Flight of Aquavit (51 page)

authority, “you do not.”

While she huffed at that, I asked, “So Jane

Cross comes home empty handed and then

what?”

“Well, by then everything was falling apart. Jane

could find nothing on you in New York…which

cost me plenty let me tell you…and the date for

the money from Daniel had come and gone. I

couldn’t believe it! The asshole didn’t pay up! After

all he’d done to me! I didn’t have the cash, I didn’t

have the proof I needed to ensure a good divorce

settlement and I didn’t really want to make good

on my blackmail threat.” She leaned towards me

then, her eyes ablaze with hatred. “And it was all

your fucking fault! You told him not to pay! You

were still fucking my husband for all I knew! You

406 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

were making a fool of me! Of me!”

“So you left a stink bomb on his porch?” Darren

asked, not bothering to mask how ridiculous he

considered the move. “Vandalized his car?”

She gave me a sour look. “I wanted to hurt you

in whatever ways I could think of. But of course

none of it was enough.”

“So you hired someone to kidnap Mr. Quant

and Mr. Lowe?” Darren said.

She turned to Darren and told him, “I didn’t

hire anyone. That was my brother. But don’t get

all worked up about that. He didn’t know what he

was doing…other than helping his wronged sister

get a little harmless revenge.”

“You call dumping us in the middle of

nowhere to freeze to death, harmless?” I asked

incredulously.

“That was me,” she said, looking me straight in

the eye. “All my brother did was bring me the

truck from the farm and get you boys…your

friend was obviously a mistake…loaded up in the

back. I told him you were having sex with

Daniel…which of course did not go over well with

him…and that I was just trying to teach you a les-

son. After he got you on the truck, he left. I was

already in the cab.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Cheryl Guest had,

by playing the wronged wife, gotten her best

friend and brother to unwittingly help her commit

her grand criminal schemes.

“You left us to freeze to death, Cheryl,” I said

plainly.

Suddenly her eyes were everywhere but on us

Anthony Bidulka — 407

and her fingers were knotting around one another

with nervous energy. When she finally spoke her

voice was so quiet we both had to lean forward to

make out the words. “I didn’t sleep all night.

Everything I’d done seemed surreal. I began to

wonder if it’d really happened at all. But of course it

had. And I knew it was wrong. But I didn’t confront

myself with it until the morning, after Daniel left the

house. When he did, I just fell apart. And I finally

admitted to myself that I’d attempted… murder.”

She looked at us then, not crying, but her eyes

shone with unshed tears. “So I drove to a pay-

phone and told the police where I’d left you. I did-

n’t want you dead. You have to believe that.” She

looked at Darren but his face remained an expres-

sionless

stone.

“And

I

don’t

want…to…go…tooooooooo jaaaaaaaaiiiiiiillllll-

ll…” And the tears began. Without a tissue or

handkerchief she simply let them pour from the

corner of her eyes, over her cheeks and past her

trembling lips.

“Do you know a man by the name of Hugh?” I

asked, desperately trying to tie together several

loose ends before Darren took over.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Drives a green Intrepid?”

Nothing.

Darren stood up then and went to the front

door to motion in the other constables. I sat across

from Cheryl Guest—the long elusive Loverboy—

and said nothing.

408 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

I spent the next hour in my office unsuccessfully

trying to find Daniel by phone. While I did that I

went through my files on the Guest blackmail case,

checking things off, getting it clear in my mind who

had been naughty and who had been nice. In the

end I was satisfied I’d earned my money and done

what I’d been hired to do, which was to find and

stop Loverboy. All well and good except the stub-

born suspicion in my mind that the fat lady had yet

to sing. Sometimes as a detective you have to rec-

oncile with the fact that there are truths you may

never discover, answers that can’t be found. I hate

that. And there was stuff in my Herrings file that

just wouldn’t allow itself to be ignored.

There was James Kraft. Did he commit suicide?

Or was he murdered? Why did he refer to himself

as Loverboy in his last phone call to me? If he did

kill himself, why do it—for all purposes—in front

of me?

The landfill chase. Who was Hugh in the green

Intrepid? Was this related to the Guest case at all?

Common sense would say no—the chase occurred

before I was even hired by Daniel—yet Hugh had

warned me off a case I didn’t have at the time.

Why? And who was in the other car?

And what about Daniel Guest? Who was he

meeting at the Riviera Motor Inn for six months?

Even as the idea entered my mind I knew it

was wrong.

Beverly. She knew something. Daniel had

revealed something to her in their private sessions

that somehow influenced my case. And she knew

it; she’d hinted at it when I returned from New

Anthony Bidulka — 409

York. But what? What was it and how could I find

out? Did she mean for me to ask her more ques-

tions? But asking her to reveal a patient’s confi-

dences in order to help me would be contrary to

our professional relationship and personal one. I

couldn’t put her in such a position. Then what?

How could I find out what she knew?

And so, my treacherous scheme: break into

Beverly’s office, on Christmas day when I was

sure not to be caught, and riffle through her files

on her sessions with Daniel Guest.

