“My father will not believe that.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Do my sisters believe it? Do you believe it?”
“Of course, they don’t. And I don’t either.”
“Well then.”
“They’re out combing the hospital emergency rooms and looking in ditches in case you have died of your head injury.”
“I’m not in the hospital, and I’m not in a ditch, and I didn’t kill anyone. How’s that for cheerful news?”
I must have been yelling, because the woman getting into the next car jumped. That was all I needed, alarmed witnesses who might tune into the news as soon as they got into their vehicles. I rolled down the window. “Sorry to startle you,” I said. “Bad reception in here. Yelling doesn’t help.” I shook the cellphone.
She slammed her door. All four of her lock buttons went down.
Mombourquette said something.
“What, Leonard? Sorry, I missed that.”
“Running away adds to the offense. No one who knows you would believe you killed anyone.”
“Maybe someone at the Office of the Crown Prosecutor.”
“Even there, they’re just going on the current evidence, and I guess it’s pretty compelling. But that will get sorted out. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me? That I’ll be vindicated? Now I’m telling you the same thing.”
“Compelling evidence? How can it be compelling, if I didn’t do it?”
“Apparently, they have witnesses and tips. Conn is working to find out.”
“What witnesses? Besides the bartender, there are others? Who?”
“If I did know, I wouldn’t tell you, because you’d be on their doorsteps five minutes later, and then you’d get harassment and threatening a witness added to the charges . . .”
“Look here, Lennie . . .”
“And, the big thing is, they found Laura Brown’s car in the parking lot behind the Department of Justice.”
“That’s great.”
“It’s not great. They found your jacket in it.”
“They couldn’t have.”
“Jean jacket with butterflies. Something you were seen to be wearing after Laura died. Which would mean you had her car.”
“Someone planted it.”
“Of course. When these charges are found to be false, you’ll still have to deal with the fleeing arrest.”
“Well, how can I flee if I don’t know there’s a warrant for me?”
“It’s all over the media, for God’s sake.”
“I’m out and about, and I just haven’t heard it.”
“You just heard it from me.”
“You’re such a kidder, Lennie, who could believe such a crazy story?”
“Right. They’ll laugh you out of bail court. Get a better story.”
“Which reminds me, that’s why I called. Elaine is being held. She wanted me to call the WAVE lawyer. I couldn’t reach her. She could end up spending the night behind bars, because no one knows she’s there.”
“If you’re asking what I think, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”
“That’s too bad, because she thinks the world of you.”
“This is just a diversionary tactic on your part, Camilla. I hope you realize that I can see right through it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In truth, I didn’t.
“Tell you what. If I see what can be done to get this woman legal counsel, will you refrain from doing any more stupid things?”
“Sure.”
I didn’t see anything stupid about finding Bianca Celestri.
Twenty-Nine
The conversation with Mombourquette gave me an adrenaline boost. I felt much better as I eased the Pathfinder out of the parking spot. I adjusted the rearview mirror. How did Elaine ever see out at that angle? In the mirror, I noticed a woman waving her arms and running after me.
Her hair was in disarray, and she appeared to be screaming. She banged on the rear window of the Pathfinder. My job is helping others, and I was not without sympathy for someone with obvious mental problems. But as a fleeing suspected felon, I couldn’t do anything for her.
I accelerated away to the exit, slipped my paid ticket in the machine and turned from the garage into the heavy weekend traffic on William Street. Ten feet from the garage exit, a uniform with a cup of Tim Hortons in his hand was walking towards an idling cruiser. He didn’t see me, because he was engaged in a lively discussion with a pair of working girls. I figured he’d take care of the deranged woman when he spotted her. That shouldn’t take long, because she was running out the exit toward him at that moment.
I rounded the corner and slipped into the flow towards King Edward. I heard sirens in the distance. I turned on the CBC half hour news to see if there were any developments on the me front.
