Striking Out (16 page)

With phone calls to the paper, to Joe Kelsey, Christopher Morris, Ted Ferguson, the Titan owner, and to my contacts in both league offices, I managed to put together a story that contradicted everything Bill Sanderson had said in the
World
, despite some interesting interruptions.

The first one was from Janet Sachs.

“Is it true what I read in the paper? It was Maggie’s husband who was murdered last week?”

“Yes. There’s no question about it. I’ve met the son and seen the family pictures. Same ones that were in the
Planet
.”

“This puts a different complexion on things, doesn’t it?”

“The police certainly think so,” I said. “Has Maggie called again?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell the police about her call?”

“If they ask me, I guess.”

“If they ask you.”

“I know I should, but I feel like I’m a lifeline for her. I want to leave that open. It’s not as if I know where she is. I’m not hiding anything exactly, except the fact that she’s alive. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“It’s your decision, and I understand what you’re saying. I can’t tell you what to do, and I’ll respect your confidence.”

“If she calls again, I’ll tell her to go to the police,” she said. “I can promise you that. And if anything she says indicates she might be guilty, I’ll let them know. But let me leave it open for now.”

A thought occurred to me.

“There’s a private investigator looking for Maggie on behalf of her children,” I said. “His name’s Tip Keenan, and he seems to be a good sort. Solid. He’s not out to convict her, just reunite her with the children. Can I give him your name, since you know Maggie?”

“Sure. I’ll talk to him, if it will do any good. Tell him to call me at home tonight. I’ve got to get back to my patient.”

“Thanks. I’ll call him now.”

Tip was in his office. I explained that Janet Sachs had let Maggie live in her carport and might have some information.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “I was about to call you, actually. I was wondering if you’d like to come to the meeting with the Carlsons tonight. Pete thinks you should.”

“Would I? I was wondering how I could crash the party.”

Tip laughed. “Just don’t get me in trouble with Andy, okay? Six o’clock at Pete’s suite at the King Eddy.”

“Spending the inheritance as fast as he can, eh?”

“Kate, this is not a Holiday Inn kind of family.”

“I’ll be there. And thanks.”

Andy was dubious about the plan, but couldn’t muster any compelling argument against it. Jim came over in the afternoon, and I left him and Andy playing crib.

The King Edward Hotel is posh in the extreme. I even put on a skirt. Last time I’d been there was to interview a multi-million-dollar free agent pitcher whose agent was touring him around from town to major-league town, holding press conferences and raising the hopes of gullible fans. I had done my best not to be part of the process.

Pete greeted me at the door, dressed in a different suit than he’d worn the day before, with the jacket off to show his suspenders. His tie was still neatly done up.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, with his charming smile.

The suite was elegant but boring, all beige and brocade, inoffensive art on the walls, and fresh flowers in huge, tasteful vases. I could feel an undercurrent of tension as soon as I stepped in the room. Pete, who had a large drink of what looked like straight Scotch in his hand, made the introductions with a forced cheerfulness.

“This is my brother Neil, the almost-lawyer,” he said, indicating a preppy-looking young man in tailored shorts and a golf shirt who shook my hand sullenly, then resumed his seat and picked up a tumbler full of a clear liquid I doubted was water.

“And this is our long-lost sister, Terry Shaw, the California girl.”

She smiled nervously at me from the corner of the sofa where she sat curled up in a defensive posture, holding a wine glass in both hands. She looked to be in her late twenties and had her mother’s beauty, with blonde hair piled loosely on top of her head. But there was a hardness to her that might have had something to do with her tan. She was wearing something layered and pastel. Her feet were bare.

“Please sit down and tell me about Mom,” she said, patting the seat next to her. “Is she all right?”

“Let’s remember our manners, Terry,” Pete said. “Our guest could probably use a drink.”

“If she doesn’t now, she’ll want one after listening to you two for five minutes,” his sister snapped.

“A glass of wine would be fine,” I said. Pete went to the credenza, where he had set up a bar with large bottles of Chivas Regal, Absolut Vodka, and a wine bottle in an ice bucket. I sat on the couch next to Terry.

“I don’t even know what to ask you,” she said. “Pete has told us what he knows, but I find it hard to believe. What could have driven her to living on the streets?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to fill in some of the gaps,” I said. “I only know snippets of her life story. She wasn’t really forthcoming.”

“If she only knew how much her leaving hurt me,” Terry said, somewhat dramatically.

“It hurt us all, Terry,” Pete said, walking over with my class in one hand and the bottle in the other. “Top you up?”

“I’m sure,” she said, holding up her glass. “But then you had Daddy dearest to buy you things to make the hurt go away, didn’t you. That must have been nice.”

“That’s not fair,” Pete said. “You were the one who left home. Dad would have supported you, too, if you’d let him.”

“Yeah, sis, it was your choice,” Neil said. “Don’t come here crying poor and expect our sympathy.”

