Law and Disorder (14 page)

“What was his name?”

“Rollie Thorsten. Do you think your husband might have had dealings with him? A connection of some sort?”

She shook her head slowly. “Not if he was a criminal lawyer. Robert despised most of them. He despised criminals too. Didn’t even like to look at them. Couldn’t imagine that there would be anything of value in such a person. That’s why he stuck to Federal Court.”

“The third person that I know of was a real estate lawyer named Roxanne Terrio. Does that mean anything?”

She paused, thinking. “No. What happened to her?”

“She was struck by a car while cycling in Gatineau Park.”

“But that would be an accident, no?”

“Hit and run, pretty ugly, I guess. She was left to die in a ditch by the side of the road.”

“And there was a joke too? That is so horrible. I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“I don’t blame you.”

She shuddered. “I was shocked that Robert would die in such a way. But murdered? That’s hard to believe. Although I have no idea how he could have ingested any nuts. He was fanatically careful about food.”

I paused, wondering how to ask her about what he had eaten before his death, without referring to the autopsy. She saved me the trouble. “They said he had eaten some kind of sweet, a cookie or square. Perhaps two of them. There was no way to know how he got it. No one came forward to say that they’d offered him one. Of course, Robert wasn’t one to take anything from strangers. The worst part is that he was found by a group of children.”

“I’m sorry to ask this, but I have to know; how did you get along with your husband?”

A flicker crossed the beautiful face. “You can’t think that I have anything to do with this?”

“I don’t think that at all. But you knew I was lying to you. And I knew that you were not grief-stricken.”

A long silence followed. Finally she said, “That’s true. Robert was not an easy man to live with, not a loving man. Our only son died at eighteen. Perhaps that would have softened him, but he was never interested in me or my silly emotions. There was no room in his heart for anyone but himself.”

“His family? Brothers, I believe?”

She gave a soft little laugh. “They were always in competition with each other. They didn’t make any pretense of fondness. They’d each be pleased to have outlived him.”

“You must have been married for a long time.”

“Forty years.”

“But in all that time—”

She cut me off. “In all that time, he lived his life and I stayed in the background. I was a convenience to him. That is all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“In the end, I did not love him, I do not grieve for him. I gave him forty years. They were not happy years. I had no way to get out of my marriage. I suppose I lacked the strength. Now I am looking forward to life again. That’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true.”

“If you think of anything that might have to do with the joke, will you contact me?”

“What sort of thing?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. A person delivering an envelope. A conversation he might have had. A connection with any of these people I mentioned that might turn up. Or a person who might have been angry with him over a judicial ruling, for instance.”

“I will, and I’ll think about it. I haven’t been well enough to clear out his effects. The doctor says it could take up to three months to recover from my surgery. I am just able to drive now after six weeks. I can’t really lift anything yet, but if I find something, I will certainly contact you immediately.”

“Thank you.”

“It must be very disturbing to be getting these jokes and names.”

“It is. I am connected in some way, but I have no idea how or why. I am really worried that someone else will die.

I have to figure out what’s going on.”

“And I understand why now that you’ve explained it. Robert was an intelligent, dignified man. The idea of someone killing him for a joke is astonishing.”

“I think it must be some kind of savage bitterness, a desire for revenge.”

She nodded, glanced away. “I suppose you must be right. But for Robert to die as a joke! How utterly meaningless is that? What does that say about the value of his life?”

I said. “Perhaps that’s at the heart of this.”

EIGHT

What’s the difference between an accident and a calamity?
-It’s an accident if a lawyer’s car plunges off the
road into a river. It’s a calamity if he can swim.

I
had managed to put the girls and the ubiquitous Jacki Jewell out of my mind, but I was still trying to fathom the judge’s widow as I pulled into the driveway of the small neat end-unit townhouse on Parkview Circle, part of a curvy townhouse development in Barrhaven. The grass was clipped neatly, the door was freshly painted a high gloss white, and the paving stones in the walkway had been swept. Someone had been diligent in weeding between the pavers. A child’s bubble gum pink tricycle was visible from the side gate. The rainbow streamers attached to the handles made me smile.

