by Garry Ryan
Ernie looked over his shoulder as they climbed the fairway to the clubhouse at the ninth hole. The cart gradually lost speed. The Marshall was less than six meters behind. “He’s catching up to us!”
“What’s he gonna do, ban me from golfing for life?” Nonno roared with laughter and looked at Nonna. “Now, Ernie’s never gonna forget our last day together. Perfect!”
They skirted the ninth hole and accelerated along the paved path leading to the clubhouse. Nonno hit the brakes.
The Marshall pulled alongside. The tip of his cigar glowed. He swung his legs out of the cart to stand staring at Ernesto who walked around the front of his machine. The Marshall pulled the cigar from his mouth and said, “Only two golfers to a cart!”
“Grab the clubs, Ernie.” Nonno stepped between Nonna and the Marshall.
Ernie eased the bags out of their carriers.
“If you wanna golf on this course, you gotta obey the rules!” The Marshall pointed his cigar at Ernesto.
Nonno turned his back to the man, lifted the doll over his shoulder. A puff of wind lifted the doll’s dress revealing her perfect, naked backside.
“She’s a doll!” the Marshall said.
Nonno pulled the hem of the dress down over the backs of her knees. “Come on Ernie, we gotta go to the mall. Your grandmother needs underwear.”
CHAPTER 17
Lane backed off of the Chevrolet’s accelerator before turning right into Queen’s Park Cemetery. The shade trees on either side of the road took the edge off the morning’s heat. He pulled in and parked on the north side of the squat green and white Cemetery Office.
A grey/brown jackrabbit scooted out from under a parked car.
Closing his car door sounded a little too loud in the quiet. Lane felt the pace of life slow. He looked right at the white Customer Service Center with a Fresh Cut Flowers sign out front. Next to the sign sat a yellow City of Calgary tractor with a bucket up front and a backhoe behind.
Lane opened the door of the cemetery office. A stone bench squatted to the left of the door. Beyond the counter sat a man wearing a green ball cap. He reminded Lane of a Marlborough man.
“I’m looking for the grave of Helen Rapozo.” Lane leaned his elbows on the counter top.
“You know Ernesto?” The man behind the desk stroked his chin.
“Yes.”
“Police?” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Lane looked down to check if the butt of his pistol was poking out from under his jacket.
“Saw you drive up.” He lifted the peak of his ball cap.
“It’s supposed to be unmarked.” Lane smiled.
“Police cars have a look. Hard to explain, but they definitely have a look.” He flipped open the cigarette pack and pulled out a red plastic lighter. “Name’s Ray in case you were wonderin’.” Ray’s chair creaked as he leaned back.
was his only option. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Robert Swatsky.”
“And you think he’s hiding out here?” Ray raised his arms to form a ‘V’.
“Haven’t found him any other place.” Lane smiled till he felt like he was in a toothpaste commercial.
“One thing’s for sure, he’s not anywhere close to Helen. There’s only one open plot near her. Ernesto reserved that one a long time ago.” Ray hesitated for a moment, then added, “What’s Ernesto got to do with this?”
“Swatsky is related to Ernesto’s grandson.”
Ray leaned forward, “And?”
“Look, I can’t tell you all the details.” Lane lifted his hands as if he were ready to surrender. Getting tough with Ray will get you nowhere, he thought. “I’m just checking out a lead.” Lane waited. An unwritten code meant city employees were obliged to help one another out.
“She’s in Section D Block 19.”
“There are thousands of graves here, how’d you know that one?”
“Helen’s special. Just about all of us like Ernesto. He worked here for a long time. He told us all about her. I never met her, yet I knew and liked her.”
“Family?”
“I can’t expect you to understand,” Ray said.
“Try me.”
“She died of cancer. Ernesto got a job here a few months after she was buried. A time or two, when he didn’t know I was close by, he’d lean on her gravestone and talk to her.”
Lane waited for Ray to fill up the silence.
