The Devil and the Detective (9 page)

We drove past the cemetery first and Darren said, ‘That's probably where they're burying the guy,' and in the distance I could see two gravediggers smoking cigarettes beside a backhoe. Then we approached the funeral home about five kilometres up the road. The parking lot was full and there was a hearse (black, of course, I thought) out front. According to Darren, the flowers he was delivering to the funeral home were from the firm the deceased worked for as a chartered accountant for thirty-odd years. We pulled into the U-shaped driveway and Darren parked behind the hearse. ‘I'll be quick,' he said. ‘They're used to me making deliveries and they're a really sombre crew, especially if there's a funeral in progress.'

I sat and stared at the back of the hearse and saw there was no coffin in it yet, and I kept wondering how many dead bodies it had transported over its years of service. The hearse looked to be at least a decade old, though it was in excellent condition. Clearly well taken care of, I thought – interior and exterior detailed often. It could be on the showroom floor, though it's approximately a decade old. So 10 × 365 = 3,650, I thought, and so let's say this funeral home (i.e., Everett Family Funeral Home Ltd.) performs, say, an average of two funerals a day (approx.), that's 730 funerals a year and 730 × 10 is 7,300 and so is 2 × 3,650. Is it possible, I thought, that this shiny showroom-quality hearse sitting in front of me has transported (approx.) 7,300 corpses to the graveyard or the crematorium (the funeral home having its own crematorium, according to the sign on the lawn) in its tenure for Everett Family Funeral Home Ltd.? The weather was overcast and the sunshine was long gone. I sat studying the back of the hearse and then wondered if Gerald's body was still lying in the morgue or if it'd been buried in the ground or burned up into ash. Most likely it's still lying in the morgue, I thought. A gruesome post-mortem performed so as to determine what we all already know, I thought, namely, he died from knife wounds to the chest.

Although I didn't see a single soul it was obvious that the funeral home was full. Darren exited the home and hopped in the car and said, ‘Let's get out of here. The lawyers', ho!'

‘First,' I said, ‘I want to stop by the morgue.'

18

T
he morgue was in the basement of the hospital that the man in the cast was at so we had to double back, but Darren didn't seem to mind and it wasn't far. ‘I haven't been here in years,' I told Darren as we took the elevator to the hospital's basement. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get to see the body or read the autopsy report, but I felt confident that I'd figure something out. I'd bribe somebody, I thought, or pose as a police officer. For years I'd been carrying around a forged police
ID
in my wallet, always hidden behind my real
ID
s, et cetera.

I got lucky, however, for once: a doctor, Dr. Leonard P. Tate, was in the morgue, amongst the sterilized tools and galvanized-steel refrigeration units for cadavers. I told him the truth, or most of the truth. I told him that I'm a private detective, hired by Mrs. Elaine Andrews, the deceased's wife of six years, to speed up the process of solving this case so justice could be meted out swiftly, so the widow could start the process of moving on with her devastated life. Dr. Tate asked me what I wanted.

‘First off,' I said, ‘I was wondering if I could see the body?'

‘That's impossible,' said Tate. ‘The body was cremated late last night.'

‘Doesn't that seem fast?' Darren said.

‘Yes, but the autopsy was completed. I did it myself. There was nothing left to learn from the body. It was clear that he died from multiple stab wounds to the chest, more specifically,' Tate said, picking up the autopsy report from a table, ‘
perforation of the right lung and hemothorax causing intrathoracic and intra-abdominal hemorrhaging
.'

‘Can I see that for a sec?' I said.

‘No.'

‘Please let him, doc,' said Darren. ‘He's just trying to solve the case, same as the police.'

‘I only want to glance at it.'

Tate looked hesitantly at the report in his hands and said, ‘No. I told you everything you need to know. He died from stab wounds to the chest and sustained cuts on his hands from his efforts to defend himself.'

‘It wasn't self-inflicted.'

‘It most certainly wasn't self-inflicted.'