I made it as far as her office door, my lock picks

in hand, before I stopped myself with a most

hearty chastisement. To do this would be wholly

unacceptable. My housemates trusted me, we

trusted each other and to do this would be a

breach of that trust. I turned away from her door

with the intention to slink upstairs and think up

some other means to my end, when a memory

shot across my brain like a subliminal advertise-

ment, barely there but still leaving an impression.

The newspaper! When was it? When had I seen it?

I rushed into the kitchen and to the closet where

we stored used newsprint for recycling. It was the

Saturday I was in New York…the twentieth…I’d

come home and read the article…about the south

downtown vote…I found the paper I was looking

for and yanked it down from the shelf where it

was stored with about two months worth of old

StarPhoenix
, causing several other issues to spill

onto the floor. I spread the paper on the kitchen

table and quickly found the front-page article I

remembered. As with most big stories in

410 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Saskatoon, much of the news coverage consisted

of comments and opinions of local politicians

and professional wags. I hurriedly flipped pages

to where the story continued on page B6.

And there it was. The mini-headline read,

“City Councillors Weigh In.” My finger raced

down the column’s verbosity to the end where I

read, “Councillor Dufour was unavailable for

comment. He was in New York City on business.”

Like coins into slots, I could hear the phop,

phop, phop of missing pieces falling into place.

And then I remembered a startling bit of informa-

tion. Cheryl Guest had told us Daniel was meet-

ing with a colleague. Daniel Guest was with Herb

Dufour. Daniel Guest was in danger.

Chapter 22

I SWISH-TAILED OUT OF THE PWC parking lot onto

icy Spadina and sped towards the north end of

town and the DGR&R office building. The going

was quick as most people with any sense were

home on Christmas day with their loved ones,

rather than out on the streets collecting guests for

the local police holding tank. But I was on a mis-

sion. There was a good chance my client was in

mortal danger. For some reason he’d agreed to

meet Herb Dufour that morning. I could only

guess that their meeting place was DGR&R, likely

abandoned on December 25th.

Daniel was correct in assuming Herb was not

Loverboy, but he was sorely unaware—as I had

been—of another subplot burbling beneath the

surface of his wife’s blackmail scheme. By simply

being caught having extramarital sex with anoth-

er man, Daniel had unintentionally set off numer-

ous chains of events that resulted in blackmail,

kidnap and murder. Daniel had much to fear from

Herb Dufour.

At least that was my theory.

I knew Daniel had been meeting with someone

at a local motel for six months prior to his ren-

dezvous with Anthony. I sensed James Kraft had

not committed suicide but had been murdered for

some unknown reason. And I knew someone did-

n’t want me to take Daniel’s case and nearly ran me

off the road in order to convince me.

412 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

From the
StarPhoenix
I learned Herb was in

New York City at exactly the same time I was; at

exactly the same time James was killed.

Coincidence? Bullshit. But how did he know I’d

be there? How did he know that James Kraft was

the most likely suspect to be Loverboy?

The same way he knew I’d be offered the case

of finding Loverboy before I even did.

Daniel Guest had told him.

Daniel and Herb were business partners,

friends and, I was betting, ex-lovers who’d had a

six-month affair which had played itself out at the

Riviera Motor Inn. An affair that someone, likely

Herb, called off when it became too serious or too

close to becoming revealed. This was probably

about the same time Herb was just becoming

highly touted for the top job in Saskatoon—

mayor.

But then what? Blackmail? No, it was Daniel’s

wife who’d been blackmailing him. And Herb

would have no logical reason to blackmail Daniel.

He wasn’t in obvious need of the money. And a

threat of revelation could only hurt his own

chances of anonymity in the whole matter. It did-

n’t make sense.

But it was about to.

I parked on an empty street half a block away

from DGR&R and made my way to the back door

of the building on foot. I was gratified to see I was

right. In the parking lot was Daniel’s black BMW

and another equally ostentatious car that I

assumed belonged to Herb Dufour. I used the

now-familiar security code and gained entrance

Anthony Bidulka — 413

into the building and made my way up to the

partners’ offices. As I inched open the third-floor

door I could hear a low murmur of voices.

Although there were no overhead lights on, the

hallway was grey with dull daylight. I crept down

the passageway and peeked around the corner

into the atrium. And there, standing at the

entrance of Daniel’s office were two men.

Embracing.

Daniel and Herb.

I couldn’t make out the words between them.

Their voices were low and muffled by kisses and

caresses. I was wrong. I came here thinking I might

be saving Daniel’s life. I was almost certain Herb

killed James and now intended to kill Daniel too.

But a murder was definitely not what I was witness-

ing. I pulled back into the hallway, utterly confused.

I heard a thudding noise and quickly stole another

glance around the corner. Herb had pushed Daniel

against the jamb of the door and while covering his

face with sloppy kisses was slowly pulling his shirt-

tails out of his pants. Daniel’s hands were also busy

a little lower down. On the floor between them was

a 750 ml bottle of Scotch, a third empty. This was a

party, a tryst, a reunion.

I slunk back down the stairs. Something didn’t

add up and I was bad at math. But unless I was

planning to become a voyeur (which under differ-

ent circumstances would be okay) I had no course

left me but to leave. Although I doubted they’d