Flight of Aquavit (7 page)

actors I work with to leave me copies of their

resumes, just in case I wish to work with them

again. I’m sure Persephone’s artistic director must

do the same.” I had no idea whether this was true,

but I was guessing Rebecca didn’t either. I laid

down the three programs opened to the pages

with the pictures of the actors in question.

“Perhaps you might have a look-see in your

files?” I knew how I would go about finding Jo, I

just hoped Rebecca was up to the task. I also

hoped she didn’t realize I’d suddenly lost my

accent. Drat, I hate when I do that!

“Well I suppooooossssse Sheila could get into

the office where the files are kept.” More whining.

“What a great idea!” I announced buoyantly.

“Tell you what,” I said glancing at my watch. “I

have another appointment. Why don’t I attend to

it then return afterward, say in an hour or so? That

should give you and dear Sheila plenty of time to

find a few resumes and make copies, wouldn’t

50 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

you say?” I grabbed a scrap of paper and pen from

her desktop and scrawled down my cellphone

number. Although I didn’t really expect her to call,

I was on a roll and had just thought up one more

Rick Astley hit I hadn’t used yet. I handed the

paper to her and with juvenile satisfaction said,

“And if you get done early, just ‘Dial My

Number.’”

Chapter 3

I RETURNED TO MY CAR, started it for warmth and

sat in the Persephone Theatre parking lot eating

my muffin and hoping Rebecca was leaping into

action. Something told me I shouldn’t rush getting

back. When I was done chowing down, I took

22nd Street to the Circle Drive freeway and

arrived at the Travelodge Hotel in time to make

my pseudo appointment with Natalie, the ban-

quet manager. It was a short meeting.

As Marge predicted, Natalie was indeed back

at her desk by 1:00, but she had little useful infor-

mation about the event in question unless I was

interested in the configuration of the tables or the

number of bottles of red wine imbibed by the

guests. She suggested I contact someone from the

SBA. Although a little miffed at having made the

trip for nothing, I had to admit Natalie’s idea was

a good one.

Back in my car I retrieved the phone book I keep

behind the driver’s seat and looked up the address

for the SBA offices. I could have called but since I

had nothing else to do for a while I decided to take

my chances and show up in person. Besides, I find

in my line of work that doing business face-to-face

is always preferable. People have a harder time

lying to me or ignoring me if I’m right in front of

them. Not that some don’t try.

I found my way to the Ontario Avenue build-

ing and, luckily, was immediately escorted into

52 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

the office of SBA president, Lois Vermont. She was

a no-nonsense kind of woman with dark hair cut

short—no doubt to avoid the finicky attention

required by more feminine styles—and a plain-

cut, suit-and-silk-blouse set that would mix and

match with all the other plain-cut suits and silk

blouses I was sure were in her closet. The only

outward hint of personal flare she allowed herself

was a brightly coloured, oversized scarf tied about

her neck. Very spiffy.

After I was seated in her orderly office, coffee

in hand, she sat looking at me with her hands

prayer fashion on the top of her too-organized

desk, her unlipsticked mouth in a bit of a pinched

position, waiting for me to speak. I debated intro-

ducing myself as Gino Vanelli but sensed that

with Ms. Vermont I wasn’t about to get away with

anything too far removed from the absolute truth.

“What a lovely scarf.” Okay, I did veer a little

away from absolute truth.

Although I swore I saw the corners of her eyes

crinkle with what may have been mirth, the only

sparkle in an otherwise flat and bland face, she

remained impassive. “How can I help you today,

Mr. Quant?”

“I’m a private investigator.” Her eyebrows

moved a millimetre higher on her broad forehead.

The private investigator thing usually gets some

sort of response. There aren’t many of us running

around Saskatoon and everyone, at one time or

another, has wanted to be part of an Agatha

Christie or Nancy Drew mystery. “I’m investigat-

ing a blackmail scheme.”

Anthony Bidulka — 53

“Involving the SBA?”

“Not directly, but the plot involves a past SBA

award recipient and originated at an SBA award

ceremony.”

“Interesting. How can I help?”

I liked Lois Vermont. No pretense. No gob-

bledygook about how the SBA couldn’t possibly

be involved in anything as sordid as blackmail. “I

would like to ask you some questions about

your award ceremony procedures.”

“Are you referring to the ceremony this past

Saturday? Or, if you tell me which year the black-

mail relates to, I can pull out the appropriate files.

I keep detailed records of each year’s event.”

I winced. “Actually that won’t be possible.”

She nodded, not in the least offended. “You’re

concerned that by telling me the year of the event

in question I might deduce the identity of your

client—even though there are several award win-

ners every year in varying categories.”

“That’s correct. I know this may make things

more difficult, but…”

“This is not a problem, Mr. Quant. I under-

stand and I will do the best I can to help you.

What is it you need to know?” She quirked her

head to one side, at the ready.

“The blackmail was perpetrated by way of a

note sent to the victim within the envelope pre-

sented to him when he won an SBA award.”

