almost in tears. Fred was reaching around to unsnap her brassiere, but I held up one hand and shook my head. She gave a stagy pout and stopped.

"Where are you? At home?"

"Yes, and nobody will come from the police station. They said they'd call a patrol car in off the highway, it would be here in half an hour. I don't want to worry you, Reid, but half an hour could be too late."

"Are they threatening you?" Fred had dropped her acting and was slipping back into her blouse as efficiently as if she were trying it on in a store.

"Yes." His voice was almost a squeal. "They've already ripped up half my picket fence, and they're all over the lawn. I need protection." For the first time since I'd known the guy, he sounded petulant.

"I've been relieved of duty, but if you've got a problem, I'll come and help." And then, through the metallic filter of the telephone, I heard the unmistakable music of splintering glass.

I put the phone down and said to Fred, "Be back in a minute; there's a riot going on." I tossed my hat on the table and pulled my light windbreaker off the back of the door and slipped it on over my uniform shirt and Sam Browne belt and the gun. Then I ran out. Fred pattered down the steps behind me and out onto the lawn.

"Where are you going?"

I let Sam out of the cage and tapped my back pocket to make sure my stick was in place as I ran toward my own car. "North of here; there's a guy being assaulted. Stay here."

But she was at the car beside me. "You bloody chauvinist. I'm not staying home knitting if you're in a mess. I'm coming."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she waved one finger at me. "Forget it. I'm coming with you."

"Okay. Just stay in the car until I tell you to get out," I said. I whistled to Sam, and he jumped in behind the wheel, then over the seat into the back.

There must have been forty cars around Carl's place, and I could hear the noise even before I switched the motor off. They were a little drunk, standard for Saturday night, but angrier than I've seen a crowd since I came here. Carl's fence was flattened, and they were gathering around his front door, hammering on it, shouting. He had his yellow porch light on, and they all looked jaundiced. I stopped the car in the middle of the road and jumped out. "Stay here. If there's trouble I can't handle, drive down to the station and get the OPP man," I said, and Fred squirmed behind the wheel as I got out and let Sam out of the back.

I didn't waste time. I told him, "Speak," and the crowd split apart, letting me through, to the front step. I stood there, the light behind me playing on all their angry faces. "Go home," I said. "Go home before you all end up in jail."

Someone at the back shouted, "What about this queer? He killed the little boy?"

"If he had, he'd be in jail," I said. "You're all breaking the law. Take off now before you end up in big trouble."

A young guy in a T-shirt pushed through to the front. He was bigger than the others, macho as hell, with his cigarette pack stuffed up his left sleeve. "You can't give orders. You've been fired," he said, and the crowd roared. I was watching them; there must have been close to a hundred, all men, all fired up. The crowd from the beverage room, I guessed, plus whoever else they'd been able to rope in for the razzing. I wasn't afraid of them. Canadians are peaceful mostly. These would be, when the beer staled in their bellies.

"I'm telling you to go home," I said to him, but he laughed.

"I was down at the marina when they fired you, copper. You're just the same as the rest of us now. You go fuck yourself."

The roar built, and they started pressing forward again, the men at the back more eager about it than the ones closest to me and Sam but still menacing.

I stepped down and moved in on the big guy. He was a touch taller than me and proud of his strength—gymnasium muscles by the look of him, useless in a fight. I pressed in on him, invading his space, so he drew back a fraction of an inch.

"You can go peacefully, or you can go in an ambulance," I told him in a whisper, smiling as I said it. "Yes, I'm suspended, and so it won't make any difference if I take your head off."

"Just try," he said, and I saw the punch coming, in his eyes. I swayed away from it and sank a solid right into his gut. The wind went out of him in a rush. I said, "Speak," and Sam did, rushing at the closest man, excited now that he'd seen the beginnings of a fight. They broke and scrambled away, yelping with alarm. I stilled Sam with a whistle and waited until the bravest one of them had stopped running and turned to face me again.

"Take this man with you," I told him, and turned away, walking up the steps and ringing the bell.

Carl opened the door immediately. He was almost babbling, but I put a finger to my lips and pushed the door shut behind me. "Cool it. They're all going home now. You'll be okay."

He drew in a breath that was almost a sob. "Whatever you say, Reid."

