Law and Disorder (28 page)

A few minutes later I reached Mrs. Parnell’s door, yet again. As I went to stick the key in the lock, the door swung open. I gave myself a brief tongue-lashing. Had I been so unnerved when I’d found out that Bunny and his family were gone that I’d forgotten to lock the door when I’d left? I didn’t think so. A closer look revealed jimmy marks on the lock. Mrs. Parnell had never been nervous enough to install better security despite Alvin’s urgings. I stepped inside and glanced around. There hadn’t been an ordinary burglary, that was for sure. Mrs. Parnell had more electronic gadgets than anyone I knew. Even though she had a cluster of toys with her at the Perley, there was plenty left behind in the apartment. Her high-end stereo was still there as well as her computer, two of her three printers, her everyday laser and her inkjet, and the bulk of her CD collection and the DVD player I was looking for. Her digital camera sat on the console in the hallway. No burglar would have left without that, at the very least. Therefore, maybe he or she was still in the apartment.

If that was true, I needed to find out and fast. But I didn’t plan to walk in there to see if someone was ready to pounce on me from the bedroom or the bathroom. In my experience, burglars are a cowardly lot and not likely to be a threat, but you never know what a panicked felon will do when cornered. Plus, my instincts told me that this was no ordinary break-in. First, I called the super. Luckily, I hadn’t had time to forget his number after all the years I’d lived in this building.

“Get up to 1608. On the double,” I said to the super.

Then I called 911.

The super was nothing if not quick. He had a soft spot in his heart for Mrs. Parnell and a general wariness of me.

Together, we checked the bedroom and bathroom. I held a lamp as a weapon. He had his wrench.

“Okay,” I said, “The police are on the way. I’ll wait outside for them.”

I was thinking fast throughout this. Had someone seen me return to the first floor to check out the mailboxes? Had that person—perhaps the parking lot watcher—then taken advantage of my absence to dash up to 1608 to pick the lock? Was that person looking for Bunny and his family? Who were the watchers in the parking lot, if indeed they were real?

Were they still watching from somewhere, waiting for their chance to catch Bunny? For what reason?

I snatched up the digital camera, took the elevator to the ground floor and dashed out the door and into the parking lot. I walked behind the last row of cars, snapping shots of the vehicles and the license plates. There were at least twenty cars parked there. By the time I reached the first row, which I figured would give a good view of the windows on Bunny’s side of the building, a mustard-yellow Mustang started up. I jogged toward the front of the row to catch the plate before the Mustang left the lot. It revved its engine and shot forward, turning toward me. I leapt back out of the way and tripped over one of the cement parking barriers fringing the lot. I fell toward the giant dumpster that serviced the building and felt a wrench as my shoulder hit the ground. I huddled between the concrete wall of the building and the dumpster and listened to another rev. Pain shot through me as I forced myself to roll as far from the dumpster as I could get. I managed to hide myself behind the tall blue recycle bins. The car hit the dumpster, reversed and shot forward and hit it again. A door slammed. I made myself as small as I could and tried to think how to use the recycling bin as a weapon. The footsteps came closer. Stopped. An image of Rollie Thorsten, shot and drowned, flashed through my brain. Whoever had killed him wasn’t afraid to use a gun.

I had nothing to lose. Using my good side, I threw my body and gave the bins a mighty heave towards my unseen stalker. I heard a satisfying “oof ” as I sprinted toward the low fence at the near end of the parking lot. So close and yet so far away.

You gotta love adrenaline. I barely managed to stumble over the fence. I landed on my nose in the soft grass in the area known as the dog walk. I glanced up but saw no one coming after me. No arm raised with a gun. No joker. Good news. On the other hand, if a shoulder could scream in agony, mine would have. My nose hurt like hell too.

Sirens were the best music in the world at that moment. I heard the pounding of feet, the slam of a door and the rev of an engine behind me.

