A Lesson in Love and Murder

by Rachel McMillan

  Benny nodded “He was always larger than life.” His palm had a mind of its own as it reached up and cupped her cheek. At first the tingled touch resulted in her soft retreat, but then she settled and his hand rested there. “Like you,” he said.

  Merinda smiled and didn’t back away. “Like you.”

  * * *

  *Well, as much as they could blend in with red faces and soot all over their hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In all matrimonial endeavors, a woman must not expect to be comforted, but rather to provide comfort. A wife’s delicate nature is conditioned to console and put at ease. Whatever worry or hurt nags you, it must take second place to the plight of your husband.

  Flora Merriweather, Guide to Domestic Bliss

  Ray’s fist was balled by his side, his knuckles white, squeezing away the reflexes that had sent Tony to his death. The friction between his two worlds was extreme, and while Viola kept branding herself on his mind, here was Jem, his Jem, shivering and terrified. His whole new family, unexpected and probably undeserved, seen through a film of tears.

  She was slumped against a wall, shivering and hiccuping away her sobs. Ray walked slowly toward her. He wasn’t needed for the moment; Jasper was handling the police matters with his usual aplomb.

  Ray leaned down, took a damp strand of hair that tickled her face, and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyes glistened with relief.

  His ear popped and crackled. His whole body felt out of balance as he lowered himself beside her. He didn’t reach for her at first but rather let their shoulders brush. After a moment in which they both dazedly stared ahead, seeing nothing, she lay her head on his shoulder, her nose colliding with his collarbone. He stole his arm around her trembling shoulders and pulled her in so tightly he wasn’t sure where he ended and she began. He tucked her head with its hatless, haphazard curls under his chin, and he put off breaking Viola’s heart for a few moments longer.

  Several moments later, much calmer, she lifted her head and looked straight at him in the filmy sunlight. “It’s my fault. A-about Tony.”

  Ray shook his head. “No, it’s mine,” he said hollowly.

  “You saved Jasper.” She gripped his arm.

  “I know.”

  “And I know if we turned back the clock, you would make the same choice.”

  “I wanted him gone so badly. Selfishly. And I feel guilty about that. I wanted to have a life with you. Our life, Jem. Our family. And we could never have that. Not with him dragging Vi around everywhere and treating her so poorly.”

  “We will have our life.”

  “Your eyes,” he said, pushing away the inevitable a few moments more, “they’re so big. Jem, you undo me when you look up at me like that.”

  She coyly said in her rusty, tired voice, “You think my eyes are beautiful.”

  “I think all of you is beautiful.” He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. He wanted to kiss her so deeply that they forgot the world they knew was crumbling around them. He wanted to kiss her so tightly he forgot the world entirely, but his hand was still shaking and a phantom stain was there.

  Jasper followed Merinda into her suite. Half-open cases were strewn about the room with socks, garters, and all manner of clothing, feminine and masculine, spilling out.

  The dissonance she had felt between them since that day outside Osgoode Hall and Jones’s death had apparently evaporated, that curtain pulled back and their easy camaraderie in place.

  “Ray chose me,” he said, and his voice was hollow as if he were standing outside of himself looking back. “And I am not sure I can ever repay that.”

  Merinda coughed uncomfortably, bounding on with her own story, having experienced a sacrifice of her own. “Benny wanted to bring Jonathan in for justice.” She looked up at Jasper. “But he didn’t have the jurisdiction to arrest a man outside of Canada, and Benny always follows the rules, doesn’t he?” She laughed sourly. “And he thought he could come here and there would be another ending?”

  “There could have been,” Jasper said with his customary optimism, but then his sad eyes met Merinda’s and lingered there awhile.

  Merinda rubbed her eyes and yawned. Home was a promise she couldn’t wait to have realized. “Did anyone ever learn the identity of the corpse DeLuca found at the docks?”

