by Warren Court
“I got it from my fella.” She went all melancholy. “Poor Bud.”
“How long were you seeing Foley?”
“A while. Met him through Mrs. Holt. I think she had a thing for him, but he would never take her up on it. Not my Bud. He was good for a laugh.”
“And for a good time down at the track?”
“He had a knack for the ponies, always coming in a winner.”
“What about the fifty grand?”
They reached her house.
“What fifty grand?” she said.
“The money that got him killed. The money he stole from his employer, Mr. Holt. The payoff from the Italians.”
“What are you talking about? Bud never got no fifty grand. Geez, do you think he would be living where he was, in that doss house?”
“I saw it. It was rough, but if he was laying low with the money…”
“I never saw it. He gave me money to hold, sure. So he wouldn’t spend it all at once. He didn’t trust banks. Said the boys in the movement were always robbing them. But then they caught up with him. He thought they were too stupid. Boy, was he wrong about that.”
“Was he ripping them off too?”
She led him inside into the hallway.
“I don’t know what happened between them. But now he’s gone.”
“And you helped yourself to his money?”
“I only got two hundred left. You want to see it?” She grabbed him by his tie and backed up against her door, pulling him toward her and gazing up at him with ten AM smoky eyes.
“Come on, fella. Come see,” she said.
Armour looked out the window of the hall and saw a crowd coming down the street. At the front of it was the bartender and the druggist. They were carrying bats. Their anger must have stewed and now they had had enough of outsiders in their midst.
“I’ll take a rain cheque.”
“Suit yourself.”
She went through her door. Armour went out the back way. There was no rear gate, just a six-foot fence. Armour took it at a run. The fence shook, and as he straddled it, he paused. There was a metal piece of art on it, similar to the one in Holt’s backyard. The vibration of the fence made it fall to the ground. He paused long enough to see what it was: there was a frowning face of the moon in the centre, the sun and the stars circling it. Armour stared at it until he heard shouts coming from the hallway.
Chapter 35
“No way,” Tomkins said when Armour, escorted in by Mutton Chops, made his request. He’d asked to see the report on the Holt disappearance.
“That is a confidential report,” Tomkins said. “I can’t let a civilian see it.” Tomkins sat back and crossed his arms.
“How is O’Rourke doing?” Armour asked.
“I get it – you think I owe you because you saved one of my officers.”
Armour said, “He’s friend. I want to know how he’s doing.”
“Better. Should be released in a day or two. We have a twenty-four-hour guard on his room.”
“You think they would try to get to him again?”
“Who knows. They’ve gone underground, but they’re still here in the city. They’ve got bigger things to worry about than the police.”
“Like what?”
“Like the Italians, for one. They hate each other. Funny, huh? Catholics hating Catholics. If they started cooperating, we’d be in real trouble.”
“I doubt that. There’s good people in both communities. They’re contributing to this country, same as you or I.”
“Really? I don’t remember you as a wop lover.”
Armour rolled his eyes. “I want to see that report. Just see it. I don’t need to take it out of this office. I know how important it is that Mrs. Holt should be shielded from any undue press activity. How damaging that would be for your department, especially if you’ve failed to capture her husband’s murderer. How you dug up her basement floor…”
“You son of a bitch,” Tomkins said.
“Gee, that worked. I can’t believe it. Yeah, I’ll go to the press. Tell them what I know. Prominent official, member of the community, murdered, and the police are covering it up. That ought to get a few politicians roused up.”
Tomkins clicked his teeth.
“Not enough, huh?” Armour said. “What about this? Corruption of a government official. Thousands in bribes to build the new waterfront. Men kept out of work so firms can get special bids on those contracts. Firms tied to the Pappanillos. And the police backing up the corruption with their billy clubs. That’s a scandal that could bring down everyone, including the mayor and maybe the chief of police. All over a little file. It could all come crashing down.”
Tomkins stood up, his face a fiery red. Armour got ready for a punch to the head. Instead, the inspector went over to a filing cabinet and turned his back while he unlocked it. He withdrew a file folder and dropped it on his desk.
“I’m going for a coffee down the street. I want you gone by the time I get back.”
Armour opened the file and started reading.
Chapter 36
Armour pulled into the Victory gas station on Broadview. Men in coveralls came out of the building and swarmed over his car.
“Check the oil, sir?”
“Fill her up, sir?”
“Get those windows for you, sir? No problem.”
Armour walked into the station and bought a bottle of Coca Cola off the boy behind the counter.
“Manager around?” he asked.
“In here,” came a shout from the back. A man in a shirt and tie, no coveralls, not a speck of grease on him, came out.
“Hi. I’m wondering if I can speak with one of your men – Stanley.”
“He’s out there. What’s it about?”
“Police matter,” Armour said.
“Not this thing with the harbour commissioner again. He’s busy, you know?”
“Yes, I can see that. Quite the efficient work force.”
