Law and Disorder

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Could have been up to three minutes, my source figured until he lost consciousness and drowned. That would be pretty rough.”

  “I can’t even imagine who would do that to another person. Even Rollie. He was just sleazy and opportunistic, not evil. I think that Brugel is behind this. He’s the only person I can think of who is capable of it. And he stood to gain from Rollie’s death.”

  “He’s locked up solid in the RDC.”

  “And you think he couldn’t make something like this happen?”

  “I hear you,” P. J. said, although I noticed he’d picked up his fork again.

  I didn’t.

  When I arrived home, Alvin was in full swing, standing on a shiny new ladder in the third bedroom. Two boxes containing blow-up beds and several overstuffed plastic shopping bags were parked in the hallway. I managed to navigate my way into the room.

  “Oh,” I said. “I see you found time to paint after all. I thought we said that we weren’t—”

  “It needed brightening,” he said.

  “Well, it’s certainly bright now. You know, I never would have considered Chinese red myself.”

  He shrugged and wiped a bit of paint from his nose. “They are here for the dragon boat races, Camilla.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” I said.

  “Too bad it’s going to take four coats to cover this boring sand colour on the walls. I’ll be here all night.”

  “My sympathies,” I murmured as I shut the door.

  I fell asleep mentally working my way through Rollie’s better-known cases and the people he’d come up against. My list was by the side of the bed in case more names came to mind. At three in the morning, my eyes popped open, something that happened all too often. Gussie grunted reproachfully and Mrs. Parnell’s cat stretched and turned her back to me to make a point. The point being that the night is for sleeping, not for gasping, twisting and sitting up in bed for the second night in a row. But sleep had been chased from my head by a face.

  Annalisa Fillmore’s face.

  Of course.

  It would be hard to imagine anyone who could have hated Rollie Thorsten more than Annalisa Fillmore. Why had it taken me so long to remember her? Annalisa’s black eyes had flashed in my dream, but even after I snapped awake, I could still see her. The lingering image was that of a tall, svelte figure in a Sunny Choi suit speaking passionately into a microphone and decrying the state of sentencing in Canada. My sister Edwina once mentioned that Annalisa Fillmore only wore Stuart Weitzman shoes which set her back three hundred dollars plus. Her handbags would be worth more than my last car. I remembered Annalisa’s face contorted with rage as she confronted Rollie on the courthouse steps. Rollie, dropping his customary unconcern for his fellow humans, had actually jumped back like a startled hamster. Some people had laughed at his panic. But I wondered at the time if Rollie hadn’t hurtled out of her reach, would Annalisa Fillmore have pushed him down the wide courthouse stairs?

  Even so, it was a serious mental leap from rage after a court case to shooting someone and pushing them from a boat into the middle of the Rideau to drown.

  At four, I was still awake.

  At five thirty, Gussie and I were back from our walk. I gave Alvin a break, but by six, I figured what the hell, P. J. might as well get up and confront the day too.

  “What time is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We need to talk about Annalisa Fillmore.”

  “Who the bleep is Annalisa Fillmore, and why can’t she wait until… My god, does my clock say six oh three?”

  “Try and follow the script, P. J. Annalisa Fillmore is the founder of Mothers for Fair Sentencing. You see her at conferences. You hear her issuing juicy sound bites on the news after trials.”

  “Okay. And I care about this at six oh three because?”

  “Because Annalisa Fillmore’s fifteen-year-old daughter was killed by her joyriding boyfriend. The boyfriend got off with a non-custodial sentence. Although I think maybe he had to write an essay on road safety too.”

  “Sheesh.”

  “Exactly. It was before they enacted the street racing laws. Annalisa must have had an impact on those too. She lobbied like a house on fire. The kid wouldn’t get away with it now, and trust me, he was a grubby little creep and as guilty as sin.”

  “Don’t the courts decide that?”

  “The court did decide that, but he didn’t have a record, his parents were every bit as wealthy, well-connected and respectable as Annalisa Fillmore herself, and the boy’s lawyer talked a good story. Brilliant even.”