“Police have issued a Canada-wide warrant for Ottawa lawyer Camilla MacPhee in connection with two recent murders. MacPhee is wanted for questioning in connection with the deaths of forty-eight-year-old Laura Lynette Brown and twenty-six-year-old Chelsea O’Keefe. MacPhee is no stranger to the police and was involved at the scene of a fatal shootout during the recent Bluesfest.
“Further charges against MacPhee are expected shortly. She is described as mid-thirties, dark-haired and stocky, and is considered dangerous.”
I was so stunned I had to pull the Pathfinder off the road and park until I caught my breath. I didn’t know what was worse, stocky or dangerous.
I hoped that Bianca Celestri hadn’t been listening.
Bianca lived in a tasteful condo development across the street from the gated grounds of Rideau Hall, the Governor General’s residence. To add to the tone, unless I missed my guess, a former Prime Minister resided just down the street.
Cars lined the street, and parking was obviously hard to find. Just as I arrived, a silver Neon pulled out, and I slid the much larger Pathfinder into the spot. I may have bumped the car behind me, I wasn’t sure. Give me a small car any time.
The Pathfinder seemed to have heated up again, and I didn’t want to take a chance on leaving Gussie. When I rang the buzzer at number two, I told him to be quiet. One good thing, if you were in the entryway at this particular unit, you weren’t visible from any of the windows. There were attractive planters filled with large shrubs. It was dark enough that no one could really see you unless they were walking right by. It had the added advantages of being cool and sheltered. I mentioned this to Gussie. He stretched out and laid his head on his paws. He looked at me with big, sad eyes.
“Don’t you start,” I said. “I have professional guilt inducers in my life, and they’re way out of your league.”
Bianca Celestri had a shiny black door. I rang the buzzer.
“I’ll ask her to give you a bowl of water. Stop with the dramatics.”
I stabbed at the door again. No answer. I didn’t want to think she might have been away for the weekend. I preferred to believe she was implicated in Laura’s death, or she was scared shitless.
Gussie sighed. Pointedly.
I leaned against the peephole to see if someone was peeking out at me. The door swung open with my weight, and I fell forward. I landed on my bruised knees on the marble floor of the entranceway.
“Hello. Your door’s open. Hello?” Okay. It sounded crazy, even to my ears.
This time I yelled, “Bianca, I need to speak to you.”
It crossed my mind that Bianca might not live alone, and I could encounter some gentleman friend who didn’t like strangers falling through the door. But no one appeared. I got to my feet and brushed off my knees. Gussie looked up at me with hope.
When you’re wanted for two murders and implicated in two others, why worry about getting the dog a bowl of water? The words “unlawful entering” came to mind, but that seemed like small potatoes.
The tiny but snazzy kitchen was visible from the entrance. I found a lovely blue bowl in a cupboard and filled it for Gussie. This
reminded me to go to the bathroom. When you’re on the run, you take opportunities where you find them.
My sisters would have approved of the fashionable powder room. Tuscan colours, nifty sconces, soap from L’Occitane. I was the only discordant element. I stared at myself in the mirror. Scary.
I whipped off the maple leaf baseball cap. That helped, but not much. There I was, in all my dark and stocky glory, with raccoon eyes, looking thoroughly dangerous. And as cool and comfortable as Bianca’s house was, I didn’t have any business being in it.
“Time to head out,” I said to Gussie.
I thought I heard him moan. What the hell had he eaten now? The blue bowl? But Gussie had already dozed off on the cool marble entryway floor.
I heard the moan again. I closed my eyes and listened. It seemed to come from the stairs leading to the lower level.
“Be prepared to get the hell out of here,” I said to Gussie.
Stairs had been a problem for me. Was this another trap? Was someone lurking? I figured if anyone tried to sneak up on me, Gussie would bark. Of course, I was dizzy enough to fall without any assistance.
