Law and Disorder (16 page)

Gary snorted.

Bev insisted. “I would never do that. What kind of assistant is he?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” I said. “So for sure, these jokes got thrown right out? You didn’t keep any of them?”

“I only saw one.”

“Another thing,” I said. “By any chance did Roxanne get an envelope with her name typed on a blank sheet of paper after the joke came in? That’s happened to me, and I have to tell you, it kind of creeps me out.”

Bev was looking at me differently now.

I sipped my cooling camomile and waited.

Gary said, “That is creepy.”

“She did,” Bev said reluctantly. “The mail arrived after she left the office that last day.”

Gary said, “Crazy world. Some people have too much time on their hands. Nice to meet you, Camilla. I’m sorry you had to find out about Roxanne’s death in this way.”

I said, “Thanks for the information, Bev. I’ll give you a call if and when the house sells. Probably when. We have Jacki Jewell on the case.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “Jacki Jewell? She’s easy to look at and hard on the nerves.”

“No kidding,” I said.

“Bev doesn’t mind Jacki, but that woman sure gives me a hard time whenever I deal with her which is all too often, because she can really unload properties. All to say, I’d be glad to have your business if you stick with her long enough to sell the house.”

“Stay tuned,” I said.

Gary waved, but Bev watched me closely as I left. The smile on her lips wasn’t nearly as warm and natural as it had been. I was pretty sure she was on to my little tricks.

NINE

It’s so cold today that the lawyers
have their hands in their own pockets
.

I
felt a chill as I stepped from the cheerful office. The temperature must have dropped about ten degrees without warning. It looked like rain too. I found myself shivering in the damp air and contemplating what to do next. With Bev’s take on Roxanne’s death confirming my fears, I knew it was time to go back to the police and to convince them. Best to start with Mombourquette, even though he hadn’t returned my calls.

I hurried back home to get something warm and waterproof before heading to the cop shop. I checked the mailbox for a sign of an envelope. Empty. That was good. I checked the hall console which is the agreed upon place for the mail. Nada. I checked the kitchen table. Pristine. I trotted up the stairs and found Alvin on all fours in my bedroom. “I’m installing plug-in air fresheners in every room. I’ve three for this room, because of the Gussie factor. I hope it’s enough. They had a great special at Home Hardware, so I cleaned them out of Sea Breeze,” he said.

“Jokes, Alvin,” I said, not wishing to be sidetracked by air fresheners. “Did we get a joke yesterday?”

“Um. What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’ve been busy, you know, because of the girls and the real estate person and all that and some of the mail got buried under a magazine and then Gussie chewed it up. There’s so much going on here it makes it hard for me to think clearly. And I may be losing my home, so that’s weighing on my mind too.”

“I take it that’s a yes. And where’s what’s left of it now?”

“Recycle bin,” Alvin said, looking aggrieved.

“And did we get a piece of paper today? With a name on it?”

“Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla. Do you ever stop bugging people?”

I massaged my temple. “Did we get an envelope today?

Of course, I’d already spotted the white rectangle sticking out of his skinny jeans pocket. “Don’t have to have a hissy over every little thing,” he sniped as he handed it over.

“I see that you opened it.”

“Gussie chewed up the envelope. I wanted to see what was on the note. Didn’t mean anything to me.”

Let it go, I told myself. Just let it go.

Since it was open, I checked the name.

It didn’t mean anything to me either.

I fished the chewed up envelope out of the recycling bin and used tweezers to put it and the envelope and the sheet of paper with the name on it into a resealable plastic bag. I drove over to police headquarters on Elgin Street, not my favourite place in the world. I found a place to park on Catherine Street and dragged myself over to the front door and into the vast open foyer. At the reception desk, I squared my shoulders and asked for Leonard Mombourquette. If I didn’t connect with him, I was going to have to break in some other detective.

“Is he here today, or is he out mousing around?” I said pleasantly. No one smiled. There seemed to be a dark undercurrent around the station. Maybe it was my imagination. To reiterate: not my favourite place.

Minutes later, I had been accompanied through the doors into the bowels of the building and up to Major Crimes, currently lurking on the second floor. I figured there must have been some kind of budget cutbacks coming, because everyone had a sombre expression. Constable Kristen Wentzell lumbered by still in her vest, her startling blue eyes tinged by red. What was that about? Late nights in the bar scene? Had P. J. managed to lure her into a date? At his desk, Mombourquette stared at me without smiling. He crossed his arms in front of him.

“Cat got your tongue?” I said.

“Not in the mood today, MacPhee. What do you want?”

“Touchy touchy. I want to talk to you about what is going on. I need you to take these jokes seriously.”

“I have two minutes.”

“Fine, I’ve got plenty to do myself. I know it sounds hokey, but there’s something really horrible going on. It’s not just my imagination. I told you before, I’m getting these jokes, lawyer jokes, and they seem to be tied to people getting killed.”

“Don’t fucking waste my time.”

“Please, language, Leonard. Inappropriate in a man your age.”

Mombourquette got up and slammed his filing cabinet drawer shut. My mouth hung open. He can be peevish, even belligerent, but this was a different side of him. What was going on? Pressure of retirement? Whatever. I decided to ignore the drawer slamming and continue. “The problem arises from the fact that the next day a piece of paper arrives with the name of a person. I’m not sure I made that fully clear before.”