  “Now it’s six oh four, and I’m thinking this interesting information could have waited until eight thirty, nine o’clock, no problem.”

  “So guess who the boyfriend’s lawyer was.”

  It sounded like P. J. was yawning. After a while, he said, “I can’t guess my own name at this time of day.”

  “Give it a shot.”

  “Oh. You mean—really?”

  “You got it. Our boy Rollie. She hated him. White-hot lava hated.”

  “I don’t know if lava is white, but allow me to remark that you hated him too. Everyone who knew him probably detested him.”

  “Oh sure, no argument here. I’m actually on my own list of suspects. But we both know that I didn’t kill him. I’m pretty sure you didn’t either, although you will do almost anything for an exclusive. But this woman’s emotions went way beyond our minor loathing. I worked with her from time to time on Justice for Victims matters, and she was deadly serious.”

  “You said you worked with her, so did you get along all right?”

  “I believe in the rights of the accused to a fair and unbiased trial, no matter what I think of that particular individual or the crime. That seemed to be an issue for her, and we had words more than once.”

  “You had words with someone, Tiger? That’s hard to believe.”

  “Hilarious, P. J. Did I mention she owned a boat? Some kind of yachtlike thing that you can actually sleep on. She was out on that boat the night her daughter died. I don’t think she’d have trouble getting her manicured mitts on a gun either. She’s loaded. Trust me. No one hated Rollie more than Annalisa did. I think she would have been capable of this. I think she would have thought it was funny. You awake now? Get cracking. You want that story? Let me tell you about a weird situation.”

  I got the impression P. J. wasn’t yawning as I filled him in on what I thought he should know about the lawyer jokes. He said, “Okay, this is all very strange and hard to follow at six in the morning, but last night you convinced me that it was Brugel. I spent quite a bit of time on that idea. How do I know this isn’t another of your tangents?”

  “Not a tangent, P. J. I liked the idea that Brugel might have done it to delay his trial. He’s vicious enough to have been amused by the jokes, but now I realize that Annalisa Fillmore is a much more likely suspect. So can you use the legendary sources to find out what she was doing the night that Rollie died?”

  “Why kill him? Why not the boy who caused her daughter’s death? You have to admit, it is a stretch.”

  “Gotcha. She didn’t have to kill him, although she probably would have loved to. You see, he killed himself.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Car crash. High speed chase with the police six months after his trial. I think Annalisa was enraged that he’d escaped her before she could personally do him some harm. I wondered at the time if that had sent her over the edge. So how about it, big boy? Got your interest yet?”

  “I’m on it, Tiger.”

  Even though Jacki Jewell had left a chirpy telephone message indicating that she was planning to come by, I was still having a hell of a good day. By ten, I’d been through the remaining boxes of stuff that had come from Justice for Victims and had been occupying the corner of my own bedroom. I’d sifted out enough material for shredding to eliminate at least one filing cabinet. I was pretty sure that Annalisa Fillmore had bumped off Rollie Thorsten, and that
would mean that I could stop being worried about this weird and wacky lawyer joke situation. I knew that P. J. would dig around until he got some answers. Just in case, I’d left a message for Leonard Mombourquette suggesting he might think about her as a perfect suspect. I may have been whistling. The doorbell rang and I hustled to answer it.

  Jacki was standing on the front steps. This time she was wearing a pale blue seersucker suit that was businesslike, but also flattering. Despite the heat and humidity, it was still fresh and unwrinkled. I am always suspicious of people who can pull that off.

  “May I come in?” she said, slipping past me before I could respond.

  I realized that I’d been blocking the door. Not that it did any good. “Are you alone?” she said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s just that your...young man seems to get a bit agitated when I suggest that the house would do better without all the…you know.”

  “What?” Of course, I knew perfectly well what. You don’t need to be a Nobel Prize candidate to figure out that Alvin’s decorating might be a hurdle for the discerning buyer.

  She smiled.