I got to my feet, my knees wobbling under me. As the first squad squealed into the parking lot, the Mustang shot out, nicking the cruiser as it went. The crash hurt my ears. A second car, roof lights flashing and siren shrieking, tore off in pursuit of the Mustang. A third cruiser followed. I was impressed with the number of cars that had arrived as a result of my 911 call, even though it had taken them long enough. I didn’t think they usually used their sirens for a mere break-in either. I limped toward the police car to see if the occupants had been injured. The airbags had deployed. A young officer was stepping out, looking dazed and holding his head.

The officer blinked at me when I got close.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, pointing to my nose.

“Look who’s talking,” I answered, pointing to his head.

He stared at me. “What? I’m not…” He raised his hand and felt his forehead. He brought his hand down to have a look at it. He gazed at the hand in confusion, probably surprised to find it all red and sticky.

I said, a bit more kindly, “I sure hope you don’t have a concussion. They’re going to haul you off to Emerg. You have my sympathy if you do. Concussions are a real bitch to deal with.”

He swayed, which is a bad sign.

“Hang in there,” I said, “Here come the paramedics. You go first. But maybe you shouldn’t try walking anywhere.”

“I’m all right,” he said, as his knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

I grabbed onto him to break his fall. My shoulder didn’t thank me. I said, “Sure you are. And in case I don’t see you again, thanks a lot for saving my life.”

“Job,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Better keep those eyes open,” I said. “Tell me, what made you drive into the parking lot instead of heading in the front door?”

The eyes opened part way. “Got a call.”

“Sure. You got my 911 about a problem in apartment 1608.”

“No, parking lot.”

Hmm.

I looked up and saw Bunny staring down from a fourth floor window. He may have given me the thumbs up, hard to tell at that distance. Sometimes it’s good to have a burglar in your corner, I suppose, even one that doesn’t do what he’s told, like hide in a safe place such as Mrs. Parnell’s. I stopped that thought mid-stream. I’d told Bunny earlier that Mrs. Parnell’s place was safe. I’d been wrong.

I no longer knew what I knew. I had no idea who’d been in the mustard-yellow Mustang and why they’d been watching the building. Maybe they weren’t connected to this, maybe they were a pair of lowlife drug dealers who wanted to avoid arrest. Maybe it was just a coincidence. There are lots of coincidences in life, but something, maybe the searing pain in my shoulder suggested that this wasn’t one of them. This was not only up close but also very personal.

As the paramedics headed rapidly toward me, I gestured to the cop, who was now sitting down, resting his head against the body of the cruiser. His eyes were closed again.

“Better take care of him first,” I said. “He’s one of the good guys.”

I figured the police officer had a concussion for sure. I hate head injuries, and I’ve had more than my share. but I had to admit this shoulder thing wasn’t much better. To make things worse, I spotted the familiar face of Dr. Abdullah Hasheem when I got hauled into Emerg by the second ambulance. Just my luck he was on duty. Of course, when wasn’t he?

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” he said. “I thought you must have moved to another city.”

I decided to sidestep a chat about how I spend more time getting patched up at the Ottawa General Hospital emergency room than the average lawyer. I wasn’t the only person in the world with that kind of track record. “How’s the police officer doing?” I said, conversationally. “I believe he had a concussion.”

“Why? Is he another relative of yours?” Dr. Hasheem asked as he looked up from my shoulder.

I considered the utility of a fib at this point and decided against it. I did say, “No, but let’s say I have a legitimate interest.”

“Do you.” Usually that’s a question, but I’ve had a few too many dealings with Dr. Hasheem over the years. In this case, I took it that he meant “you don’t.”

“Never mind. I’ve got connections on the force. I’ll find out for myself.” I followed this with a yelp as he examined my shoulder.

“Good idea,” Dr. Hasheem said. “But speaking of concussions, did you happen to hit your head when you fell?”

“Just my nose. It’s stopped bleeding. No hits to my skull.”

“Well, that’s a first. Perhaps you’re turning over a new leaf. Even so, I think you’ll need an ultrasound and an X-ray.”

