by Ted Wood
When he had finished he stood rewinding his film and I spoke to him carefully. “Come and have a look at his pockets.”
“Pockets?” He looked up, surprised. “You want a shot, I'll have to change the film.”
“No. I want this news kept quiet,” I said. “Come and see.”
He walked back with me and I opened the pocket and took out a billet of gold. I was careful to keep my back to the front window so that the chief would not be able to see. Roberts gasped. “That's ours,” he said. “Where did he get it?”
“I'm not sure. But he's got a bunch of them as far as I can tell by patting him down.”
“He didn't get them legally.” Roberts was shaken now, more than he had been by the sight of the body. “This is serious,” he said. “I don't know how this could have happened.”
“Maybe it's connected with the move tomorrow. Maybe the load is short. When was it made up?”
“Last night.” He handed the gold back to me, and I replaced it in Nunziatta's pocket. “I was present. So was the mine manager and the chief of security. That's the procedure. We checked it and put the proper seals on the cases.”
I stood up and he did the same, slowly, as if the weight of the knowledge were crushing him. “What do we do?” I asked him.
“Report it,” he said instantly, and I relaxed. If he was part of some scam he would have made an excuse of some kind.
“That's what the book says. But I think you know what my own suspicions are about this town.” I looked at him carefully. He returned my gaze calmly.
“You think the police are involved in this case?”
“I'm not sure who's involved and who isn't. But I do know that the chief had this man shot unnecessarily.”
“Good God.” He tightened his lips into a hard line. “That looks mighty suspicious to me. What can we do?”
“The first thing is for you to accompany me back to the hospital with the body when I search it,” I said. “We'll talk about it as we drive.”
“All right.” He removed the film from his camera and put everything back into his bag. “Can I do that? Shouldn't another policeman be there?”
“I'll see what the chief says. Can you wait here?”
“Right.” He shivered suddenly and hunched deeper into his coat.
I went into the house. The chief and the doctor were talking in the kitchen.
“Ah, sergeant,” the chief said. “I've been talking to Dr. Frazer. He says you want an autopsy done on the body.”
“Normal procedure, sir. I figure he was high on something. The doctor can make the necessary tests.”
The chief's face relaxed a fraction. “Of course. Yes. That would be a good idea.” He had taken off his gloves but was holding them in his right hand. Now he slapped them into his palm a couple of times. “Right. If the doctor goes with you I won't need to send one of my men. I want them to search for Nunziatta's car.”
“Good.” I nodded and waited for the doctor to move. He was thinking. He spoke after a moment or two. “I've given Mrs. Nunziatta something to keep her calm. If her friend can stay with her, I'll go.” He turned away, then stopped. “Oh, and chief, perhaps you can call the builder in town and have him fix that front window. The family needs to keep warm.”
“Of course,” the chief said. He picked up the telephone in the hand that held his gloves.
The doctor and I walked out and found the ambulance waiting at the end of the street. “I want Mr. Roberts, the photographer, to come along, doctor. And I'd like it if you got rid of the civilian who helps you in the morgue. I'll explain why.”
“Fine,” he said. “I'll get back and finish my afternoon rounds. When you arrive let me know.”
He walked briskly off to his car, exchanging a few words with Roberts, who nodded and waited for me to join him.
Together we supervised the loading of the body into the ambulance. The two men on duty exchanged glances when they saw Nunziatta's face but worked smoothly and had him out of sight in the ambulance in a couple of minutes.
“We'll follow you,” I told them. Then I nodded to Roberts. “Would you care to drive me?”
“Right.” He took me back to his car. I paused to put Sam in the front of my own car, then followed Roberts. He backed up and turned towards the hospital. I waited for him to start the conversation. At last he said, “I take it you think the chief's involved in some way.”
“I guess the easy answer is yes,” I said carefully. “What I mean is that a lot of very strange things have been happening since I came to town. I had thought that Sgt. Ferris was behind them, but now he's been shot.”
“Suicide, surely?” He looked at me in horror, then turned forward again as the car swerved under us.
“No. The doctor says not. On top of which you've told me that the security chief at the mine is married to the woman at the police station. Also, the sergeant was linked to Nunziatta. You put all that together and it looks as if Ferris was involved with a leakage of gold from your storeroom.”
“But where does the chief come in?”
“I can't be sure. But if he's involved, something is going to happen to your shipment tomorrow.”
The ambulance signaled ahead of us and turned into the hospital's parking lot. We followed it to the rear doors.
“But surely, if he was involved in something tomorrow he'd cancel that now,” Roberts said.
“He would if he heard that Nunziatta was carrying gold,” I said. In front of us the two ambulance men were unloading the draped body. We sat and watched as they wheeled it into the doors.
“What do you want me to do?” Roberts asked nervously.
“I want you to make sure that the load that's going out tomorrow is intact,” I said. “If it's not, it explains where Nunziatta got the gold. Do you think your manager will go along with us?”
“Yes.” Roberts straightened up and answered without hesitation. “He'll listen. He's a hands-on manager. He's involved in everything that happens at the mine. Something like this, he'll want the best thing possible done.” He paused anxiously. “You'll go along with what he says, will you?”
