None So Deadly

by David A. Poulsen

  That thought was accompanied by another. That, exactly as Cobb had predicted, there would be more demands. And I would comply. For as long as the horror lasted.

  Jill’s voice interrupted my brooding. “Do you feel like a coffee?”

  “I feel like a whiskey,” I said. “But a coffee would be good.”

  We didn’t talk further until we were sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in front of us. Jill was holding hers in both her hands, like they were cold. Maybe they were.

  “I wish you’d never had anything to do with those people.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I said. “But it’ll be okay, I promise.”

  Which, of course, was anything but a sure thing. It was, nevertheless, what I had to say right then. Probably more for me than for Jill.

  John Mann and Spirit of the West announced an incoming call. I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. “Hello.”

  “You doing okay?” Cobb’s voice sounded worried.

  “Yeah, let’s talk about it later. How did you make out?”

  “Okay. We have a client.”

  “Luft?”

  “The same. Totally different guy this time. Maybe he figured out that his kid’s in trouble and he’s going to need some help.”

  “That’s a big turnaround. As in one hundred and eighty degrees.”

  “Roger that. He came dangerously close to being a human being today. He is one scared dad.”

  “He have any thoughts that might help us?”

  “I don’t think so. I took some notes. I’ll show them to you when I see you next, but I’m not sure there’s anything there.”

  When I see you next. Leaving it to me to make that call.

  “I want to get at this. When do you want to meet? I’m ready anytime.”

  Jill was watching me, neither approving nor disapproving.

  “Let’s confab at the office tomorrow morning, if that works.”

  “I can do that. I’ll bring the Timbits,” I said.

  “Goody.”

  We ended the call and I stood up. Jill got up from her chair and came to me. We stood for a long time, holding each other, not hugging really, just together. It felt good to know that for now, at least, we were one for whatever came our way. I wondered if we’d still be together if Jill actually knew what it was that might come our way.

  SEVEN

  “It was the MFs, wasn’t it?”

  I was reminded that Cobb had been a homicide detective and, according to people who’d know, a good one. We were halfway through our first cup of coffee and had popped a couple of Timbits each. Neither of us had said much beyond good morning until Cobb’s statement — because it was more of a statement than a question.

  I knew it was better not to lie. The only question was how much of the truth I was prepared to share. There was still a small part of me — and getting smaller all the time — that believed that if I did what I’d been ordered to and didn’t fuck up — which was, after all, part of the assignment — that maybe, just maybe, it would happen only once.

  “Yeah, it was. Minnis.”

  “And?”

  “Setting the stage. No assignment. Not yet.” Again I’d stayed in the rough vicinity of the truth. “Told me I’d hear from them. I think the whole point was to intimidate me. Meeting me in front of Jill’s house, that was part of it, but for now, nothing’s really changed. I think they just wanted to remind me that the day is coming.”

  Cobb thought about that. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense. You already knew that. It’s not like those people to waste time. They don’t have to. They know they hold the cards.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I was thinking that same thing as Minnis was talking to me. So, I don’t know what to tell you. Guess I’ll find out one of these days. For now, though, not much has changed.”

  I didn’t know if Cobb believed me. But he seemed prepared to let it go for the moment.

  “Your turn,” I said. “Tell me about your meeting with Luft, then I’ll tell you what I was able to learn last night about him.”

  “Well, I told you that he’s hired us, so I don’t need to go over that again.” He reached into the inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing, pulled out first his reading glasses then a small notebook. “He told me he’d never met Claiborne but did know Rachel Claiborne from a couple of parent-teacher evenings at school. Just chit-chat. He was aware that Danny was seeing Glenna Claiborne and had met her a couple of times. He thought it was just kid stuff — his words — nothing serious. He never suspected his kid had ever done drugs — again his words — and pretty much confirmed what Danny said about how there would have been a lot of shit flying if he’d known the kid was smoking weed.”

  “Let me guess. A lot of shit flying — his words, as well?”

