Law and Disorder (19 page)

The Ferguson family’s cross-legged dog had just managed to get some relief when I heard the whoop of a siren behind me. An unmarked dark sedan with a cherry flasher had pulled up onto the sidewalk. It stopped, and the passenger door opened. I stuck my head in and waved my nasty-looking and pungent plastic bag in the direction of the driver.

“Hello, Leonard. I see you got my detailed message.” I opened the back door to let Gussie in before I slid into front passenger seat.

“Don’t even think about bringing that thing in the car.”

I hopped out and deposited the bag in the nearest garbage can. Gussie took advantage of the moment to scramble from the back seat to join Mombourquette in the front. That didn’t last long. When I got back, Gussie was sprawled over the back seat, and Mombourquette was fuming in the front. Perhaps that’s why he pulled back out into traffic apparently without a glance, causing a screech of brakes behind us. Mombourquette used to be a good driver. I decided that Elaine must be a bad influence on him. Or else my message had made him nervous.

The guy in the SUV who’d screeched his brakes now laid on his horn and upped the ante by showing us a good view of his upraised middle finger, a mistake as it turned out. On went the siren. The SUV pulled over, and Mombourquette got out, tail twitching.

I smiled. I planned to enjoy the entertainment portion of the encounter. It hadn’t been a great day, so I felt entitled. Five minutes later, he returned in all his soft, grey glory. He pulled away without incident this time, leaving the driver of the SUV behind, routed and shaken. More fun than television, in my opinion.

Mombourquette was quiet as he drove.

I watched and waited. He had that watchfulness that so often predicts trouble. By the time we hit the lights at First Avenue, I caved.

“So, Leonard. What can you tell me?”

He turned his beady eyes on me. “What part of leave this to us would be unclear, MacPhee? Do you want to be interrogated again?”

“Before we go down that path, Leonard, as I said in my message, is there any reason you never mentioned that you were acquainted with Roxanne Terrio? Especially the part where you knew she had defended Brugel in the past— because she would have cross-examined you.”

Mombourquette has a genius for turning things around to suit his most rodential purposes. “Something just occurred to me, MacPhee. Does this obsession of yours have anything to do with that tame break-in artist you keep around? He was hanging around the courthouse the day they found Rollie’s body. And whenever he’s in the picture, there seems to be a batch of trouble brewing.”

I did not want Mombourquette connecting Bunny to the jokes or the murders. He’d love to haul Bunny in for questioning on general principles. Of course, I should have counted on his detective’s instincts. Now I tried for a bit of damage control. “First of all, I do not keep a tame break-in artist around. And that’s not fair to Bunny. You’re wrong about him, Leonard. He doesn’t break in to anything any more. He has a wife and child and a good life. Those are three good reasons for him to go straight. He’s even moved to a location where he doesn’t enounter any of the old bad influences.”

“I didn’t hear anything about a job.”

“He’s a stay-at-home dad, and he does some part-time work in a framing shop. That’s a job in itself. I told you he has a pre-schooler to look after.”

“You are such a sucker, MacPhee. So keep this in mind. If I find out that he’s put any kind of a foot wrong, or that he knows anything about Roxanne Terrio that hasn’t been shared with the police, then—”

“Hang on. Speaking of not sharing, you keep telling me that Roxanne Terrio’s death was an accident. Tragic, but no evidence of foul play at all. Although you distinctly failed to mention that you knew her. So stop trying to sidetrack me with Bunny talk and tell me what’s going on.”

Leonard gunned it at the intersection and swerved past a Jeep that was taking a broad view of what constituted a red light.

I said, “Fine, I’ll talk about it then. You know she got a joke.”

For once Leonard stared straight ahead. “I made it clear that this joke thing is for the birds. And the official finding is that Roxanne Terrio’s death was accidental.”

Leonard made an abrupt left turn and shot down Third Avenue. He angled the cruiser in front of the driveway of my fussy and officious next door neighbour.

