Death Spiral (7 page)

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long.”

“If Diane had told me you were out there, I would have brought you in before all those old women. That’s why I see them two at a time. There’s never anything wrong, they just drop in here for something to do.”

Doc, whip-thin, hollow-chested and perfectly bald, tried on his wounded glasses. There was a ball of white tape wrapped around one of the hinges. “How do they look?”

“Like you need new glasses.”

“I don’t have time.” Doc sat down behind his desk and took a long look at Wilf. “I see you’ve recovered from yesterday.”

“It didn’t have much to do with me.”

Doc nodded but continued staring. Wilf looked away.

“Well, what can I do for you, Wilf?”

“I was just wondering about Mr. Cruikshank. What you thought once you had a better look at him. And I guess the family will need death certificates.”

“I was surprised to see that your father put you to work so soon.”

“My idea. I want to keep busy. Get back to normal. You know.”

“You said the other day you were planning to go back to college.”

“Right. As soon as I can. Can’t wait.”

“And you’re connected in with the Veteran’s Hospital in Burlington? The doctors there?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s not too convenient though, is it? Anything you need in the way of prescriptions, anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”

“I appreciate that, Doc. Okay.”

Doc took off his glasses and examined his repair work. “The gentleman in question is resting peacefully in the basement at the hospital. As soon as the family gives the word and he’s sent off to a funeral home they’ll be able to obtain copies of the death certificate from the funeral director. That’s the normal procedure.”

“I see. So everything’s fine then? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Sam Cruikshank had been my patient for some time. Had to hospitalize him twice. So a full stop myocardial infarction was not too surprising. He struggled though. It wouldn’t have been a pretty death.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just the amount of water coming out of his lungs. A major heart attack can sometimes paralyze you. It’s like being in a vice. He must have slipped under the water.”

“You mean he was still alive when he went under?”

“For a gulp or two. Not a pretty picture, is it?” Doc put his glasses back on and refocused on Wilf’s face.

“No.”

“He probably lost consciousness before he slipped under the water though. Let’s hope that’s the way it went.”

“Did you do an autopsy?”

Doc looked a little surprised. “There was no need for an autopsy, Wilf. I know what happened.”

“All right.” Wilf got up out of the chair.

“You’re feeling reasonably well, are you? Not too much discomfort?”

“No. I have pills, Doc. I’ll bring them in to show you.”

“I feel bad about it.”

“I’m all right.”

“Not you. Cruikshank.”

“Why is that?”

“Why? Because I talked to him on the phone the day he died. The snow was already coming down to beat hell. That’s why I didn’t want to make a house call. He said he was out of his pills and he was having some pain. I said I’d send a bottle of his pills around by cab. Told him to call if things didn’t settle down and to be sure to come in and see me the next day anyway, it wouldn’t matter that it was Sunday. He said he would.”

Doc turned and stared out his office window as if he expected to see the snow begin to fall again. “I sent the pills. He didn’t call. And I forgot.” He pushed away from his desk and stood up, “I should have got in my car and drove through the goddamn storm. That’s what I should have done. Put him in the hospital.”

“You didn’t know, though.”

“What didn’t I know?”

“That he’d have a full-scale heart attack.”

“Why didn’t I? I’m supposed to.” Doc got up, walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands.

“I’m sorry about it, Doc.”

Doc nodded.

Wilf let himself out the door. He drove the car by his father’s house, past the high school and the hospital, and all the while he could see Old Man Cruikshank laying on a stainless-steel table in the basement, water pooling darkly inside his gaping mouth, trickling out. It drove him on.

This time he was travelling north toward Galt, the last town of any size within a half-hour’s drive. The wind had come up and snow was beginning to blow across the road as high as the hood of the car. The car rocked a little. And it all fit. The Cruikshanks, father and son, had had their fight on the porch. The old man went back into the house and looked for his heart pills. He called Doc. The cab delivered them and the pain settled down. Maybe he ate a light supper, read a magazine in his easy chair. Couldn’t concentrate, decided to have a warm bath instead. He eased himself down in the hot water. The wind was whistling outside, the snow closing off the house, wrapping it around like a giant white curtain. And his son was standing at the side door with a copy of Mary’s key in his trembling hand.

“Hey Tommy, you work on a key like this?”

The owner of the first shop Wilf walked into held up Mary’s key. A young man, wearing a pair of tinted goggles on the top of his head and an exasperated expression on his face looked up from his bench. “How would I know, Pop? I work on all kinds of things.”

“Come here. It’s a special lock. A Chelsie Star. Double action.”

The young man came over and took the key from his father. “Are you a cop?”

“Just a lawyer. Asking questions for a client.”

“Is that right?” The young man grinned and looked at the key more closely. He looked back at Wilf. “Yeah, I made a copy of this baby.”

Wilf was surprised to feel himself ambushed by tears. A rush of relief. He fought them back. “When? About two months ago?”

“Shit, no. First of last week maybe. Something like that.”

“What did he look like?”

“You mean, she. Short, young and sweet. A regular little fox.”

“Now, now,” his father said, “have respect.”

“I’m just wondering,” Wilf said, “could you tell me the colour of her hair?”

“Upstairs or downstairs?”

The older man shook his head and retreated to the back of the shop. “If your mother was alive.”

“Upstairs,” Wilf said.

“Probably just the same as downstairs. Black and shiny.”

“Was it cut short?”

The young man grinned again, his face a happy mask of oil and grime. “Hell, yes, it was cut short. Shorter than mine.”

Wilf left the cluttered shop and stepped back out into the side street.

He could hardly breathe.

* * *

The light in the dress-shop window was still on when Wilf pulled the car up with a jolt. Adrienne must be working late, he thought to himself, it’s past six.

