Triple Threat

by Koetting, Alexis

  “Home. I’ve still got some time before rehearsal. I think I’ll do a little digging myself.”

  “Great. I’ll check in with you later. We can compare notes. And when are you at the school again?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to try to pop in. See what I can get off Leduc. Macie’s death has to be tied to him or one of the Penners. If I can look at them side by side, maybe it’ll be clearer as to which.”

  Chapter 12

  Glynn Radley had been generous when he’d said Armin Penner had lost his bid for Lord Mayor by a landslide. He had taken a walloping from what I gleaned from my Internet search. I skimmed over the articles that detailed his platform and political history and stopped when I got to one that showed a picture of all the candidates and their wives at some sort of luncheon. I switched my search to Images and a larger version of the picture filled my screen. Armin Penner was joined by his wife, Adele. Both wore stylish outfits and beaming smiles. They appeared to be engaged in easy conversation with the others at their table. A further search uncovered another photograph in which Armin, Adele, and the three younger Penners posed in front of a campaign sign on the front lawn of their home.

  Adele was beautiful. Rich, chestnut-coloured hair fell to her shoulders in a gentle wave that kissed her high cheekbones along the way. Her eyes were big and bright, and her smile exploded off the page. Armin had a sparkle in his eyes there’d been no evidence of when we’d met. The two boys were dressed tastefully in chinos and collared shirts, their arms draped around one another’s shoulders in brotherly solidarity. Ellie, the spitting image of her mother, wore a floral print dress and an expression that indicated, even then, her flair for the dramatic. They looked like the perfect political family trying to convince the masses that a vote for Penner was a vote well cast. And they looked happy. The picture may have been posed, but the sentiment therein was real.

  I typed Adele’s name into the search engine but came up empty. There was nothing to indicate whether she had died, left, or been abducted by aliens. Nothing about the Penners at all following the election. I fired off a text to Jeffers with Adele’s name and received a quick response that he was one step ahead of me. I waited for more but my phone remained silent.

  I looked at the two pictures again and wondered how the happy people smiling back at me could have undergone such a transformation. What had led to the loss of Armin’s sparkle and the rift between the brothers? What had awakened Leland’s darker nature? Why did Ellie feel the need to shroud her dreams in secrecy and deceit? Adele held the answers, I was sure of that. Or rather, whatever happened to her. And I hoped Jeffers was having more luck in discovering just what, exactly, that was.

  “She died,” Powell Avery whispered in the middle of rehearsal. We were supposed to be frozen on one part of the stage while a scene took place on another, but the actors involved in the other scene kept getting stuck on a particularly complicated bit of business so Powell and I had dropped the convention and were engaged in quiet conversation.

  “Adele Penner?”

  “Hospital botch up.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know, someone goes in for something routine and … things don’t go quite as planned. It was a pretty big story here for a while. Big lawsuit filed by the family and whatnot and then it all just disappeared.”

  “Are you sure? I couldn’t find anything like that when I looked online.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. The husband was a local politician. Kept it out of the papers. And saw to it that everything was buried after the settlement went through.”

  “Then how do you know all this?”

  “The guy I was dating at the time. His sister was one of the doctors named in the lawsuit. The whole thing was awful. In the end, the hospital was cleared of any wrongdoing and the death was ruled a tragic accident.”

  “But there was still a settlement?”

  “A ‘gesture of sympathy and condolence.’”

  I rolled my eyes and chuckled at his turn of phrase. The stage manager gave us a look and put a finger up to her lips as a warning to be quiet. Powell and I both nodded our apologies.

  “Do you remember what procedure Adele went in for? What went wrong?”

  He shook his head. “This was years ago. Why do you want to know all this?”

  “Just curious,” I deflected. “Her daughter is in the class I’m working with. I’ve heard some rumblings, that’s all.”

  He opened his mouth to say something further but an arched eyebrow from the stage manager brought an end to our exchange.

  We sat for another five minutes like reprimanded schoolchildren before the director announced we’d be going back and picking up from the middle of our scene. Powell and I got into position, delivered our lines, and held the freeze while the scene that followed played out smoothly, devoid of all earlier complications. When we finished, Powell was hauled off in one direction by the music director and I, in another, by the choreographer, which left the conclusion of poor Adele Penner’s story untold and lingering amidst the opening chords of “It Couldn’t Please Me More.”

  “A pineapple? For me?” I joked, as Paul handed off a bag of groceries, the crown of the fruit peeking out of the top. Moustache ran to sniff the legs of Paul’s pants, which were covered in invisible details of his day. When finally able, Paul joined me in the kitchen and the dog retreated to his chair in the living room to enjoy his olfactory high.

  “Well, this is a nice surprise,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me close. “I expected to find you and Jeffers hunched over top-secret files or whatever it is you do.”

  “Well, we don’t hunch, for one thing. And Jeffers is—”

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Jeffers said, letting himself in.

  Paul’s arms loosened and his head fell back in resignation. With an understanding smile, he planted a kiss on my forehead and moved to pour himself a glass of wine.

