As much as she loved it here, it might be time to get out of Trafalgar.
Alphonses Bakery was closed, all the lights off, save for a single low-wattage bulb over the door. No welcoming scents drifted into the alley. Smith approached the door to her apartment. A dark shape walked toward her. The weak light at the rear of the convenience store on the other side of the bakery was at his back and the glow from the light across the street didnt reach him. He stood in a black hole.
"Moonlight Smith. Fancy that."
His voice was deep and he was tall and, as far as she could tell beneath the bulky winter jacket, heavily muscled. A woman alone in a dark alley at night, Molly Smith wasnt afraid. Her jacket was tucked up around her belt. She felt the truncheon at her hip, the solid weight of the Glock, the radio at her shoulder.
"Do I know you?" she said.
With one step he was in the light. "I heard youd become a cop."
He looked familiar. Close enough to her in age to have been in school with her. He ran his eyes down her body, but there werent any s.e.xual overtones. He was checking out the snow-covered hat, the jacket with the shoulder patches (Trafalgar City Police. Since 1895), the pants with the blue stripe running down the leg, and, probably most importantly, the equipment belt.
"Dont tell me you dont recognize me, Moonlight? Gary LeBlanc."
She remembered. Gary LeBlanc. Much older than his half-sister Lorraine, hed been in some of Smiths cla.s.ses in school. Always the clown, always the fool. Always under detention. Gone as soon as he turned sixteen. Either expelled or dropped out.
"Gary, its been a while. Back for a visit?" In and out of minor trouble before and after he left school. Then something about a prison sentence. It had happened while shed been in Victoria at University; she didnt know the details. Next time she was in the office, shed pull his file.
"Nice family Christmas. Real Charles d.i.c.kens stuff. Too bad Mom and Dad spent it in the slammer."
She was standing by the door to her apartment. Shed already started to dig out her keys. It might not, she decided, be a good idea to let Gary LeBlanc know where she lived. Not that everyone in town didnt.
"Youre looking good, Moonlight. Real good." He sighed, and pa.s.sed into the light from above the bakery. Not as handsome as she remembered, now that his nose had been broken more than once and a scar crossed his left cheek. "Happy New Year, eh?"
"Happy New Year."
He pa.s.sed her, heading toward Monroe Street. She thought she heard him say, "I always liked you, Moon." But his words were caught by the falling snow and she was probably mistaken.
Mrs. Carmine handed Wendy a piece of paper the moment she came through the front door. Did the woman never leave her post? "Your mother called, dear. In case youd forgotten, I took down the number of your parents hotel."
Wendy took the paper. She walked up the stairs and opened the door to her room. It was a Victorian nightmare, hideous pink with fluffy cushions on the bed and swooping curtains over the windows and pink towels and sh.e.l.l-shaped pink soap in the bathroom. A porcelain doll wearing a pink skirt and a teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck were standing on the dresser. But at least, amongst all this pinkness, rather like living inside a Pepto Bis...o...b..ttle, Wendy had a room of her own. Being the one single woman in the group, she had a private room. Alan and Sophie shared, of course, and their room was next to hers. Much to her annoyance when the bed began to bounce. Which it did an obscene amount: the man must have superhuman powers. Jason had shared with Ewan-Ewan-Jason, Jason-Ewan-and Jeremy bunked in with Rob.
Wendy tossed her shopping bags onto the floor and wondered if Mrs. Carmine would hang a Vacancy sign out front, now that Jason and Ewans room was empty. She stood at the window and let the tears fall. Her room looked down the hill, across the city, to the river and the mountain beyond. Lights sparked against the solid black of river, mountains and sky. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater.
She was expected to meet her parents for dinner. Theyd have to wait: she needed a toke to get ready for it. Wendy pulled open the bottom drawer of the dresser. Shed hid her personal supply of marijuana beneath her underwear. She reached to push the garments aside and her hand stopped. Wendy had been raised to be meticulous in the organization of her possessions. The sc.r.a.ps of silk and lace lay in perfect piles in the drawer. As well they should. Wendys underwear cost close to a hundred dollars a set. Before leaving for this vacation, shed shopped on Bloor Street in Toronto, looking for something special. Unable to resist their s.e.xual beauty, shed splurged on a lavender bra and panty set costing over five hundred.