“He kept flowers on her grave. A fresh batch every week, even in winter. Weeds never got a chance to take root anywhere near her. He still comes back two or three times a week to talk with us and check on her. And we keep an eye on her for him. It’s hard for anyone who doesn’t know Ernesto to understand.” Ray stood up, picked up his cigarettes and lighter, “Come on, I’ll show you where she is.” Outside, Lane stood and waited while Ray lit a smoke, took a long drag and stuffed the pack back into his shirt pocket. “You wanna drive or walk?”
“How close is it?”
Ray pointed with the cigarette, “Just down the road and to the right. ‘Bout a block away.”
They walked the road as it descended into the valley. “It’s like an oasis in here,” Lane said.
“Good for the soul.”
“Anybody else close to Ernesto?” Lane said.
Ray’s eyes glanced at the Customer Service Center. He took another pull of smoke and exhaled out the side of his mouth. It hung in the air behind them. Ray’s eyes smiled, “He and Randy were pretty close. You could try him.”
“Where would I find Randy?”
“Probably up by the mausoleum.”
“Which way?” Lane said.
“Follow this road to the bottom of the hill and up the other side.” Ray pointed in the general direction.
Lane pulled the notebook out of his pocket. “What’s he look like?”
“Big. Wears a red hard hat. Moves like a jock.” Ray’s heals clicked against the pavement.
The detective wrote down Randy’s name.
“Used to play in the NHL. Every Canadian kid’s dream.”
Ray’s words were thick with sarcasm.
Lane waited.
“Hates the NHL but helps coach hockey for little kids.”
Intrigued by the apparent paradox in Randy, Lane made a mental note.
“Here she is.” Ray pinched the end off his cigarette. Carved on the same stone, on the right side was ERNESTO RAPOZO 1935–. At the foot of the stone, orange and yellow marigolds bloomed in a glass jar.
Ray said, “Got to get back to work. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
The click of Ray’s boots receded and Lane realized how little the man had told him about Ernesto.
Lane returned to the car. He drove around the grounds, finding the green artillery gun between two grey monuments and taking a tour of the pagodas in the Chinese cemetery. Finally, he arrived at the front of a squat sandstone coloured building with silver framed windows and QUEEN’S PARK MAUSOLEUM cut into concrete. Lane parked and walked around the outside of the building. He found a man in the shade, sitting with his back against the wall. A red hard hat and green thermos sat next to him. He sipped from the battered green and silver screw-on cup. Lane sensed the power in the man. His eyes were on Lane from the moment he appeared around the corner.
“Randy?” Lane said.
“That’s right.” Randy looked beyond Lane as if waiting for someone else.
“I’m Detective Lane. Can I ask you a couple of questions?” “Nope.”
Lane waited.
“I already told the police all I’m gonna tell. Lived through it once. Television. Trial. Questions. The gawking looks on people’s faces. All the lies he told to try and get out of it.
He’s in jail. All I know is he’d better not come near me when he gets out,” Randy said.
Lane watched while Randy flicked what was left of the coffee onto the grass. He screwed the cup back on top of the Thermos and stood. Even though Lane was an even six feet tall, Randy
stood a head taller. The detective said, “I’m sorry, I should have explained, it’s about Ernesto Rapozo. I was told you and he are friends.”
“Ernesto?” Randy said.
“Yes.”
“He’s okay?”
“Yes,” Lane said.
“Then why are you here?” Randy said.
Lane watched as Randy erected a wall. The detective could feel it forming around the other man. “I have a few questions.”
“You can ask.” Randy said while implying that not much could be expected in the way of answers.
“Was Ernesto here a week ago last Wednesday?”
“He often comes on Wednesday to see his wife.” Randy leaned over to pick up his hard hat.
“Was the doll with him?”
Randy brushed off the seat of his pants. “Yes.”
“What was Ernesto driving?”
