by Rick Blechta
Photos were as hard to come by as information, and most seemed to be shots by members of the club’s audience, which they’d then posted on their blogs.
In short, as far as Jackie was concerned, the whole set-up stank. Curran certainly knew more than he had told, and she aimed to get that out of him.
She spent several more hours at the library, carefully collating her extensive notes and references into a binder she’d bought.
The first thing I’ll do if I get this job, she thought as she shook the cramps from her writing hand, is spring for a good laptop.
After grabbing a slice of pizza at a place on Queen near Bathurst, Jackie wandered down to King and hung a left for the short walk to Portland. Spring seemed to be back again, and the evening still held a hint of the day’s warmth. She left her jean jacket stowed in the backpack slung over her shoulder. Time to get her bike out of storage.
Hanging around the entrance for a few minutes, she heard several people grumbling as they left to find other entertainment because this Olivia girl wasn’t going to be singing that night. No wonder Curran wanted to find his little vocalist.
It didn’t take much skill in making small talk to get one of the waitresses blabbing. Obviously pissed that business had fallen off so sharply the past two nights, the woman was quick to admit the club’s owner was thinking of booking another steady act. She had only nice things to say about Olivia, obviously as smitten as everyone else by her vocal skills.
“That kid could sing the leaves off the trees. I’m not ashamed to say I had to wipe tears from my eyes more than once when she sang ‘Angel Eyes’. God, she made me love that song!”
“Yeah, but what was she like, you know, personally?” Jackie asked. “I find that talented people most often are creeps.”
“Listen, honey,” the waitress bristled, “don’t you start bad mouthing my girl. She was the sweetest thing you’d ever want to meet. Never said boo to nobody. It used to make my blood boil to hear the way Mr Highand-Mighty Felton used to talk to her.”
“He didn’t like her?”
“It wasn’t that. It’s just that Olivia is more like a child than an adult. Everyone knows that, but only Felton took advantage of it. I thought Andy was going to clobber him a couple of times. Felton mouthing off to her even got Dom going once – and that takes a lot of doing.”
Careful not to make herself obvious, Jackie moved over to the bar for a beer. During the course of the next set, she spoke to the bartender and two regulars, alcoholics who’d made the Salamander their home away from home. All three came across as having the hots to some degree for the missing singer. All three were old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. More importantly, all three had been at the club the night before when Olivia had been whisked away by the two men who’d roughed up Curran.
“The big guy looked like trouble the moment he walked in,” a drunk named Charlie offered.
“If I’d known what they were up to,” the bartender growled,“I would have had something to say about it.”
He was big enough to be able to back that up, assuming he knew how to handle himself.
Marvin, the other drunk, looked up at Jackie with eyes that seemed to be having trouble focussing. “I really miss our little girl. I wish she’d come back and sing for us again.”
He looked as if he might start crying. The bartender suggested to Marvin that he should think about getting home and offered him some coffee, which was refused.
Watching Marvin weave towards the door, Jackie casually asked,“So these two guys and Olivia, what did you see?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Why you so interested?”
She shrugged. “Everybody in here is talking about her, that’s all. I came down to hear her sing tonight, and she ain’t around. Got me curious, I guess.”
“They stopped Olivia as she came offstage after the first set. They talked awhile then went into the dressing room, I guess. Right after, they walked through the club and out. Curran, he’s the band’s drummer, followed them. He returned after another five minutes I’d say, and it was clear somebody had smacked him around. Ordered a couple of shots of scotch, and that isn’t usual for him.”
“How would you say the girl looked when she left?”
The bartender thought as he mixed two martinis. “Hard to say. Maybe scared. No, that isn’t right. She looked like someone who’d just got the bad news she’d been expecting.” As he pulled another pint of draft for Jackie, he looked closely at her.“Sure you ain’t a cop? You sure ask questions like one.”
Jackie held up her hands. “See? No notebook. Cops always write things down.”
“Maybe you got a good memory.”
Stories went like that the rest of the night. Everybody who’d heard the girl sing said the same thing: how great she was. Several commented that they expected she’d disappeared because she’d gotten a recording contract and was moving on. All were very protective of her. Olivia was everybody’s “little girl”, men and women alike.
As for Curran, reviews for him were positive. Those who knew him, liked him. Even Jackie, who knew little about jazz, could tell that he was a terrific drummer. Apparently he kept to himself, although he was friendly. Someone said they’d overheard Curran talking to the bass player about his wife, who’d apparently walked out on him not that long ago.
One woman, alone and obviously on the prowl, mentioned that she’d seen Curran and Olivia leave the club together every night. Maybe she had the hots for the good-looking drummer and felt the girl was queering the deal. That was confirmed when Jackie was leaving. The woman, talking to Curran, was standing a lot closer to him than she needed to.
Later, as she got off the streetcar at Queen and Dowling, Jackie’s mind drifted back to her last bit of conversation with the waitress.
