The Icing on the Corpse (17 page)

I was almost in the elevator before I caught my breath. I guess you can push Conn McCracken only so far. If I'd been a good little girl I would have kept going and headed out the door and onto Elgin Street.

Instead, I stayed on the second floor and zipped down the hall towards the police gym. What the hell, it was the last chance I'd get to visit, what with directives and all. I peered through the glass slot in the door, and sure enough, caught sight of Mombourquette.

I ditched my jacket and boots in the empty office around the corner and headed in. The police gym smelled just like any other. Mombourquette was working with the free weights. Developing his pecs, I figured. And not a moment too soon. From the far end of the gym came the steady thunk of basketballs.

“Hey, Leonard!” I said.

“What are you doing here?” Mombourquette didn't break his routine for a second.

“I need to see you.”

“We're not supposed to talk to you.”

“I don't understand that. Maybe you can explain it to me. But first, I wanted to know if you'd heard the latest about Elaine.”

“I'm serious, Camilla. Get out of here.”

“Sheesh. What a welcome. I was heading in to see Conn about family matters, and I heard you were here, and I dropped in to say hi.”

“Hi. Goodbye.”

“Hey. Sorry to interrupt your workout. But when would be a good time to talk?”

“Never.” I noticed a couple of officers in the far corner glance over.

“Never?”

“We have orders not to give you information. But I bet you already know that.”

“I don't need information. I'm giving it out.”

“I'm not going to bite.”

I refrained from saying “and what a waste of pointy incisors that is.” Although I'd kept my voice down, we'd been noticed. One of his colleagues stepped off the treadmill and stared at us.

“No problem. I wanted to let you know the Crown plans to throw the book at Elaine.”

He pushed the weights up with his arms. “Get out of here.”

“It's true. Mia Reilly told me.”

“Now.”

“Fine.” I turned to leave.

“They won't get a conviction. And even if they do, she won't serve time. She'll get a suspended sentence. At the worst it will be conditional.” He kept his voice low.

“You wish. Mia Reilly says she can get murder in the first. It's a good career move for her. They'll pull out all the stops and prove Elaine stood to gain personally from his death. Don't count on a light sentence, because it won't happen.”

“We all know she fired you. You have no authority whatsoever. Hit the road.” Mombourquette's muscles were getting a workout they wouldn't soon forget.

“She did fire me. Because she wants to be a martyr. And now I hear the cops are not allowed to talk to big, big, bad, bad Camilla MacPhee. Makes you wonder about a cover-up.”

“Scram, Camilla.”

I couldn't believe it. “Listen, Leonard, I thought you cared about Elaine, and if you do, you'd better be prepared to talk to me, because she needs all the friends she can get.”

“You'll need all the friends you can get if you're not out of here in thirty seconds. You want to get charged, keep talking.”

“Problem, Lennie?”

The basketballs had stopped thunking. A tall female officer with spiky ash blond hair unbent from a rowing machine and loped over.

“The problem's on her way out.” Mombourquette hadn't stopped hoisting those weights. Maybe that's why he turned such a funny colour.

“Think about that, serious time.” I hate to let someone else have the last word.

A trickle of sweat worked its way down Mombourquette's neck. “You think about
this
. If you don't want to find yourself in deep shit, don't make any stops on your way out. That includes badgering McCracken.”

I turned and pushed open the door. “Good-bye, Lennie.

Nice to see you sweat.”

The female officer followed me out of the room. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms and waited while I retrieved my parka and tied up the neon yellow laces of my Sorels. She smelled a bit of linament. No surprise. She didn't look like the type to wear perfume. She followed me down the hall and into the elevator, and she didn't say a word. Must have read that memo.

I kept my mouth shut on the ride down and didn't look back until I hit the front doors. When I did glance over my shoulder, I saw her deep in conversation with the Commissionaire at the info desk. They were both pointing at me.

B
ack in Justice for Victims, Alvin had vanished for the day. A stack of pink messages remained, all but one from my sisters. The remaining one said my car would be unavailable for an extra ten days.

I couldn't keep riding around in Mrs. Parnell's LTD for another ten days. Not the way the defrost worked on it. I made a call and managed to snag a rental car. Then I spent a couple of hours catching up on some grant proposals to keep the wolf from the door. It was boring enough to keep my mind off things for a while. But only for a while. Then it was time to get back to the matter most on my mind.