Darren walked over to Tate, popped the report out of his hands, and threw it over to me. I read,

AUTOPSY REPORT
91-06160

DEPT. OF CORONER
: 0830h 13 October

DECEDENT
: Andrews, Gerald

From the anatomic findings and pertinent history, I ascribe the death to:
MULTIPLE SHARPE FORCE INJURIES

ANATOMICAL SUMMARY

1. Multiple stab wounds of chest and abdomen: Penetrating stab wounds of chest and abdomen with right hemothorax and hemoperitoneum.

(‘Give that back! Security!' said Tate, but Darren held him back.)

2. Multiple abrasions, upper extremities and hands: i.e., Defence wounds.

EXTERNAL EXAMINATION

The body is that of a Caucasian male stated to be 66 years old. The body weighs 88.4 kilograms, measuring 182.8 centimetres from crown to sole. The hair on the scalp is grey and straight and sparse. The irises appear a sharp blue with the pupils fixed and dilated.

Both upper and lower teeth are capped.

There are no deformities but the decedent has a surgical scar on the left arm, from a reported surgery on a fractured elbow.

The body appears to the Examiner as stated above. Identification is by toe tag and the autopsy is not material to identification. The body is not embalmed.

The front of the chest and abdomen show injuries to be described below. The genitalia are that of an adult male, with the penis uncircumcised, and no evidence of injury.

(Tate was struggling and yelling but Darren continued to hold him back and I read fast.)

CLOTHING

The clothes were examined before and after removal from the body. The decedent was wearing a long-sleeved black sweater and white undershirt, both extensively bloodstained.

On the front, lower right side of the black sweater and white undershirt, there are long slit-like tears measuring 3.8 centimetres. Also on the lower right sleeve of the black sweater there is a 3-centimetre slit-like tear.

Decedent was wearing a pair of grey woollen slacks, bloodstained. The decedent also was wearing 2 black leather Oxfords and 2 black cashmere socks.

His underpants, too, are bloodstained.

EVIDENCE OF INJURY

DESCRIPTION OF MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS
:

1. Stab wound on right side of chest.

The stab wound is located on the right side of the chest, 45.7 centimetres below the top of the head and 15.2 centimetres from the back of the body.

(I skimmed and skipped ahead, while Darren restrained Tate.)

SHARP FORCE INJURIES OF HANDS

(‘Give it back,' said Tate. ‘Now!' And I flipped ahead … )

CARDIOVASCULAR SYSTEM

The heart weighs 306 grams, and has a normal size and configuration.

(Tate broke free from Darren's grasp. I skimmed over the parts about the Gastrointestinal System, Hemolymphatic System, Urinary System, Male Genital System, Histology, Radiology – there was nothing pertinent to the case. ‘I'm not kidding,' said Tate. ‘Give it back now!' I quickly read the rest.)

WITNESSES

Detective Michael O'Meara, Robbery Homicide Division, was present during the autopsy.

(Tate ripped the report out of my hands and the last thing I read was his name … )

S/ LEONARD P. TATE, M.D., DEPUTY MEDICAL EXAMINER

19

A
s we drove toward the Bouvert-Adamson offices, Darren asked, ‘Did you learn anything from the report?'

‘No,' I said. ‘Not really. Just the grim facts of the corpse, or what was the corpse.'

‘Do you find it suspicious that they already burned the body?'

‘Honestly, I'm finding everything suspicious. But there's little doubt that stabbing was the cause of death.'

‘If he's dead.'

‘Of course he's dead.'

‘Have you seen the body?'

‘No, but he's dead.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Darren, we were just talking to the doctor who did the autopsy. You were there. You knocked the autopsy report out of his hands and threw it to me and I read it. He died from multiple stab wounds to the chest –
multiple sharp force injuries
.'

‘So you read the autopsy report … '

‘Yes, I did. Autopsy report 91-06160.'