So call a cop, I thought.

Mombourquette turned off the engine. “We were an item for a while. It was a long time ago, and it didn’t last, but she was someone I cared about.”

It took a minute to get my head around that.

“Okay,” I said after a while. “So did Roxanne have a problem with Brugel after his trial? He got a suspended sentence. Maybe he held her responsible for not getting him off?”

“He made her nervous. She was afraid of him. And, if you must know, I think that’s why she went out with me. Because I was a cop, and she thought I’d keep her safe, but it wasn’t enough to ease her mind.”

I decided to push the envelope. “Did you check out the place where she died?”

Of course he had.

Another little push. “Do you want to show me?”

Mombourquette said nothing as he drove over the Portage Bridge to the Quebec side of the Ottawa River. I love crossing the river and don’t do it nearly enough, so I gazed at the scenery while Mombourquette glowered at the wheel and exceeded the speed limit. We headed out through Hull and up toward Gatineau Park. Fifteen minutes later, we were gliding along a wonderful wide parkway fringed by deciduous trees and thick evergreens. Cars were few and far between, although Lycra-clad cyclists laboured up the rolling foothills.

“It’s around here somewhere. Goddam trees all look alike,” Mombourquette muttered as he peered out the side window. “Give me the city any time.”

“Watch the road,” I said.

“Feel like a hike?” he said, pulling over, getting out of the car and stretching.

“Sure.”

Gussie felt like a hike too. As we set off along the roadside, a few cyclists passed us, some older people off for a gentle spin, others in colourful gear playing out their Tour de France fantasies.

Mombourquette could have done with a bit more quality time in the gym, if his laboured breathing was anything to go by. I didn’t think he was a smoker, but he sure wasn’t a mover either. We hadn’t gone far when he stopped at the side of the road. He pointed out a small makeshift memorial marker, the kind you see at the site of road accidents. A wooden cross was stuck in the ground, some fresh flowers suspended from it.

A stuffed teddy bear leaned against the white cross.

I scratched my head. “She died here?”

He turned and glowered at me. I swear he showed his pointy little teeth. Whatever had happened with Roxanne Terrio, it had gotten under his skin for sure. Despite that, I knew he hadn’t constructed that small memorial. Whatever you can say about Mombourquette, and don’t get me started, he is a fine and elegant gardener. He would have done a better job than this.

I said, “What’s wrong now?”

“What’s the matter with you, MacPhee? Is everything some kind of weird riddle to you?”

I thought about that. Was everything some kind of weird riddle to me? I took my time formulating a response. Whatever I answered, Mombourquette would just take it the wrong way.

“It’s a beautiful place,” I said. “What a shame.”

“Yeah. Anything else?”

I glanced at him. What did he want from me? No point in asking. He gets like this sometimes. And it’s not like we’re the best of friends. “To me, seems like a funny place for an accident.”

“Why is that?”

I swivelled around, taking in the lush growth, the wide road, the shallow ditch.

“The parkway is straight here. There is no curve, so no other unexpected cyclist or pedestrian would be appearing as you round a corner. The speed limit is forty kilometres an hour.”

He agreed.

“Flat grassy shoulder, nice and wide.”

“Yup.”

“So if you had to get off the road in a hurry, you’d either keep going until you could stop or you’d land on the grass. A lot softer than the asphalt, so it’s highly unlikely that she died dodging a dog or a knot of joggers, because there would be plenty of room for everyone.”

He glared at the grass.

“And,” I said, “I guess it would make a difference that the road itself is in good shape here. No pot holes, gouges, nothing to destabilize a bike. So what happened?”

“Goddamned if I know,” Mombourquette said.

“I suppose there are unpredictable elements, stuff you can’t prepare for. A child could run out, and you’d have to swerve. Leaves on the ground making it slippery. Was it raining that night?”