“Best in the city. I’ll put my boys up against anyone. They won the competition down at the Exhibition this year.”
“Really? They have a contest?”
“Yup. Two cars, two teams. Gotta fill them up and get them serviced in the least time. My boys did it in thirty seconds flat.”
“Outstanding.”
The man went to the door. “Stanley. Come here a sec. Don’t be too long, okay?” the manager said to Armour.
“You bet.”
Stanley, a freckled young man, probably not even twenty, took off his cap as he approached Armour.
“Stanley, I’m Armour Black. I’m working the Holt disappearance. I’d like to go over what you told the police.”
“Wait a second. I thought you were police,” the manager said. He had lingered at his office door.
“I’m working directly with the Holt file,” Armour said. “It’s a cold case.”
“What’s that mean?” Stanley asked.
“Means it’s been so long that the trail has gone cold, the case is dormant. I’m hoping with your help we can heat it back up.”
“Thought he drowned,” the manager said.
“Mrs. Holt wants to be sure. There are unanswered questions.”
The manager nodded reluctantly and went back into his office.
Armour took Stanley outside and away from his colleagues.
“You’re sure it was Mr. Holt you saw that night?”
“Yes. I saw his picture in the paper two days later. I telephoned the cops.”
“How did he seem?”
“I told all this to the police.”
“I know. I just want to hear it again.” Armour had found Stanley’s witness statement in the report. Stanley had seen Holt the night of his disappearance. It was late, and they were just about to close. Stanley and one other attendant had been on duty.
“He seemed nervous. No, not nervous. Excited. Like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Kept looking around at all the autos passing by.�
��
He was being followed, Armour thought. Or at least he was concerned about it.
Stanley said, “He made a phone call, used our telephone. Both me and Tony were outside working on his auto so I don’t know what he said on the phone or who he called.”
“Did the police question Tony?”
“Tony, he isn’t so bright. Barely knows what day it is. Good worker, though.”
Armour nodded. He knew that Holt’s auto had been found down at the city dock where he kept the Rosalie. It was now in the police impound lot and would be released to Mrs. Holt at the end of the month.
“What kind of car was it?”
“Nice one, brand new Packard with a V8. Man, those motors can move. I mean, it was brand new.”
I bet it was, Armour thought. Nice car, nice yacht. Living the high life.
Armour thanked Stanley, got back in his car and watched Stanley as he served the next customer. The only thing that differed from the statement Stanley had given the police was the word “excited.” Was that a key discrepancy? Armour couldn’t say.
Chapter 37
“I don’t care what you want. You can’t come in here,” the young woman said. She was wearing a maid’s uniform. Mrs. Holt had found Shirley’s replacement.
“I’m here to sign Mrs. Holt up for the Montreal Gazette. She sent in a card.” Armour pushed past the girl.
“I’m going to call the police,” she said.
Armour saw Mrs. Holt rushing down the staircase, hastily putting on a dressing gown with white fur around the collar and cuffs.
“Good heavens. What’s all the racket down here?”
Armour wondered if she had a paramour up there. One who wasn’t as fussy as Foley.
When she saw that it was Armour, she said, “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I wanted to have that cement floor dug up in your basement, but Inspector Tomkins told me they already did that.”
That took some of the wind out of her sails. She pulled the gown around herself.
“Getting to bed? Bit early, isn’t it?” Armour said.
“I was getting ready to go out.”
“Oh, right. Society calls.”
She gave him an indignant look.
“I want to see in your backyard.”
“What for?” she said.
“To finish what the cops started. I think they were looking in the wrong place.”
“Speaking of cops, Dorothy, get them on the telephone, would you? Tell them there’s an intruder in my house.”
“I wouldn’t call the cops; the press might get a hold of it. They’d like a juicy story like this. Member of society, respected civil servant, murdered, possibly buried in his own backyard. By his wife. The cops have been doing you a favour by keeping the newspapers in the dark.”
She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Dorothy, move.”
“That’s okay. Tell them I’ll be out back.” Armour went to the back door and saw what he was there for. It was a circular piece of art hanging on the fence, like the one at Shirley’s boarding house. The smiling sun in the middle looking after the planets orbiting it. The protective eye of the sun, just like Gim had said. And below it a garden patch. Black earth and newly planted flowers. Armour could practically feel the cool earth between his fingers.
He went outside just as Dorothy came back. “I have them on the line, ma’am,” she said. Mrs. Holt disappeared into the sitting room where the telephone was.
Armour knew he had very little time. He went to the potting shed and retrieved a spade. The soil beneath the metal sign was loose, newly put down, and turned over easily. He dug down a foot and paused. Looked up at the smiling sun. Something was wrong. He should be feeling something, some sort of satisfaction. He turned over more earth. He had to be here. Maybe he was off by a foot or two, but he was here in this garden.
He became aware of Elizabeth Holt standing behind him, at a safe distance.