‘But anyone could've written the report, Bob. It could be totally made up, or someone else's … '

‘Doubtful.'

‘They could've faked his death by giving him, like, hydro­chlorothiazide or something to slow down his heart rate and then made it look like he was stabbed a bunch of times with makeup and – '

‘It's far-fetched.'

‘You haven't seen the body, is the point.'

‘I see your point. But this would be a serious conspiracy that no one could pull off. You think the police are involved? O'Meara? You think good ol' doc Tate's involved, too? C'mon. Too many people. And why would Gerald Andrews want to fake his own death in the first place?'

‘I'm saying it's not out of the realm of possibility.'

‘We're pretty certain it's out of the realm of the possible.'

‘No we're not.'

‘Okay, we're not, I suppose, but it's unlikely. Highly unlikely.'

‘Well, it's possible and I'm suspicious.'

‘Good, I suppose. But I don't want to go down any wrong paths, you know.'

‘Yes.'

‘Anyway, you're right, though. I never saw the body. There were quite a few police when I got to their house, and that night the body was still presumably in the living room. It hadn't been taken away yet.'

‘If there was even a body in the first place.'

‘I think that we should presuppose that there's a body, or was a body, before they cremated it late last night.'

‘But you didn't go in the house that night.'

‘No, I didn't. I met Elaine on the front porch. She was giving her version of the events to a uniformed officer with a notepad, who was periodically jotting things down in said notepad.'

‘So you stood on the porch and talked to Elaine and the officer.'

‘Yes, and then O'Meara came out and we talked to him for a minute but then took off. We took off to a bar for some drinks.'

‘Did you ask to see the body?'

‘Of course I asked to see the body.'

‘But O'Meara wouldn't let you.'

‘No, he wouldn't.'

‘See … '

‘O'Meara wouldn't let me see the body because he's an asshole, not because he's tied up in some super-rich guy's conspiracy, Darren.'

‘Still, the point remains.'

‘It does but I think Gerald's dead. It's more likely she conspired to murder her husband or murdered him herself than that Gerald wanted to elaborately fake his own death, wouldn't you say?'

‘I don't know. Maybe.'

‘Well, it's more likely – much more.'

‘Probably.'

‘I'm operating under that assumption.'

‘Well, that's all I was saying.'

‘What?'

‘That you shouldn't … '

‘What?'

‘Operate under that assumption.'

‘Okay, I won't. But the theory that Elaine conspired to murder her husband – or murdered him herself – is still the best theory I've got. We've got.'

‘I suppose. But I'm not putting anything past these people.'

20

D
arren and I sat in leather chairs in the waiting area of the Bouvert-Adamson offices: I flipped through magazines featuring wealthy people while Darren attempted to catch the attention of the attractive receptionist, Michelle, whose name he learned after introducing himself as soon as he saw her. She greeted Darren politely, even seemed amused, but that was that. I'd asked Darren to wait in the car but he wouldn't stay put. He said he wanted to meet
these lawyers
and ask them some questions himself. I told him I didn't think that that was a wise idea but he wouldn't listen and said this case was his problem, too, now. I told him it really wasn't and he said he wanted to help, that he'd been helping for days, and wanted more information. I said he could come up but told him I wanted to talk to the lawyers alone. He said that he couldn't make any promises. We sat and waited, and it seemed like Bouvert and Adamson were taking much longer than was reasonable, I thought, considering the circumstances. Darren, however, I thought, seemed unperturbed. Perhaps Darren and Michelle would fall in love, I thought, and that would be the only good to come out of this disaster. If that was the case, it definitely wouldn't be worth the trouble. Nevertheless, she didn't seem interested in Darren, though he kept periodically and unsubtly looking up and over at her. But Michelle diligently kept her head down, typing away, and her face glowed a soft blue in her monitor's light. When she finally looked up, I could feel Darren's blood charge with expectancy, though she just said that they were ready to see me. I stood and Darren stood, too, but I told him to stay put. He didn't protest.