“You’re not making it fully clear now.”

“All right. I guess it is pretty bizarre. The thing is that the person whose name is on the paper has just died, by accident in two cases and obviously murder in the third. As far as I can tell, this paper arrives before anyone knows about the death. It seems to be announcing it, I believe, although I don’t know why it would be announced to me.” I didn’t mention Bunny.

“Did you get a joke today?”

“Yesterday. It’s here in this plastic bag. Unfortunately, Gussie chewed up the joke as well as both envelopes, so there’s probably not much to be learned from—”

He scowled and interrupted. “And did you get a piece of paper today?”

I handed the bag to him. “Maybe you shouldn’t open it. Maybe there’s some—”

“Don’t piss me off,” he said.

“Don’t want to do that,” I said, “and I don’t know this person.”

“And what person is that?”

“Someone named Steve Anstruther.”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

“Do you really believe that if I didn’t know who Steve Anstruther was when I came in here, somehow I’d find out because you’re yelling at me?”

I was still repeating that line of thought an hour later, only this time in an interrogation room. The detective who had been questioning me had decided to depart. Mombourquette remained, pacing. For the first time ever, he made me nervous.

“I didn’t see the joke arrive. I doubt if Alvin saw it arrive either, but you can ask him. I don’t know anything. I haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on. What the hell is the matter with you, Leonard? You can’t possibly think I have anything to do with any of this.”

His nose twitched. “What is the matter with me? What is the matter with you? You waltz in here with the name of a cop on a piece of paper the same day that cop ends up in intensive care fighting for his life, and you don’t think anyone here’s going to be upset?”

I was still feeling the knot in my stomach from learning that Steve Anstruther was a police colleague, and I was guessing a popular one.

“Of course you’re angry, but why are you turning it on me? I didn’t put your friend in the ICU. I’m being used to send a message, I guess.”

“What kind of message?”

“Hard to tell.”

“Who’s sending this message?”

“I don’t know that either. How many other ways can I make that point?”

Mombourquette’s chin whiskers quivered. “Why don’t you try making some kind of a point that might be useful to me?”

“Okay. Here’s one. I have rights, and if you are going to keep me here and treat me like a suspect rather than a citizen who is doing her best to help, then I’m going to have legal representation.”

“Oh, sure. Get lawyered up.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Why’s that? Feeling guilty?”

“You can shelve that old technique. That won’t wash with me, Leonard. I’ve seen too many people get into trouble because they fell for it. I’ll make my phone call now.”

“Innocent people don’t have to worry, MacPhee.”

“Give me a break. Tell that line to Marshall. Or Milgaard. Or Guy-Paul Morin.”

Mombourquette snorted.

I said, “Or any of the people who found themselves behind bars because of Dr. Charles Smith. I repeat, if you are going to hold me for questioning, I want a lawyer.”

“That could work against you.”

“Be that as it may. I came to you, Leonard, with this piece of information. It’s not the first time that I tried to get you to pay attention to the jokes. You know that. You just laughed before.”

“I’m not laughing now.”

“And I was never laughing. I’m not responsible for whatever’s going on either. I didn’t know anything about Steve Anstruther. I certainly didn’t know he was a cop until you and your colleagues wigged out.”

“Someone’s responsible. And they seem to have some connection with you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right about that, although I hate to admit it. Why else would I be getting this stuff?”

“You sure you never heard of Steve?”

“Well, I don’t think so. It’s a fairly uncommon name. I didn’t recognize it. If I’d known why everyone was so upset, do you really think I would have broken it to you that way?”

He turned away and shrugged.

I said, “What happened to him anyway?”

“I ask the questions.”

“What do you think this is? A prime time cop drama?”

Mombourquette scowled.

I said, “Attempted suicide?”

“No! Where did that come from?”

“Just guessing because you won’t answer me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re sitting in an interrogation room. Do you think I’m going to give you information?” Mombourquette headed for the door. I hoped he was planning to give me back my cellphone.

“Fine. I’ll wait and get it on the news. I don’t understand why I received a lawyer joke and then the guy turns out to be a cop. It doesn’t makes sense to me. The other two were lawyers or in Judge Cardarelle’s case a former lawyer.”

Mombourquette paused, his hand on the door. He turned and stared at me. “He’s been accepted to law school. U of O. He was supposed to start this fall. Just got married too.”

“Do they think he’ll make it?”

“They don’t know. He’s in a coma. And if he does, who’s to say he’ll be all there.”

“I’m sorry about your friend, Leonard. I want you to know that. But what happened to him?”

Mombourquette finally relented. “He was heading home to the east end last night. His car went off the road at the foot of the cliff on the eastern parkway around midnight last night, and he ended up in the river.”

“And it looked like another accident.”

He nodded. “They’re checking out the car now. Looks like he might have fallen asleep, although he was a real careful guy.”

I said, “You know, except for Rollie, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to stage these so-called accidents.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “If another car hit him or forced him off the road, there will be paint traces on his vehicle. We won’t miss those if they’re there.”

I said, “Did you notice that with Rollie, the whole thing seemed to be set up for obvious drama? But this is dramatic too.”