I tried to call Mrs. Parnell for an update, but she didn't answer her phone. Neither did Merv. Neither did Lindsay. I couldn't call Elaine. The Crown Attorney's office would be closed for the day. Ditto the WAVE office, not that I could expect help there. I couldn't talk to the police. I couldn't talk to my best friend, Robin, because she was out of reach in the Yucatan. I didn't want to talk to my sisters. If I didn't get the frustration out of my system, I'd have to scream.

If you can't beat them, join them.

Okay, it's not my motto. My motto is more like, if you can't beat them, run over them with a truck. But I was in enough trouble already. A skate on the canal seemed like the right antidote to my poisonous mood. I figured it would help me to think clearly while I waited for Alvin and Mrs. P. to report back. Plus I needed the practice before I hit the ice with P. J.'s nephews.

I had a pair of skates in the bottom drawer of the second filing cabinet, along with a pair of emergency running shoes.

Sure enough, they were nestled between the single leather glove and the Tupperware containers.

Ten minutes later, I plunked on a bench by the edge of the canal, slipped into the skates and tightened the Velcro fasteners. I tucked my boots into my backpack and headed out to join the Winterlude crowds. Since the temperature held at a balmy zero Celsius, everyone in Ottawa seemed to be out. It felt like a heat wave to me. I stuffed my red hat in my pocket and let myself enjoy the breeze for the first time in two months. The sky was clear and starry already. The three-quarter moon offered natural light in addition to the lamp standards along the canal.

It was after eight on a weeknight, but clouds of kids darted around. The combination of the warm temperature and the number of people made the ice slooshy, but who cared? All you had to do was watch out for the gouges and cracks in the ice surface, relax and have a good time.

I'd forgotten how it felt. It doesn't matter how broke you are, you can always get your mitts on a pair of second-hand skates. Paul and I had spent many hours on the canal, holding hands, laughing. The year we lived in Old Ottawa South, we'd skated to work every morning the canal was open and home again late in the evening, full of cases and news from our respective law firms. I wondered where Paul's skates were, then I stopped that thought. Fast.

It was the kind of night that Winterlude is all about. Throngs of skaters laughed and spun. Ahead of me a young couple each guided a toddler, the whole family sporting handknit red scarves.

If Paul had lived, would we have had a child? Would we have worn matching red scarves? Enough of that. I had real trouble without making myself miserable with might-have-beens. I let myself get caught up in the good mood. What the hell.

I figured a trip down to the Pretoria Bridge and back would be far enough. I threaded my way in and out of skaters moving in random patterns, passing the University of Ottawa buildings on my left, the Golden Triangle on my right. My ankles ached from the unfamiliar skates. But that was good. It would take my mind off my Elaine problem and would be enough to clear my head and let the unconscious part of my brain deal with all my tricky issues.

I was having fun. I found out I could still twirl. Looking back down the canal, I could see the top of the Peace Tower just visible behind the Laurier Street Bridge.

What the heck, since I was out having fun, I decided to eat. I knew what I wanted. I careened up to the green wooden cabin with the gold letters. Luckily, I remembered how to use my blades to stop. I waited in line and bought a BeaverTail, cinnamon and sugar. I nibbled as I skated along and turned to head back at the Pretoria Bridge.

I tried to concentrate on who might have killed Benning and tried not to get sidetracked by Elaine and her bizarre choice. In the end things always worked out for Elaine. She pulled crazy stunts and got away with them. Everyone remembered her hunger strike over subsidies for better low-income housing, the sit-ins in front of Foreign Affairs, and, of course, the legendary visit to the House of Commons. If there were Stubborn Olympics, Elaine would have medals.

I peered over and up at the town houses on Echo Drive and thought of Lindsay. Then it hit me. Elaine had sandbagged me. I hadn't used my brain for proper analysis. I'd probably missed leads pointing toward the real murderer.

Ralph Benning had been a thug and a villain, a wife beater and a drug dealer and who knew what else. It stood to reason he would have ticked off scarier folks than the Executive Director of WAVE.

Even though I couldn't believe Lindsay might have killed Benning, missing sweaters or not, and most likely her family and friends hadn't either, it still made sense she'd have an idea who would. After all, before she'd been his victim, she'd been his lover. She'd spent her time with him. It didn't cross my mind Benning would have been open with her or anybody, but even so, she would have met his cronies, and business acquaintances. More important, she might know whom he dealt with on the police force.

Pillow talk.

She hadn't told me. But then, I hadn't asked her the right questions. Maybe she had a good reason. Did Lindsay know someone worse than Benning?

I had a purpose for skating besides letting off steam. I was right across the canal from Lindsay's place. There was a convenient set of steps leading up to Colonel By. It was clogged with slow-moving families lifting children right at that moment.