  “A direct quote. But now he’s the worried dad.”

  “Yeah, maybe the lawyer explained just how deep the kid is in this, or maybe his wife told him to drop the tough-guy stuff and start being a father. Not sure. Danny did say that his dad was a good guy most of the time.”

  “I guess this is one of those times. Okay, what’ve you got?” Cobb asked.

  I pulled out my own notebook, though I had most of what I wanted to share with Cobb committed to memory. “Military record exemplary. Two overseas tours — Croatia and Afghanistan. In 1993 he and the rest of the second battalion Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry were involved in the Battle of the Medak Pocket in Croatia. It’s called the forgotten battle, but it was pretty big and pretty intense. Luft got a couple of commendations coming out of that and was promoted to sergeant not long after. He also saw action in Afghanistan in 2002, this time with the third battalion of the PPCLI, again some pretty heavy stuff. Sounds like the guy was a good soldier.” I glanced down at my notes. “Married in ’99. Elaine Darmody, Ontario girl, born, raised, and educated in Kitchener. Danny’s their only child, born in 2001, not long before Luft went to Afghanistan. Mrs. Luft works part-time as a library assistant at a school.”

  “You find any criminal past in Luft?”

  I shook my head. “Straight shooter, near as I can tell.”

  “Nice word choice.” Cobb smiled.

  I laughed. “Guess it was.”

  “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of shooters, I got a look at the ballistics report. Only definable prints on the murder weapon were Danny’s, Claiborne’s, and Mrs. Claiborne’s. And one other thing: Claiborne was shot once, upper chest, left side. I don’t know all the medical jargon, but the bullet apparently destroyed the aortic valve and passed through the left ventricle. Catastrophic internal bleeding.”

  “Sounds like someone was a good shot.”

  “Maybe. Not a pro though. A pro wants to make sure; there’s at least one head shot. And, by the way, nothing was missing. Claiborne’s wallet with a fair amount of cash, an expensive ring — all of that was still in place. And the room wasn’t tossed, so the killer didn’t apparently search for anything.”

  “So, if Danny didn’t shoot Claiborne, who did? You said it didn’t look like a robbery.”

  “No evidence of anything taken, but we can’t rule out that there actually was an intruder who just didn’t have time to complete the robbery, or got hold of the gun, shot Claiborne, then panicked and ran off.”

  “I’m thinking that’s awfully unlikely.”

  “I’d say you’re right.”

  I flipped a page in my notebook. “The other thing I did was compile a list of possible shooters.”

  “Okay, what’ve you got? Let’s see if your group matches mine.”

  “Well, first there’s all the exes — wives, girlfriends, and the like. I don’t have all those listed, but I’ve jotted down the main players.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Cindy Marsh Claiborne. First wife. We haven’t talked to her yet.”

  “I’m planning to call her today.”

  “Susannah Hainsey and her sister, Janine Claiborne.”

  “Uh-huh. Anything
new there or anything we missed?”

  “Not sure off the top of my head. Be interesting to ask Susannah about Trenton, who, by the way, is the next name on my list. I’ve got the address he uses when he’s not staying over at Susannah’s. Bragg Creek, just west of the city.”

  “Good.”

  I surveyed my notes. “Then, of course, there’s the incumbent Mrs. Claiborne, Rachel, who one suspects might come out of all this in pretty good shape financially.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right. And there’s Danny Luft, our client, and his dad and mom. Dad seems like the kind of guy with both the skills and the temperament to take someone down if he saw them as a threat to his family. Anything on Danny’s mom?”

  I shook my head. “Beyond the name, not really. Anybody I’m missing?”

  “Yeah, I’d put the younger Claiborne on that list.”

  “Glenna?”

  “Sure. Consider if Danny told her about her dad’s effort to recruit him to kill Glenna’s mom. Seems like a pretty strong motive to me. She saves both her mom and her boyfriend.”

  “Yeah … maybe. Takes a certain kind of kid to take out her old man, even if the guy’s a grade-A slimeball.”