“Of course,” I said. “Let's go through the procedures inside and head on over there with your gold.”
He nodded briskly and we went in. I nodded to the nurse on duty. “Sgt. Bennett, Elliot police. We're here to complete our investigation on the guy who just came in. Tell Dr. Frazer we'll be in the morgue, please.”
“Right.” She was looking at me oddly. I guess the late-breaking gossip hadn't reached her yet. As far as she was concerned I was still under a cloud.
We got to the morgue as the ambulance men were wheeling out the empty gurney. We exchanged nods, not saying anything. White-faced George was on duty, and he was about to pull the sheet down from Nunziatta's face. “Don't touch that body,” I told him and he looked up, startled.
“I wanted to make sure he was dead,” he said in a whining voice.
“George, you're like something out of a Dickens novel,” I said, smiling to show it was all in fun. “We'll wait here for the doctor to arrive. He won't be long.”
“Okay. If you say.” He sat down at his old wooden desk and pulled a paper towards him as if he were working on something. I kept him off balance. “You put in a lot of hours at this place.”
That pleased him. He looked up, baring his yellowish teeth sociably. “I live close,” he explained. “I'm always available to give the doctor a hand.”
“How the hell would they manage without you?” I gave him another gee-whiz smile. I'd already given him warning I didn't want any interference. Now I had to get him back onside a little.
He went into a long rambling dissertation, which I prodded along with nods and the odd question until the doctor came in. He nodded to us and told George, “Time for you to get some rest, George. These gentlemen will help me. Thank you for hanging in like you have.”
George tried: “It's no problem, doctor.”
“No. We'll be
fine. You go and get some rest and I'll see you in the morning,” Frazer insisted kindly.
“Well, I have been working a long time,” George said grudgingly.
Frazer checked his watch. “Since midnight last night. That's sixteen hours. I appreciate the help, but I don't want to break the back of a willing horse. See you tomorrow.”
George lingered over getting his coat on but finally left.
Frazer shook his head. “He's nine parts werewolf, but we don't pay him much and nobody else would take the bloody job.”
He opened the door and checked that George was out of earshot. Then he turned back and looked at me, slipping his hands into the pockets of his long white coat. “What's going on?”
“Nunziatta is carrying a couple of pocketfuls of gold from the mine,” I said. “You know where I stand. So does Mr. Roberts. We'd like you to search the body with us.”
“Gold?” Frazer shook his head and whisked the sheet back from Nunziatta's dead face. He rolled the sheet and tossed it on George's desk. Then he patted the pocket nearest to him. “Feels like you're right. Let's do it.”
“First, I'd like a plastic evidence bag, or whatever you've got, anyway. It should be strong and transparent.”
“Right.” He moved off to a cupboard and brought out a small plastic sack. “This do?”
“Fine. Now, Mr. Roberts, would you go through the pockets please and drop any gold you find in here?”
I'd already removed my parka. Now Roberts took off his topcoat and started unloading Nunziatta's hoard. As he took each billet out he examined it and dropped it into the bag. He took out thirty in all.
“There are other things in here,” he said when he had reached the bottom of the right pocket.
“I'll get to them later. If you'd just search all the other pockets please and check for a money belt.”
He did it but found no more gold.
Frazer had watched without speaking. Now he whistled. “What are those things, pure gold?”
“Almost,” Roberts said primly. “Altogether he's carrying a thousand grams of ninety percent gold. They still have to be refined up to five nines purity, but they're worth about forty thousand U.S. dollars. That's just on fifty thousand Canadian for what he's carrying.”
“He didn't make that working for you guys,” Frazer said softly.
“This is a straight rip-off of the mine,” I said. “Now, I'm going to write down what we've found and I'll ask both of you to sign it. Then we seal the paper into the bag with the gold and go see the mine manager.”
We all signed the paper, then the doctor wrote his name on a narrow strip of paper and sealed his signature under the scotch tape he used to close the bag. Nobody could open the bag without destroying his signature.
After we'd done that we quickly searched the body, turning all Nunziatta's other pockets inside out. He had nothing unusual on him, no drugs. He did have ten fifty-dollar bills in his wallet, and I had the doctor sign to verify the amount. Then I took all the possessions into my custody and picked up the bag that contained the gold and handed it to Roberts. “This is yours now. Can you hide it until we get into your boss's office?”
It was too big for his pockets, but he put on his topcoat and slipped the bag into the front of it. Then he stood with his arm across his waist while I finished with the doctor. “If you can do whatever's necessary, please, doctor. And I'd like the blood analysis made for drugs. We're going to see the mine manager. I'll let you know what happens.”
“Right.” Frazer nodded and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. “And one other thing. I'm pleased with the progress on the woman who was strangled. I'm going to bring her around tomorrow morning, about nine a.m. Can you be here?”
“Unless this gold business prevents it, yes,” I said.
We thanked him and left with Roberts clutching his abdomen like an appendicitis patient.