"Good, I'll step outside until they've gone. You stay out of sight for a few moments."

I opened the door again and found two clones of the guy on the floor picking him up. One of them looked up at me and then spat, but I ignored it. He was backing down. He didn't have to like it.

I folded my arms and waited, and they supported their buddy over to a big green Mercury with splashes of brown primer paint on it. It started with a roar, then turned, running insolently over the grass of Carl's front lawn before spinning its rear wheels and heading back down into town. Then the other cars followed them, noisily at first, but with more and more decorum as the number dwindled and the drivers knew I would be able to identify them.

I walked out to my car and spoke to Fred. "Park this thing on the side, please. We'll go in the house for a few minutes, make sure nobody comes back."

"You've got it, Chief," she said. "I wouldn't want to get hit as hard as you hit that big guy."

"He's fine," I said. I was coming down off my combat high, angry with myself for not having been able to silver tongue my way around the problem. Sometimes you can't. But dammit, a policeman is supposed to try, even a suspended policeman.

Fred parked the car neatly against the grass verge and got out to join me. I took her by the arm and led her up the steps past Sam, who was lying there quietly, his tongue lolling in the heat. We both stopped to pat him and tell him he was a good boy. Then Carl opened the door again.

"Do come in," he said, smiling as wide as he could manage.

Fred gave him a smile back, and we went in. I introduced them, and they shook hands and said they were charmed. Then Carl asked if we'd like a drink.

"Why not, I'm not on duty," I said, and Fred said she'd like a glass of wine if he had one.

"In the fridge," Carl said, and went out to the kitchen. He came back with wine for the pair of them and a rye straight up for me.

I thanked him and asked about the broken window. "It's in the kitchen," he said. "Fortunately nothing's damaged, but the mosquitoes are simply pouring in."

Fred sipped her wine. "What a bunch of losers," she said. "Imagine doing that to somebody."

Carl tried a laugh. It was shaky. "That's what you get for being gay."

I raised my glass to him and sipped. It was Crown Royal by the taste of it, far more expensive than the Black Velvet I usually buy. "Tell me, what did they say at the station? There's two guys down there. I'm surprised one of them didn't come."

He shrugged, pulling his head right down into his shoulders. "The man said there was nobody to spare. The other officer was out at a car accident, and he had to stay by the radio."

"Busy night," Fred said. "Riots, accidents. Where will it end?" She said it lightly, not wanting to spook Carl anymore, but he was serious.

"The whole town's gone mad. First that boy is killed. Then this foofaraw here." He looked at me. "We need you on duty, Reid."

"Don't worry. The OPP are good guys; they'll take care of business." I didn't want to give him any details of my suspension. It would be all over town by morning. Churchgoers would exchange the gossip on the chapel steps. Fishermen would pick it up along with their minnows from the bait store. He'd get it somewhere.

A car pulled up outside. We heard the door slam, and Carl looked up nervously. Then Sam barked his "Keeping" bark. I put my drink down. "I'll see who it is. Sit tight."

Sam was on the porch, barking at two men in uniform, OPP constables. One of them was the kid from the station. The other was a stranger. I hushed Sam and called out, "Come on in."

They walked up, stepping around Sam very warily and into the house. Carl was on his feet, and he stopped and waited for me to speak. "Here's your policemen, Carl. You want to lay a complaint?"

He shook his head. "I don't know who threw the stone."

"What stone?" the new constable asked.

"Somebody broke my window. There must have been a hundred people out there, at least. Then Mr. Bennett came, and they went away."

The officer from the station spoke first. "Thanks, Chief. I couldn't get away. The sarge was called away to that Mrs. Spenser's house."

"What happened?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "I'm not exactly clear, but it seems that the dead boy's father committed suicide."

Chapter Ten

I looked at Fred. "Do you mind if I follow this up?"

She gave me a wry smile. "I'd be disappointed in you if you didn't."

I winked at her and asked the OPP man, "What happened—pills, he hang himself, what?"

He looked at Fred first, making sure she looked robust enough not to shriek at the news. "No, simpler than that. He just drove his car off the rock in front of their cottage."

Guilty! my brain shouted. He'd chosen the same grave he'd put his stepson into. It was classic. I asked the next obvious question. "Did he leave a note?"