  “Can’t argue that. Anyway, I like your work on this. I think we should get started talking to as many of the people on there as we can.”

  “Anybody in particular you want to start with?”

  “I don’t think it matters. I’d like to talk to all of them. And the sooner the better.”

  “On it,” I said. “I can also call Cindy Claiborne, the first wife. Why don’t you leave that with me?”

  Cobb nodded. “That’ll help a lot. I’ve got a meeting with Danny’s lawyer. He’s apparently willing to talk to me now that we’re part of the outfit. You want to come along?”

  “I think I’d rather get started making calls to the people we want to chat with. See how I make out.”

  “Sure, why don’t you stay here, use the office while I’m downtown. I’ll call or text when I’m out of my meeting.”

  Trenton was my first call; I’m not sure why, since he was the one guy I figured would be the hardest to catch up with. I wasn’t sure how badly I wanted to call Susannah Hainsey’s apartment, so I called his home first, fairly certain that at that time of day he wouldn’t be there. When a male voice picked up on the third ring, I had to organize my thoughts quickly.

  I introduced myself, told him I was one of the people who’d been at Ms. Hainsey’s apartment two days before, and explained that Cobb and I would like to meet him at his convenience to ask him a few questions.

  “What’s it about?” he asked.

  The question surprised me, but I didn’t want to say, You know exactly what it’s about, so I took a breath instead. “We’re looking into the murder of Wendell Claiborne. We’re acting on behalf of Danny Luft, the young man who has been charged with the murder. We understand you were employed by Claiborne before you went to work for Ms. Hainsey, and we’d like to chat with you.”

  “When would you like to meet?”

  Again I was caught off guard. Maybe I was guilty of being a glass-half-empty guy, but I knew that there were times when getting to talk to someone connected to a case was a whole lot tougher than this. Trenton had responded, without hesitation, in the affirmative. A very different reaction from that of his employer by the end of our conversation with her.

  “Are you working today, Mr. Trenton?”

  “Just Trenton,” he said. I thought I detected a chuckle or at least a smile in his voice. “I only have one name.”

  “Right … Trenton.”

  “And I am working today, but just noon to six. If tonight at seven or so works …?”

  “It absolutely works.”

  “I live in Bragg Creek and I prefer not to drive after dark. So if we could meet there, it would be helpful for me, though I realize less convenient for you.”

  “No problem at all,” I said. “Is there a place you could suggest? I’ve been to Bragg Creek but I’m not all that familiar with the area.”

  “You’d be most welcome at my home, if that’s all right.”

  “Appreciate the hospitality.”

  He gave me the address.

  “We’ll find it. See you tonight.”

  I rang off and my winning streak continued when I reached Cindy Claiborne on the first try. If I had to characterize the voice on the phone, I would have said tired, almost frail-sounding. My guess was that she would now be only in her fifties, but she sounded older than that. I wondered about the state of her health. However, after a couple of clarifications as to who I was and why I was calling, she agreed to meet us that afternoon.

  “Two o’clock work for you, Ms. Claiborne?”

  “I don’t go out of the house too much,” she said. “Would you be able to come here?”

  I assured her we’d be happy to do that and took down the address. She lived just off 14th Street on the North Hill.

  I was pretty full of myself after going two for two, but my luck ran out after that. No answer when I called Rachel Claiborne. I made an executive decision and included in my message that we’d like to speak to Glenna, as well, and that she was welcome to be present for the conversation with her daughter.

  I decided to make some notes prior to our meetings and that, too, turned out to be an exercise in futility. Cindy Claiborne, formerly Cindy Marsh, had clearly been a low-key, low-profile figure when she was married to Claiborne and had remained that way after their breakup. I found a couple of early photos of the happy couple at charity events and one with Ralph Klein when he was mayor of Calgary. Virtually nothing since Cindy had ceased being the live-in Mrs. Claiborne. She was not on social media and I searched online for everything from “Cindy Claiborne, wife of Wendell Claiborne” to “Cindy Marsh, debutante,” but came up empty.