As I rang the bell and waited, I noticed fat peonies exploding into bloom in the small garden. They had followed the French lilacs. There were only a few of those left, although their scent was still working fine. The dead blooms had been clipped. A clump of pom-pom hydrangeas was coming along well.

Bunny opened the door furtively and checked quickly to the right, then the left. He beckoned me in to the immaculate little home, with its wonderful selection of paintings on the walls, mostly local artists. I could only hope they’d been purchased. I didn’t look too closely in case they hadn’t been.

Bunny put his fingers to his lips. I stepped through the primly furnished living room and saw the reason. A small child, maybe three years old, was sleeping on the sofa. Her little face moved to reflect her dreams. A lock of fair hair hung over her closed eyes. I assumed they would be hazel. She held tight to a rag doll with kinky hot pink hair, green appliquéd eyelashes, and candy pink and purple striped legs.

I followed Bunny into the kitchen, where I sat at the gleaming glass-topped table. Bunny rustled up some coffee and Oreo cookies, and we carried on talking in whispers.

“That’s Destiny,” he said, pointing back toward the sleeping child.

“Lucky you. I guess I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Three years and a bit.” Bunny chewed on his lower lip, something I remembered him doing when I used to visit him in the lockup. “I don’t want to be involved in any weird crap. I don’t know what they want from me, but I can’t drag Tonya and Destiny into it. I have to keep them safe.”

That made sense to me. I didn’t want to get dragged into any weird crap either, and I didn’t have to worry about a child and a spouse.

“If we can figure out what’s going on, we can pass the information to the police and go back to doing whatever it is that we do.”

“Not so easy, Camilla. How are we going to figure out what’s going on?”

“Well, I’ve been checking around, doing some background work. I think we should do what the cops do. Start by interviewing each other. Taking statements.”

He’d stopped chewing his lower lip and goggled at me like I’d lost my mind. He said, “I always hated that.”

I said, “We can examine the evidence. Then we’ll fan out and see what we learn that adds to that. Maybe we can form a hypothesis or two. Test them.”

“Those interviews with the cops, they always used to really shake me up.”

I shrugged. “It’s a classic way to proceed. You can’t take it personally.”

“I did take it personally. Same thing at school with exams. I was really lousy at school. Dyslexic. You know that.”

“I know that’s made things tough for you. But you have to get past it.” I was remembering the time Bunny had gotten his mitts on the security code for a sprawling hacienda on Island Park Drive and strolled through the door with his eye on a couple of paintings by Henri Masson. He’d had a hankering for them, and they’d probably be displayed on the townhouse walls today except that he’d reversed two of the numbers. It had been a close call, but Bunny was outside by the time the cops came by. On the upside, the Massons were still hanging on the walls of their rightful owner. On the down side, Bunny had been carrying burglar tools and no cop would ever mistake him for one of the residents of Island Park Drive.

Despite the best efforts of Ottawa’s finest, the Crown couldn’t see much sense moving forward on that, especially as some of the Provincial Court judges had a soft spot for Bunny. “Those were the good old days.” He grinned his crooked grin when I reminded him. That special grin made you want to buy him an ice cream cone, read him a bedtime story, and tell him not to worry about a thing.

The good old days indeed. Bunny’s years as the beautiful burglar, the times when witnesses blushed purple and stammered at the sight of him and in the end most of them couldn’t really remember having seen him at all. Best of all, Bunny never had any idea of the effect he had on people. He wouldn’t have believed it if someone had pointed it out. I’d got a kick out of those cases even though I am officially opposed to burglary.

The door banged, and a small voice from the living room squealed, “Mommy!”

Tonya entered the kitchen with Destiny, her hair still damp from sleep, clinging to her side. Tonya was tall, tanned and toned. Motherhood hadn’t hurt her figure any. From the blonde highlights in her hair to her salon tan, she was as glamorous as any hair stylist whose business requires impressing her clientele.