“Day. It was in broad daylight. She’d never do anything as risky as riding her bike here in the night. Look around you. This is a place for the day. And no, it wasn’t raining. Calm, sunny.”

“What did the witnesses say?”

“Well, that’s the thing, MacPhee. There weren’t any witnesses, were there?”

“There weren’t?”

“None.”

“There’s always lots of traffic around here. In the spring, people are itching to get out on their bikes. Or just to walk. You can see today how many people have passed us, dozens and dozens. On a Saturday, with good weather, there might be five times this many people. Like a highway.”

“Did I say it was a Saturday?”

I blinked. “No. I just assumed.”

“You should know where assumptions get you.”

Good point. I’d forgotten she’d received a joke at the office. “I should indeed. But she had a legal practice, so I figured the bicycle was either transportation or recreational weekend stuff.”

“She often went for a ride in the day. The office wasn’t really that far from here. You saw it just took us twenty minutes by car. She had a bike rack, she’d park her car and do a loop, I guess.”

That was enough information for me to know that Mombourquette had stayed in touch with Roxanne Terrio. Interesting and possibly weird.

He shrugged. “I guess it only took a second for her to fall over. People came by right afterwards, but by the time they called 911 and the paramedics got here, it was too late.”

I paused. Weighed my words, because you never knew with Mombourquette. “I’m sorry, Leonard.”

He turned his head to stare down at the sad little memorial. “Yeah.”

I gave him a bit of space for a couple of minutes until he jerked his head as if to say “get moving, I haven’t got all day.”

On the slow walk back, I said, “Hard to believe her helmet wouldn’t have prevented that.”

Mombourquette said, “She wasn’t wearing her helmet.”

“Oh. I just… But I thought she was so careful.”

“She was. But this time she left it in her car.”

“So why did she leave without it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think the jokes have something to do with it?”

“That’s the thing, MacPhee. Until you told me, that was the first I’d heard about Roxanne receiving a joke.”

I nodded. “Have you asked yourself why?”

He hunched his shoulders and kicked at some pebbles at the side of the road. “What the hell do you think? I’m a detective, not a busybody like you. I know how important ‘why’ is. I’ve asked myself over and over. You’re right. Roxanne wasn’t the type to get into any trouble. She wasn’t the type to take a chance. She was lousy in criminal defence because of it.”

“She was supposed to be obsessed with safety. Do you know why?”

“In recent years, she was just a bit afraid of life.”

“But she rode up here on her own without a helmet that day.”

“Yes. I told you that. You don’t have to repeat everything I say as if you’re giving me a news flash.”

I took a deep breath. “Fair enough. But in the end, her fears were proved right. She did have reason to be afraid. As did the other people who died or almost died after receiving these jokes.”

Mombourquette’s nose twitched.

I said, “We should really try to figure out what they had in common.”

“I’ve been working on that, MacPhee, being a detective and all. But I’ll be damned if I can see what Roxanne had in common with that crooked lawyer Rollie Thorstein. She hadn’t been a criminal lawyer for years, and as I said, clearly, she was never any good at it.”

“What about Judge Cardarelle?”

“He was supposed to be as mean as the day is long. Roxanne was kind and self-effacing if a bit socially awkward.”

“And Steve Anstruther? He seems a totally different type again.”

“He is.”

“How is he doing?”

“Still in a coma. Anyway, aside from the fact that Rollie and Roxanne both represented Brugel at one time, none of these people had anything in common.”

“There has to be a connection with the other two and Lloyd Brugel.”

Mombourquette said, “By the way, Roxanne was a long time before I became involved Elaine. I want you to know that.”

“Of course. It goes without saying. Well, back to our connections. There’s going to be something. Surely you can find that out, Leonard, being a detective and all. Check out the judge and Anstruther. Even me, since I’m getting the jokes. Of course, my connection with Brugel is fairly obvious. Laurie Roulay. I made sure he got burned by her.”