  Jasper shook his head sadly. “The price of this business, Merinda. More likely than not he was some poor immigrant from Toronto promised a chance at doing something great. Maybe he got on the wrong side; maybe they worried he would let the truth slip.” Jasper’s eyes flittered up and out the window at the grand city surrounding them. “There are too many other people. Important people. With money and names and influence. And men like that corpse are anonymous. They’re swallowed up by all of this.” Jasper shook his head. “I doubt anyone will ever notice he’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Every life is valuable.”

  Jasper looked up. Their eyes locked. “Yes. Yes, I believe that too.” He smiled. “Merinda, I wish that Tipton and the police saw everyone as valuable. That there weren’t tiers: layers where some are valuable because of status or situation and others commodities and others just the result of collateral damage. It can save lives when we take time to look at one person and not just see him as the bottom rung. Men like David Ross… if they felt valued. If they had been shown compassion and worth, we wouldn’t be standing here mourning what has been.”

  “We do what we can, Jasper.” Merinda exhaled, spread her arms. “And how wonderful that we are on the same side.”

  For Toronto was not far from them. Even now. All that they had seen in this strange new city still took them back home. Merinda knew that the greatest fight of her life would see her pitted against the very infrastructure of the city she loved. Her home. It made her tick. It made her strong. How could it feed such dissension with tentacles that stretched beyond the boundaries of its own corruption?

  Jasper was thoughtfully nodding and smiling and then nodding again. This time with a dash more exuberance. “And there are others who want to protect this. That want to see our city as an open door for everyone. Every life as something special and to be treasured.”

  “You’re on the brink of something aren’t you?” Merinda gave a slow, Cheshire cat grin.

  Amid the half-packed suitcases and in the middle of the grandest hotel room Jasper Forth would ever set foot in, he had an epiphany that was destined to change the course of their lives forever.* “Of a discovery. Like a great old explorer you read about in history books. Like, like Cartier!”

  Merinda chuckled. “Well aye, aye then, Cartier!” She looped her arm with his and they stared at a horizon that was not sea melded with sky, rather ornate wallpaper and polished gold wall sconces. “Let’s change our world!”

  Jem begged to go with him, but Ray told her she had been through enough for one day and he didn’t want her upset. He took the last of the money Hedgehog had given him and used it to put Jemima in a cab back to the Palmer House. His conscience nicked at him. Dirty money from a dirty cause and even dirtier greed. Greed that saw two men dead. Dead for no reason.

  Ray knew Viola would be waiting. Waiting for word. That she’d keep checking the clock and chewing her fingernails and hoping. That she’d wring her lovely hands and take a moment to ensure that Luca hadn’t roused in his sleep.

  She’d rub each bead on her rosary again and again. Maybe look to an old photograph of their mother with a rueful smile. Say several prayers.

  Ray couldn’t keep his hand from shaking. He shoved it deep in his pocket to no avail. Then he clenched it and unclenched it. The first streaks of sunset ribboned the sky as he slowly took the last weighty steps to Viola’s door.

  He knew he looked terrible: ashen face, bloodstained trousers, matted hair, bleary eyes. But he was tired. And numb somehow. He walked through to her small kitchen table.

  “Is he in jail then? Is he? How long, Ray, how long?” Viola’s hands were clenched
so tightly her knuckles were white.

  “Sit down, Vi,” he said softly.

  She shook her head, paced some more. “No. I can’t. Not until I know.” She looked him over, and then she knelt in front of him. “You’re hurt. Ray, what is this?” She felt at a stain on his shirt he hadn’t noticed. “Is this blood?”

  Ray nodded. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Tears pricked at them, and the room, already stifling and small, smothered him even more.

  “I was too late. When I got there, Tony had already murdered a man, Viola.”

  Viola shook her head. “N-no. It can’t be. Tony doesn’t kill. Tony… ”

  “But he did, Viola. He killed a man. For money. Then… ”

  “You come here to tell me that they will hang him!” She went from kneeling to sitting on the floor. “Ray, you… ”

  “No. It’s too late for that.” Ray’s voice was dead as he watched her heart break in her eyes.