I crept halfway down, keeping my back to the wall, and peered into the dim room. At the foot of the stairs was a crumpled mass. I didn’t have to look closely to know it was a woman, dark hair spread around her, one sandal on, the other still on the staircase. This was a fine time to realize I’d left Mrs. Parnell’s cellphone in the Pathfinder. I glanced over my shoulder, then scrambled down, gripping the banister.
I knelt beside her. A raw wound gaped on the back of her head. I couldn’t see her face, but blood had seeped out around her. She moaned softly again. She was alive, with a weak pulse.
“Bianca. I’m calling 911. They won’t take long. You’ll be okay.”
I pushed the hair from her face. I’m not sure why. But even before that, I knew she was the woman I’d seen lunching with Laura.
The main thing was to call for an ambulance. “Hang in there,” I said. I staggered up the stairs and reached for the portable phone I’d seen in the kitchen. I gave the particulars to the 911 operator.
“Who’s calling?” she asked.
“A neighbour,” I said. “I just came in because her door had been open for a while. I heard moaning, and I found her at the bottom of the stairs. Hurry.”
“They’re on their way. Stay calm and tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. She has a head wound. Should I do something?”
“Don’t move her. The paramedics will be there soon.”
“Okay.” I heard the quaver in my voice. I kept the phone in my hand and wobbled down the stairs again. I put my hand on her back.
“Bianca,” I said. “It’s going to be all right.”
Nothing.
“The paramedics are on their way. They will take care of you. You’re going to make it.”
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher said.
“Yes?”
“Is she still breathing?”
“Yes, but she keeps making a gurgling sound. What should I do?”
“Just keep calm, ma’am. Help is on its way.”
“Please tell me what I can do, because . . .” I stopped talking, because I heard sirens outside. Then steps in the hallway upstairs and loud barking from Gussie.
“Down here,” I yelled. “Hurry.”
Two firefighters in rescue gear thundered down the stairs. I knew the fire department and the police often get to a scene before the paramedics.
“What happened?” the first firefighter said.
I said. “I found her here. The front door was open.”
“She fell?”
“I think someone attacked her.”
I started up the steps, nearly colliding with a couple of police officers. Gussie had decided to block their way.
I grabbed his collar. “Sorry, officers. Can you take a look around? Bianca has a serious wound on the back of her head.”
“Who are you?” The first constable had his notebook out. He turned as the paramedics trooped through the door.
“Downstairs. Quick,” I said.
“Wait a minute,” one of the paramedics said, “don’t I know you?”
I put my hand over my mouth. “All that blood, I think I’m going to be sick.”
There was a lot of confusion in the entryway. Gussie and I took advantage of it. We slipped out the door and into the Pathfinder in seconds. In hindsight, I should have wiped my fingerprints off the door, the phone, the banister and the bowl Gussie drank from. But I was new at being a fugitive.
Drive first, think later. I hadn’t been blocked by the emergency vehicles, so I left without too much trouble, considering my head was swimming. I drove in a random pattern through the neighbourhood streets trying to stay off the main roads, until I had a plan. At least the cops didn’t know what I was wearing, and it might take them a while to connect the attack on Bianca with me. After about ten minutes, I pulled over on a tree-lined street and leaned back. I turned on the radio and caught the nine-thirty news. Might as well know the worst.
According to the announcer, the latest development in my flight from the authorities was shocking: “Police have released video footage of fugitive lawyer Camilla MacPhee following a daring daylight theft of an SUV from a downtown parking garage. Surveillance cameras show MacPhee accompanied by a large mixed-breed dog, believed to be vicious. MacPhee is wearing a Canada baseball cap, T-shirt and large red sunglasses. She is considered dangerous. A reward has been posted for information leading to her arrest.”
The story was completed by the owner of the stolen vehicle. “I was terrified. The woman drove like a maniac. She had some kind of a wolf with her. I was lucky to escape with my life.”
I argued back. “What are you talking about? You chased me.”