“I already know your client is a male and won

the SBA Business Builders Businessperson of the

Year Award within the last six years.” She said

this without any sign of smugness, simply as a

54 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

matter of fact.

“Oh? How do you know that?” Should I sug-

gest a guest spot on Alberta’s late night TV psy-

chic show?

“You said the envelope was presented to ‘him,’

so your client is male. Only the winners of the

Businessperson of the Year Award are presented

with an envelope. The other winners receive only

an engraved plaque. The tradition of physically

presenting the cheque on the evening of the cere-

mony—rather than at a later date—began only six

years ago,” she told me. “I hope you don’t mind, I

just don’t wish to pretend to not know something

that I do.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

She managed a thin-lipped smile in return.

“Obviously I am interested in who could have

known the identity of the winner and also had

access to place the blackmail note into the enve-

lope that was presented to that winner. It’s an

issue of physical access as well as access to specif-

ic knowledge.”

A curt nod from Lois. “I understand. First, let’s

discuss physical access.” Lois Vermont was not

the president of a business association for nothing.

She got right to it. “I have been with the SBA for

over ten years and I can tell you with a high level

of certainty that in the last six years, since we

began presenting the envelope along with the

plaque to the Businessperson of the Year, the

process has remained unchanged. We do things

exactly the same way, year after year. It works, so

why change it? I prepare the envelope in question.

Anthony Bidulka — 55

The cheque is actually a dummy cheque. It looks

real, but it isn’t. It’s only for show. We do that for

security reasons, because we know there are

opportunities when the cheque is not under con-

stant surveillance, that it could be stolen. We are a

small organization and we are not in the financial

position to maintain a fleet of security guards dur-

ing the awards ceremony or any other time.”

“Of course, that makes sense.”

“I’m glad you think so.” I wasn’t certain if she

meant it or was patronizing me. I decided I didn’t

need to know the answer. “As I mentioned, I pre-

pare the dummy cheque. I always do it the morn-

ing of the ceremony.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I am a firm believer in lists and a

system of check-off procedures. Preparing the

dummy cheque is on my morning of the ceremo-

ny procedure list. There would be no reason for

me to vary from this list.”

I had no doubt this was true.

“So as early as the morning of the ceremony

someone might have access to the cheque in its

envelope?” I asked.

“No, I don’t believe so. After I prepare the

cheque and place it in its envelope…which, by the

way, remains unsealed. We don’t want winners

having to fumble around with a sealed envelope.”

“Very sensible.”

“Yes. After the cheque is prepared and I put it

in the envelope, I place that envelope in my office

safe along with several other pieces of important

documentation that I’ve prepared for that

56 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

evening. So, unless your blackmailer is also a safe

cracker, they would not have access to the enve-

lope at that time. In the past six years my safe has

not been broken into, or at least not in a manner I

could detect. No one else has the combination for

that safe.”

“I think your conclusion is a sound one.

When’s the first time the envelope is available for

someone to tamper with without someone else

noticing?”

“At the end of my business day I retrieve the

documents, including the envelope, from the safe

in my office and I take them home with me as I do

not return to the office before going to the hotel

where the event is held. So, indeed, if you care to

suspect members of my family, I suppose it is pos-

sible that my husband, daughter or babysitter

could have slipped a blackmail note into the enve-

lope while I was in the shower or dressing or oth-

erwise engaged.”

“Not likely,” I said.

“Not likely,” she agreed straight-faced.

“Thereafter the envelope remains in my posses-

sion until I arrive at the hotel, enter the ballroom,

head backstage and place it on a table set up just

off-stage to hold the various prizes and awards

that will be distributed that evening. The envelope

remains there, unguarded, until it is handed to the

winner. That being said, beginning with the time I

arrive, there is a great deal of activity backstage

and near the awards table until the commence-

ment of the evening’s formal activities.”

“Meaning there are a lot of people around?”

Anthony Bidulka — 57

“Yes. Everyone from the banquet manager, stage

manager, lighting and sound technicians, waiters

and kitchen staff, SBA staff and other hotel person-

nel. The list, I’m afraid, would be a long one.”

“What sort of time period are we talking about

between when you deliver the envelope and when

it hits the hand of the winner?”

She thought briefly before answering, ensuring

the accuracy of her calculations. “Anywhere

between two-and-a-half to three hours, depend-

ing of course on the lengths of speeches, dinner

service, and other goings-on with indefinite start

and finish times beyond my control.”

My guess was that the list of things beyond

Lois Vermont’s control was a short one. I looked at

her and gently shook my head. Her news was not

good and we both knew it. Almost anyone could

have had the opportunity to slip that note into the

envelope Daniel Guest had received that night.

But who knew it would be him who received it?

That was my only hope left.

“You also brought up the question of who

would know who the winner of the

Businessperson of the Year award would be,” Lois

said right on cue. “I’m afraid my answer won’t

please you much better.”

“Everyone and his dog?” I guessed. “Including

your husband, daughter and babysitter?”

She nodded. “It is an unfortunate matter of

showmanship, one that our board of directors

debates heatedly every year. The winner of every

other category is indeed kept secret until the actual