When he got into the car he let his bundle slip down into his lap. We drove out to the mine site and parked in his reserved space next to the front door of the office building. Roberts got out, clutching his stomach again, and hustled us into the executive area. The manager's office was the biggest and it occupied the corner. Other than that it was no fancier than any other office in the complex. It had the name John Kemp on the door. I could see in through the glass walls and liked what I saw of Kemp. A tall lean man with sandy hair and black-rimmed glasses, he was in shirtsleeves, talking on the phone. When Roberts tapped on the door, Kemp waved us in while he finished his call. He hung up the phone and held out his hand. “John Kemp.”
It was a working hand, hard and strong. “Reid Bennett. I'm the new sergeant on the Elliot police. Thank you for seeing me.”
He sat down and waited.
“I've just investigated the sudden death of a guy called Nunziatta, an assistant driller at your mine. In his possession I found gold that has come from your strong room. Mr. Roberts was with me. I've given it to him.”
Roberts slipped the bag out of the front of his coat and hoisted it onto Kemp's desk. Kemp frowned and picked it up. “You sure it's ours, Jim?”
“It looks like ours,” Roberts said. I glanced around. Outside, the bullpen was busy and people were coming and going. I was afraid someone would see the gold. Gossip would kill my cover. There were vertical blinds on the windows and I closed them all.
Kemp watched me. “You're investigating this as a theft?” he asked, hefting the bag, then setting it down.
“Yes. But there's more to it than that. I've had a number of conversations with Mr. Roberts since last night. Has he told you anything about them?”
“He told me he trusted you and that you were going to take special precautions with our outgoing shipment tomorrow.”
“It's more complex than that.” I paused and thought for a moment. Every word I said was giving away my cover. If there was any leak, even gossip around town about my presence here, it could mean the end of my job at Elliot. Maybe even worse. If Harding was in this my life could be in danger. Kemp waited while I made my decision. In the absence of any guidance from Toronto I was going to have to press ahead on my own. The gold shipment would be the breakpoint. Either I was right or I was off this case.
I spoke carefully. “This is for your office only, please. I am breaking security because of the special circumstances here.”
Kemp nodded and adjusted his glasses which had a habit of sliding down his nose. I laid out the facts as if I were giving evidence in court. “I'm on assignment from the Ontario Police Commission. My job is to investigate some unsubstantiated stories of corruption in the department here. I am beginning to think that only Sgt. Ferris was involved, but I'm not sure. I have reason to believe that the sergeant was planning something connected with your gold shipment tomorrow. My superior at the commission is out of reach until tomorrow, so I want to pursue the gold shipment to see if there is some connection to any improper conduct by anyone else in the department.” All completely formal, no specific suspicions voiced. As neat as the story could get, I thought.
“Who else knows about your job here?” Kemp asked.
“My wife, of course. Also Dr. Frazer.”
Now it was Kemp's turn to sit and think. He shoved his glasses again and looked at me, but blankly, the thousand-yard stare of combat fatigue. At last he said, “Thank you for taking me into your confidence. I must admit I've been less than happy with the conduct of the police in town, but I haven't mentioned it to our head office. I have to live here. The president doesn't.”
“What do we do?” I felt a touch of relief at sharing the burden with him.
“I will keep everything secret until the shipment has reached the point where the Ontario Provincial Police become responsible,” he said slowly. “That doesn't mean nothing will happen. You go five miles out of town and they take over. If somebody was planning something it could happen after that, but I can't allow the shipment to move any further without alerting the OPP to your concerns.”
“Th
at's all I need,” I said. “If you can pass the information to a high-ranking OPP officer with a request to keep the news from our chief, I might even be able to continue my investigation here.”
“Somebody's going to say you were here,” he said. “Word may get back. What will you do about that?”
“I could tell the chief that Mr. Roberts needed a reason for taking so much time out of his working day.” I turned to Roberts. “If you don't mind being made to look like a crybaby, Mr. Roberts. It would keep the investigation airtight.”
Roberts sighed. “If it has to be,” he said.
Kemp nodded. “Thanks, Jim.” He sat for a moment. Then he came back to his own problem, the gold.
“How'd you think this man got hold of the product?”
It was time for more honesty. “The head of your security here is married to the woman at the police office. There's a chance that she and Sgt. Ferris had worked together on this.”
“I've known Sheridan since I came here,” Kemp said. “He's been given the highest possible clearance for our work.”
“I'm only guessing. It's a connection, that's all.”
“Pretty slim,” Kemp said grimly. He shoved his glasses up, almost angrily. “But I guess you'd have to start somewhere. This stuff wasn't taken out in any other way that I could imagine.”
“What time tomorrow is the load moving?” I didn't want Sheridan's history, just the facts on the gold.
“Seven a.m.,” Kemp said. He was running his fingers over the little bars of gold under their plastic sheath. Suddenly he picked the bag up and turned his chair around. Behind him on the credenza there was a small brass scale. It had a plaque on the stand that supported it, a presentation from somewhere or other. “How many billets are there?” he asked.
“Thirty,” Roberts said quickly.
Without a word Kemp slipped off all but the bottom two of the weights on the scale and put the bag on the pan. The pan jiggled but did not sink.
