I decided to refrain from asking any questions, though I had a couple. I felt that with Cobb and I working for the accused it might be best to maintain a low profile. On my way out of the building Neil Misener, a Calgary Sun writer I’d known for a long time and had disliked for almost as long, sidled up alongside me.
“Looks to me like Larmer’s fucked,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You don’t sound heartbroken, Neil,” I said. “Is that your personal reaction to Larmer’s being charged or is that the Sun’s stance, as well?”
The Sun occupied a place on the conservative side of the political spectrum. It was to print what RIGHT TALK 700 was to broadcast. I remembered that Larmer had penned some columns for the paper over the years. And one thing I knew for sure was that Larmer didn’t pick his spots. Though he was as far to the right as it was possible to be, he’d been known to eviscerate other conservative writers, thinkers, and pundits when their views didn’t align with his or weren’t extreme enough to suit him.
“Come on, Adam, I’m not celebrating and I’m not heartbroken. You know and I know the guy’s a dick.”
“That may be, Neil, but you know and I know that this isn’t about that.”
“Yeah, see you around, Adam.” He slouched off toward a coffee machine as I headed out the front door into the welcome sunshine, somewhat dismayed that I had just defended, sort of, a man I loathed to a man who was ostensibly on his team. Weird world sometimes.
I called Anita Dekalb just after four and she agreed to meet me right away, which meant a hasty trip across town to the Dekalb condo in McKenzie Towne. I buzzed her intercom at exactly ten minutes to five.
Once we had shaken hands and I was welcomed into the living room, she asked me if I’d like coffee and I said I would if it wasn’t too much trouble. She smiled by way of answer and disappeared into the kitchen, which is when I took stock of the art that graced the room’s feature wall. While I know very little about what differentiates good and not-so-good art, my guess was that several of these pieces were worth serious money if they were originals. And my first, very brief impression was that this was not a woman who collected prints.
I turned away from the art to examine the rest of the room. What I saw confirmed my initial impression. These were not hard times for Anita Dekalb. The room was spacious, bright, and expensively furnished. What it was not was comfortable. It was a little too formal, too courtly for me. Maybe it was the art that gave the space its … I guess the word would be “dignity.” It was nice, but not a room in which I could ever bring myself to kick off my shoes, stretch out on the all-white leather sofa, and enjoy a bag of tortilla chips and the latest Giles Blunt novel.
I tried to determine whether Anita Dekalb lived here alone or there was a new man in her life. If there was, I could see no obvious evidence of him.
When she returned to the living room I studied her with considerably more diligence than I had applied to the artworks. Anita Dekalb is a movie-star name if ever there was one. And Ms. Dekalb lived up to her billing. In fact, she was something of a work of art herself. Think Kim Basinger with shorter, less … um … buoyant hair. And I quickly concluded that Anita Dekalb was very much aware of how delightful men found her.
She was wearing blue capris and a sleeveless blingy top that reminded me of the old song “Accentuate the Positive.”
I quickly learned that the room didn’t affect the condo’s inhabitant the same way it had me. After handing me my coffee — in a mug not a cup — she pointed to the sofa, and when I was seated, stretched out on a love seat that I guessed cost more than my car, lit a cigarette, and said, “You wanted to ask me about Jasper.”
The coffee was take-your-breath-away hot, so I set it aside to cool and regarded Jasper Hugg’s ex-wife.
“How long were you and Mr. Hugg married?” I started with an easy one.
“Fourteen years, seven months.”
“Precise,” I said.
“When people are in prison, in a war, or in hell, they tend to know exactly the duration of their time there.”
“Would you say your time with Mr. Hugg falls into one of those categories?”
“I would say my time with Jasper falls into all those categories, Mr. Cullen.”
“Then I’m guessing this wasn’t one of those ‘we’ve grown apart but we’ll always be friends’ situations?”
“In the same way I know how long the marriage went on, I also recall exactly what I’d had to endure. My husband was physically abusive toward me exactly — she drew out the word — forty-four times. Mostly punching or slapping but a couple of times he kicked me. He seldom used objects to hit me, not out of a reluctance to inflict the kind of damage a golf club, for example, might do, but because he was aware that a five iron might leave rather damning evidence. So he mostly stuck to what he could accomplish with his fists, which was considerable. I didn’t keep track of mental or psychological abuse because they were ongoing.”
I wasn’t sure how far I wanted this to go, especially since the abuse issue hadn’t been on my list of questions. As I listened to her, I realized it should have been. I was getting a side of Hugg I hadn’t known about. And I didn’t want to shut her down if she wanted to tell me more.
“Did you and Mr. Hugg have children?”
She shook her head. “I have a daughter from an earlier relationship, but no, thankfully Jasper and I never had children. And please don’t call him Mr. Hugg. I find that distasteful. Call him Jasper or Hugg or something, but I can do without the mister.”
