Fool's Gold (25 page)

I stood in the doorway for a moment, gathering my energy for polite chitchat. Then one of the men saw me and pointed and spoke to Alice. She turned, mouth open in surprise and delight. She came toward me so quickly that she knocked a chair over. One of the men laughed, but another straightened it and looked around for a second one to put next to it.
 

She weaved between the tables to reach me as I came in from the door. "Reid" was all she said, but it sounded like a prayer.

She reached out both hands and I held them and looked down into her face and grinned. "Hi." I squeezed her hands gently to let her know how I felt, then put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward me.
 

"I heard you'd been shot at, that they hit Mike Onyschuk. I was so worried," she said.

"No need to be," I grinned. "I've been shot at before, they generally miss." She looked at me and the care glowed in her face.

"Thank God," she said. "Do you have to go out again?"

"Not tonight, anyway. I'm off duty. I was hoping for a shower and a steak and some sleep."

The corners of her mouth turned down in a suppressed smile. "Which will it be first?"

"In the interests of public welfare, it should be the shower. I haven't even washed my hands since morning." I held them up and she pretended to wrinkle her nose.
 

"Well, I was a good girl and checked in here, like you told me. I'm in unit four, and I've got your bag there with me. Why don't you head over and shower while I dig out the best steak they've got in the icebox and make sure Hector doesn't set fire to it."
 

"That would be great. Just fifteen minutes and I'll be ready for anything."

She laughed and ducked away from under my arm to take her key out of her pants pocket. "You had better be," she said.

So I collected Sam and my gear and went back and showered and changed and left Sam in the room while I came back for the steak. When I arrived the miners all managed to somehow fill one table and leave another one vacant. Rough they may be, but there are no more courteous people anywhere. I knew they would be all over me with questions about the shooting later, but they left me alone with Alice while I ate.

The steak was perfect and Alice had whipped up a rich sauce to go with it and opened me a Heineken, the only imported beer she carried. She sat opposite me and said, "Forget about conversation, we'll talk when you've finished."
 

"Very considerate," I told her with my mouth full, and she laughed.

"I remember my mother quoting from Punch magazine, something about the old wife's advice to the bride—feed the brute," she said, and we both laughed.
 

It was perfect. I could wash away the memory of hanging from the rope, a helpless target for the killer in the clearing. I knew the memories would come back later, just as I was falling asleep, the way they always do until your mind has had enough time to digest them all, but for now I was a happy man. And then the dining room door opened and Gallagher came in. He was wearing his parka and he kept his hat on so I knew this wasn't a social call.
 

He moved between the tables, nodding briefly to everyone who greeted him. When he reached our table he gave an old-fashioned salute to Alice and said, "Hey, Alice, nice to see you. Mind if I join you for a minute?"
 

"Sure," she said, but I could see her happiness withering. She watched anxiously as he pulled up a chair from the first vacant table and sat down across from me.
 

"How's the steak?" he asked me, but it was not lighthearted, it was a stroke, getting the courtesies out of the way for the next words he spoke, even before I could answer. "Can Alice spare you for an hour when you're through? We have a problem."
 

Alice said, "Well, excuse me, I should take care of my customers," and left, smiling politely. We both half stood as she left, then Gallagher slumped down again.
 

"What's up?" I asked him, pushing the plate away.

He sniffed. "The circle is getting smaller, buddy. I was just down to see Sallinon at his house."

"And?" I finished the last of my Heineken.

"And his wife said he was out in the garage, so I went out back and he was." He paused again and coughed. "Poor sonofabitch was hanging there. Been dead an hour by the look of him."
 

 

 

 

20

 

 

You need me to handle the investigation?" It wasn't really a question, I already knew the answer.

He nodded. "I really do, Reid. I know you've had one hell of a day but I've only got one man available, what with guys in the bush and Onyschuk in the hospital. I need Jackaman with me when I talk to Tettlinger, to play the usual games. My other guy is a rookie, I only hired him last spring. He couldn't handle a homicide."
 