I waited by the side of the canal and tapped the blades of my skates irritably against the ice. At least I had the BeaverTail to keep me busy. I licked a bit of the sugar from my gloves. I had to start to remember to eat more often.

I sniffed the air. I caught a whiff of a familiar scent. What was it? Hard to tell. The cinnamon overwhelmed it.

I was halfway through my BeaverTail when I felt a powerful blow to the back of my legs. Had a kid skidded out of control? Before I could check, I was hit again.

My knees crumbled, and I shot forward. The BeaverTail dropped as I put my hands out to break my fall. I tumbled towards the bank of snow at the side of the canal. My yell was swallowed up by the music. The banked snow rose up to meet my face. Someone grabbed my shoulders as I plunged forward. Thank God. But the hands pushed instead of pulling. A blow to my back propelled me head first into the crusty snow. The hard surface scraped my face as I slammed through it.

I tried to yell but my mouth filled with snow. Somebody's knees dug in my back and strong hands pushed my face further into the soft icy interior of the bank. My arms and hands pressed ahead, trapped by the snow, useless.

I struggled and found more snow in my mouth. I saw exploding pinpricks of light. The person forcing me down was no child. An adult's weight on my back shoved me into a cold, white death.

I struggled to catch my breath. The pain in my chest took over my mind. I could feel my body spasm. My hands jerked against the snow and found only resistance.

Is this how it ends?

Nothing but black.

Who was slapping me?
Don't do that
. I tried to beat them back. To my surprise, I could move my hands. “Stop it.”

“She's coming around.”

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

I opened my eyes to a ring of round-eyed watchers. Court jesters? No, people in tuques, bending over me.

“Can you move your leg?”

I couldn't think. What was going on? A small face inserted itself close to me. A freckled boy grinned, showing two missing front teeth.

“I found you,” he said. “I told them and they pulled you out. It was me.”

The snowbank, the pressure, the knees in my back. Everything flooded back.

“Don't move. You might have broken bones.”

“Here, have a bit of coffee.”

“Try to sit up.”

“Is she a homeless person?”

“Don't try to sit up.”

“Maybe lie down.”

“Do you think she's been drinking?”

“No, I don't think she should lie down.”

“I found her. I bet I'll get a big reward.”

The ring of people must have been five deep by this time. I was obviously entertaining.

A woman in iridescent blue leaned in and held out a cup. “Hot chocolate. Cures every ill.”

“Don't move.”

“Be careful, you don't want to do yourself a permanent injury. Stay quiet until the skate patrol gets here.”

“There's what I need.” My teeth chattered as I reached out and grabbed the cup of hot chocolate.

“Or maybe I'll get a medal,” the little boy said.

New faces joined the crowd and people pushed forward to get a gander at the action.

“What happened?” a woman asked.

“I might even be on TV,” the little boy said.

I wanted the whole damn crowd to disappear.

“Fine, I'm okay,” Not true, but that was my business, not theirs.

Since they continued to stand around feigning concern, I asked if anyone had seen the person who'd pushed me into the snow bank. That was enough to make the crowd melt away.

A nice young man from the Rideau Canal Skate Patrol asked me a lot of questions. I guess I answered them all right. It looked like an ambulance wouldn't be necessary, which was good, because I had no intention of going in one. On the down side, my cellphone was out of juice. But the nice young man called a cab for me. For once, I didn't have to wait long. The cab driver didn't have much to say. That was good. I didn't feel like talking to him. I kept my eyes closed in case he changed his mind and decided to chat. But my mind kept racing. Who had pushed me into the snowbank? Was it a coincidence it happened right in front of Lindsay's place? And right after I'd irritated everyone in the Ottawa police force? Which reminded me. Who had tugged on the police chain of command?

Vanessa Gross-Davies and the board of directors of WAVE? Her know-it-all husband Jack? Elaine herself, not wanting me to impede her conviction? Or someone I hadn't even thought of? What the hell were the connections?

Mrs. Parnell was not in her usual sentry spot in the corridor. For once I could have done with a sherry, but she didn't answer her door even after eight or nine vigorous thumps. Never mind, Mrs. P. s cat and my sofa were all I needed.

I admit there are issues involved in pretending to be someone's lawyer when you are their ex-lawyer or perhaps even their never-was lawyer. These issues can come back to haunt you if you're not careful. I hadn't been careful.

I don't know why I picked up the phone at eleven o'clock that evening. Maybe because it jerked me awake. Maybe because I ached too much to think. Maybe because I didn't recognize the phone number. But since it wasn't a member of my family, it seemed safe enough.