Gussie whimpered. “Sorry, Gussie, I got you into this mess with me. So you’re going to have to forgive me for what I have to do next.”
But the radio wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.
“MacPhee’s family and friends are appealing to her to turn herself in.”
“Camilla, you get yourself to the nearest police station on the double before there’s any more trouble. Do you hear me, Missy?”
Ah, Edwina. In four star general mode.
“Camilla? Please turn yourself in. The police will help get to the bottom of what is going on. Whatever it is.”
Sure, Alexa. You can trust the police. You’re sleeping with them.
“Ms. MacPhee. I am confident you will do the right thing. And whatever happens, Young Ferguson and I will be at your side.”
“Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla. You know we’re here for you.”
Thanks, guys. Keep up the pretense.
Thirty
I took a minute to ponder the new state of affairs. Laura’s murderer was in high gear, and the police were squandering their resources chasing me instead of the real killer. I might have had a concussion or even two, and I was definitely in deep shit, but, even so, I still had the best chance of getting to the bottom of things.
I thought back to the news broadcast. As usual, Mrs. Parnell had been speaking in her own sort of code. All those World War II habits of enigmatic speech were paying off. Her message told me I could count on her, no matter what. And Alvin too, apparently.
But I had a few pressing problems. Number one, finding a way not to look like the lunatic in the news clips. Since my regular description had also been released, being me was not an option. Shopping was out of the question, so was going home to change, or turning up at the homes of any of my friends.
As my father used to say, when the going gets tricky, the tough get trickier. Something like that. He had many sayings that cropped up at tough moments. Some were more useful than others.
I looked around my pilfered Pathfinder. Unfortunately, it didn’t contain a complete set of clothing in my size. I spotted a pair of jeans in size sixteen on the backseat. The glove compartment and the cargo s
pace revealed nothing useful, unless I was going to go out disguised as someone’s discarded McDonald’s lunch.
Under the seat, I found a blue and white flowered silk scarf. I slid out of my shorts and into the jeans. They hung loosely, but so what? I rolled the hems. I turned my T-shirt inside out so the tulip disappeared. I popped the red lenses out of the cheap sunglasses, leaving the black frames. The scarf made a lovely hijab, hiding my hair. The “glasses” gave me a studious look and blended with the raccoon eyes.
I could pass for a graduate student at one of the universities until I came up with something better. I hopped out of the Pathfinder and checked the license plate. Still nicely obscured.
I was feeling quite proud of myself as I headed back to Sandy Hill and Mombourquette’s little house. I parked a block away and hustled Gussie along the street to the small gated garden.
I opened the side gate, pushed Gussie in and told him not to eat the beautiful plants. I did my best to look like a grad student and not a fleeing felon as I got the hell out of there.
A couple of miles later, I left him a phone message.
“Leonard, no matter how you are feeling about me, Gussie is an innocent bystander. Please don’t let him into your garbage or painting supplies. Absolutely No Doughnuts. Thanks. I’ll make it up to you.”
Hearing two of my sisters on the nine-thirty news had told me something useful. The third one, Donalda, must have stayed with my father at the cottage. If she’d come into town, I’d have heard her comments too. That meant her house was fair game. Donalda lived in Alta Vista, much more convenient than Edwina’s and Alexa’s Nepean homes.
I ditched the Pathfinder in a strip mall on Heron and hobbled onto the bus to Alta Vista. No one gave me a second look. I loved that hijab.
I staggered along to my sister’s large bungalow from a strip of green space at the back, feeling worse by the minute. I slid off the scarf and tucked it in the jeans pocket. I wasn’t worried about getting in. I know all my sisters’ key codes. But at Donalda’s, a new keypad had been installed on the back door. The old code didn’t work. What word would Donalda choose? I tried MACP but no. Then the first four letters of each of their names. No luck. Donalda’s toy poodle. Birthdays. Nope.
[C. MacP #4] The Devil's in the Details Page 20
