Flight of Aquavit (40 page)

HIS STATEMENT SENT A SHIVER THROUGH ME. How

could this be? How could Daniel Guest have been

contacted by Loverboy in Saskatoon at the same

time I was with him in New York City? And, more

to the point, how could this happen now that

Loverboy was dead?

“When? How?” I blurted out.

“A note was hand-delivered to DGR&R some-

time on Friday morning. Before you ask, no one

remembers who delivered it or exactly what time

it arrived, but there was no postmark, so it wasn’t

mailed. The receptionist handled it like any other

message or package and it eventually ended up in

my in basket Friday afternoon.”

“Was the receptionist the only person who

could have seen the note delivered?”

“Well, not really, but I didn’t want to make a

big deal of it. I didn’t want to go around question-

ing everyone and getting them suspicious that

something weird was going on.”

“Something weird
is
going on, Daniel.”

“You know how I feel about involving the staff

here.”

“Okay, never mind that for now. What did the

note say?”

“Where is my money?” Daniel began, obvious-

ly reading. “Don’t be a fool. Send it now. Or else

life as you know it is over.” I couldn’t see it, but I

was betting all the words were written in caps.

318 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

I asked him to repeat it then let out a low whistle.

“Yeah,” he said, “Loverboy is mad.”

“I’d say so.”

“At first I was worried. That’s why I tried to

call you. And when I didn’t reach you and remem-

bered you’d gone to New York, I just thought, to

hell with it and wrote out a cheque.”

I nodded. Obviously James had somehow

orchestrated this last-ditch effort before he and I’d

met and before he’d put a gun to his head. “I’m

sorry this happened while I was away, Daniel.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t do it, Russell. I didn’t send

the cheque. I stopped myself. I remembered why I

didn’t pay in the first place. And I remembered

about the risks we talked about. Well, the day has

come. We expected this. I’m scared, y’know…but

exhilarated at the same time?” I could hear it in his

voice. “Does that make any sense at all?”

“Actually it does, Daniel. It does.” But it was

too late for heroic acts.

“So I suppose this means James Kraft, because

he’s living in New York City, is off the hook?” he

asked.

My mind was going crazy with possibilities.

James Kraft admitted to being Loverboy then

killed himself over it. Yet just days before he some-

how arranged to have another threatening letter

delivered to Daniel Guest’s office? Did it really

make sense?

Or…was Loverboy more than one person?

“I have something to tell you, Daniel.”

“What happened? Did he remember me? What

did he say?”

Anthony Bidulka — 319

“Daniel, James Kraft is dead.”

Silence.

“Daniel?”

“Yeah…How? When?”

I told him the story with a voice as devoid of

emotion as I could muster. James was a charming,

alluring, appealing young man who’d lost his life

way too early. But James was also Loverboy. A

blackmailer.

Or was he?

“So it’s over?” Daniel said dully when I was

finished.

“Maybe,” I answered.

“Maybe? Why maybe? Loverboy is dead.”

“It doesn’t add up, Daniel.” The more I

thought about it, the more I wasn’t buying the

whole thing. “Why would James send you a mes-

sage demanding the money, then two days later

kill himself?” I didn’t bother telling him the part

about my ring. But that too continued to bother

me. Would James go to the effort to wrap up the

ring and invite me over for what sounded like it

might be a romantic evening then commit suicide

just hours later?

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Daniel said. “I don’t

want to make you feel responsible for his death or

anything, Russell, but think about it. He must

have figured out I wasn’t going to pay the fifty

thousand, so he sends the message, then you

show up, he figures the jig is up and he does him-

self in.”

I made a doubting sound. “I suppose that

could be true. But it sounds drastic to me. We both

320 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

met James. He was such a positive guy. He loved

life. I just can’t picture him killing himself over

this. Especially since I didn’t exactly present an

airtight case against him. I was bluffing. And he

knew it. And there’s more. The message you

received—it was
hand
delivered to your office.

Who delivered it? We know it couldn’t have been

James. He was in New York with me.”

“What are you saying? Are you saying someone

else was in on all of this with James? An accom-

plice? Are you thinking…this accomplice…Russell,

do you think someone killed James Kraft?” His

voice was definitely tinged with panic now.

“I don’t know, Daniel. I’m just saying it’s a pos-

sibility.” And indeed, at this terrible moment, the

possibilities seemed endless. Did James act alone?

With an accomplice? Did the accomplice kill

James and intend to carry out the blackmail and

get the money for himself? Or was James’ confes-

sion and death all a ploy to throw our attention off

the real blackmailer? And would the real

Loverboy be coming after Daniel? Who could that

be? We were fresh out of suspects.

Daniel’s voice came through the phone in the

key of dread. “But how will we ever find this

accomplice? It could be someone I don’t even

know! Someone I’ve never met! How…how…oh,

God, Russell! And I thought this was over.”

“Daniel, it might be. I could be wrong about

this.” I waited a moment and only heard breath-

ing. I had also meant to tell Daniel about his wife’s

visit to my office but…well, maybe he didn’t real-

ly need to know that right now.

Anthony Bidulka — 321

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, if you still stand by your decision not to

pay the money, I think Loverboy—if there still is a

Loverboy or a replacement Loverboy—will be

forced into making another move. Soon.”