"Let's go." I stood up. I could see Alice standing beside the cash register at the bar, careful not to look at me. "Give me a minute."
 

"The car's outside," he said, and left, not stopping to talk to any of the people who spoke to him.

I went over to Alice. She looked up nervously. "What's happened, Reid? It's something bad, I can tell it."

"It's Sallinon, the taxidermist. He's died suddenly. Gallagher wants me to handle the investigation for him while he gets on with the rest of the work that's piling up."
 

Her hands were resting on top of the cash register and as I watched she clenched them into fists and squeezed until the knuckles whitened. "Where is it going to end?" she asked softly.
 

"I think this is just a coincidence,” I lied. "But it's routine for the police to investigate. Should take a couple of hours, that's all."
 

She unclasped her hands and laid them flat over all the keys on the register, making it a deliberate calming motion. "Reid, I get scared around you. Since you came we've had more trouble than this town has seen in its whole history."
 

"It was coming anyway," I said. "It started when that guy was killed up on that island and Prudhomme changed places with him. All I've done is trudge around after him, picking up the pieces." She said nothing, just stood looking down at her fingers. I felt powerless. I knew she was suffering from the shock that women feel more deeply than men in the presence of violence. It's not that they are more afraid. Most times they're not. But they have an inner logic and rationality that men lack. They can't understand violence, it makes no sense. And that disturbs them.
 

She looked up at last. "Will you be very late?"

Now I reached out and touched her hands, lightly. "I don't think so. It's a suicide. A couple of hours should take care of it and then I'll come back. Do you want to keep Sam with you while I'm away?"
 

She shook her head. "No. I'll be fine," she said, and as her eyes locked on mine she added, "I'll still be here when you get back. Room four."
 

I stooped and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned and left.

The police car was outside the door and I spoke quickly to Gallagher. "I have to bring Sam, he's in Alice's room." Gallagher growled something and I went and got Sam and put him in the back seat, then jumped in and Gallagher pulled away, a seasoned policeman's way. You don't see many veteran coppers laying rubber even for a killing.
 

"Looks like suicide," he said as we drove. "I've cut him down and left my guy to guard the scene until you get there."

"How high off the ground was he?" It's a good starting question. Many suicides don't even take their feet off the ground, they tie the rope around their necks and loll against it.
 

"He had an extension cord tied over one of the rafters and he'd stood on a toolbox and stepped off. He could have stepped back on again if he'd changed his mind."
 

"No signs of a bang in the head, nothing?"

"Nothing." Gallagher was positive. "I took a careful look, he hasn't got a hair out of place." He turned onto Sallinon's street. There were four or five cars outside, and Gallagher swore. "Dammit. Looks like the whole goddamn ladies' aid is over cheering up the widow."
 

"Good thing there's somebody with her. It'll keep her off our backs," I said, and Gallagher humphed and said nothing.

He pulled up behind a car as close as he could get to the house and we got out. "I better introduce you," he said. "As far as they're concerned, you're working with me because Prudhomme was involved in your jurisdiction. I phoned the pastor for her and he turned up before I came away. He's a good guy but a bit of a mother hen. He may get sticky about you talking to her, use whatever charm you haven't used up on Alice, otherwise you'll be out of there in two seconds."
 

I let Sam out of the car and told him to stay, then walked behind Gallagher up to the front door. He tapped and entered and we were greeted at once by a pretty blond woman in her forties. Gallagher took his cap off. "Hi, Mrs. Andersen. I just wanted to introduce my deputy, Police Chief Reid Bennett. Can I have a quick word with Ida?"
 

"She's through here," the blonde said. She was wearing a sleek blouse that looked a little dressy for this end of the world and her hair was swept back from her face with a carelessness that had taken hours. She looked at me the way my Marine recruiting sergeant weighed me up when I first walked into his office. "How do you do, Chief. My name is Gretchen Andersen." She extended her hand and smiled a formal little smile.
 