“He owns a red van.” Randy stuck his free hand in his pocket. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Some holes need digging. Two funeral parties are set to arrive soon.” He walked past Lane and around the corner of the building. The detective stood in the shade realizing why Ray had sent him to see Randy. Then he checked his notebook and was reminded of Ray’s nervous glance at the Customer Service Center near the entrance to the cemetery.
Within five minutes Lane was inside. He saw bundles of flowers in a cooler and in pots on the floor inside the front door. The smell of fresh cut flowers filled Lane’s nostrils.
“Hello?” A man with pruning shears appeared.
Lane detected an Italian accent.
“What kinda flowers you want?” The man pointed at a bucket of carnations.
“I’m not here to buy flowers, I’ve got some questions to ask. I’m Detective Lane. You are?”
“Tony.”
Lane heard none of the wariness he’d picked up from Ray and Randy. He wondered why Ray had not mentioned Tony. Surely Ernesto and Tony would have talked with one another. “Ask.” Tony leaned back on a stool and crossed his arms.
“Do you know Ernesto Rapozo?”
Several creases appeared across Tony’s forehead. “Retired almost a year ago.”
“You knew him well?”
“He was from the south. I’m from the north. People from the north and south of Italy, don’t see eye to eye.”
“Oh?”
“Ernesto was a big shot like all those guys from the south. Just last week he drove up in a fancy car.”
Lane felt an almost electric tingling inside his chest.
“What kind of car?”
“Lincoln. A big shot car. Got no idea how come he can afford that on a pension. Had that doll with him too. He’s a sick man. Talks to her all the time.”
“Was this a week ago Tuesday?”
Tony studied the ceiling. “Maybe. Ernesto usually comes to see his wife on Tuesdays.”
“What’s your last name, Tony?” Lane reached for his notebook. “Ruggeri.” He spelled it for Lane. “You gonna arrest him?”
“For what?”
“Gotta be a law against having a doll like that.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She’s usually naked,” Tony said.
Lane smiled and said, “I’ll look into it. Thanks, Tony.”
“No problem.”
When he got close to his car, Lane remembered Randy’s words, “He owns a red van.” Lane opened the door and sat. He wondered why Randy had mentioned the van at all. He hadn’t lied, exactly, but it was beginning to look like he had tried to mislead. Tony mentioned the Lincoln without any prodding. Lane reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the ignition key and started the engine.
CHAPTER 18
Lane stared without focusing on the spring green painted on one wall of their living room. The colour made him think of wine.
He found the colour appealing, just as Arthur had said he would. It had been Arthur’s idea. Lane had resisted at first, but gave in when it became apparent he had no good reason for disagreeing.
Arthur had a gift for colour and, after the initial period of adjustment, Lane had found he liked the decor. It was kind of like the way he and Arthur had started off almost 20 years ago. After a bit of adjustment, they’d liked the way things worked out.
Freed of jacket, tie and gun, Lane poured a beer for himself and another for Arthur who sat hunched over the coffee table. He was reading a photocopied newspaper article.
Lane sipped his beer. “This is the best batch so far.”
“Hmmmm.” Arthur kept his eyes on the article with the headline, PLAYER CONVICTS COACH WITH VIDEOTAPED EVIDENCE.
Riley took a deep, long breath to voice his impatience.
“He’s mad because we haven’t taken him for a walk yet today,” Lane said.
“Ummm. He’ll get over it just like you’ll get over being mad at me. Maybe Riley’ll stay away from porcupines.”
Lane ignored the gibe and pushed the glass closer to Arthur. He lifted his own beer, glancing at the rising golden bubbles. “Looks good.” He took a sip. “Tastes better.”
Lane sagged into the couch and waited.
After more than five minutes, Arthur sat back.
“Interesting.”
“How?”
“Randy worked with Ernesto?”
“I’m not sure for how long but they did work together,”
Lane said.
“And Randy won’t talk?”
“He talks but says very little.”