Armour had gone down two feet now and expanded his dig out a foot on either side, but still nothing. He stopped digging. The only sensation he felt was embarrassment. He felt foolish.
“He’s not buried here, is he?” he asked.
“The police are on the way.”
Armour leaned the spade up against the fence.
“Are you through?” she asked.
“I don’t understand.”
“I had nothing to do with my husband’s murder. It’s an outrageous accusation.”
He realized what she had said. “So, you believe he was murdered? Not accidentally drowned?”
She looked away and he went to her.
“Then help me.”
“I didn’t know why he bought that boat. It was so big. He had no interest in boats, but he said he had to keep up appearances. They couldn’t have a harbour commissioner who didn’t own a boat, didn’t know how to operate one. He wanted to learn but put it off.”
“Did he take you down to see it?”
Yes, once. He felt so proud. He named it after me. Rosalie is my middle name; he calls me by that. Called me by that,” she said quickly. “And the dory, he named it after our daughter, Madison. She died at six months.”
“The dory?”
“Yes, that’s what he called it. The little boat with a motor that went with the big boat. He said that way mother and daughter would always be together.”
She went back inside. Armour followed. She leaned up against the kitchen counter. Again, Armour felt that pang of recognition and wanted to embrace her. It was an overpowering sensation. Similar to the vision he’d had about digging in the earth. But that vision had been wrong. Maybe he was going mad.
“Did you know about his girlfriend?” Armour asked, cautiously.
She remained rock still for a second, then nodded.
“I thought he would get over her. He always does, but…”
“There have been others?”
She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. Many. The church teaches us compassion, forgiveness. I found it hard.”
That must have been why she built the chapel, Armour thought. For strength. Colin Holt had brought disgrace and dishonour into her house; she had tried to combat that with religion.
“Why did the police dig up your basement? What led them to believe he was buried there?”
“They knew about…”
“…about the other women.”
“Yes. They thought I might have had a hand in his disappearance. You know, jealous wife. I think someone tipped them off that he was down there.” She put the back of her hand to her mouth.
“I want to find him. To give him a decent burial,” Armour said. “That’s all.” He didn’t mention the reward money.
“Me too.” She started to cry and Armour went to her. He felt a jolt: Bess was in his arms again. He felt her tears wet his neck. There was an “ahem” from Dorothy in the kitchen doorway.
“Ma’am, the police are here.”
Armour stepped away from her and she straightened herself and went to the front door. He could hear her talking and a man’s voice. He wondered if it was Tomkins, although he doubted an inspector would rush up here for an intruder. Something told him to stay put anyway. He heard her say that it was all a misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about. She blamed it on an overly cautious new maid. When the door closed, she returned to the kitchen.
“You’d better go,” she said.
Armour watched the police drive off and opened the front door. He nodded to her. “Thank you again. I’ll let you know if I find anything. I’m sorry about your garden.”
Chapter 38
Early the next morning, Armour found Garrison in his shed. The mechanic was putting a metal cylinder on a lathe.
“Working hard?” Armour said.
“Always,” the man said when he looked up. “Prop shaft. Damn fool kid we hired banged one of our boats off the rocks there, port side of the harbour. I told him don’
t come in too fast there, that it was shallow. Impatient brat.”
“I wanted to ask you a question about Holt’s boat.”
The man put the shaft down and switched off the lathe. The high whirring sound descended in tone as it slowed down.
“Coffee?” the man asked.
The man had an electric hot plate plugged in and on it a glass coffee pot.
“The police came to speak with you after you found the Rosalie.”
“Yes. Twice.”
Armour remembered Garrison’s account in the report. There had only been a record of one interview. After that, there were dozens of lines that were blacked out. That could be it – but why hide the fact that they’d spoken to Garrison a second time?
“The boat,” Armour said. “Did it have a dory or a tender?”
“Yes,” Garrison said, and they sipped their coffee, watching the morning sun burn off the mist. Armour had spent another night on his couch, barely sleeping. The coffee was helping to swipe away the cobwebs. That and the revelation that the cops were covering up their discussions with Garrison.
“The boat had a tender on the back deck? Hung over the transom?” Armour pressed him.
“Yes. Not an easy thing for one man to get back into position, but in an emergency, it could be lowered easily enough.”
“And when you told the police that it was missing, what did they do?”
“They made note of it, asked a few more questions and went away.”
“May I go and take another look at the boat?”
“Sure.”
The man escorted Armour down the pier to the Rosalie. Armour went to the rear of it. Sure enough, there were stanchions for the tender. Rings where ropes were attached, even some slight damage on the fantail where the dory had scraped the yacht’s paint.
“Let me ask you, did you search for the launch?”
“No, I went on board, found it adrift without the owner. Decided to get it back to the harbour. If he was in the dory, I felt that he would turn up. He never did.”
“And do you know if the police searched for it?”
“No, I don’t think they did. They only have one boat, an old steamer, and it rarely goes out. Usually they just ask civilian boaters to be on the lookout.”