“And until then?”

“Until then we try to come up with some new

suspects. And…be careful.”

I stood at the balcony doors of my office for a long

while, contemplating the slushy street and gloomy

sky outside, both the same shade of grey. The fore-

casters were predicting a massive snowstorm and

the clouds looked heavy, like overfull bags of

grimy laundry, but a single flake had yet to fall.

Although I try never to encourage dangerous

behaviour in my clients—that was my job—I

silently approved of Daniel’s decision not to pay

Loverboy; assuming someone other than James

Kraft, who was now out of the picture, was

involved. The letter Daniel’d received was the first

sign the plan had merit. By breaking the routine of

acquiescence, Daniel had forced Loverboy to take

action and the more activity Loverboy was forced

into, the more likely it was that he would either

screw up, show himself or be scared off. I was

hoping he wouldn’t be scared off. I didn’t like the

idea of a blackmailer remaining unpunished.

However, with increased activity, came increased

risk that Loverboy would make good on his

threats and tell the world that Daniel Guest liked

having sex with other men. Yet Daniel seemed

322 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

willing to take that risk. Why? Was he really so

intent on catching his blackmailer? Or was there

something else going on here? Maybe, deep

down, he wanted to be found out. Maybe he

wanted his wife to know the truth. Maybe he

thought it was easier to be outed by a blackmailer

than rallying the courage to say the words him-

self. If the reaction wasn’t good, he could simply

deny it all, whereas if the words came out of his

own mouth, well, that was harder to do.

Pulling my gaze from the mesmerizing swirls

of grey, I made my way to my desk. After convers-

ing with SaskTel directory assistance, I dialled a

number.

“Jane Cross Investigations. How can I help

you?” The pleasant voice belonged to a woman.

“I’d like to speak with Jane. It’s Russell Quant

calling.”

“What do you want?” The pleasant voice mor-

phed instantaneously into the hard-edged tones

used by the tough little brunette detective I’d met

in New York.

“I missed you in New York. You never said

goodbye.” I said affably. I was about to add some-

thing about her running off with her tail between

her legs but wisely held off.

“I’m sure Ralph Lorent and Johnny Versocky

kept you good company.”

“Are you referring to Ralph Lauren and Gianni

Versace?”

“I asked what you wanted, Quant.”

“So you’re out of a job and back home in Regina

with nothing to do?”

Anthony Bidulka — 323

“Is there a point to this call?” she asked impa-

tiently. “Other than to irritate me?”

I really wanted to answer in the negative, just

to hear her reaction, but concluded it probably

wasn’t a good idea to make her mad. “Listen, Jane,

I’m looking for a bit of professional courtesy here,

a favour. I know you can’t tell me anything about

your case or who hired you…right…?” Couldn’t

hurt to try one more time.

I could imagine her pulling the receiver away

from her ear and looking at it with incredulity

before finally smacking it on her desktop a few

times to ensure it was working. “That’s right, bub.

And what on earth would ever lead you to think

I’d do you a favour?”

I didn’t like the tone in her voice. “Hey, wait a

second, Cross, I think you
do
owe me something!

Not only have you scared my mother out of her

wits, sprayed me in the face with hairspray, and

physically attacked me in my hotel room, but

you’ve disrupted the progress of my case under

the false assumption that you knew what you

were doing when in reality, you didn’t!”

She made a sound that reminded me of an

angry bull. “You wait one second, Quant! I’ll have

you know that I was only doing my job and you

should know that better than anyone! You were,

after all…” And she stopped there, on the edge of

saying too much.

“I was what?”

“You know, Quant, part of my job was to find

out who the hell you are. Well…now I know.

You’re an asshole!”

324 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

I laughed.

She laughed.

We seemed to have the same sense of humour.

I could work with that.

“Will you help me?” I asked once I stopped

guffawing.

“What do you need?”

“Are you still on me? I just want to make sure

I’m not missing something. Things have gotten a

lot more serious here. The guy I told you I was fol-

lowing in New York City is dead. I want to make

sure that what you were after—whatever it was

about me you were looking for—has nothing to do

with my blackmail case.”

She sighed. “If I tell you, you’ll owe me.”

I was about to argue with the logic of that con-

clusion but decided against it. “Whatever.”

Stony silence.

“Yeah, alright, okay, I’ll owe you.”

“I’ve been called off. For now. And like I said

before, it had nothing to do with no blackmail.

Best I can do, Quant.”

And that…would have to be good enough. For

now.

I spent the rest of the day going over every scrap

of information I’d collected and stored in my

paper and computer files. I returned to my sus-

pect chart several times and tried out every possi-

ble scenario I could come up with, sensible or not,

for whodunit and howdunit. It was gruelling and

mind-numbing and ultimately unrevealing.

Anthony Bidulka — 325

Done with banging my discouraged head

against the wood of my desk and resisting an

evening of companionship with the alcoholic con-

tents of my desk-fridge, I shrugged myself into my

winter garb and headed to my car. And there, in

the parking lot behind PWC, my perfect day took

a turn for the sublime. Somehow looking like a

dispirited version of its usual self was my inno-

cent, little Mazda, defaced and deformed. Each tire

had been slashed, a sharp instrument of some sort