I took her hand, which was cool and firm. "Reid Bennett, Mrs. Andersen. I wish we could have met under happier circumstances." Above her head I could see Gallagher doing his best to swallow a grin. I let go of her hand and she led us through to the sitting room out behind the original parlor Sallinon had used as his storefront. This place was no more lively. It was full of dark, heavy furniture with an enormous TV and plastic flowers. At a glance I could count eight stuffed birds and animals scattered around it. A big woman in a flowered dress was sitting on the couch with a gaunt young minister beside her and two other women sitting opposite in big chairs.
 

The minister looked up. He nodded to Gallagher and then stood up and approached us. "Pastor Aalto," he said, not giving me his hand.
 

Gallagher spoke to him first. "Good evening, padre. Thank you for coming over. I just stopped in to introduce my deputy." He turned and indicated me as if I didn't speak the language. "This is Police Chief Reid Bennett. He's a very senior investigator who happens to be in town and he volunteered to help me."
 

Aalto nodded and looked at me out of oyster-colored eyes. "Are you a private detective or something?" He had a cool, resonant voice and he was proud of it. I figured he was something of a showboat and would be trouble if he didn't get stroked.
 

I used the same formality Gallagher had, the military courtesy. "No, padre. I'm an accredited chief of police. I also happen to be a friend of Chief Gallagher's. I've been visiting with him and he's asked for my assistance. I'm only sorry that it's necessary."
 

"So am I," Aalto said. "Arnold was a good, kind man. I cannot imagine what pain he must have been suffering." He turned back to the widow, who was looking up blankly. There were no tears. They would come later, perhaps a week later, when the neighbors stopped calling and the world rocked back onto its axis, without the bulk of the man in the garage. "Ida, I believe Mr. Bennett can help."
 

She tried to smile at me, but it collapsed in a puckering of her cheeks and a nervous dropping of her head. I said, "I'm very sorry for your sadness, Mrs. Sallinon. I'll leave you with your friends for a while," nodded, and turned away with Gallagher close behind me.
 

The blond bombshell followed us to the door. She touched me lightly on the shoulder as I paused to open it. "Ida is terribly distressed," she said, "but if there's anything at all I can do to help ..." She opened her eyes very wide. Lord, she was sincere!
 

"I'll remember that, Gretchen," I said, and did my best to look like John Travolta. Sometimes police work calls for skills they don't ever teach at the Ontario Police Academy in Aylmer.
 

I went out and Gallagher led me back around to the garage. "Don't feel too flattered," he growled quietly. "She's got the hottest pants in Olympia. Her husband's a salesman for the mill, he's away a lot, and I've seen her in more parked cars than you've had hot dinners."
 

"Just doing my job," I told him cheerfully. "You want charm, I've got charm."

"I'd call it bullshit," he said, "but it seems to be working."

The door of the garage was closed and he swung it up. Inside, the light was on and a young uniformed constable was standing looking down at Sallinon's body, which lay on its back on the clear space to one side of the parked car, a 1983 Cadillac.
 

I nodded to the constable and Gallagher said, "Bill, this is Chief Bennett, he's handled a lot of things like this. Help him anyway you can."
 

The young guy stuck out his hand. "Glad 'a know you, Chief, I'm Bill Pigeon."

"Bill." I shook hands. "Ever had a suicide before?"

"No." He shook his head. "I've seen a few stiffs in traffic accidents, but this is my first suicide."

"Okay. There's no magic, just work, but a good trick is to stick your hands in your pockets, then you won't touch anything and change the scene at all."
 

He said "Sure," and put both hands in his pants pockets.

I turned to Gallagher. "When did you get here?"

"Right after you took off from the station. Drove up, spent a couple of minutes at the house, then came out. Altogether, that was, say, twenty minutes ago—maybe seven-thirty." He crouched beside the body. "Like I said, it looks like a suicide. See for yourself."