Authors: Anthony Bidulka
sion,” Daniel said. “The next morning before I left
for work I stowed away a pair of swim trunks,
sandals and a towel in the trunk of my car, all the
while telling myself I probably wouldn’t go
through with it anyway. It was a Wednesday I
think and by lunchtime it was hotter than Hades
outside; work was sluggish, as were most of the
staff and clients. And…I did it. Just took off and
headed for the beach.
“I changed in a gas station bathroom on the
way out of town. It took me a while to make it
from the parking lot through the hills down to the
beach and when I got there I saw only a few other
people. But it was…exhilarating for some rea-
son…I felt like a six-year-old boy with a knapsack
on my back out on the adventure I’d been warned
against. I walked and walked until I realized I
hadn’t seen anyone for several minutes and it
looked like I was about to run out of beach. And I
did run out of beach. End of the line. I was pre-
pared to turn around and head back but I noticed
some trails leading up into the woods. So I fol-
lowed one. I almost fell over him.”
“SunLover?”
“Yeah. He was sunning in a clearing near the
woods, pretty much hidden by tall reeds and
grasses. He was handsome, not cute or attractive,
but all out handsome. Like a movie star. He was
older than me I think, fortysome, maybe more. He
Anthony Bidulka — 83
had blond hair, thick, and sideburns, and…oh, I
don’t know…he reminded me of…I don’t know,
maybe an older Brad Pitt. Slim, muscled, nice
shape, well-tanned and…well, that’s all I know
about him. We didn’t even talk. Not one word. I
never got his name and he never got mine,” he
added as if sealing his argument on why
SunLover couldn’t be the blackmailer.
“When it was over I got spooked. I was in
shock at what I had done. I almost knocked him
over getting out of there. I ran. I actually ran. I felt
like a real jerk afterwards, for a lot of reasons.” He
stopped there, looking sad, exhausted.
“Can you tell me anything more about him?
Did you happen to see the car he drove? Anything
he had with him on his beach blanket?
Anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Are there any more?” I asked.
He shook his head again and lowered it, glanc-
ing at an appointment book on his desk, his eyes
anywhere but on mine. I wanted to yell out,
“Don’t be ashamed! Please, don’t be ashamed!”
But I didn’t. I had a lot to learn about life as lived
by Daniel Guest.
As I considered SunLover, I was thinking two
things. This guy would be far more difficult to track
down than Jo and, unless I was mistaken about
what I saw, he didn’t quite fit Hugh’s description. I
pursed my lips in a way that would have made
Sherlock Holmes proud and asked, “What about
suspects other than a sexual partner?”
Daniel’s brows lowered over his eyes as if the
84 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
thought had never occurred to him. “Like who?”
“Well, you received the note at an awards cere-
mony. Wouldn’t the blackmailer have to be some-
one who knew you were receiving the award, who
had access to the envelope in order to slip in the
blackmail note and do it without a witness?”
He scowled at the thought. “Yes…I suppose
that is true.”
“Who knew you were getting the award? Who
was at the ceremony that night? Was James Kraft
there?”
Daniel nodded his head as if in patient appre-
ciation of my thought process, then said, “The SBA
informed me a month before the ceremony that I
would be the recipient of the award. I don’t know
how many people in their own organization
would have had access to that information, prob-
ably everyone.” That jived with what I’d heard
from Lois Vermont. “I informed my business part-
ners. And I told my wife and she told a few peo-
ple. By the time I walked up to that podium to
accept the award, a lot of people knew I’d be
there. As far as I know, Loverboy was one of them.
Maybe he works for the SBA or the salon where
my wife gets her hair styled or the hotel where the
event was held or who knows where. He figured
out who I was, saw an opportunity and went for
it. And it worked.”
Although I nodded, I was not totally con-
vinced. “What about other people who know
you’re…know you have sex with men. Friends?
Colleagues? Family?”
He shook his head. “I see what you’re getting
Anthony Bidulka — 85
at, but there’s no way…” he stopped and stared at
me. “Okay, you’re doing your job. You’re being
thorough. I appreciate that.”
“So?”
“No one in my family knows about me. There
is only one person, a friend—a colleague—who
knows. He’s one of the partners, Herb Dufour.”
“How does he know?”
Daniel hesitated for a second as if trying to
remember, then answered, “I told him…well, I
guess he asked. I don’t know why he asked. It was
about a year ago, after a staff party. Everyone had
gone home and it was just he and I in a hotel bar.
We’d both drunk more than we should have. He
asked because his tongue was loose. I admitted it
because mine was too.” He shot me a look, as if
revealing a truism. “And because it felt so good to
finally say the words to someone. The next day
when I remembered that I had told him, mixed
with the horror of what I’d done was incredible
relief at having done it.”
“How did he react?”
“He acted as if I was just confirming something
he already knew. Which I guess is why he asked in
the first place. It takes a lot of courage to admit it,
but it takes some courage to ask about it too.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Is Herb Dufour
gay?”
Daniel looked surprised at the question, his
bottom lip dropping. “Oh no. No, I’m pretty sure
he’s not. He’s always with a pretty girl. Not mar-
ried but he dates a lot.”