  “Y-you mean… ”

  Ray couldn’t look directly at her, so he focused on a crack in the wall just above her shoulder. Focused, even though his eyes kept drifting back to the ribbon at the end of her carefully tied braid. Yet one more token of home. A gift from Nona.

  His first instinct was to lie. For her. He could still protect her then. Still be the person she turned to. He could coax her back to Toronto and take care of Luca and provide for her. The moment the truth slipped out, she would build a wall he might never be able to break. He would do it for her. Just one lie. One she might easily believe. Or he could change the story. Make it about Jem. Tony was going to kill Jem and… She would understand then. She often chided him on how he did not know what it was like to love. He could explain it to her. Easily. Instead…

  “Tony had a knife to Jasper Forth’s neck, and I shot him.” He startled the tears from her and she sat stagnant, unmoving. “I killed him, Viola. It was me.” He slowly took his hand out of his pocket. It didn’t tremble anymore. It fell onto his lap limply, Tony’s blood still on it. “I pulled the trigger of his gun and fired.”

  Viola fell back, horrified. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, Viola.”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “And leave you here? With Luca? You have no one to support you, Viola. I hate that I… what happened, but you have to let me make this right for you.”

  “You will never see me again. Or Luca.”

  Ray reached into his pocket. “I will send you money, Vi. You’re hurt. You have every right. But you’ll see that… ”

  She shoved the handful of bills away. “I would rather starve than take money from you. Be turned on the street. I will take nothing from you. You murdered my husband. You murdered your friend. You’re a murderer.”

  Ray flinched. The words came slowly. “Viola, I know it’s hard for you to forgive what I… ”

  “Forgive? I will never forgive you. Never. Nothing Tony ever did or could have done to me could ever hurt me as much as you have now. You will never see me or Luca again.” She slowly rose. “Please leave my home.”

  “Viola… ”

  “Get out!” she screamed, flinging her hand in the direction of the door.

  At her raised voice, a rustle could be heard beyond the flimsy partition separating the living spaces. Viola didn’t seem to care.

  “I will not just leave you, Viola.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to him and finally was able to look into her sorrowful eyes through the tears in his own. “I am all you have. You are my family. Be angry with me! But let me help you. I will not be able to live with myself if you are here starving. If Luca is here starving… ”

  “And yet you can live with the fact that you killed a man?”

  “Viola, we need each other. Please.”

  “No. I don’t need you. I needed him. I needed a husband. Luca needed a father. You have taken away everything I needed. And nothing you can offer me will ever replace that.”

  “We are family, Vi… ”

  “I have a family. I have Luca.” She pointed toward the door again. “I have no brother. Leave my house.”

  * * *

  *About which much more anon, in another story.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The law is our central force. But it does not account for men acting upon their conscience. In these instances, empathy and the promise of a fair trial are as integral to your duty as the capture and imprisonment of a suspect.

  Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson, Guide to the Canadian Wilderness

  As they screeched into Toronto, Jasper wondered if the events of the last few days had all been something he dreamed. Things had happened so quickly. Reporters had found him out, and he answered them in perfunctory sentences and gave Merinda credit. She’d be the talk of Toronto, he was sure. Stopping an assassination attempt on the president, with a Mountie at that. That should help her detective business greatly. Ray had his own stories too. He hadn’t said two words to anyone on the journey home. Instead, he sat with knees folded to his chest scribbling in his notebook. He didn’t even look up at Jem, who spent the whole of the trip staring out the window, absentmindedly fingering the bandage at the back of her head.

  Benny and Merinda spoke in whispered tones on a seat across the aisle. Sharing something Jasper would never be a part of. An experience he would never hope to understand.

  Finally, after a painfully long night, the conductor called Toronto and they screeched into Union Station. Jasper watched Benny Citrone hoist his pack up on his shoulder and ask an attendant for the telephone.