Bras to the left and panties to the right, the way she always arranged things. Except that when shed been getting dressed this morning, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from Sophie and Alans room, shed picked up the lavender pieces and caressed them, thinking about the plans shed had for them, and how it had all gone wrong. It seemed a shame that Sophie, who probably wore st.u.r.dy reinforced bras and white cotton panties purchased at Wal Mart, was getting action whereas the lavender bit was lying in this dark drawer. Shed put the bra back down, not on the bra pile but on top of its mate. Wendy wasnt a fanciful girl, but shed thought that the expensive pieces might as well be together, as no one else would be appreciating them.
Theyd been moved. Her bras were stacked together, one on top of the other. Panties in a neat pile beside. Each color layered properly. Even the lavender ones.
Wendy sat back on the bed.
Someone had been in her drawer. Rooting through her stuff. Rage boiled up: some miserable lowlife had been rubbing their filthy fingers over her silk and lace and satin underwear. No way would she ever put those clothes on again. Might as well burn them. Better than donating them to a charity clothing shop, where some old bag would toss the lavender bra into her cart beside white underpants that could fit an elephant.
Five hundred and twenty five bucks for a padded push-up bra and a sc.r.a.p of lace to fit between her legs. Even her mother wouldnt pay a quarter that. Lorraine, it had to be that miserable Lorraine. G.o.d knew why Mrs. Carmine insisted on being nice to the girl. It would be just like Mrs. Carmine to let Lorraine roam around the house without being watched.
Wendy had been given a key for her room, but she hadnt thought it worth bothering to lock the door.
She reached for the phone. The police would get an earful about this. She got as far as punching in 9-1, before dropping the phone back into the cradle. Someone had been rooting through her drawers looking for what? She fell to her knees and pushed her undies aside. Her stash of marijuana looked to be as shed left it. Far as she could tell, not a flake was missing.
No way could she call the cops and have them search through her things, asking questions. More questions.
Chapter Eleven.
Street prost.i.tution wasnt a problem in Trafalgar, but if it was the Mountainside Inn would be the sort of place that could be expected to rent rooms out by the hour.
Doctor Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth met Sergeant John Winters in the hotel lobby. What there was in the way of a lobby: a single couch decorated in cheap tartan fabric; an arm chair, more arm than chair. A teenaged desk clerk, chewing gum and not bothering to pretend he wasnt staring at them.
"I apologize for disturbing you, Dr. Wyatt-Yarmouth," Winters said, holding out his hand.
"Call me Jack, please."
"Jack. Perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private." Winters threw a look toward the clerk. He didnt even have the grace to look away.
Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth chuckled without humor. He was a small man, about five-seven and underweight. Beneath his round rimless gla.s.ses his dark eyes were empty and grief dragged at his thin cheeks. "Our room isnt quite the Royal Suite at the Ritz, but it will do for lack of anything better. We could have stayed at the same B&B as my daughter and her friends, but my wife balked at the idea of taking the room because our son wasnt needing it." He swallowed and looked away. "Come on up."
"Will your wife be joining us?" Winters asked.
Wyatt-Yarmouth punched the b.u.t.ton to call the elevator, and, like a good servant, the doors opened immediately. They stepped inside and he pushed another b.u.t.ton for the second floor. He waited for the doors to close before answering. "I suggested that an afternoon at the spa would do her some good." He checked his watch. "Shes running late, probably poking around the stores to keep her mind occupied, but if she does arrive while were talking, Id prefer we continue this conversation at a later time."
Winters made no comment. Hed wait and see whether a conversation with Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth was required.
The elevator might have been obedient, but it was certainly slow. Time ticked away as it crawled toward the second floor, but eventually it did arrive. The hotel room was as badly decorated as the lobby, and the heating unit under the window groaned with the effort of emitting air that was far too warm. Jack gestured to his guest to take the single chair. He placed his leather jacket on the bed to the left, after neatly tucking the arms in, and sat on the second of the twin beds. He was dressed in expensive jeans and a good wool sweater in shades of brown and orange, pulled over a crisp white collar.
Winters took the chair.
"Sorry," Wyatt-Yarmouth said with a shrug of bony shoulders, "but I cant offer you a drink."
"This isnt a social call."
"I guessed not. Perhaps youll tell me why a detective Sergeant wants to speak with me? Im sure youre aware that my wife and I met with another officer when we arrived. He took us to the hospital. Were only still here," he waved his hand, taking in the room, "in these inadequate accommodations while waiting for our son...our sons body...to be released so we can take him back to Ontario. We met with the coroner when we arrived, and everything seemed to be in order." Jacks eyes were clear, but his voice broke.