  Finally, I found a small piece about Cindy Marsh, graduate of William Aberhart High School, which talked about her winning a national photography competition for teens. It was from the Herald dated July 25, 1979.Then I logged into Classmates.com and was able to find a photo of Cindy as a student. Half-smile, almost shy look on a face surrounded by light-brown hair. A very average-looking kid. The bio below her picture indicated that she was an only child and was interested in music and photography. She’d had a part in the school’s operetta that year, The Pirates of Penzance.

  My notes about her were sketchy, to say the least, although they were War and Peace next to what I found out about Trenton, which was exactly nothing. Interesting, considering he’d had a criminal past.

  I texted Cobb the times of our appointments and suggested he might want to ask the lawyer about Claiborne’s will. Then I took a break and walked across the street to PARM for a pizza. It was one of my favourite spots, but still felt a little weird. A few months before, Cobb and I had investigated the disappearance of a young folksinger in 1965 from a place called The Depression. The coffee house was Calgary’s first, and had been located in the basement of the building now occupied by PARM.

  The Il Classico pizza was excellent, but I ate one slice and wrapped up the rest to go. My appetite had been off for some time, and I knew why. The realization that the day of reckoning with the MFs would soon arrive had thrown me off my game in a number of ways. I hoped I was able to appear normal, whatever that means, when I was with Jill and Kyla. I knew that if Jill sensed there was something seriously amiss, she’d confront me, wanting to know what was wrong. And I knew, or at least I was pretty sure, that I couldn’t lie to her. Not anymore.

  Cobb arrived back at the office just before one thirty. I pointed at the pizza and he nodded, took a slice, and sat down.

  “What did Kemper have to say?”

  Cobb rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “He’s a doom and gloomer. Already talking about working a deal with the prosecution — see if we can get the thing handled in juvenile court, get Danny some time in the YOC. Not a lot of enthusiasm for the idea that maybe somebo
dy else offed Claiborne. But, and this is pretty much a quote, ‘Even if the kid is innocent as spring rain, we’ll have a hell of a time getting him off, so our best bet is to take what we can get and try to keep him out of big boy prison.’”

  “And you said?”

  “Not much. Fact is he might be right. Think about all the people who have done serious time for murders they didn’t commit. In fact, didn’t the Tragically Hip have a song about that?”

  “Yeah, ‘Wheat Kings,’ about David Milgaard.”

  “Kemper’s got a pretty good reputation, so if he says we’re in trouble on the court front, then we’re probably in trouble.”

  “How about a good old-fashioned alibi?”

  Cobb ate more pizza, took his time before answering. “That whole alibi thing is one of the reasons we’re in some hot water here. Danny doesn’t have one. Kemper says the kid admitted that at about the time Claiborne was shot, he was back at home after a late-night bike ride to try to see Glenna.”

  “So he rode over to Claiborne’s house.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kid’s not a good listener.”

  “He’s a kid. Lots of them aren’t.”

  “Okay, so after my explicit instruction that he stay away from Claiborne, he rides over to the house. Did he see Claiborne?”

  “Says not. And he didn’t see Glenna either. Said he just wanted to see her, not talk to her, make sure she was okay. He didn’t actually go up to the house, and when he didn’t see Glenna, he got back on his bike and headed home.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  Cobb waved that off. “You’re premature, my friend; it gets worse. On the way either to or from trying to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend, Danny stopped off at a 7-Eleven to buy a bag of Cheezies. Store employee recognized him and has told the police the time, corroborated by cash machine tape, Danny was there. It was within a half-hour one way or the other of when the ME has stated was the time of Claiborne’s death. And that is further corroborated by my guys who followed Danny that night. Saw him at the house, at the store, and saw him arrive back home. They lost him for a few minutes on the way back home but picked him up again about a block from his house. Saw him go inside. He didn’t come out again that night.”