Law and Disorder (17 page)

Mombourquette nodded slowly.

I said, “But they’re sending the jokes and names to me to ensure that I realize that even the ones that look like accidents are not. And if they know anything about me, they’ll be aware I’ll try to find out what’s going on and even talk to you. So I just don’t get it. It’s like a taunt.”

“Take it again from the top,” Mombourquette said. “There has to be something.”

I ran through everything I knew once more with feeling, including my short-lived suspicions about Annalisa Fillmore. I admitted that I hadn’t felt any great grief about Rollie or sadness about Judge Cardarelle. The world might be fine without them, but Roxanne Terrio seemed a sad story to me and now, so now did Steve Anstruther. I said as much to Mombourquette.

Whether or not it was a wise decision, I still left out the part about Bunny Mayhew.

“Did this Anstruther guy have any connection to Brugel?” I said as we finished up.

Mombourquette’s eyes told me that he did. He kept his mouth firmly closed though.

I said, “I know Brugel’s behind it. I could see him thinking this joke thing was funny. He’s quite capable of directing this vicious farce from the Regional Detention Centre. You know it too. The thing is to find out how Anstruther fits in.”

I was relieved to get away from Police Headquarters. It was still nippy, but the June sunshine seemed reassuringly bright and the threatening clouds had scurried off. I pulled out my cellphone and called Mrs. Parnell first. She was more than willing to pursue the latest line of investigation I requested. A photo of a Constable Steve Anstruther would be very handy for me indeed.

“This small task will be the best medicine possible, Ms MacPhee,” she said. “A person could die of boredom lying around waiting for short-lived social opportunities. I have found a few more items for you that might help.”

“Great. I’ll swing by later.”

P. J. Lynch didn’t answer his phone, but I left a message suggesting it would be worth his while to give me a call at the first possible opportunity.

What I needed was a wonderful endless soak in the tub to get the interrogation room germs off my body while I had a long soothing chat with Ray, a chat that didn’t include anything remotely connected with lawyer jokes, suspicious accidents, ratty detectives or Lloyd Brugel. Our chats always took place later in the evening and anyway, Alvin had other plans. What Alvin wants, Alvin gets. And Alvin wanted to see the girls practicing. “I’m not really in the mood for this, Alvin. I’ve been interrogated by the police today.”

Then you need something to take your mind off that.”

I thought about it. Of course, Ray would want to talk about his girls, so the conversation would go better if I got 134 “ this chore out of the way. As we insinuated the car into the traffic and proceeded to the nicely scenic Colonel By Drive, I ignored the driver who gave me the finger. I was thinking about Ray. I wished I could bond with these girls of his. What the hell was wrong with me? Sure, they’d gone out of their way to sabotage our relationship and caused several calamities in the process, but was that the only problem? They’d been teenagers, still missing their mother and anxious not to lose their father to a stranger. I could relate to that. I’d been a particularly obnoxious teenager myself. Maybe it was because we had nothing in common but Ray. On the other hand, maybe that would have to be enough.

Alvin was chattering, and I was attempting to tune him out. “Did you know that the dragon boat tradition is more than two thousand years old?” he said.

“It kind of snuck up on me,” I answered, hoping to stem a stream of factoids.

“Blah blah…as a fertility rite to avert misfortune and bring rain by worshipping the dragon.”

I smothered a yawn. He prattled away about teams from across the country, funds raised and how the races were conducted. I tried not to fall asleep at the wheel as we drove out to Mooney’s Bay and the Rideau Canoe Club.

“At least pretend to be interested,” Alvin said as we approached the parking lot.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said as we got out of the car. A gentle wind ruffled my hair. Things were warming up again. The night was perfect, the water was luminous. I found myself glad to be there. Not a soak in the tub, but good all the same. We ambled down and were able to get a glimpse of the team practicing.

The team was fast and furious. I was astounded. I didn’t realize that they sat on the boats that way, practically kneeling. The whole thing looked like a lot of work to me.

I said, “I guess it’s like a sport.”

Alvin sniffed. “It is a sport. Ashley might even be good enough to make the Olympic team. That’s what they’re hoping.”

“There’s Olympic dragon boat racing? Are you kidding me?”

“She’s into rowing. She’s on the university team. She’s got a sports scholarship and Brittany has a shot at one too.”

“Really?”

“I can’t believe Ray didn’t mention it.”

Of course, Ray would have mentioned that. It was more likely that my brain had done a big LALALA when he did. My good angel mentioned to my bad angel that it was high time I started to pay more attention. Ray loved the girls, and I loved Ray, and I’d just have to get used to it. In the meantime, until I found a way to like them, there was no choice but to fake it.

