The commissionaire nodded.
“I’m visiting Mrs. Violet Parnell,” I said. “She’s in the convalescent unit.”
The commissionaire at the desk said, “Oh yes. Violet. Along here. Then the first corridor on the left.”
I knew the way, but I nodded my thanks. The corridor might have been ten miles long. Or it might have been that I was dragging my feet. Usually I am in a rush to see my friend, but usually I am not quite so worried about her. Of course, the Perley was spotless and pleasant, but there was no doubt in my mind that the people who came in here by and large weren’t getting out again. Mrs. Parnell had been betrayed by her hip after a tumble in the shower the week before. I couldn’t help worrying about my fearless old ally ending her days in a place with IVs and strangers in uniforms. It didn’t bear thinking about. Guilt and fear were duking it out for top emotion as I trudged along the hallway.
Her door was open because you kiss privacy goodbye in a hospital. My heart constricted. I could almost hear it snap. The bed was made with military precision, but there was no sign of Mrs. P.
I leaned on the wall in shock. I knew people often die after broken hips. Maybe some of them even want to. But for Mrs. P. to pass away without me and Alvin with her, that would be unbearable. I found it hard to breathe, and my hands were shaking as I turned to hunt for a nurse. I found one at the nursing station, concentrating on a clipboard. She was round-faced and pleasant and looked happy in her pink scrubs. “Violet?” she said.
I nodded, mute for once, my heart thundering.
“Oh sure. She’s down in the Pub. She said that the sun was over the yardarm, and one of the aides helped her into a wheelchair. I saw her fly by not long after. Are you all right? You’re awfully pale. We don’t need anyone bringing the flu in here, you know.”
I grinned like a fool.
Her smile vanished. “Nothing funny about that. There are a lot of fragile people in this wing.”
“I’m not sick,” I said. “Just happy that Mrs. P. is all right.”
She nodded and went back to her paperwork. I hightailed it down the hall. The song in my heart had spread to my feet.
The Pub was on the first floor, near the main entrance. It smelled and looked pretty much like any other pub, which I thought was a good sign. Spilled beer is a great equalizer. Sounded like any other pub too, judging by the sports blaring from the large wall-mounted television and the laughter from the bar. I found Mrs. P. holding court. A pair of gents I took to be into their eighties were following her story intently. The story seemed to involve fighter planes, if her gestures were anything to go by.
“Ms MacPhee!” she said. “How splendid to see you!”
“You look great,” I said. “I thought…”
“Old war horses,” she chuckled. “We just have to pick ourselves up and get on with the battle.”
Her colleagues nodded. No arguments there.
“And speaking of war horses, Ms MacPhee, have you had an occasion to meet the Colonel and the Major?”
Both men got to their feet, somewhat unsteadily, but fast enough. The Colonel leaned on a walker. The Major got by with a cane.
The Colonel nodded gravely. “Pleasure,” he said.
The Major held out his hand. “Any friend of Violet’s a friend of mine.”
Mrs. Parnell’s eyes were shining. It may have been the impact of the new friendships. May have been the Harvey’s Bristol Cream. Hard to say.
“Get you another, Violet, while I’m up?” the Colonel said. “And how about you, young lady?”
Mrs. P. said, “Wouldn’t say no.”
“It’s a bit early for me,” I said.
The Major shot the Colonel a glance. “On me, this time, I believe.”
“You’ve had your turn,” the Colonel said, pulling rank.
“That didn’t really count.”
“Things are going well. Nice enough crowd around here. But I gather you have your share of troubles. A friend can tell.”
I didn’t want to tell her how worried I’d been about her. “Got a little shock, I suppose. One of Brugel’s defence lawyers died yesterday.”
She nodded. “Sorry to hear it. But you weren’t fond of this fellow.”
“I hated him and so did everyone else, and the worst part is the trial will probably be delayed.”
“Is that so bad? Isn’t that scoundrel locked up?”
“He is. But it slows the legal process and it increases that chance that something could go wrong. And it looks like he was murdered.”
“Sorry to hear it might delay the trial.”
“Me too. But at any rate, I’m glad to see you today.”
“Every cloud has its silver lining and all that, Ms Mac-Phee.”
“Are you all right here?” I blurted out. “Are you missing your apartment?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I know that Lester and Pierre are safe with you for the time being.”
“Hmm.” Among the things I wasn’t planning to mention was the now familiar sight of the little calico cat, whose new hobby was regarding Lester and Pierre with unwavering interest.
“The big obstacle is my music, of course. They won’t let you boom Shostakovich here.”
“But you live for your music.”
“Never mind. I was able to order this online and problem solved,” she said, pointing to a tiny iPod Shuffle on a string around her neck. “I’ve been able to download most of my standbys easily enough. Fortuituously, I’d already started the project before I took that tumble. I have a docking station with speakers, although I’ve been told to keep the noise down.”
“Didn’t that cost you a fortune? You already own all this music.”
“Easy enough to upload them to my computer and then on to the iPod.”