  I smiled back. Two can play that game. “He’s upstairs decorating. Why don’t you head on up and negotiate that with him?”

  I thought she paled, just slightly. “Decorating?”

  “Yes, we’re having a few teenaged visitors here for the next while. I’m not sure how long they’re staying, but they will certainly add life to this dreary old place.”

  She blinked.

  For a fleeting moment, I felt all warm and fuzzy toward Ashley and Brittany. It didn’t last long, but it was fun while it did.

  I hooked up Gussie to his leash and said, “I’m heading out now. Good luck.”

  I was still a bit uncomfortable in my old apartment building. I kept expecting someone to call the police, even though we’d settled that awkward situation a while back. But I had my reasons, so I stomped down the hall to 1608. Under normal circumstances Shostakovich’s Symphony No. Six or something equally booming would be clearly audible in the hallway. But with Mrs. P. in the hospital, it was quiet. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I felt a wave of sadness. Would Mrs. Parnell ever be coming back to this apartment where we’d had so many good times? And for how long if she did? What lay ahead for my brave and splendid friend?

  I shook myself and got down to replacing the first batch of CDs and picking up another boxful. It was a small errand and the least I could do for her. I tried not to mope about the empty black leather chair, the pristine modern room, the silent stereo system and the strange echo that the uninhabited apartment seemed to have developed. Still, moping wouldn’t do anyone any good. We’d had a lot of fun in this room. How many times had I stood in here and asked Mrs. Parnell for advice or help? She’d never refused me and she’d always made the difference. That reminded me to pick up her best laser printer and a ream of paper before I headed out to the Perley.

  Once I got there, I found Mrs. P. looking a bit frailer than the day before, perhaps because she was in the hospital bed and not surrounded by admirers.

  “Ms MacPhee, what a nice surprise. You brought the CDs. That’s splendid. I confess to being a bit bored. And boring.”

  “You’re never boring, Mrs. P.”

  “Not like the days when we had such great adventures. Now I have nothing but time on my hands. I suppose I’m just missing my routines, although young Ferguson popped by earlier and cheered me up. Said you have him decorating for visitors.”

  I decided not to get sidetracked by that. Mrs. P. is inclined to support Alvin unconditionally.

  “I need your computer-search expertise. Is there any chance you can give me a hand?”

  Her eyes lit up. “A project? I’d be delighted. Spill the beans.”

  “I didn’t like to talk about this in front of your friends yesterday, but there’s some weird stuff going on. There’s more than just that joke I mentioned. You remember Bunny Mayhew?”

  “Our dyslexic art-loving burglar? Who could forget him? A delightful lad.” She chortled merrily. I wished I could laugh half as heartily. I filled her in on Bunny’s visit and his theory about the jokes being tied to the deaths. “So there are three possible victims, if Bunny’s right, not that I’m convinced about two of them. There’s no question that Rollie Thorsten was murdered. However, a woman called Roxanne Terrio, a real estate lawyer, died in an apparent biking accident and a Federal Court judge called Cardarelle expired from anaphylactic shock, if I remember correctly. I’d like to see what you can turn up about these people and their deaths, before I put my foot in anything.”

  “Young Ferguson mentioned this bizarre phenomenon on his visit. He said that you had also been receiving these cryptic attempts at humour. And you say your burglar chappie has been as well.”

  “Yes. Bunny’s terrified. And while I remember the jokes and I did get Rollie’s name, I’m not a hundred per cent sure that I received the first two names. The evidence seems to have disappeared, possibly eaten by Gussie.”

  “Are you at all worried, Ms MacPhee?”

  “Rollie’s death is definitely linked to the joke we received the other day. I’m not sure about the other two possible victims although Bunny’s convinced. As we are both receiving these so-called jokes, it’s obvious we’re linked in the joker’s mind. I don’t know why. But this person must be unhinged, and given the horrible way Rollie died, I think we’d better find out soon.”

  “That is a concern. I am at your service, Ms MacPhee. Tell me how I can assist. I would welcome anything that would alleviate the tedium of the convalescent’s bed.”