Alvin yelled encouragement to the team. I wasn’t sure they wanted anything to take their mind off whatever they were trying to achieve. But I echoed his yell and waved. Part of the new me. I was pretty sure Ashley waved back. Or maybe it was Brittany. Alvin had arranged to hang out with the team afterwards. He said they’d find their way home. That left me free to meddle.

P. J. returned my call, and I took advantage of the timing to arrange a meeting. I suggested The Works in the Glebe at eight, but P. J. claimed to have pressing business at that time.

“I can squeeze you in now,” he said.

“It’s my exercise time, so if you want to join me on a stroll, that’ll be all right.”

“A stroll? You mean like a walk?”

“Much like a walk, in fact. It’s a beautiful night. Cool. The humidity’s cleared.” There was a pause on the line. I added, “And today I didn’t get in my full walking quota.”

“So,” he said. “What is it you want?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re on the move. I’ll meet you on the canal near the new bridge from the university. I think there’s a bench you can lounge on if it takes me a while to get there. I’m heading out now.”

P. J. is more of a restaurant booth and car kind of guy, but he was waiting on a bench as I puffed up from the Glebe on the Queen Elizabeth side of the canal.

We settled on crossing on the new Corktown bridge over the canal and headed down the Colonel By side bike path to Pretoria Bridge, then back to P. J.’s bench headquarters. A good walk from my point of view, made better by the scent of fresh cut grass. What’s more, even if he wanted to quit on me, he’d have no choice but to keep going.

“Keep an eye out for speeding cyclists and rollerbladers,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t drift from your path without warning.”

“Can you slow down a bit?” he puffed.

“Time for you to get in shape, my lad.”

“I think you wanted something from me. No killing the goose that laid the golden egg and all that.”

I refrained from saying that P. J. had yet to deliver any golden eggs, although one could always hope. Instead, I said, “Another joke came in. And another name.”

“You’re kidding.”

“May I add, it’s not funny in the least.”

“Who was it this time? I can think of a few people who are kind of asking for it.”

“A fairly young officer called Steve Anstruther. A detective constable, I think, but I’m not sure about that.”

“Steve Anstruther, you said?”

“Yes. Know anything about him? Gossip, people on the periphery of a case?”

P. J. nodded. “He could have been in court or been a court escort or made a minor arrest, anything like that, and it would never be written up. His name does sound familiar. It’s not a typical name.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard it, and I followed all the Brugel stuff. We really need to find a Brugel connection.”

“I’ve got to file a story by ten,” P. J. said. “And didn’t I follow up on Annalisa Fillmore based on your suggestion?

And that was a wild goose chase, so forgive me if I don’t want to waste a lot more time on any of your hare-brained ideas. No offence, Tiger.”

“None taken,” I said, trying to get as close to a purr as I could. “It would be tragic if the day-to-day minutiae and this uncalled for bitterness of yours got in the way of breaking a story connecting Brugel and these deaths.”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” P. J. said.

“Not trying to be. Keep me posted, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“I’ll give it some thought, but that’s all I can say.”

“The thing is I have Mrs. Parnell checking for links between Brugel and each of the victims. She’d be just as effective as you would be on the print and digital front, but you’re in a better position to find out who Brugel is connected with in the local sleaze community, who could be hired to cause these deaths. Stuff that would never make it into print.”

“Thugs, I imagine.”

“I’m not so sure. The jokes are well-presented, nicely printed out on good quality paper. The names as well. Someone has a sense of style.”

P. J.’s face puckered in thought. I sure hope he never tries his luck at poker.

I said, “And they’d have to look respectable or non-threatening. Roxanne Terrio was very conscious of her safety. She wouldn’t let just anyone get close. Somehow this person must not have appeared to be any kind of a threat. Same thing with the judge. He was a cold and snobbish person. And suspicious, I think. So how did he come to eat a nut-laced cookie in a lonely spot?”

P. J. seemed to be still busy thinking. “Rollie Thorsten wouldn’t notice anything. He made his living from the underbelly of society.”

“But maybe even Rollie wasn’t foolish enough to go off on a boat with someone who might do him harm. So he mustn’t have been too worried about whoever it was.”

“Then there’s the cop, Anstruther. Cops are used to crooks,” P. J. said.

“Uh-huh. Ever see a police officer in a restaurant? Back to the wall. Or scanning the room. They’re wary. But someone took him by surprise in his car. Whoever it is, it’s someone nobody would worry about. And that someone, somehow, goes back to Brugel.”

“It would be one helluva story, if you’re right. Still not convinced Brugel’s behind it.”

“Fine. But it’s worth considering. This is one story that would be above the fold.”

“Can’t argue with that. I’ll dig around a bit to see who might be associated with Brugel, but who might appear to be pretty tame and harmless and not obviously criminal.”

“Great. Stay in touch. We can brainstorm.”

By the time we got back to the bench, P. J. decided he would never walk again. I left him panting, and I hoofed it on home.