Authors: Anthony Bidulka
actors I work with to leave me copies of their
resumes, just in case I wish to work with them
again. I’m sure Persephone’s artistic director must
do the same.” I had no idea whether this was true,
but I was guessing Rebecca didn’t either. I laid
down the three programs opened to the pages
with the pictures of the actors in question.
“Perhaps you might have a look-see in your
files?” I knew how I would go about finding Jo, I
just hoped Rebecca was up to the task. I also
hoped she didn’t realize I’d suddenly lost my
accent. Drat, I hate when I do that!
“Well I suppooooossssse Sheila could get into
the office where the files are kept.” More whining.
“What a great idea!” I announced buoyantly.
“Tell you what,” I said glancing at my watch. “I
have another appointment. Why don’t I attend to
it then return afterward, say in an hour or so? That
should give you and dear Sheila plenty of time to
find a few resumes and make copies, wouldn’t
50 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
you say?” I grabbed a scrap of paper and pen from
her desktop and scrawled down my cellphone
number. Although I didn’t really expect her to call,
I was on a roll and had just thought up one more
Rick Astley hit I hadn’t used yet. I handed the
paper to her and with juvenile satisfaction said,
“And if you get done early, just ‘Dial My
Number.’”
Chapter 3
I RETURNED TO MY CAR, started it for warmth and
sat in the Persephone Theatre parking lot eating
my muffin and hoping Rebecca was leaping into
action. Something told me I shouldn’t rush getting
back. When I was done chowing down, I took
22nd Street to the Circle Drive freeway and
arrived at the Travelodge Hotel in time to make
my pseudo appointment with Natalie, the ban-
quet manager. It was a short meeting.
As Marge predicted, Natalie was indeed back
at her desk by 1:00, but she had little useful infor-
mation about the event in question unless I was
interested in the configuration of the tables or the
number of bottles of red wine imbibed by the
guests. She suggested I contact someone from the
SBA. Although a little miffed at having made the
trip for nothing, I had to admit Natalie’s idea was
a good one.
Back in my car I retrieved the phone book I keep
behind the driver’s seat and looked up the address
for the SBA offices. I could have called but since I
had nothing else to do for a while I decided to take
my chances and show up in person. Besides, I find
in my line of work that doing business face-to-face
is always preferable. People have a harder time
lying to me or ignoring me if I’m right in front of
them. Not that some don’t try.
I found my way to the Ontario Avenue build-
ing and, luckily, was immediately escorted into
52 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
the office of SBA president, Lois Vermont. She was
a no-nonsense kind of woman with dark hair cut
short—no doubt to avoid the finicky attention
required by more feminine styles—and a plain-
cut, suit-and-silk-blouse set that would mix and
match with all the other plain-cut suits and silk
blouses I was sure were in her closet. The only
outward hint of personal flare she allowed herself
was a brightly coloured, oversized scarf tied about
her neck. Very spiffy.
After I was seated in her orderly office, coffee
in hand, she sat looking at me with her hands
prayer fashion on the top of her too-organized
desk, her unlipsticked mouth in a bit of a pinched
position, waiting for me to speak. I debated intro-
ducing myself as Gino Vanelli but sensed that
with Ms. Vermont I wasn’t about to get away with
anything too far removed from the absolute truth.
“What a lovely scarf.” Okay, I did veer a little
away from absolute truth.
Although I swore I saw the corners of her eyes
crinkle with what may have been mirth, the only
sparkle in an otherwise flat and bland face, she
remained impassive. “How can I help you today,
Mr. Quant?”
“I’m a private investigator.” Her eyebrows
moved a millimetre higher on her broad forehead.
The private investigator thing usually gets some
sort of response. There aren’t many of us running
around Saskatoon and everyone, at one time or
another, has wanted to be part of an Agatha
Christie or Nancy Drew mystery. “I’m investigat-
ing a blackmail scheme.”
Anthony Bidulka — 53
“Involving the SBA?”
“Not directly, but the plot involves a past SBA
award recipient and originated at an SBA award
ceremony.”
“Interesting. How can I help?”
I liked Lois Vermont. No pretense. No gob-
bledygook about how the SBA couldn’t possibly
be involved in anything as sordid as blackmail. “I
would like to ask you some questions about
your award ceremony procedures.”
“Are you referring to the ceremony this past
Saturday? Or, if you tell me which year the black-
mail relates to, I can pull out the appropriate files.
I keep detailed records of each year’s event.”
I winced. “Actually that won’t be possible.”
She nodded, not in the least offended. “You’re
concerned that by telling me the year of the event
in question I might deduce the identity of your
client—even though there are several award win-
ners every year in varying categories.”
“That’s correct. I know this may make things
more difficult, but…”
“This is not a problem, Mr. Quant. I under-
stand and I will do the best I can to help you.
What is it you need to know?” She quirked her
head to one side, at the ready.
“The blackmail was perpetrated by way of a
note sent to the victim within the envelope pre-
sented to him when he won an SBA award.”