“I’m not asking for anybody’s sympathy,” she said. “I didn’t want anything from that bastard. I’m glad he’s dead, and I wouldn’t even be here with the, quote, grieving family, unquote, if I didn’t think there was a chance of seeing my mother.”

“You wouldn’t be here at all if Pete hadn’t paid your airfare, sister dearest,” snarled Neil.

A knock on the door put an end to that round. Pete opened it to Tip Keenan, who apologized for being late. He got the round of introductions, and a beer from the mini-bar, before sitting in an armchair to the left of the sofa.

“Isn’t there someone missing?” he asked. “Where’s your other brother? John, isn’t it?”

“We’re not sure,” Pete said. “I talked to his girlfriend this morning and she said he’d just called. But when she told him what had happened, he just hung up, and he hasn’t been heard from since.”

“Don’t worry,” Neil said. “Johnny will turn up.”

“Of course he will,” Terry said.

“You never know with Johnny,” Pete said. “You haven’t seen him since he was a kid, remember.”

“We’ve been in touch. We talk on the phone.”

“He never told me that,” Neil said, surprised.

“Maybe he didn’t want you to know,” she said. “Sorry, that’s not fair. It’s just that you two and Dad never talked about her. So he turned to me. No big deal.”

I looked around the room for ashtrays, hoping I wasn’t stuck on a non-smoking floor. I spied one on the credenza and got it.

“I hope nobody minds,” I said, pulling out my pack. “I’ll smoke it over here away from everyone.”

Pete looked pained, Neil looked contemptuous, and Terry, to my surprise, smiled.

“Bring it over here,” she said. “I hardly ever smoke now, but I love Canadian cigarettes. I used to steal them out of Grandpa’s pack when we were at the farm during the summers.”

I lit it for her, she puffed, and then blew the smoke out in an exaggerated cloud towards Neil. He got up and walked to the credenza, poured another vodka, and pointedly sat down in a different chair.

“Let’s get to the reason for the meeting,” Pete said. “As you know, Dad hired Mr. Keenan to find our mother. I’ve asked him to keep trying. Have you made any progress?”

“All I can tell you is she hasn’t been seen since I talked to her a week ago. The police have been looking for her, as have Kate and I, without any luck.”

I told them about my searches through the neighbourhood and inquiries at the women’s shelter.

“But Toronto’s a big city, and she’s a resourceful woman,” I said. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Do you think she killed him?” Terry asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Did she have a reason to? I’m not a policeman, but I know what they ask first. Who benefits from his death? I assume there was a will.”

For a moment, the only sound was the tinkling of ice cubes. Then Neil got up from his chair.

“What are you saying? That it was one of us? That’s ridiculous. I wasn’t even in Toronto, and I can prove it.”

“Relax,” Tip said. “Kate’s not accusing anyone, and there’s no need to start providing alibis. She’s just telling you the first question that police ask when there’s been a murder.”

“Yes, and in this case, they have apparently decided that your mother benefited,” I said, “but they will explore all the possibilities. Of course, it could also be simply one of those random acts of violence the tabloids love.”

“The police are also interested in the anti-abortion demonstrators that have been hanging around the neighbourhood,” Tip said. “At the very least they might have seen something. I should tell you, though, that there are aspects to the murder that indicate the killer knew your father and was anxious to turn him into a John Doe for as long as possible.”

“That’s right,” Pete said. “The police didn’t even know who it was when I talked to them first. I had to bring his dental records up.”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t have done it,” Terry said. “I was in California and didn’t even know he was here.”

I exchanged a look with Tip. He took over.

“This is all very nice, but unnecessary,” he said. “Kate and I are not the police department. We’re just here to talk about finding your mother.”

“Which may amount to finding the killer, sadly,” Pete said.

Terry began to argue with him. Neil looked on, smirking. He was starting to show the vodka he’d been pounding back.

“Don’t forget there was someone else who hated Dad’s guts.”

We all waited. He drained his drink, crunched an ice cube, and smiled again.

“Someone who also knew he was coming to Toronto,” he said. “I’ll be interested to see where Junior says he’s been since the big father-son reunion in Chicago.”

“Cool it, Neil,” Pete said. “I’m sure that meeting has nothing to do with this. Making suggestions like that isn’t exactly useful.”

If Pete was uncomfortable, Terry was furious. She coiled herself tighter in the corner of the couch and glared.

“You bastard,” she said, coldly. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? When in doubt, blame it on Johnny. You’ve done it all your life, as long as there’s been Johnny to blame. You picked on him when he was little, you bad-mouthed him to Dad, you never stood up for him, and now you’re trying to pin a murder on him.”

Tip and I exchanged glances. Things were getting pretty interesting. They were about to become more so.

A knock on the door broke the tense silence. Pete got up and crossed to the door.

“Well, well.” he said, once he saw who it was. Then he stepped back and held the door open.