“So you think Felton might have something to do with Olivia not being here tonight?”
“Let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me, honey. I don’t think he could stand the competition.”
Chapter 4
Shannon looked at the pages of a very neat and well-organized handwritten report. “Textbook style!” her dear old dad would have proclaimed. She was further impressed by the fact that Goode had been waiting in the reception area when she’d arrived at the office. It had taken a long time to put this material together. The woman must have been up half the night.
“This is fine work, Goode,” she said, nodding. “You’ve done well.”
“Thanks.”
Shannon tipped her chair back. The woman had done a good job. Not often did she receive such a detailed report from one of her operatives – and within twenty-four hours. She still had her doubts about Goode’s overall suitability, but she had to admit she was impressed. To get to the office from downtown and to be there before the boss had arrived, Jackie would have had to leave well before seven a.m.
“What do you think our next steps should be?”
Goode had obviously thought about that, too, because her answer was quick.
“I need to talk to the client personally. He’s obviously keeping information from us.”
Shannon nodded. “I got the same impression when I met with him.”
She didn’t elaborate about her suspicion that Curran and Olivia might have been “an item”. Let Goode suss out that bit of information for herself.
“I don’t think it would be good if I just showed up at his door, though. Could you set up an interview for me?”
“Not a problem. From your report and what you’re saying, it’s obvious you don’t seem completely sure of him.”
Goode looked at her levelly. “I’m sure of no one.”
“Have you considered how to approach looking for the girl and the two men who led her off?”
Goode considered for a moment. “Curran told you they said they had a plane to catch.”
“Pearson Airport?”
“Wouldn’t we have to check all of them?”
“And t
here’s the rub. That’s a lot of footwork for possibly no results.
Our client has intimated he doesn’t have much money available.” “It would have to be a private plane, quite possibly a jet.”
Shannon nodded. “I don’t have much on today. I’ll handle the airports, and you interview our Mr. Curran.”
Shannon had been this route at airports quite a few times in her career. Usually it was tracing the movements of executives who had the use of corporate jets, so she already had some connections who might be of help.
Since it was close by, she first tried Buttonville, one of the Toronto area’s two small plane airports, but that had led to a quick dead end, so it was on to Pearson on the west side of the city. Toronto Island Airport was a long shot, so it was third on the list.
The area servicing private planes lay on the less trafficked north side of Pearson, the international airport serving Toronto. Surrounded by an industrial wasteland of warehouses, factories, strip clubs, and some small businesses, it was not the prettiest of places. Combined with the airport’s wide tracts of open land, it always filled her with an odd sense of loneliness.
In the old days, things were run a lot more loosely. Planes came and went, and unless they were carrying something special, everything was pretty casual. Since 2001, though, security and the less regimented business of private aviation had tightened up considerably. A big cargo plane could be flown into an office building just as easily as a commercial airliner, and no one forgot that.
The day was turning positively warm, but the blustery west wind caught Shannon off guard as she stepped from her SUV. She stood for a moment watching a plane land on the runway nearby and wondered how pilots could keep the damn things so steady with that kind of wind buffeting them.
Having called ahead, she entered a low office building, where a receptionist waved her through. Her contact, an airport official, was waiting in the doorway of his office as she walked down the hall. Actually, he was big enough to stand in as a door.
“Shannon O’Brien, how good to see you,” he said as they shook hands.
“Likewise, Fred.”
Getting his bulk comfortable behind his desk, he asked, “So you’re looking for information on a plane that left Tuesday evening or early yesterday morning?”
Fred, who ran the refueling concession for this side of the airport, had helped O’Brien Investigates on numerous occasions. Shannon knew his assistance was predicated on the fact that he enjoyed looking at her.
“There probably would have been three passengers, two men and a woman.” She slid a copy she’d made of Olivia’s photo across the desk. “This is who I’m looking for.”
“And the two men accompanying her?”
“Bounty hunters, I believe.”
“I hate those guys. Do you have a description of them?”
Shannon had typed up something based on Curran’s story. It wasn’t very detailed.
As Fred alternately skimmed the page and stared at the girl’s photo, she said, “I also don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to what I’m looking for.”
“Was the girl going willingly?”
“On the surface, from what I’ve been told.”
“Any idea of the destination?”
“There’s only sketchy material to work with at this point. We’re pretty sure the men are from the States and quite possibly the girl. I don’t know if she ran away from a legal problem, or if it’s something else.”
“Sounds a bit like a needle in a haystack to me.”
Shannon shrugged. “I’ve done more with less. Think you can help?”
Fred looked down at the photo again. “Jimmy’s here today, and he was around on Tuesday night. Let’s talk to him.”
Jimmy turned out to be a wiry guy with grey hair who looked as tough as an old goat. Fred gave him the photo of Olivia. He stared at it for a good ten seconds before handing it back.
“I seen her. Tuesday night, some time after eleven.”
Shannon asked, “Anyone with her?”