  “Citrone, come with me. Don’t pay those exorbitant fees. I’ll let you use the one at the station. I have paperwork to do anyway.” He smiled. “And a lot of explaining to do to Chief Tipton.”

  Benny followed him with a grin.

  “I am terribly sorry about Jonathan,” Jasper said as the taxi swerved in front of the station house. “This entire adventure hit too close to home for everyone.”

  “I know Jonathan was sad about the death of that young Officer Jones,” Benny said in return as Jasper led him up the stairs to the station house. They stalled a moment. “You know that Jones died in the line of duty.”

  “I do know that.” Jasper cleared his throat.

  “And we are men of the law. An honor of and commitment to our duty is the grandest thing we have.”

  Jasper smiled sadly, turning the doorknob and leading Benny past quizzical eyes and the commotion of the day to his corner office. Once they were inside, he motioned for Benny to sit and asked if he should have a young officer bring tea. Benny shook his head.

  “Two men have died because of me,” Jasper said. “First Jones and then Tony Valari.” Jasper ran a hand over his tired, ashen face. “I am not sure how to live with that kind of choice on my behalf.”

  “In that much we are the same, Jasper Forth.”

  Jasper rose, smiled at Benny, and extended his hand. “It was a sincere pleasure, Citrone.”

  “And you as well, Detective Constable Forth.”

  Jasper turned once more, with two fingers to his forehead in a slight salute, before leaving the office in pursuit of Chief Tipton.

  The first voice Benny heard after he dialed the Regina detachment’s exchange number was his superior’s secretary. A moment later and he was speaking to the staff sergeant himself.

  “Citrone!” the man’s voice was gruff but kind, Benny thought. “Rotten business about your cousin.”

  “He saved my life, sir. He was still the Jonathan we knew; he just chose a different path, and… ”

  “Enough. It does not do to dwell on his weakness. Rather, we should remember his strength. He was a singular person, Citrone. He did a great deed by ensuring you were able to come back to us.”

  Benny felt an anvil lift from his chest.

  “How’s your kit looking?” The staff sergeant had a one-track mind.

  “I will be presentable,” Benny said, not knowing quite how he would be, but determined nonet
heless. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, sir.”

  “Fort Glenbow eagerly awaits your return. But perhaps you would do us the kindness of traversing there via Regina? You can see to the rest of your cousin’s effects, and I can commend you for upholding our good name even as you pursued American anarchists without jurisdiction.”

  Benny couldn’t hide the smile in his voice. “Yes, sir. But, sir… ”

  “Yes?”

  Benny envisioned the farm. His mother. His aunt. A chance at reconciliation and to tell them about Jonathan. To let them know the truth beyond any press or stories. Jonathan: a hero. “First, I want to go home.”

  The matron at the Empire was delighted to see Benny and told him his room was still available, thanking him for the small tip he had left her and reminding him it wasn’t needed. Benny assured her he was delighted anyone took the time to take care of him. In any way—big or small.

  He took the picture of Jonathan and returned it to the cracked mirror. He moved to the rickety, slanted table by the window and laid out his notebooks and papers. He placed a little wire carefully tied in a Turkish knot that rivaled the staff sergeant’s own lanyard.

  He asked the matron if she had an iron he might use. With a smile, his wish was granted. He set about laying out his summer kit, full regalia, on his bed. It was in a poorer state than he realized, but he saw it delicately smoothed and brushed.

  He wiped his hands on his tweed pants and sat back. Then his eyes caught a slight slip of paper on the floor, peeking out from under the bed.

  He opened it and a fist sunk into his chest. Jonathan’s writing.

  An addendum to Benfield Citrone and Jonathan Arnasson’s Guide to the Canadian Wilderness.

  The Canadian wilderness is perhaps an example of the greatest earth you will ever find. You walk through paths unsure if anyone has ever set foot there before. Perhaps you are experiencing the tang of the pine and the sun sluicing through the branches for the first time.