Jasons sister, Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth, in the company of two of her friends, had identified not only her brother, but also the other body as that of his friend, Ewan Williams. Nevertheless, as soon as they arrived, delayed by the weather, Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth insisted on seeing them both.
"Im sorry about this, sir," Winters said, "but theres been a complication. What can you tell me about your sons friend, Ewan Williams?"
"Ewan? He and Jason have been friends for a long time, since kindergarten. When they were young, Ewan was in and out of our house all the time. We have a swimming pool, and our house was pretty much the center of the neighborhood back in those days. Then the boys grew up, got drivers licenses and girlfriends and part-time jobs, lost interest in the pool, and didnt need parents ferrying them about. They went away to university, so I cant say weve seen much of Ewan for the last couple of years. Heard he went to McMaster University, in Hamilton, to study Archeology. Patricia, my wife, told me the police are having trouble contacting his parents. Cant say I know them well. We met at school sports events or on occasions when Mrs. Williams came to collect the boy at our house, or visa versa. But we never socialized. Why are you asking?"
Winters ignored the question. "Once they grew up, became adults, Jason and Ewan, did they stay close?"
"Hard for a father to say. They went separate ways into university. Natural enough, Id say. Come to think of it, its probably been a couple of years since Ive seen Ewan. Not since the boys finished high school." The mans eyes opened wide. "For G.o.ds sake! Look here, man, if youre suggesting there was more than friendship between my son and his friend, any...unnatural relationship...youre seriously mistaken. Jasons had a long string of girlfriends, and I believe Ewan was almost legendary in his pursuit of what we men might call nookie."
John Winters didnt think hed ever called it nookie. Interesting, however, that Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth used the phrase "unnatural relationship in response to something Winters hadnt even been suggesting.
"Have you heard of Ewan Williams being in any trouble? Trouble in school, trouble with the police?"
"No."
"Even rumors? Suspicions?"
"No. The boy was welcome in our home, which he would not have been if he was trouble, or if Id had reason to suspect he had designs on my boy. I repeat, why are you asking these questions?"
"Im sorry, Mr. Wyatt-Yarmouth, but the coroner will be keeping your sons body for a few more days."
The man jumped to his feet. "This is outrageous. Weve already had to sit in this miserable hotel waiting for the autopsy, and we were told only yesterday that we could take him home. My wife made the arrangements this morning."
"I realize this is a shock, but we do have our reasons."
"And what reasons might those be?"
"Ewan Williams died sometime before the car Jason was driving went into the river."
Wyatt-Yarmouth dropped back onto the bed. The springs squeaked in protest. "What on earth?"
"Thats what Im trying to find out. Your son had a dead man in his car."
"Surely, youre not implying that my son was responsible for Ewans death."
"Im implying nothing. Im telling you the situation. What do you do for a living, Jack?"
"As you probably know, if youre any sort of a detective, I am a full professor of Sociology at the University of Toronto. I happen to specialize in issues of policing in democratic societies and have written extensively on matters regarding the abuse of police powers. Im also on the police board at home in Oakville."
All of which means Jack-s.h.i.t to me, Jack.
"Then youll be aware that the circ.u.mstances of your sons death are now a matter for police investigation."
Jack got to his feet once again. He almost visibly stretched in an attempt to make his short frame taller. He clenched his fists. "My son had nothing to do with the death of Ewan. It should be easy to explain, even for officers on a police department as small as yours. Jason wasnt aware Ewan was dead, and was taking him to the hospital." He cracked a smile, stiff and frozen. "My son was, Ill thank you to remember, young and highly impulsive. He should have called 911, I wont argue with that. But waiting for someone else to arrive and take charge wasnt in Jasons nature. I have no trouble believing he decided to act and get Ewan to the hospital by himself. Sadly, that decision cost my son his life." Wyatt-Yarmouth rubbed at his face for a long time. When he took his hands away, his eyes were very red. "If you have no other questions, Sergeant, Id like you to leave. My wife will be here shortly and Id rather not see her disturbed any more than she is already."
Winters stood. "Im truly sorry for your loss. I wanted you to know how the situation stands. The pathologist will have to re-examine your son in light of what she found with Mr. Williams. Im afraid it cant be helped."
Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth reached the door before John Winters, and pulled it open. "Thank you for your time," he said, not at all meaning it. "Im sure we wont meet again before my family leaves your pleasant town."