“Like the other guy?” Arthur snapped his fingers in a vain attempt to recall the name.
“Ray.”
Arthur pointed at the article, “Randy’s been put through the ringer. I remember the media frenzy. His face was on the front page of every newspaper in the country. He accused a coach who’d won the Stanley Cup.”
“The coach was convicted.”
“So was the trainer.”
“Randy was 15 and 16 when it happened,” Lane said.
“He was a first round draft pick.”
“And he ended up working in the cemetery.” Lane lifted his glass.
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a quiet place. A bit of an oasis. It’s safe. Peaceful,”
Lane said.
“So?” Arthur said.
“Randy found a place where he is out of the spotlight.”
“To heal?” Arthur said.
“I think so. And I get the feeling he deliberately tried to mislead me.” Lane looked through the edge of his glass and it magnified the photograph below the headline. He set the glass down. Pulling the article closer he said, “Look at this.”
“What?” Arthur said.
Lane had his finger on the face of a man who stood behind Randy as they left the courthouse.
“Who’s that?”
“Looks like Ernesto Rapozo.”
CHAPTER 19
“We’ll be in and out in no time. The old man at the front desk will never know we’ve been there.” Les kept both hands on the wheel.
“I don’t like it,” Marvin said.
“We’ll park over by Denny’s and walk around the back way, if that makes you feel better.” Les could smell the fear on his brother. A mixture of sweat, stale clothing and something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. And he hated that feeling because Marv had an uncanny ability to be . . .
“Right. Turn right!”
Les hit the brakes and hauled the Ford over to the right. “Shit!” They came within millimeters of swapping paint with the concrete barrier.
“Cops! There are cops in the lot!” Marv pointed.
Les took a breath. Three blue and white police cruisers were parked side by side near Denny’s. “Of course there are cops there! Cops need to eat too!”
Marv was a puddle in the front seat. “Oh man. Oh man.” He looked up. “One of em’s a ghost car.”
“What?”
“What’s the ghost car doin’ there? The traffic cops hang around for coffee. What’s the
ghost car doin’?”
Behind Denny’s, in the parking lot next to their motel, a car sat in front of a no parking sign under the red neon of VACANCY. The car was grey and its black walled tires completed the nondescript look.
“Cops at our motel. Just down from our door. And look.” Marv’s voice was a whisper behind a hand.
Les eased past. A guy in a brown tweed sports jacket was talking to the manager. The guy in the jacket was about as wide across the shoulders as one of those rodeo calf ropers.
Les looked ahead. He checked their speed. “Sit up. Put your belt on.” There was the snap of a metal tongue slipping into its lock. “We’re gonna need another car.”
“A Mercedes?” Marv said.
CHAPTER 20
“Don’t like that new sign,” Nanny pointed at the words over the restaurant door.
Ernie looked between the two women in the front seat. Inside an inverted horseshoe over the double glass doors of Sonny’s Family Restaurant were the words Have a cluckin’ good time at Sonny’s.
“Think they’re bein’ clever changin’ the ‘f’ to a ‘cl’. Gonna give ‘em a piece of my mind.” Nanny sat in the passenger seat of the Dodge. It was older than Ernie.
They pulled up to the curb, about half a meter from the blue and white handicapped parking sign. Beth turned, smiled at him, then mouthed the words, ‘Thank you’.
Ernie nodded and got out to open his grandmother’s door. After setting the oxygen tank on the blue painted pavement, he reached for her hand. It felt more like paper than flesh.
“Shoulda got the chicken delivered.” Nanny wheezed while she used the top of the door to pull herself out of the car.
Ernie looked over the white roof at his mother and gave her his ‘you owe me big time’ look. Wonder what Nanny’s going to be like once we’re inside? he thought.
Beth slammed her door.
“What’s the matter? I’m the one who should be slamming doors, it’s my birthday after all.” Nanny had one hand on the oxygen cart and stepped closer to the curb. “I’m sick and tired of this damned machine.”