Tonya glanced at me and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. It reminded me that my sisters would get on my case if I didn’t get myself spruced up by the time they got back with my father for our annual Canada Day party.

I nodded.

She opened the fridge, fished out a box of juice, and settled Destiny back in the living room with a TV cartoon. She leaned against the door frame and said, “What do you think is going on?”

I said, “I have no idea. But we’ll find out.”

“Is someone out to get Bunny?”

I shrugged.

Her eyes misted up. “I can’t stand it. Do you think someone’s trying to frame him?”

I sloshed my coffee. “Frame him? For what?”

“For these killings. If that’s what they are. He’d never make it in prison. Look at him.”

“Prison? He’s not going to prison, Tonya.” Bunny had survived a brutal childhood and a hellish life in school. He’d probably survive prison too, but I didn’t want him to have to any more than Tonya did.

“Tonya thinks someone’s setting me up. Sending me the notes so I’ll know ahead of time that that person was killed. Then I’ll give myself away when the police haul me in.”

I said reasonably, “But the police haven’t hauled you in.”

“Someone will make the connection.” Tonya’s toned arm muscles tensed.

“If Bunny doesn’t tell anybody about it, how could anyone make the connection? I’m getting them too and I don’t expect the police to haul me in.”

“See, babe? Camilla knows these things. She was always my best lawyer.”

“Bunny said you’ve retired.”

Hang on. I’m barely past forty. Retired? “I just haven’t been doing any criminal law work or legal aid since I set up Justice for Victims.”

“Bunny said you’ve shut that down.”

“It’s in process.”

Bunny flashed me a nervous glance. “Maybe Camilla can recommend someone else, babe.”

“If you’re in trouble, Bunny, for something you didn’t do, or if someone is trying to frame you, I will be there for you.”

“Of course, I didn’t do it. I’m a burglar. I wouldn’t even know how to kill someone, even if I wanted to.”

Tonya balled her hands into fists and almost shrieked, “Bunny is not a murderer.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest he was.”

Bunny got a thoughtful look on his face, “But you know, if my family was threatened, I’d have to do whatever I could.”

“Your family’s not threatened. If anyone asks, don’t volunteer that little observation. In fact, don’t say anything to anyone without me present.”

“But you’re not doing criminal work any more. You just said that.”

“I think I just came out of retirement.”

“Thank you,” Tonya whispered.

Bunny just gave me his grateful little boy look.

“It would help if I could see the jokes.”

“I told you they were gone, Camilla, that Tonya is very neat. You can probably tell that just by looking at our place.” Bunny had a bead of sweat on his upper lip. “She just can’t stand anything that’s out of place. She hates clutter and junk.”

Tonya said, “Well, I didn’t know, did I?”

“It’s not your fault, babe. How could you even imagine something like that? I didn’t actually tell her, Camilla, because it sounded so crazy. I mean, jokes in the mail and then someone dies, who would believe it?”

“And why would it mean that I couldn’t clean up, even if you did tell me, which you didn’t,” Tonya said with just a touch of defensiveness.

“That’s right, babe,” Bunny said.

She sniffed. “I can’t live in a pigsty with paper all over the place. Don’t ask me to do that, Bunny.”

“No, no, babe, I’m not, I’m not. It was just a couple of papers and envelopes. I didn’t think they’d upset you.”

“Really? Then why did you hide them?”

I kept my face impassive. I knew that if Bunny had been a woman in an abusive relationship whose partner didn’t let her keep anything private, I would have advised him differently. I wasn’t sure what it meant here. Tonya had stood by Bunny through unemployment and sporadic arrests. He might have been my favourite client, but there was no way I could ever live with him. Maybe Tonya was more like a mother.

But how the hell would I know? I’d never even had a mother. And Bunny would have been better off without the toxic alcoholic mother who’d messed up his childhood.

He was biting his lower lip. I wondered if I should tell him later privately that he should adopt less submissive gestures.

I also asked myself if Tonya had picked up her thing with clutter at the same Obsessions and Compulsions R Us outlet that my sisters frequented. Those random papers wouldn’t have lasted a New York minute at any of their houses either.