I nodded and offered a smile. ”Violent people often make enemies, Ms. Dekalb. I’m wondering if you are aware of anyone in particular who might have wanted to seek revenge on your husband.”
“Apart from myself, you mean?” She smiled humourlessly.
I could only nod.
As Anita Dekalb considered this, I took up my coffee again and tried a sip. This time my lips escaped relatively scald-free.
“My guess is that Jasper had lots of enemies, people who aren’t exactly overcome with grief at his passing, however gruesome. But if you’re asking me if we were ever threatened while we were walking along the street or if we received threatening phone calls, no, I’m not aware of any of that happening.”
“What about Buckley-Rand Larmer, Ms. Dekalb? What do you know of his relationship with your former husband? Cordial, professional, strained? How would you characterize it?”
“Mr. Cullen, I hope you’ll forgive my being vulgar, but if you put two assholes together, the shit’s going to fly. And that’s the way it was with Jasper and Buckley-Rand. Both are brilliant, ruthless, driven men; both will stop at nothing to win whatever battle they’re fighting. But if I may return to my earlier analogy — sometimes their shit flew toward each other. That said, Mr. Cullen, I can tell you that Buckley-Rand Larmer did not kill Jasper Hugg.”
“I’m sorry, but you know this how?”
“There are two things you need to know about Buckley-Rand Larmer and Jasper Hugg. First, they needed each other more than any two people I’ve seen. I mean that in a professional sense. It was almost as if Jasper was inoperative when Buckley-Rand wasn’t there.”
I nodded and started to respond but I sensed she wasn’t finished.
“They tried a couple of times to part and go in different directions and couldn’t do it. They’d flop around like fish on the bottom of a boat, Jasper the worse of the two. Because Buckley-Rand still had his raison d’être. Jasper did not. Buckley-Rand Larmer was completely dedicated to the right, and Jasper was completely dedicated to Buckley-Rand.”
I drank coffee again while I thought about what she’d said.
“And the second thing I need to know?”
“It’s even more compelling than the first. However, I will share it with you only if I have your assurance that it remains absolutely confidential. Not even Buckley-Rand c
an know I’ve told you this.”
“Fair enough, but I’m not working alone on this case. I have a partner, and actually I’m working for him. If this is significant in terms of helping us prove Larmer didn’t kill Hugg, he’s going to need to know.”
She nodded slowly. “But that’s where it stops.”
“But if it’s significant —”
She held up a hand. “That’s my condition, Mr. Cullen. I’ll tell you because it will prove Buckley-Rand Larmer is innocent. And I’ll agree that you can tell your partner. But it ends there.”
I waited another minute and knew she wasn’t budging.
“All right. Guaranteed confidential.”
“Oh, and for the record,” she smiled, “it is significant. Buckley-Rand was with me that night and into the morning. If you tell that to the police, I’ll deny it.”
I sat back and looked at Anita Dekalb for a long time, trying to decide how to respond. I finally concluded there really was only one answer.
“A minute ago you asked me to forgive your vulgarity. I hope now you will forgive my rudeness. You are lying.”
“Am I?’
“Hard to be in bed with someone in Calgary and be in London at the same time.”
She took a long drag on her cigarette and smiled. She was enjoying her performance much more than I was. “Difficult, yes, Mr. Cullen, but not impossible.”
Since I had nothing to say to that, I waited.
“Skype is a wonderful technological innovation, Mr. Cullen. And used creatively it can also offer many of the same sensual joys as having that person in bed with you can.”
I’ve conducted hundreds of interviews over the years and in all that time I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I have genuinely been gobsmacked by what I’ve been told. Anita Dekalb just used up one more finger.
I drank coffee, several sips, while I tried to gather myself and come up with an appropriate response or follow-up question.
“If you like I can offer details as to just how —”
I held up a hand. “Not necessary. But there are a couple of points I’ll need to clarify.”
“Of course there are.”
Anita Dekalb was able to take fairly ordinary words and make them sound like dirty talk.
I bought myself a little time by pulling out my notebook and pen and taking a sip of coffee.
“How long were you and Mr. Larmer … uh … on Skype?”
“Quite a long time.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Well, of course, there’s the time difference — it was seven hours later for me and it was about noon in London when we started, so I guess that made it about five in the morning over here.”
“And it went on for …?”
“Oh, two hours or so, with breaks, of course to … catch our breath. I mean, I wasn’t really checking the clock at that exact moment. It had been a … very good night.”
Yeah, more information than I need on that score, thanks.
“The time thing is kind of important — do you have even a general idea as to when you and Larmer ended the session?”
She didn’t hurry her answer. “I want to say sevenish in Canada.”
“Do you know if he was going directly to the station at that point?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Right, so we have the perfect alibi and we can’t use it.”
“That’s right.”