  “So,” Jeffers said upon entering the kitchen, Moustache at his heels, “what have we got?”

  “Adele Penner died,” I said.

  “I meant for dinner, but okay, let’s jump right in.”

  “Some sort of hospital error.”

  “Close, Samuel. There was no error,” Jeffers corrected. “She went in to have a kidney stone removed and had an allergic reaction to the meds. Died on the table.” He deposited Adele’s hospital records on the island. “It happens. It’s tragic, but it happens.”

  “But there was a payout,” I said. “The Penner family filed a lawsuit and received a settlement.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “I have sources too.”

  “Huh. Interesting. I didn’t find anything about any payment, so if there was one it was done on the downlow.” He took the glass of red Paul held out to him and lost himself in contemplation for a moment. “Well done, Samuel,” he said finally, clinking his glass against mine. “We’ll make a detective of you yet.”

  I saw Paul’s shoulders tense. He caught me looking and covered by giving me a wink and refilling my glass.

  “So it’s clear the Penners converted to Old Order after Adele’s death. We don’t know for certain if that was the cause, but it certainly seems likely.” I said.

  “You thinking it was some kind of rejection of modern medicine?” Jeffers asked.

  Paul shook his head. “Mennonites value the healthcare system just like the rest of us. It was likely grief. If they were active in the church before her death, it makes sense they would seek deeper comfort in the faith. People tend to retreat when they’re grieving. Withdraw. I bet it’s more likely that than any kind of rebuff.”

  While Paul and Jeffers continued the conversation, I fiddled with fixing dinner. I knew all too well about retreating in times of grief. Usually only people who have done so themselves can recognize it in others. Paul and I had talked about my parents’ death and my journey through the grieving process, but he had never shared an exp
erience of his own. Listening to him now made me wonder if grief was something he was better acquainted with than I thought.

  “You seemed to be speaking from experience,” I said to him later that night. I was lying with my head on his chest. His arms were wrapped around me and the bed covers were wrapped around us.

  “More than I’d like,” he said. “The death of a pet is as real a loss as any other. I feel it differently from the owners, of course, but I feel it. Each and every time.”

  “You think it will be hard when Brimstone goes?”

  He laughed. “I know you hate that cat, but he’s …” His voice trailed off and I felt his chest constrict under my hand.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” He stroked my shoulder gently but didn’t say anything more.

  “I don’t hate the cat,” I said, breaking the silence. He smiled and squeezed me close.

  “He’s a hard one to love, I’ll give you that. But I do. And, yes, it will be hard when he goes.”

  He shifted his position and pulled me against him. I was sure Paul’s experience with grief extended beyond his patients but I wasn’t about to push it. If he wanted to share, he would.

  I thought back on myself and the years it took before I was willing, let alone able, to talk about my parents. I snuggled against him, relishing the strength of his embrace, his warm breath on my neck, and how my hair caught on the day’s growth on his chin. I was happy. And I was grateful. There was a time when I thought something like this, like him, would never have been a part of my story. I thought about Glynn Radley and Armin Penner sleeping with the ghosts of loves lost and how quickly their own stories had changed. And I thought of Vincent Leduc, who had spent his life chasing the shadow of a man he could never have. Or be. I wondered what that would do to a man. How long could he carry on, surviving on photographs, fuelled by someone else’s success? How long before something like that took its toll?

  Chapter 13

  I was glad to see that Vince had not yet arrived when I got to the school the following morning. I’d been carrying the stolen photograph with me for what seemed like ages and was anxious to be rid of it. I’d just managed to slip it under his desk when he came in.

  “You’re here early,” he said.

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. You can help me get the room set up. Before continuing with the scenes, I want to do some work on independent activities. These kids are so busy ‘acting’ that if we can get them to stop watching themselves while they’re performing, it might be helpful.”

  “Sounds good. You’re doing the person A, person B exercise?” I asked, referring to an exercise whereby person A takes up an independent activity that is hard to do. They must have a life-altering reason for doing what they’re doing and a serious consequence if they fail. Person B comes into the scene having prepared a completely different personal circumstance, such as achieving a lifelong dream, or the death of someone close. A’s focus is on the task and B’s focus is on A. Both people have different emotional lives and are focusing on something other than themselves, which usually forces the pair to act naturally rather than “theatrically.” The exercise was one of Sanford Meisner’s and had been adopted by many training programs to emphasize the reality of doing.

  “I’ve asked them to come in prepared to be A and B. Fingers crossed,” Vince said, taking a number of papers from his briefcase and depositing them onto his desk. He’d given me the perfect cue.

  “Oops, you dropped this,” I said, picking up the photograph from the floor and taking a moment to look at it. “Is this you?”

  “Where did you find that?”

  “On the floor. You probably dropped it just now when you were emptying your case.”

  I held out the photo to him. He looked at it but didn’t take it. He gave an almost imperceptible glance toward the bookshelf. I immediately thought of one of those stalkers from the movies who keeps trophies of his obsessions, each one in its very specific place.