“Two guys.”
“Can you describe them?”
Jimmy looked at Fred. “She a cop?”
Fred shook his head. “No, a friend. She’s looking for the girl.”
The airport employee grunted. “I figured out that much. Look lady, I really didn’t pay attention. A cute thing like her I certainly glance at, but I don’t have time for guys, know what I mean? And besides, they were in a real big hurry. Wanted their plane refuelled like yesterday.”
“So they took off right away?”
“Not really. Their pilot wasn’t ready, and it took a while to get through all the formalities. They weren’t happy. The shorter of the two guys took the girl onto the plane while they waited.”
“And the other person?”
“He drove off in the car almost right away. Can’t say if he didn’t just return it to the rental place and take a cab back, though.”
Shannon filed that bit of information away. Now for the million dollar question. “Any idea where they were flying to?”
“The plane was from the States, if that’s what you mean. I believe they flew in from California. Can’t really say if they were going back there, though. I was pretty busy that night. Hardly had time to think.”
He did have time to ogle a pretty girl, though, and that had been a good thing.
Fred spoke up. “I can get you that information.” Shannon wondered how much it might cost her. A year ago, he’d
fleeced her for three hundred dollars for the same sort of info. This time she’d stipulate that he share some of it with Jimmy. The sharp-eyed gas jockey had saved her a lot of time.
As she drove along Highway 401 on the way back to her office, Shannon considered her next move.
According to the flight plan that had been filed, the plane had a final destination of San Diego. That didn’t necessarily mean that it couldn’t have stopped somewhere first to drop off passengers. Pilots amended their flight plans all the time. She’d have to follow that up. Perhaps the pilot or the owners of the plane would be willing to talk. That would require the proper leverage, since they generally protected their clientele, especially if they were bounty hunters.
The news that the bozo who’d poked her client in the eye might still be around was something that required careful consideration, too. Was there a reason for that? If so, what?
Swinging north onto the 404, Shannon’s thoughts were back on Jackie Goode. After their meeting that morning, she had the feeling she might have caught lightning in a bottle. Then again, there was the comment by one of Goode’s instructors in a Seneca College Police Foundations course: “The kid’s got street smarts and savvy, but she’s also got a big mouth and is pigheaded to boot. I’d watch my step with her.”
Shannon would keep her on a short lead.
***
At two o’clock sharp, Jackie walked up the steps of Andrew Curran’s house. On one of the tree-lined streets running east off Broadview south of Danforth Avenue, he had an enviable location in one of Toronto’s hottest neighbourhoods, speaking in real estate terms.
The house itself looked a tad run down, but the windows were new. The broad porch was in need of fresh paint, the bushes in front of it were overgrown and the cement walk was crumbling. Playing drums must keep him busy – or else he didn’t care about protecting his investment.
Curran had been watching for her, because he was waiting behind the storm door as she mounted the steps.
“I’m Jackie Goode,” she said, offering her hand.
“Is this going to take long? I thought I answered all the questions yesterday.”
He seemed distracted as he led her into the living room.
As she sat down on a small sofa and looked around (not much furniture and most of it new), Jackie pulled a notebook out of her backpack before setting it on the floor. Only one small painting adorned the walls, but she could see marks where several others had once hung. The mantel above the firepla
ce at the far end was also bare. Frankly, the place looked as if he’d just moved in. The only thing of any consequence was an impressive sound system, a large bookcase crammed with CDs on one wall and another with double layers of books on the opposite side. Mr. Curran obviously liked to listen to music and read.
He made no move to turn on a lamp, and the porch outside cast further darkness into the room. Parking himself on one of those curved IKEA chairs, he didn’t lounge back the way the seat was designed to encourage. The man was clearly uneasy.
Jackie made a show of looking for her pen as she considered how to proceed in light of this.“To answer your question,”she said, opening her notebook,“I’m hoping this won’t take long at all. Do you have someplace you need to be?”
“Just my gig tonight, but there are some other things that need doing before I leave.”
She smiled. “Okay, I’ll be as speedy as I can.”
If it was up to her, she’d take the bold frontal approach and come right out and ask it: “What exactly was your relationship with this woman you’ve hired us to find?” But that would definitely be a bad idea, considering how stiff her potential employer seemed to be. Still, the idea had its charm...
Curran was staring at her.“When Ms O’Brien called this morning, I thought she had news for me. Have you found out anything?”
Jackie shook her head.“It’s pretty early, and you didn’t give us much to start with. One thing we’re doing is checking all the airports to see if that gives us any fresh leads on where they took your girl.”
The client squirmed and coloured a bit at her deliberate choice of words. “I saw you at the club last night,” was his deflecting response.
“Seems you’re not the only one hung up on this girl. I think half the people I spoke to last night have a crush on her.”
This time Curran visibly cringed. Jackie felt a bit sorry for him, but she also didn’t like people who lied – or at least played around with the truth.