I stared at the tiny device. Mrs. Parnell is an early-adopter. I am a late, and if I can manage it, a never-adopter. She’s always light years ahead of me on technology. I think it goes back to the days of her mysterious jobs in the federal public service. Whatever, this talent of hers has been extraordinarily helpful to me many times.
“Converting the rest will keep me occupied and out of trouble for the next while.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Certainly. You can bring a batch of my CDs any time you get a chance to pick them up from my apartment. Young Ferguson brought a box the last time. You could take those back and bring replacements. That would be very handy. Would you mind?”
“I’ll be glad to help.”
The Colonel and the Major were now hobbling back. Each one had a Harvey’s in a free hand and an expression of fierce competition in his eyes.
When they arrived and settled in, I asked, “What do you think of lawyer jokes?”
“Damned funny,” said the Colonel.
“Deserve everything they get. Bunch of crooks,” added the Major.
Mrs. Parnell fixed them each with a withering glance. “Ms MacPhee is a lawyer. And she is definitely no joke.
Why do you ask, Ms MacPhee?”
“Someone is sending me jokes in the mail. Today, one of the lawyers on the trial I was attending died yesterday in the same way as the joke. It’s kind of creepy. I wondered how people felt about that sort of thing.”
“Depends,” the Colonel said, “on whether you’ve ever been on the wrong side of a lawyer. Haven’t been myself, but I can imagine what it’s like. Had a few colleagues who found out the hard way, come divorce time.”
“All you have to do is listen to the news,” the Major added, shaking his cane in my direction. “Makes you mad enough to horsewhip some of these people. They get away with everything. Subvert the course of justice if you ask me.”
The Colonel nodded. “That trial we’ve been hearing so much about. Tell me we shouldn’t bring back hanging. And the fellow who defended him? Should be strung up too.”
I said, “Well, he’s dead, if that’s any consolation.”
The Major thought for a few seco
nds and said, “I think it might be.”
“Cause for celebration if you ask me,” the Colonel added.
Mrs. Parnell raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that. Sure you won’t join us, Ms MacPhee?”
“Another time. I just dropped in to see how you were doing. I’m missing your company.”
“I’m settling in well,” Mrs. P. said. “Plenty of esprit in this old corps, as you can observe.”
“I’ll head back to your room and get the CD box. I’ll bring replacements as soon as I can.”
“Pub hours are two to three, daily,” Mrs. Parnell said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She’d already resumed her story before I reached the door. The Colonel and the Major went back to being riveted.
FIVE
Why did the lawyer cross the road?
-To sue the chicken on the other side.
Back at the ranch, Alvin was making progress. Most of the progress involved lugging banker’s boxes full of files from the third bedroom to the basement. The rest involved shredding documents. I smiled approval. “No need to waste money on the gym,” I said encouragingly.
“Very funny,” he said, or something like it. His voice was kind of muffled.
“Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll be making a list of the people who hated Rollie Thorsten. That’s work too, you know.”
By the time Alvin got the last box down the two flights of stairs, I had twenty-eight names on the list. Mine was among them. Fair’s fair. So was Mombourquette’s. Others worked in the justice system in some capacity. Some of the people who would have had the best reasons to hate Thorsten were dead. People like Laurie Roulay. I put her name down anyway. To my knowledge, except for two children who survived her, she hadn’t had any relatives who cared much about her one way or the other. Certainly she’d had no one to turn to when Rollie Thorsten laid her soul bare in court. I’d looked after her funeral arrangements myself. I’d been happy for once to have had that pile of ill-gotten gains that weighs so heavily on me. The children had wept. Even the CAS workers had cried. Alvin had actually sobbed, although he’d only met Laurie once. I may have shed a tear myself, and I distinctly remember Mombourquette’s nose being pinker than usual. But that was it for Laurie, a girl with tattoos, a girl who had kicked crack cocaine to make a new life as a mother, a girl who had once lived on the streets, but who had the guts to testify against Brugel.
Of course, Brugel was on a different list: that one contained people who might benefit from Rollie Thorsten’s bizarre lawyer-joke death, a list of one. I couldn’t really think of anyone else.
“There have to be more,” I said pensively to Alvin as he staggered up from the basement.
I thought he muttered something about trading places.
I still wasn’t that happy with the one-name list by the time Alvin announced that the bedroom was empty of Justice for Victims crapola. His words. I headed up to check it out. Now that it was empty, I could see how it wouldn’t really do the trick. It had no bed for starters, also no dresser, although I supposed that visitors could store things in the desk drawers once Alvin emptied them. He didn’t react all that well to the suggestion, not that I cared.
“Two words, Alvin: Free and Rent. And a few more words: for the past year and a half. So let’s take stock. Did you remember when they’re arriving exactly?”
“I know it will come back to me.”
“Let’s hope. And what will they sleep on when they get here? Of course, I could have been thinking about this all along if I had known they were—”
“Who are you kidding?” Alvin said. “You wouldn’t have behaved any differently if you had known.”
I hated to admit he had a point.
He scrunched up his face. Sometimes that means he’s thinking. I hoped this wasn’t one of those times. “They have inflatable beds on sale at Canadian Tire this week,” he mused.
