Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle

by Jeffrey Round

  “Not much of a choice, is it?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Anyway, that’s the official story. For the record.”

  “Have you heard from him yet?”

  “No, not since he left.”

  “Well, I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you. Hang in there. He’ll call.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will. I just don’t know what to tell him when he does. If this guy really is after him, maybe it’s better if he stays away for a while.”

  Dan heard him hemming over this one. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Find the guy and put him away.”

  “If I had a name, I might be able to do something about it.”

  There was a silence.

  “I’ll ask Lester when I hear from him,” Donny said.

  “Okay, let me know. Thanks for dinner the other night. Trev and I both enjoyed it.”

  “My pleasure. And for the record? I highly approve of the new boyfriend. You’d better not screw this one up.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “Good to hear it. Ciao.”

  Dan swung by Corktown, but there were no signs of life at the house. It was better that way, because whenever he dropped in he seemed to interrupt work for the duration of his visit. He checked his watch. Trevor had promised to cook tonight, but there was still time to pick up dessert. He got back in the car and headed south. In his search for a new home, he’d considered the nearby historic Distillery District but found it too chi-chi for his tastes. Corktown had the right balance of down-at-heels charm buried in a solid neighbourhood sensibility. The Distillery would serve as his neighbourhood market. Despite how it attracted the moneyed demimonde, with their insatiable appetites and imperious tastes, Dan loved its cobblestone walkways and stone buildings.

  The storm broke as he parked. Rain scattered the pedestrians, sluicing down the windows of bars and trendy cafés and the chocolate factory, forming a river along the cobblestone. Whatever Trevor had planned for supper, there was always room for chocolate. It gave Dan a warm feeling to buy him things, to show that he hardly stopped thinking about him all day long. He didn’t want to consider whether this was a healthy expression of love or a subliminal form of bribery or merely an infatuation bordering on obsession, but somehow Trevor was never far from his mind.

  Chocolate in hand, he made it back in time for dinner. A yeasty odour permeated the house with its warm-smelling goodness.

  “Do I smell bread?” he called out.

  “You do,” came the reply.

  “You were out working all day and you come home and bake?”

  Trevor grinned as he entered the kitchen. “You can thank my compulsive behaviour.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Dan said, “though I appreciate it.”

  “I can’t just sit around waiting for you to come home like some bored housewife.”

  Dan handed him the box of dessert. Trevor looked inside and beamed.

  “Mmmm … tarts. This will go nicely with what we’re having.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Trevor wrapped a dishtowel around his hands and removed a tray of rolls from the oven. He offered one to Dan.

  “Good day?” he asked.

  Dan pulled the roll open and savoured the steamy release of air.

  “Actually, yes. I finally talked to Donny and got the story about Lester. I’m not sure it’s anything to worry about.” He took a bite. “Mmmm! Apart from that, I mostly played hooky after meeting with the police. Unlike you, I haven’t done much of anything.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Dan took another bite. “These are fantastic.”

  “I do my best. So you were saying about the police? Did they ask more questions?”

  “They asked me to hand over my sources. I gather they were impressed that I was able to find Darryl Hillary so fast, even if I found him too late to save him.”

  Trevor set the tray down and turned off the oven. “And?”

  “I can’t do it. If I give them names, those people will never speak to me again and they certainly won’t help the police out. I went over to talk to one of my sources about it afterward, but I already knew the answer.

  It’s like asking someone to climb the Berlin Wall. It’s verboten with that set.”

  “Maybe it’s better that way. To leave you out of it, I mean …”

  The phone rang.

  “I’ll get it upstairs,” Dan said.

  “Dinner’s in forty-five minutes,” Trevor called after him in an admonitory tone. “So don’t go anywhere.”

  “Got it,” Dan said.

  He bounded up the stairs to his office. He grabbed the phone and listened to the deep voice asking for Dan Sharp. Gravel-tinged, enigmatic. Like its owner was used to keeping people guessing.

  “That’s me,” Dan replied.

  “You come highly recommended.”

  “That could mean a lot of things.”

  Dan heard a begrudging laugh.

  “Well, what it means at this moment is that I would like to hire you. If possible, I would very much like to meet with you to discuss my concerns.”

  Dan paused. Nothing further was forthcoming from the voice on the other end.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” Dan said. “Before we go any further, who am I speaking to?”

  There was a long pause. Dan thought for a moment the caller was considering giving him a false name. Finally, he spoke.

  “My name is Jags Rohmer.”

  Now it was Dan’s turn to be tongue-tied.

  “The Jags Rohmer?”

  Sarcasm crept into the voice. “How many do you know?”

  “Okay, I will meet you, Mr. Rohmer.”

  The voice turned coy. “Because I’m famous?”

  “No, because now I believe you’re serious.”

  “Good. May I come by in ten minutes?”

  Dan hesitated. “I’m free for another forty-five minutes. After that I’ve got a family commitment.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “Okay. My address is …”

  “I have your address. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  He hung up and sat back in his seat.