“I already know your client is a male and won
the SBA Business Builders Businessperson of the
Year Award within the last six years.” She said
this without any sign of smugness, simply as a
54 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
matter of fact.
“Oh? How do you know that?” Should I sug-
gest a guest spot on Alberta’s late night TV psy-
chic show?
“You said the envelope was presented to ‘him,’
so your client is male. Only the winners of the
Businessperson of the Year Award are presented
with an envelope. The other winners receive only
an engraved plaque. The tradition of physically
presenting the cheque on the evening of the cere-
mony—rather than at a later date—began only six
years ago,” she told me. “I hope you don’t mind, I
just don’t wish to pretend to not know something
that I do.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
She managed a thin-lipped smile in return.
“Obviously I am interested in who could have
known the identity of the winner and also had
access to place the blackmail note into the enve-
lope that was presented to that winner. It’s an
issue of physical access as well as access to specif-
ic knowledge.”
A curt nod from Lois. “I understand. First, let’s
discuss physical access.” Lois Vermont was not
the president of a business association for nothing.
She got right to it. “I have been with the SBA for
over ten years and I can tell you with a high level
of certainty that in the last six years, since we
began presenting the envelope along with the
plaque to the Businessperson of the Year, the
process has remained unchanged. We do things
exactly the same way, year after year. It works, so
why change it? I prepare the envelope in question.
Anthony Bidulka — 55
The cheque is actually a dummy cheque. It looks
real, but it isn’t. It’s only for show. We do that for
security reasons, because we know there are
opportunities when the cheque is not under con-
stant surveillance, that it could be stolen. We are a
small organization and we are not in the financial
position to maintain a fleet of security guards dur-
ing the awards ceremony or any other time.”
“Of course, that makes sense.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I wasn’t certain if she
meant it or was patronizing me. I decided I didn’t
need to know the answer. “As I mentioned, I pre-
pare the dummy cheque. I always do it the morn-
ing of the ceremony.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I am a firm believer in lists and a
system of check-off procedures. Preparing the
dummy cheque is on my morning of the ceremo-
ny procedure list. There would be no reason for
me to vary from this list.”
I had no doubt this was true.
“So as early as the morning of the ceremony
someone might have access to the cheque in its
envelope?” I asked.
“No, I don’t believe so. After I prepare the
cheque and place it in its envelope…which, by the
way, remains unsealed. We don’t want winners
having to fumble around with a sealed envelope.”
“Very sensible.”
“Yes. After the cheque is prepared and I put it
in the envelope, I place that envelope in my office
safe along with several other pieces of important
documentation that I’ve prepared for that
56 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t
evening. So, unless your blackmailer is also a safe
cracker, they would not have access to the enve-
lope at that time. In the past six years my safe has
not been broken into, or at least not in a manner I
could detect. No one else has the combination for
that safe.”
“I think your conclusion is a sound one.
When’s the first time the envelope is available for
someone to tamper with without someone else
noticing?”
“At the end of my business day I retrieve the
documents, including the envelope, from the safe
in my office and I take them home with me as I do
not return to the office before going to the hotel
where the event is held. So, indeed, if you care to
suspect members of my family, I suppose it is pos-
sible that my husband, daughter or babysitter
could have slipped a blackmail note into the enve-
lope while I was in the shower or dressing or oth-
erwise engaged.”
“Not likely,” I said.
“Not likely,” she agreed straight-faced.
“Thereafter the envelope remains in my posses-
sion until I arrive at the hotel, enter the ballroom,
head backstage and place it on a table set up just
off-stage to hold the various prizes and awards
that will be distributed that evening. The envelope
remains there, unguarded, until it is handed to the
winner. That being said, beginning with the time I
arrive, there is a great deal of activity backstage
and near the awards table until the commence-
ment of the evening’s formal activities.”
“Meaning there are a lot of people around?”
Anthony Bidulka — 57
“Yes. Everyone from the banquet manager, stage
manager, lighting and sound technicians, waiters
and kitchen staff, SBA staff and other hotel person-
nel. The list, I’m afraid, would be a long one.”
“What sort of time period are we talking about
between when you deliver the envelope and when
it hits the hand of the winner?”
She thought briefly before answering, ensuring
the accuracy of her calculations. “Anywhere
between two-and-a-half to three hours, depend-
ing of course on the lengths of speeches, dinner
service, and other goings-on with indefinite start
and finish times beyond my control.”
My guess was that the list of things beyond
Lois Vermont’s control was a short one. I looked at
her and gently shook my head. Her news was not
good and we both knew it. Almost anyone could
have had the opportunity to slip that note into the
envelope Daniel Guest had received that night.
But who knew it would be him who received it?
That was my only hope left.
“You also brought up the question of who
would know who the winner of the
Businessperson of the Year award would be,” Lois
said right on cue. “I’m afraid my answer won’t
please you much better.”
“Everyone and his dog?” I guessed. “Including
your husband, daughter and babysitter?”
She nodded. “It is an unfortunate matter of
showmanship, one that our board of directors
debates heatedly every year. The winner of every
other category is indeed kept secret until the actual