My eyebrows reached for my hairline, a look
86 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
that was obviously lost on my new client. “How
old is he?”
“About my age or a little older. Thirty-eight I
think.”
All I did was nod. If Herb Dufour was even
mildly attractive, dressed well and could occa-
sionally be spotted browsing in Pier 1’s house-
wares department for no apparent reason, I had
news for Daniel. But now was not the time.
“Does he know what’s happened?”
A short hesitation, then the answer, “Yes. I told
him a few days ago when I was considering
Beverly’s suggestion to hire you.”
I placed the pen I was using to take notes res-
olutely down on my pad and said, “Daniel, I
know you’ve been through this with Beverly—
more than once—but I have to try one more time.
What about the police? Shouldn’t we get them
involved? This is a serious crime.”
“No,” he answered quickly.
“Are you sure? The post office box number
alone would likely lead them straight to
Loverboy’s doorstep.”
“No. Yes. No. Not yet. Not now. Obviously I
want this to go away. If that can happen without
involving the police, that’s how I want to do it. If
I press charges it’ll just bring attention to the mat-
ter, which I obviously want to avoid. But, when
you find him, perhaps a well-placed threat of
involving the police might help convince him to
leave me alone?”
“Maybe.” We’d have to figure that one out
when the time came.
Anthony Bidulka — 87
“I want you to deal with this, Russell. No
police. Not now.”
“Okay,” I hesitantly agreed, “but in that case,
although I’ll focus on finding James Kraft, I also
want to meet some of the other people in your
life—people at work, family.”
He ruffled at this, sucking in his cheeks
momentarily. “That’s impossible.”
“Daniel, if I’m to conduct a full investigation, I
can’t be left with blinders on. I know you’re con-
vinced the blackmailer is James, but, as we
already discussed, there are other potential sus-
pects out there. I can’t identify them if I never
meet them.”
“Who? My wife? My business partners? My
secretary? Please, Mr. Quant, don’t be ridiculous.”
Mr. Quant again. What happened to Russell? I
knew he was uncomfortable but I had to push him
on this. I don’t like restrictions, especially when I
think they might hide the truth. “Daniel, I know
you wouldn’t accept a client if he only allowed
you to look at some of his records but not all of
them. Isn’t that right? Let’s cover all our bases.
Let’s be thorough. I’m a detective, Daniel. A good
one. I can find out things without people knowing
I’m finding them out. But I can’t do it from the
outside. I can be quite inconspicuous.”
He finally allowed himself a grudging nod. He
knew I was right. “Tomorrow night, we’re having
our annual Christmas party, staff, their spouses,
some clients, how about that? You could pose as a
potential new client of the firm’s.”
Undercover! Cool. “That’s perfect.”
88 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
I detected a slight shaking of Daniel’s head,
doubting the wisdom of what he’d just allowed
me. It was time to leave. As I headed for the door,
Daniel shifted his attention back to the asylum of
the papers on his desk.
Chapter 5
AFTER MY NEAR-DAWN MEETING with Daniel Guest I
found myself in my office earlier than normal. I
set a fresh pot of coffee to brew and retreated to a
favourite spot in front of the doors that open onto
my balcony…well, that is they used to open onto
my balcony. Sometime in November, they had
frozen shut for the winter. But even from indoors,
I still have a great view. Traffic on Spadina was
light, but the few cars there were seemed to chug
along easily despite thick plumes of exhaust visi-
ble in the icy air that made it look as though they
were working as hard as plough horses. Last
night’s skiff had left behind a pristine layer of
snow about the thickness of Kleenex.
I stood at my post for several moments,
mulling over everything I’d learned from my
meeting with Daniel, so recent, the scent of the
Burberry cologne he favoured still lingered in my
nose. And then I thought about my friend, Kelly,
and what she must be going through, physically
recovered from her illness but perhaps not men-
tally. I wanted to call her but it was too early for
that. The coffee ready, I prepared a cup and took
my place behind the desk to work on my case.
I booted up my trusty desktop and opened
up a new spreadsheet. I created several columns
and dutifully began to fill in the headings with the
names—as best I knew them—of each suspect I’d
so far identified. James Kraft. SunLover. Hugh.
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Blue Car Driver. I thought about it for half a sec-
ond and added “SBA” to the top of the fifth col-
umn. The sixth column I entitled “Others,” a
favourite of mine for all those miscellaneous
thoughts that pop into my head from time to time
during an investigation. I spent the next hour or
so filling in the columns with information I
already knew about each of the subjects as well
as ideas for potential investigative strategies. At
the same time I jotted down notes on a fresh piece
of paper:
Daniel’s office—surveillance?
Cheryl Guest—wife
Mick & Anita Soloway—neighbours
Darren Kirsch.
The fourth jot was the first one I followed up.
Darren Kirsch is the only cop on the SPS,
Saskatoon Police Service, who returns my phone
calls. The rest of them just ignore me. Most cops,
and I know this because I used to be one, think
private investigators are unprofessional money-
grabbers that will suck information out of you and
give nothing back in return. And sometimes this is
true. But to make a go of being a private detective,
you need a friend in the police department. And
Darren, a detective in the Criminal Investigations
Division, is mine—even though we’re not exactly
on each other’s list of best friends.