  Jags Rohmer was Canada’s answer to David Bowie,

  at least if you thought Canada couldn’t afford stars who weren’t copycats of somebody else. As far as Dan was concerned, Rohmer was a far more wide-ranging musician than the average pop star. He was a singer, songwriter, keyboard player, and performer on any number of obscure, indigenous instruments that gave his music its unusual tones. He’d emerged from the ruins of the punk scene in the late seventies. His career had been on the ascendant through the eighties, but he went silent in the mid-nineties, all but disappearing after that. A final, cryptic album emerged in the wake of 9/11, coming like a eulogy on the world and vanishing in the aftermath of the disaster. For many, it had seemed his epitaph. Most of his diehard fans hated it, but a few lauded it as a masterpiece of nuance and newfound maturity. They waited impatiently for more, but nothing had been forthcoming since. Many thought he’d died.

  And now he’d just been resurrected on the other end of the phone.

  Dan went downstairs where Ked had just returned from his mother’s.

  “Hey, Dad!”

  “Hey, sonny boy!”

  Ked gave him a funny look. “What is this? An episode of Father Knows Best?”

  Dan snorted. “Maybe. It sounds like something they ought to consider making a national holiday.”

  “Yeah, as if.”

  A few minutes later, Ked was helping Trevor set the table when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Ked yelled, as he dashed to the front door.

  They heard a mumbled conversation then Ked returned to the kitchen.

  Ked: “Dad, um, Jags Rohmer is at the door?”

  Dan: “Thanks, son. Please tell him I’ll be right there.”


  Ked: “Uh, yeah. I will.”

  He turned to Trevor. “Did you know about this?”

  Trevor shook his head.

  Ked took a big breath and headed for the hall. Before he reached it, he turned back and looked at Dan. “Is this for real?”

  “Yes, son.”

  “Whoa!” they heard him say as he rounded the corner and headed for the door.

  Dan’s first impression was how tall Jags Rohmer really was, though his presence defied logic and seemed to suggest he was even taller than his six foot three.

  “Come in,” Dan said.

  “Thanks, but …” Rohmer peered over Dan’s shoulder and waved at Trevor in the next room. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to conduct business in my car.”

  Dan looked at him blankly.

  “If that’s all right with you. Just a preference.”

  Dan shrugged. “Sure.” He turned to the dining room. “I won’t be long,” he called to Trevor, closing the door behind him.

  A Porsche Carrera GT was parked outside the house. Dan had only a hazy idea of the vehicle’s cost, but he was pretty sure it easily equalled the price of his new house.

  “Nice car,” Dan said. “But if you ever come back, park it around the side so my neighbours won’t start getting strange ideas.”

  Jags smirked. They got in the car.

  “Shall we take a little ride?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He turned the key and the car drifted away from the curb. Jags manoeuvred a corner and headed south. The car felt airborne as the towers of the city approached. The ride was smooth, like a razor on glass.

  “Do you know anything about Porsches, Dan?”

  “Not a lot. Other than that I will never be able to buy one. That’s all I need to know.”

  “Fair enough. Let me tell you a few facts then. Just because I like to do that.” Jags looked over at him and winked. “Manufactured in Germany, as you probably know, this car has a 5.7 litre V10 engine. Six-twelve horsepower.”

  “Sounds very impressive.”

  “It is. The Porsche people claim you can accelerate from zero to a hundred kilometres in less than four seconds, with a maximum speed of 330 kliks. Fast, huh?”

  “Scary fast,” Dan agreed.

  “Personally, I’ve never managed to get from zero to a hundred in less than eight seconds, give or take a few nanos. On the other hand, I’ve had it up to 340 kliks, going full-out on a deserted stretch of highway in Joshua Tree National Park.”

  The city drifted by, soundless, outside the windows. Dan waited for Jags to tell him the reason for his visit, but he concentrated on driving. Traffic was thinning. They drifted lazily from lane to lane. Jags kept a light foot. The car moved along effortlessly.

  “As I said on the phone, you come highly recommended.”

  “Glad to hear it. What exactly have I been recommended to do?”

  Jags looked over. “I want to hire you to look out for me.”

  Dan was puzzled. “To look out for you?”

  “Watch my ass and keep me out of trouble.”

  “I think you’ve been misinformed. That’s not my field. I find missing people.”

  “Yes, that’s what I was told. What I want is something more proactive. I want you to prevent me from going missing.”

  Dan laughed. “I’m not a hard-ass. I’m not trained to fight to prevent anyone from being kidnapped, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  Jags turned in his seat and made a face. “Ach, it doesn’t have to be so intense and noirish. Nothing sinister in the wings. Mostly I want a babysitter — someone to keep on his toes when I can’t. I don’t want a SWAT team. I just need someone to watch my back.”

  “Fair enough. Why?”

  “Among other reasons, I’ve got a book coming out.”

  Dan was perplexed. “Fiction?”

  “No. Memoirs. It’s a tell-all about my sordid little life.”

  “Are you expecting some trouble from disgruntled former band members?”

  Jags laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. Former whatevers, in fact. Girlfriends, wives, songwriting partners. Just … whatever. I need someone to watch my back right now.”

  Dan made a face.