Winters paused half-way out the door and turned back to the room. Of all the police dramas on TV, most of which he couldnt bear to watch, hed liked Colombo the most. "One more thing. What was Jason studying at university?"
"Medicine. Like his mother, Jason intended to be a surgeon."
All Kathy Carmine wanted in this life was to get out of Trafalgar. Her mothers idea of travel was the monthly drive to Nelson to shop at Wal-Mart. Kathy had been to Vancouver once, on a Grade Ten school trip. Shed been awed by the size of the buildings, the panorama of the open ocean, the huge old trees in Stanley Park, the glittering stores, the glamorous people shopping in those stores. Ever since, shed realized just how small, how confining, how provincial, Trafalgar, surrounded by mountains on all sides, was.
Kathy got average marks at school, and she wasnt any kind of an athlete. Shed always had to help her mom run the B&B, cooking, cleaning, and so, unlike her friends, shed never had the chance to make some money from an after school job.
She was in Grade Twelve, and had applied to Trafalgar College for a diploma in business in the fall-her moms idea, not hers. Mrs. Carmine had her eye on a small house across the street that she always said would be perfect for a cozy catered vacation home. Something very high end, shed said, that she could charge an arm and a leg for. The home owners, the McNeils, were elderly, getting close to having to sell up and move into a.s.sisted living. Mr. McNeil had broken his hip in the spring, and Mrs. Carmine hovered like a vulture, encouraging Mrs. McNeil to consider moving to someplace that would be "easier for you to manage, dear." To her consternation, Mr. McNeil recovered fairly well, and by mid-summer Mrs. McNeil was back caring for the fifty-year old perennial gardens that accentuated the old homes appeal.
Kathy no longer wondered why, if her mom had enough money to consider buying another property, she wasnt going to use it to send Kathy to University, as she wanted. But that subject wasnt up for discussion. Kathy would get a diploma in business, help her mother run the B&B, and eventually take it over when the cozy catered vacation property became Mrs. Carmines to manage.
Kathy Carmines worst nightmare was that she would grow old without ever again seeing the world on the other side of these mountains.
And it would all be her mothers fault.
Shed never had a real boyfriend, just a bit of awkward groping in someones fathers car or in the darkened movie theater. Kathyd decided after the Grade Ten trip to Vancouver that getting involved with a Trafalgar boy would only tie her even tighter to the town.
She wasnt a brave girl, Kathy, and shed been waiting, hesitating, afraid to make her move.
It would have to be tonight.
The guests had come in as Kathy had been putting sheets into the washing machine. Shed abandoned the wash and grabbed the fresh flowers shed left sitting in a couple of inches of water in the sink. She took the flowers up to the second-floor landing. The group had gathered in Wendys room, and the door was open.
"My parents expect us all to be there," Wendy said, in that hideous nasal whine that she no doubt thought made her sound upper cla.s.s.
"Look, Wendy, Im sorry for your parents. I really am. But Jason was my friend too, and Ill thank you to remember that. If I dont want to go out to dinner, then I dont. And so I wont."
"You think I want to go? And be forced to drag out every story about what a nice little boy Jason was, and what a nice young man he grew up to be, and what a nice big man he was intended to be, before being tragically struck down in his prime?"
"Wendy," Sophie said, in her soft Quebecoise accent.
"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here anyway? You hadnt even met my brother before last week."
"Come on Wendy, Sophies only trying to help."
"Like I care. Do what you want, Rob, okay? But dont think I wont remember that you wouldnt come."
"Listen to yourself, will you, Wendy? Im not exactly breaking out in hives worrying that youre going to cut me out of your will. Id rather not go to dinner with your parents, thats all."
"Puh," Sophie said in that absolutely French way. "Do as you want. I am going to prepare for dinner en famille. Alain?"
"What?"
"Dinner, Alain. Are you coming to dress?"
"Yeah, right."
Alan and Sophie came out of Wendys room. Kathy was standing in the landing, flowers in hand. She forced a smile. But, as usual, they were so wrapped up in each other they couldnt spare a moment for anyone else. By the time they reached their room, Alan had his hand up Sophies shirt, reaching for the clips of her bra, and she was unfastening the zipper on her pants.
Dressing for dinner meant something different to Alan and Sophie than it did to most people.
"Dont be in such a rush, Alan," Wendy shouted. "The police want to talk to you guys. Im calling them. You dont want to be having a nap when they get here."
Kathy dropped the flowers onto the table and ran downstairs. Shed heard what she needed to. They would all be going out for dinner tonight. Except for Rob.