“Is that absolutely necessary? I’ve got quite a few things to take care of today.”

Dr. Hasheem didn’t answer until he’d written up his notes and what looked like a couple of requisitions. When he clicked his pen closed, he said, “Good to see some things never change.”

He was gone with the usual flap of his white coat before I could come up with a suitably huffy reply.

FOURTEEN

How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?
-Lawyers can’t change light bulbs. But if you’re looking
for a lawyer to screw a light bulb...

E
ventually, after being shuffled from lab to lab, I found myself back in hospital never never land. Dr. Hasheem’s soft grey replacement showed up, tail twitching. I’d been expecting Leonard Mombourquette. He was not amused, no surprise there. Even the bizarre tale I had to tell him didn’t help his mood.

I did my best to look him right in his bright beady eyes.

“Start at the beginning,” he said. “Explain what were you doing in the parking lot again.”

“I’ve told you a half-dozen times. I was just checking it out to see if there was anyone suspicious there. Someone had broken into Mrs. Parnell’s apartment, and I thought I might be able to head off their confederates before they got away.”

“Right. You did tell me that. Now, why don’t you tell me a story that makes a bit of sense? Don’t overdo it. I don’t want to pass out from shock or anything.”

“Why don’t you believe me? Did you check out Mrs. Parnell’s apartment? It’s obvious that someone broke in there. You can clearly see the damage to the door frame. I have a key, as you know.”

“That part makes sense. It’s why would you run out to the parking lot and check out the vehicles there, that’s what I don’t get.”

“I didn’t want her stuff to…”

Damn.

“Right. You mean the stuff that wasn’t taken?”

“I didn’t take time to search for everything. She keeps a bit of money and some credit cards hidden here and there. She has items of sentimental value.”

“Tell you what. Keep sticking to that story, and I’ll keep you here talking.”

“Come on, Leonard. Give me a break. You know I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know you cost the province a good bit of money today and took some poor devil’s spot on a gurney and I also know that you’re harbouring that greasy little con.”

“What greasy little…? Oh, you mean, Bunny? I’d hardly call him greasy. He’s actually very fastidious.”

“Go ahead. Keep it up. I got all night. In fact, I got every day and night until I retire. I might even sit here as a volunteer afterwards if you want to stonewall me that long.”

“Look, Leonard. Bunny wasn’t there. He used to be a burglar and a good one. He never would have left the door looking like that. This was some person that didn’t have the skill level and finesse of a… Don’t make that face. No matter how you feel about him, Bunny didn’t burgle Mrs. P.’s place.”

It might have been the right time to tell Mombourquette that Bunny had the keys to the apartment making burglary unnecessary, but that was one can of worms I didn’t care to open.

“In that case, I’d like to hear exactly how his prints got in her apartment. I’m sure you could come up with a good story for that.”

I have to admit I blinked. I wasn’t about to say uncle though. “Bunny knows Mrs. Parnell. I think he might have been in her apartment legitimately. He’s not on a wanted list. You have a bit of tunnel vision where he’s concerned.”

“Maybe that tunnel vision is what made me notice his fingerprints turning up in her bedroom, bedside table and in the bathroom. What else you wonder? Let’s see. There’s the fridge, the toaster, the oven, the air conditioner and… Shall I continue?”

“Fingerprints are not against the law. I’m telling you that Bunny didn’t break into that apartment. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

“Me neither. Especially since you always tell the truth.”

“Leonard, you have to trust me. Bunny didn’t run me down, and he’s not the person who was in that apartment. I admit he may have been there at some other point, but he was not there today when this happened.”

“Here’s the thing: this fastidious criminal you seem to be so fond of is the number one suspect in a case of premeditated murder. So if you know where he is, you’d better spit it out, or you are going to find yourself charged with obstruction and anything else I can throw at you. You don’t have many friends in the Crown Prosecutor’s office, so they’ll probably come up with a few doozies themselves.”