  “C’mon,” Jags told him. “I’m not expecting trouble,

  but I’m sure you could take out a few guys at once,

  if you wanted to. You’re built like a prize-fighter. Me? I’m turning into the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

  “Mr. Rohmer …”

  “Jags.”

  “Jags, I’m sure it would be an honour to work for you, but …”

  “But what?”

  “But it’s not my thing.”

  “That’s no reason. Look, I’ll pay you triple whatever you charge.”

  They were on the ramp running directly over Corktown. Dan glanced off to the right. One of those adjoining roofs was his. He thought of his diminishing reserves and the mounting costs for the new home. From missing persons investigator to bodyguard. Maybe it was time to expand his skill set.

  Jags turned off at the bottom of the ramp, heading up to Queen Street and then east again. They were soon back on Dan’s street. The car turned right and slid into place in front of Dan’s house.

  Jags turned to regard him. He looked at his dash. “You said forty-five minutes. We’ve got ten minutes left. So what do you think?”

  “Jags, I don’t think so …”

  Dan reached for the door handle. Jags snapped the lock down.

  “Do I have to kidnap you?”

  “That won’t help.” Something occurred to Dan. “You were at the police station today.”

  “Right. And you were at the elevator when I got off on the third floor. Green striped V-neck T-shirt and jeans.

  With the older man in the checked shirt and beige pants.”

  “Good recall,” Dan said. “Is that where you got my name?”

  Jags nodded. “I met with some police officers there. A dumpy one and a short one who thinks he’s Cock of the Walk.”

  An image of Detective Danes and Constable Pfeiffer came to Dan’s mind. “Yeah, I think I know the ones you mean.”

  “They recommended you to me. The older guy told them you were cool.”

  Dan wondered what Ed had said to Detective Danes and Constable Pfeiffer to make them recommend him.

  “Did they tell you my last client was murdered?”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “I never joke.”

  “I like you even better then. Did your last client hire you to be his bodyguard?”

  “No. I never met him. His sister hired me to find him. He disappeared a few days before I found him. I got there too late.”

  “That’s different. Not your fault.”

  Dan sized him up. “Did they tell you I was gay?”

  “I don’t mind queers.”

  Dan held up a warning finger. “I can use that word. You can’t.”

  Jags’ mouth twitched into a smile. “Ooh, discrimination.”

  “You betcha. That’s our word now.”

  “Better tell the boys at Metro HQ. I don’t think they got the memo.”

  Dan smiled. “I hear you.”

  He looked off across the street at a couple passing by with a baby in a stroller. How had his life become so different from everyone else’s?

  Jags placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Look, Dan —

  I checked you out. You come highly recommended from a number of sources, not just the cops. Plus I like you — you talk straight. Well, for a gay guy.” He smiled again. “I’d trust you before I’d trust one of those muscle-bound lunks you meet at the gym and whatnot.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Sure it is.” Jags seemed to be running out of arguments. “Look, do you have anything pressing at the moment? Apart from your murdered client, I mean.”

  Dan inclined his head. “Actually, no.”

  “Then why not try it for a week?
It won’t be an everyday thing. Every other day, at best. Mostly when I do public appearances.”

  He released the lock and waited.

  Dan’s hand moved to the handle. He turned to Jags. “Okay. I’ll try it.”

  “Good. Any questions?”

  “Just one. Where’d you get your name?”

  Jags smiled. “I’m very fond of cars, as you can see. By the time my first record came out, I’d already smashed up three Jaguars.”

  “Ouch. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That’s a very cool car.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Dan got out of the car. It turned sleekly and drove off with a whoosh! leaving him standing on the sidewalk outside his home.

  Ten

  Fame

  Trevor and Ked were in the living room when Dan entered. They reminded him of a pair of devious teenagers who minutes before had been smoking and playing cards, but were now trying to simulate innocence while noxious fumes hung in the air.

  “Well?” Trevor ventured.

  “I’ve got Jags Rohmer as a client,” he told them.

  “Dad, that’s so cool!” Ked exclaimed.

  “But you’re not to tell anyone,” Dan quickly added.

  “What? No fair!”

  “You heard me. This is a confidential arrangement. You can talk about it when the job is done.”

  Ked glowered. “Then why did you have to tell me now?”

  “Because I need to keep you in the loop. It’s going to change a few things around here. And by the way, your dog needs walking. He told me so at the door when I came in.”

  Ked rolled his eyes then stomped out of the room.

  “Congratulations, I guess?” Trevor said.

  Dan shrugged. “I took the job because I need the money, not because he’s famous.”

  “Good money?”

  “Very good.” He stopped to consider. “And I think I might like the guy.”

  “That’s always a plus. So what will you be doing for him? Did he lose someone?”

  Dan looked at him. “Actually, no. He didn’t lose anyone. He needs a bodyguard so he doesn’t lose himself.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Since when are you a bodyguard?”

  “Since today. Are you shocked?”

  Trevor hesitated. “A little, I guess. What brought this on? For him, I mean.”

  “His autobiography is coming out and he wants back-up for his public appearances. And I need the cash flow right now.”