He turned off the engine. It had been a dark flight back. In and out of cloud cover. No visibility. He’d had to fly by instruments and the seat of his pants.

Wilf rested his head on the steering wheel and tried some deep breathing like he’d been taught to do. Take an inventory of your body. Relax every muscle. Empty the mind. Concentrate on infinity. What would it look like if you could imagine it? It would look like nothing at all.

The light across the street blinked off and an older woman came out, followed by Adrienne O’Dell. The older woman locked the door. They said something quickly to each other and Adrienne cut across the street. She was wearing a dark coat and bright white mittens and a white wool hat. Easy to see in the dark.

She’s showing off, Wilf thought somewhat hysterically, the only murderess in town.

Adrienne passed in front of the car without a glance at Wilf and turned up the street. When he looked in his rear-view mirror she was already half a block away. He got out of the car and followed along. Adrienne hurried across a side street and pushed through the
Ladies & Escorts Only
door into the Arlington Hotel.

The men’s side was crowded and steamy, not unlike an English pub full of safely returned and grateful flight crews. All warmth and laughter. Wilf walked up to the bar, ordered himself a beer, called out hello to a few fellows he knew and before anyone could beckon him over to their table hobbled out into the hall. He had to hook his cane over his sling to hold his beer, but even so it slopped all over his hand. He crossed over to the
Ladies & Escorts Only
side and sat down at the first empty table he saw.

A burst of laughter came from somewhere. The room was crowded with couples and hazy with smoke. Teddy, a waiter who was approximately the same age as the old hotel winked at Wilf as he went by. “Will I bring you one for your lady friend?” he said.

“Too much commotion on the other side.”

“You do whatever you want.” Teddy knew who Wilf was and the price he’d paid. He could have the run of the place, as far as Teddy was concerned.

Wilf glanced around.

Adrienne was sitting behind a table at the back of the room. She’d taken off her white mittens and white hat but had left her coat on as if she wasn’t planning to stay long. Teddy walked over and set two draft beers down in front of her. Not bothering to look up at him, she picked up one of the glasses and took a drink. She stared off into the drifting smoke.

She’s waiting, Wilf thought, waiting to be surprised by the contents of the will. “Who, me?” she’ll say.

Wilf sipped at his beer.

A young man carrying what looked to Wilf like a Navy pea jacket over his arm crossed the room from somewhere and sat at her table. She barely glanced at him. He was slightly built, round-shouldered. He picked up the other beer and took a sip, staring off into the half-distance with a mournful pair of eyes.

One question had been buzzing around Wilf’s mind all the way back from Galt. How could Adrienne have managed to drown Samuel Cruikshank? She was too small. The answer seemed to be his son Frank. But not now.

Wilf got up from his table, hurried down the hall to the back of the hotel and fumbled a nickel into a payphone.

“Number please.” It wasn’t Nancy Dearborn.

“I don’t have it. I need to call Carole Birley.”

“Address, please?”

“I don’t know it.”

It didn’t matter, a Carole Birley was not listed, anyway. Three other Birleys were. After a discussion as to what Carole’s father’s first name might be and a wrong call made and a very short conversation with her mother, Carole came on the line.

“Who’s Adrienne O’Dell’s boyfriend? It was Adrienne all the time!” Wilf said. “She was the one who made a copy of Cruikshank’s key. And I was wrong. It wasn’t Mary’s key that got copied. Do you know whose it was? It was her own. Of course she had her own key. So she could come and go whenever Cruikshank wanted her, whenever the neighbours were asleep, with no fuss or bother. She had a key of her own!”

“Please calm down,” Carole said.

“So who do you think the extra key was for? It was for her boyfriend! And I’ve got them, I’ve got them both here. He’s sitting right here, right beside her, right here in the hotel!”

“Who is?”

“The guy who helped her drown Old Man Cruikshank!” Wilf dropped his voice. “You see, that’s why I’m calling, Carole. Who does Adrienne go out with? Who is this guy? Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Wilf!”

Wilf hung up and half-stumbling, half-running back down the hall came to the open doorway again. Adrienne and her friend were still sitting at their table, still lost in their own thoughts. Wilf stood in the hall and watched them.

He could feel some faceless, formless panic flying around in his chest. Growing. I have to calm down, he thought.

Adrienne seemed to be gathering her strength for the coming storm. Terrible gossip sweeping over the town. Frank Cruikshank and his mother going berserk. Perhaps a fight in court. But the will was safely filed at McLauchlin and McLauchlin, dated and signed. And any number of people would probably testify that Sam Cruikshank was as sharp and clear of mind as he’d always been until he’d unfortunately died of a heart attack.

Adrienne looked like she was preparing herself, stony and resolute. Her friend looked sick.

Wilf felt ravenous. He went into the men’s side and bought himself two pickled eggs. A couple of fellows came over and started up a conversation. He couldn’t get away. They bought him a beer. They’d been part of a Lancaster crew, they’d fought from the first bombing runs over the Ruhr Valley to the last over Berlin, it was a miracle they were alive. It was a miracle anyone was alive.

Wilf had to be courteous. He downed his beer in three gulps. “Look, I have to take a leak,” he said and hurried back into the hall. Adrienne and her friend were gone.

Wilf stood there staring at the two empty glasses they’d left behind. Teddy was circling around the tables picking up glasses, carrying his tray like a hungry old hawk. Wilf hustled over, stuffed the glasses in his overcoat and, expecting to hear Teddy call out after him, hustled back toward the hall. He pushed through the outside door into the night. A car was passing by. Three people were walking toward the bridge that spanned the larger of the town’s two rivers.