The young man who crossed the threshold was pale and skeletally thin, dressed in combat boots, black jeans, and a torn black T-shirt. His head was shaved and he was pierced with various bits of metal through his ears and nose. He came in warily, a motorcycle helmet under his arm. Terry jumped to her feet and crossed the room.

“Johnny.”

“Terry?”

They looked at each other for a moment, then embraced awkwardly. Neil broke the silence.

“Too bad we haven’t got a fatted calf,” he said. “The prodigal son is with us at last.”

Johnny and Terry let go of each other, and she introduced Tip and me to her brother.

“They’re here to help us find Mom,” she explained.

“I can’t believe she’s alive,” he said. “Clenice told me on the phone.”

“Clenice is Johnny’s girlfriend,” Terry explained. Neil laughed.

“Girlfriend’s such a quaint term for a woman ten years older.” he said. “Nanny’s more like it.”

Pete shook Johnny’s hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” he said.

“I got on the bike as soon as I talked to Clenice,” Johnny said. “She told me where you were.”

“Wish we could say the same for you, buddy.” Pete said. “Where have you been for the last week?”

“I went away for a while. Had some stuff to think about. Is there a law against that?”

“I hope you’ve got some people who can back you up.” Neil said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, little bro, we haven’t been able to tell the police where you were when Dad got killed. It doesn’t look too good.”

“Don’t worry about it, son.” Tip said. “It’s just routine.”

“But there isn’t anyone.” Johnny said. “I went up to the hunting lodge. I don’t know if anyone saw me.”

“There are no neighbours?” I asked.

“No, it’s in the middle of nowhere.” Pete said.

“How inconvenient for you.” Neil said.

“Shut up,” Terry said, then turned to Johnny. “If you were really there, you have nothing to fear.”

“What do you mean, if? You don’t believe me either?”

“Of course, I do.” she said. “Let’s just sit down.”

“Can I get you anything?” Pete asked.

“Just water,” he said.

We all watched as he gulped the water, then leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, exhaling explosively. Then he opened his eyes, and looked around.

“Can we start from the beginning?” he asked. “All I know is what Clenice told me. Dad’s dead. Mom’s alive. So where is she?”

“We don’t exactly know,” I said. “But the police are looking for her, and so are we.”

“Who are you? What have you got to do with this?”

I explained, again, my relationship with his mother and what I knew about her life in the past little while.

“A bag lady? My mother? That goddamn bastard drove her to it. I’ll kill him.”

When he realized what he had said, he laughed.

“But it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”

Tip looked at his watch, then stood up.

“I’m sorry, folks. I’ve got to pick up my boy from his grandmother’s. I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything.”

“Hang on, Keenan,” Pete said. “I’m paying you for action.”

“There is nothing useful I can do tonight,” he said. “In the meantime, my son is waiting, and I’m not going to let him down. Have a nice evening. I’ll call in the morning.”

At the door, he stopped.

“Do you need a lift, Kate?”

“Thanks, I’ve got my car.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon.”

He left, and I stood up.

“Don’t run away,” Pete said. “Let’s go to dinner. There must be a decent restaurant in this town somewhere.”

“One or two,” I said.

“Count me out,” Terry said. “I’ll order to my room.”

“You might as well order for two,” Johnny said.

“I’ll call down and get a room for you,” Pete said.

“Don’t bother. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Johnny said.

“Jesus Christ! I said I’ll get you a room,” Pete said. He picked up the phone. Johnny turned to Neil.

“I’ll be back later,” he said, and walked out the door.

Terry followed him. Not wanting to be left alone with the other two, I got up from my chair.

“I’m afraid I have another commitment, too,” I told Neil, who didn’t appear to be too broken up about it. “Pete’s got my number if you want anything. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from your mother.”

Johnny and Terry were waiting for me at the elevator.

“We’d like to talk to you,” Terry said.

“I should get home,” I replied. “My friend is recovering from surgery, and I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“Please? Come to my room, and you can call him from there.”

“Then can we go eat?” Johnny asked. “I’m starving.”

When I phoned him, Andy wasn’t pleased. I had to listen to another lecture on meddling in police business before he admitted he was quite happy to scramble eggs for himself. The two Carlsons and I went to the Kit Kat on King Street. It’s a small, funky restaurant where none of us felt out of place, although we made a strange trio. Over a plate of bruschetta and some house red, Johnny started to talk about his childhood. His version of life in the mansion was quite different from Pete’s.

“After she left, it was like all his anger got focused on me,” Johnny said. “I tried to be who he wanted me to be, but I didn’t know how. Pete and Neil were teenagers, so they got away from him more easily, but I was stuck there every night, watching him booze it up and listening to him rage. By the time I was twelve, I ran away from home every chance I got.”

“I should have come back for you,” Terry said.

“No, you shouldn’t have. You had to get away from him. I remember how he treated you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head.

“And you don’t know half of it,” she said.

Our main courses arrived, and Terry poured us each some more wine. Then she raised her glass.

“A toast to my father,” she said. “I’m glad the bastard’s dead.”