“Can you tell me why the need for the secrecy?”
“No, I can’t.”
I paused, trying to think. “Okay,” I said, “in the time since I arrived here, you have referred to Larmer as an asshole and a prick.”
“That’s true. And believe me, he is both.”
“And yet you were … intimate with him.”
“I hope you’re not from that old school of thinking that sex must go hand in hand with love. Because I assure you, Mr. Cullen, that is not the case with me. In fact, I would suggest that sex need not be accompanied by even a liking of the partner. Particularly, as is the case with Buckley-Rand, if there is a quite remarkable libido that comes into play.”
“Did Mr. … did your … did Jasper Hugg know of your … uh … relationship with Larmer?”
“No, he did not.”
“You’re sure of that.”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Right.” I nodded. “So now that we’re back at square one, I’m wondering if you have any suggestion as to who we might look at as a potential suspect. What about others at the station? Anyone there that Hugg had run-ins with that you’re aware of?”
“Don’t forget, Mr. Cullen, Jasper and I haven’t been together for just over two years. But in the time we were together I wasn’t aware of anyone at his workplace who would have wanted him dead. Were there disputes? Arguments? Differences of opinion? Of course, but I never heard my ex-husband — and this is one of the few good things you’ll hear me say about him — I never heard him badmouth those he worked with … with the exception of Buckley-Rand, and we’ve already been over that.”
“One last question, Ms. Dekalb. I’m not sure you are aware, but there have been other killings of conservative broadcasters, writers, and so on. We’re trying to establish whether there is a connection between those other deaths and that of Jasper Hugg. Would you have any kind of record of conferences, large-gathering sorts of meetings he might have attended in the last few years?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I wasn’t all that interested in his comings and goings even when we were together. When he was out of town, I knew I wasn’t going to be hit or knocked down or screamed at. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t away nearly enough. That said, I do remember one thing that may be helpful. Jasper’s day planners were his bible. He preferred them to a smartphone calendar and he hung on to all of them, going back a decade or more. If you could get those, perhaps you could track his travel for past years.”
“Any idea where those old day planners might be?”
“No, but I expect they’re somewhere in his home. He always had an office at home; I’m sure he still does. If the police don’t already have them, it might be worth pursuing.”
I stood up. “You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it.”
She slowly eased herself off the love seat and rose to her feet, her every move highly sensual. I was again reminded she was very aware of that.
What I wanted to ask her was how a creep like Hugg could ever attract and marry a woman like her, but I decided against it. We shook hands and she smiled at me. It was, it seemed to me, a genuine smile.
“I hope you find the person who did this to my ex-husband, Mr. Cullen. It’s true that by the end of our time together I loathed the man, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to see a killer brought to justice.”
“Of course.”
“And an innocent man set free,” she added with a final smile.
“Uh, one last question. I know I said that a minute ago, but your … uh … liaison with Larmer, was it going on while you were still married to Hugg?”
She shook her head. “No, and if you’ll allow me to anticipate your next last question, I have been with Buckley-Rand three previous times. All three times were here and all three times he stayed the night, showered, and went to the station. At least that’s where he told me he was going.”
“Over what span of time?”
“All within the last year or so. And now if you’ll forgive me I have an evening engagement to get ready for and would like to bring this to an end. Good luck with your investigation, Mr. Cullen.”
“We’re going to do all we can, Ms. Dekalb.”
As I said the words I was studying her and trying to decide if she was capable of hiring someone — either on her own or with Larmer — to kill Jasper Hugg. My gut told me sh
e hadn’t played a role in his death, but Anita Dekalb was a woman full of surprises. I couldn’t rule out that she had one more tucked away.
I called Cobb after my meeting with Anita Dekalb.
“Mike, we need to meet. I’ve got a couple of things for you. And they’re more than over-the-phone items.”
“Okay, but it’s got to be fast. I’ve got a meeting with Larmer at the Remand Centre this afternoon.”
“Where are you?” I asked him.
“Canada Olympic Park. Peter’s attending a seminar up there, back-country hiking. I just dropped him off.”
“Okay, how about Kensington? Half an hour?”
We agreed to meet at a coffee spot called Higher Grounds. Twenty-five minutes later I dropped the double bomb on Cobb. “Larmer has the perfect alibi and we can’t use it.”
I recounted the conversation I had with Anita Dekalb. Cobb was much less gobsmacked than I was, although I think my news surprised him at least a little.
He gazed into his coffee cup for a while before answering. “Okay, assuming that she didn’t make up the whole thing, it just confirms what we already knew — Larmer didn’t kill Hugg. But if we can’t use the information, we’ve still got work to do.”
“A sidebar here. Can Skype sessions be checked? Are there records? Can they be deleted?”
Cobb shrugged. “No idea, but I’m not sure it matters, especially if we can’t use what she told you anyway.”
Dead Air Page 24