  “I realize you’re supposed to rest up and recover from that hip fracture. But since you’re stuck here with the computer on, could you check out the names I mentioned, snoop around, find next of kin, any articles written, obits, that sort of thing? Watch for any of the same names cropping up in each of their cases. I’m particularly interested in any connection with a woman named Annalisa Fillmore.”

  “Ah. The redoubtable Ms Fillmore. A splendid figure, rather in the grand style of Joan of Arc. I’ve seen her interviewed on television on a number of occasions. She certainly can liven up any newscast.”

  “Joan of Arc? I guess. Hadn’t thought of her like that.”

  “Perhaps I am merely being fanciful.”

  “And the other one is Lloyd Brugel.”

  “This Brugel is a foul creature.”

  “Sure is, but he has quite an operation working for him. I’d rather our jokemaster turned out to be Brugel, but at the moment I’m pretty convinced it’s Annalisa.”

  “It would give me great pleasure to dig around and see what I can turn up for you. And it will make the time pass more quickly.”

  “I brought your printer. I wasn’t sure if you could have a printer here. But you have to promise that you won’t get too—”

  “Please don’t worry about me, Ms MacPhee. I’m an old war horse happy to be back in battle, or on parade perhaps. And speaking of old war horses, the sun’s over the yardarm. Would you like a Harvey’s Bristol Cream to celebrate?”

  “Bit early for me. I’m happy to take you down to the pub though.”

  “Strike while the iron is hot and all that. Mustn’t let this unsettle you, Ms MacPhee.”

  “It isn’t just the jokes unsettling me. I’m a bit distracted that Ray’s girls are going to spend an unspecified amount of time in Ottawa. In my house. Without Ray.”

  “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, Ms MacPhee, but didn’t you say you wanted to improve the relationship with those young women? Because of Sergeant Deveau?”

  “I may have said something along those lines, but I certainly didn’t think they’d come and stay with me. Remember the things they did to keep Ray and me apart?”

  She reached over and patted my shoulder. “Learn to pick your battles.”

  “I suppose you’re right. as usual.” I helped her into the wheelchair and we made very good time shooting thro
ugh the hallways, into the elevator, then on to the pub where the Colonel and the Major awaited, eagerly.

  I left the Perley, secure in the knowledge that Mrs. Parnell would soon be busily uncovering whatever extra material she could about the possible victims and the two most likely suspects. Somehow, and I never liked to inquire too deeply, she can get beyond the more conventional searches and even circumvent the odd inconvenient legal restriction. I would be very surprised if she didn’t have her first results ready and printed shortly after the pub closed.

  SIX

  How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?

  -Depends. How many can you afford?

  I figured Jacki Jewell would be gone by the time I got back. I was right. There was no sign of her glossy black Mercedes SUV. However, I arrived home at the same moment as a Blueline cab pulled up in front of my house.

  There was a flurry of excitement, then two vaguely familiar faces appeared. Two slender, tanned and beautiful young women emerged from the cab, wearing airy floral sundresses and twinkly flipflops. They both had the kind of glossy long hair that appears in shampoo ads. The subtle highlights on the brunette’s hadn’t come cheap, I was guessing. The other girl’s formerly sandy shade had morphed to blonde. The blonde had hazel eyes. The brunette’s were wide and green. My jaw dropped in a clichéd fashion as it dawned on me that Ashley and Brittany had landed. How could two people have changed so much in a little over two years since I’d seen them? Where were the zits? The baseball caps and oversize shirts? The sneers?

  The cab driver walked around to the trunk and removed two huge bags with great effort. I stared. How could two people have so much luggage? Was there a collapsible dragon boat in among those giant duffel bags?

  I braced myself and stepped toward them.

  I dug up the best thing I could think of to say: “Welcome to Ottawa.”

  Okay, that was pretty hokey. Both girls stared back at me. The luggage continued to emerge from what must have been a bottomless trunk. The cab driver grunted and gave them each a dirty look.