Michelle walked me to Bouvert's office, and Adamson was there with him waiting for me. They looked guarded, I thought, when I entered the office, and I wondered if the gun I'd imagined to be in the small metal cabinet near Bouvert's desk was now somewhere on his person, or at least close at hand. I glanced over at the cabinet and it seemed slightly ajar, though it was hard to tell from my perspective. Nevertheless, I'd operate under the assumption that Bouvert was packing, I thought.

‘Mr. James,' said Bouvert, the first of us to say anything, but he didn't follow up with any more words.

‘You can still call me Bob.'

‘What can we help you with?' said Bouvert.

‘Do you know anything about Elaine's lover? Or
lovers
? This Adam guy who worked with Gerald. The one who supposedly killed himself. Do you know anything about him? I mean, now I assume Adam's an alias – obviously, of course. But do you know anything about her extramarital affairs, et cetera?'

Bouvert rested his interlaced fingers across his stomach as he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat of the rich phlegm of a cigar smoker. His black cufflinks reflected back some light. ‘Mr. James – '

‘Really, Bob's fine.'

‘Bob. Al and I think she had a lover, yes, of course. And he might've worked for or with Mr. Andrews at some point, too, but we're not sure. We certainly haven't heard of anybody who worked with Gerald having committed suicide. Or at least not anyone who may've been involved with Mrs. Andrews.'

The lover-who-committed-suicide-because-he-couldn't-live-without-Elaine story was most certainly bullshit, I thought, and I was irritated with myself for ever believing it, even for a second. ‘Okay, I'll just ask the question straight up. Do you think that Elaine conspired to murder her husband? And, if so, do you believe she has a lover in on it?'

‘What do you think, Bob?' said Bouvert, the one who did all the talking, while Al sat there looking skinny and menacing but distant.

‘I think that she murdered her husband and took off with some dough and some lover to some far-off place.'

Bouvert seemed pleased and flashed his bad teeth and said, ‘Al and I are of the same mind, Bob.'

When I returned to the waiting area, Darren was leaning on Michelle's station and they seemed to be getting along swell. Well good, I thought, because the lawyers proved useless. Darren and Michelle exchanged cards and we split. ‘Did you learn anything from the lawyers?' Darren asked as we approached the hatchback.

‘Not really, though they seem to think Elaine took off with some guy, too. But they have no idea who. Or if they do, they aren't sharing,' I said.

‘Do you think they know more than they were letting on?'

‘Yes, of course. Still, though, I'm not sure they know the identity of the other man. They said they didn't and I sort of believe them.'

‘What else did they say?'

‘Not much. One of them, Adamson, the skeletal one, he doesn't really speak at all.'

‘Huh.'

‘So you seemed to be hitting it off with Michelle.'

‘Yeah. She might meet us for a drink later. I asked her some questions but she was reluctant to answer in the office, so I thought maybe we'd talk to her in a more hospitable environment over drinks.'

‘Good thinking, Darren.'

‘She did, however, tell me that Bouvert and Adamson are going for drinks in about an hour at the bar at l'Hôtel Athènes – le Charon.'

‘Do you know who they're meeting?'

‘A client. I don't know who. Michelle just said
a client
. She wouldn't tell me who. Said she wasn't allowed, though she let it slip that they had this rendezvous.'

‘Okay, well, we'll have to trail them.'

‘They know what you look like.'

‘Yes.'

‘But they haven't seen me.'

‘Right.'

‘So I propose I sit near them. I'm a good eavesdropper.'

‘I wish I had my recording device.'

‘I've got a notebook in my knapsack. I'll just take notes, you know, discreetly,' said Darren.

‘Don't sit too close.'

‘I won't. They won't spot me. I'll just have a drink and pretend I'm reading and taking notes. It's a hotel. They'll just think I'm a guest – someone's kid – if they think of me at all. I have great hearing. I can be discreet.'