Inflatable beds? I wondered what could go wrong with those. And also if that would be one more item for the girls to curl their lips at.
“They’re really comfortable,” Alvin said. “Trust me. My sister Frances Ann got one for guests, and it’s great.”
I didn’t really trust Alvin, but Frances Ann was very sensible. “Good. That’s one problem solved.”
“Two,” Alvin said.
“Two problems?”
“Two beds. I don’t imagine they want to sleep together. Bad enough they’re stuck in one room.”
“Of course, two beds.”
“I’ll get two singles. And sheets,” Alvin said. “We’ll need two sets of sheets, pillows and extra towels and face cloths if they’re here for a while. We’re not really set up for guests.
We might even need lightweight blankets.”
“Blankets?” I said. “It’s a million degrees lately. We’re in the middle of a heat wave. Oh, never mind. Get whatever they’ll need.”
“A mirror, I imagine, as well.”
“There’s one in the bathroom.”
“Not everyone’s like you, Camilla. Some people care what they look like. I think Ashley and Brittany definitely fall into that category.”
“Fine. Just take care of it quickly.”
“Bedspreads,” he said.
“All right.”
“Pillow shams too, I suppose.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was he yanking my chain? No. He appeared to be completely serious.
“I just wish I could paint the room,” he said, looking around. “It’s the one space I never got to decorate because all those boxes were blocking the walls. If you ask me, it’s a bit dreary.”
Dreary was good, in my opinion. “Too bad there’s no time. You’ll be run off your feet getting all this stuff.”
“It’s really beyond the call of duty, Camilla,” Alvin said. But I noticed his eyes were shining. A shopping spree was right up his alley. I could always distance myself from the results.
“Do you need money?”
He held his head high. “I have savings. I’ll pay whatever it is. You can reimburse me.”
I was proud of myself for not mentioning that the only reason he had savings was because he hadn’t been paying rent. Of course, we both knew I’d never asked him to pay any rent, and he had in fact offered. We were both living free when you thought about it.
Alvin left humming. “I need to get a bit more equipment for my cooking projects too. Just leave it all to me.”
Well, I certainly intended to. I went back to staring at my sheet of paper. I had the feeling I was forgetting someone important.
“I have sources,” P. J. said, lowering his voice in case any of the Saturday evening crowd of noisy people in D’Arcy McGee’s pub might care what he had to say. Wishful thinking on his part. “This will blow the top of your head off.”
I said, “Don’t dramatize. And at the same time, please resist the urge to bullshit. Just tell me what you learned about Rollie.”
“You are no fun, Tiger. Do you realize that? I can’t believe we’re having breakfast and dinner together on the same day.”
“I am even less than no fun.”
P. J. lifted his Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale and sipped, all the time looking at me so I’d know how unfun I was.
I have never minded being a drag. I picked up my hamburger and dug in. First of all, you get hungry after a walk from the Glebe to Sparks Street. And secondly, you never want to let P. J. know you’re eager to hear what he’s holding back on. I finished a bite and carefully checked out the sweet potato fries to see which little beauty I might start with.
The fry paused on the way to my mouth when P. J. remarked, “It wasn’t an easy way to go. Shot and then drowned.” I could sense his barely contained excitement.
“Shot and drowned? No, I don’t imagine it was.”
“My source said he was shot first.”
“I had heard that he’d been shot and dropped in the water. I didn’t realize he really had drowned. My own source left that out.�
�� This was a bit too close to that old joke for me. Damn Mombourquette for not mentioning it. Of course, he may not have known.
P. J. said, “It gets worse. Turns out he was shot in the knees. It would have disabled him, but not killed him.”
“In the knees?” What the hell? Mombourquette sure hadn’t mentioned that. I’d assumed Rollie had received the fatal shot in one of the usual places: head or heart. My dinner had lost its appeal. I pushed my plate away.
P. J. had ordered the fish and chips, and apparently his appetite was unaffected by the details of Rollie Thorsten’s fate.
After a while, I said, “Are you saying Rollie would have been conscious when he went into the water?”
P. J. chewed slowly for a while before saying, “That’s what my source thinks. You know I can’t reveal my—”
I snapped. “I’m not asking for the name of your sources, although anyone with half a brain could figure out it’s that girl in the path lab. The one who has the hots for you.”
“Really? How did you…?”
“Let me see. She works in the pathology department. She drools when she sees you. Tough one.”
“Anyway, calling her ‘that girl’ isn’t too politically correct, Tiger. Especially from such a knee-jerk left winger as yourself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with girls, P. J. Try to remember that for future reference. Now, just to finish up. Maybe Rollie was knocked out first and then shot and drowned.”
P. J. shook his carrot top vigorously. “I think my source would have mentioned that.”
I felt a buzzing around my ears. “So, then he knew what was going to happen to him.”
“He must have.”
“And he wouldn’t have been able to move his legs properly when he went into the water.”
“Yeah.” P. J. actually put down his fork this time.
I said, “Someone really wanted Rollie to go out the hard way.”
“That’s it.”
“They wanted him to know what would happen and probably why it was going to happen.”
Law and Disorder Page 6