  “Oh my goodness,” I said, carefully carrying on the charade, “is this Al Macie?”

  “We were at theatre school together,” Vince said, taking the picture from me. “Look at us, eh. We both still had hair.” He laughed and put the photo into a drawer.

  “I didn’t realize you two had such a history.”

  “Theatre school’s a funny place. I don’t know about your class, but mine was together every day, all day, for three years. By graduation, we’d seen each other in all of our raw and vulnerable glory. We all felt like we’d survived something. Kind of binds you for life, you know?”

  I was positive no one from my university days would feel about me the way Vince had just described, but I nodded in solidarity.

  Jeffers stuck his head in the office and I waved him in. “Vince, this is—”

  “Andre,” Jeffers said extending his hand.

  I knew from past experience that when Jeffers withheld his last name and title, he was hoping to pass as one of us common folk. I thought his doing so here was an odd choice as he’d already interviewed many of the students and staff in his official capacity. And he was definitely on a first-name basis with Principal Harvey. Just about anyone at the school could knock on Vince’s office door and his cover would be blown. I didn’t know what he was playing at.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Jeffers said.

  “Not at all,” Vince said. “We’re just going over our plan for the morning. Are you from the Shaw?”

  “Oh no, I’m not theatrical,” Jeffers said. “Although, my grandmother said my Deadeye Dick was the best thing in my grade-five production of H.M.S. Pinafore.”

  “Dick Deadeye,” Vince said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s Dick Deadeye.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Deadeye Dick.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Vince said. “It’s just … it’s …”

  “No! Thank you,” Jeffers said in earnest. “All these years I’ve been bragging erroneously, it seems.” There was a long pause during which we all chuckled and smiled politely. “Anyway, I just wanted to give this to Bella and then I will be on my way.”

  Jeffers gave me a brown paper bag and one of those smiles where the eyebrows raise so high you think they’re going to recede into the hairline.

  “Some leftovers,” Jeffers explained. “Bella’s nuts for my wife’s cooking.”

  Vince looked at me. I shrugged and nodded in agreement. The whole situation was so incredibly awkward, I wanted to climb into the lunch bag and die amongst its contents.

  “Okay then,” Jeffers said with a clap of his hands, “my work here is done.”

  He and Vince said their goodbyes and I saw him to the door.

  “What the hell was that?” I whispered.

  “Meet me outside in five minutes?”

  “I have a class starting.”

  “It’ll be quick. They haven’t even done the anthem yet. You’ll be back in time.”

  I nodded and went back into the office. A few seconds later my phone vibrated, notifying me of a text message. It was from Jeffers: The guy’s a psychopath!

  “He’s an egocentric. Highly self-assured. Did you see how he corrected me? He couldn’t help himself,” Jeffers explained when I met him in the parking lot.

  “You did that on purpose?”

  “Clever, huh? You’d never guess it was a test.”

  “Jeffers, just because he corrected you doesn’t make him a psychopath.”

  “He’s charming. They almost always are. But it’s superficial, you know. All part of the manipulation. The need to be in control.”

  “Jeffers—”

  “You said you’ve witnessed him lying and that there was something compulsive about it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And the fact that he’s leeched on to Al Macie for all these years. It’s what psychopaths do. Part of their nature. They cling to oth
ers to fulfill their own needs.”

  “There’s been no clinging—”

  “They spend years planning their revenge. That’s why they’re so hard to catch. Because every detail of their plan is designed to ensure they get away with it. In Vince’s case, he has been fuelled by something that happened with Macie years ago. If what Glynn has told us is true, and I believe it to be—”

  “Since when? You haven’t seen Vince as a viable suspect. He’s been nothing more than a pet project of mine.”

  “That’s true. But now that I’ve met the man, I can see things more clearly.”

  “And what you see is a psychopath?”

  “Maybe not full blown, but there are definite tendencies.”

  “You barely spent ten minutes with the guy! And half that time was spent debating the cast list of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta!”

  “Bella, it is my job to recognize people like this.”

  “You are a homicide detective, Jeffers. Not a psychologist. I don’t care how much training you’ve had or how good you think you are, you are not qualified to decide if someone is a psychopath, a sociopath, or a telepath in as little time as you spent with Vince.”

  Jeffers crossed his arms and leaned back against his car. For a few moments neither of us spoke.

  “You know, a lot of psychopaths have jobs and relationships,” Jeffers said, petulantly.

  I looked at Jeffers and shook my head. He exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair.

  “You want to tell me what this is all about?” I asked. “This isn’t like you.”

  He let his arms fall to his sides, resignedly. “I’m getting heat from Morris. He wants to see movement on this case and all I seem to be able to give him are half-baked theories.”

  “Well, psychopaths aside, I do think you’ve touched on something as far as Vince is concerned.” Jeffers raised his eyebrows. “I think you’re right about something happening between him and Al years ago. My guess is it was when they were at school together.”

  “You think you can find out?”

  I shrugged. “He keeps his cards pretty close to his chest.”