Make that used to be employed.
The death of Caseman probably wouldn’t turn out to be much of a mystery. No doubt he’d insulted someone’s girlfriend, gotten himself into a brawl with a guy who didn’t intend to forgive and forget, or invited a buddy back home for a beer and found himself on the losing side of an argument.
If not for the disappearance of Matt Keller, who had called for help, it would be a simple matter of finding some guy wiping down his knife blade or bragging around town that no one messed with him.
It was too soon for much forensic evidence to have been entered into the file. Nothing on blood types found at the scene, other than Caseman’s. No fingerprint reports yet, which probably wouldn’t mean anything significant in any event. Matt Keller lived there, along with Caseman and two others, according to interviews with the neighbors, and it sounded like the sort of place people dossed down when they’d been kicked out of their own apartments or were passing through town.
The knife used had been left beside the body. It appeared to be a standard kitchen knife, covered in plenty of prints, and forensics was running computer searches for matches. Winters checked, but the report didn’t say if the knife matched others in the apartment. The officer in charge of the investigation was a sergeant by the name of Edward Blechta. Winters had never run into him. He hoped the guy had enough empathy to cut Paul Keller some slack.
“Yeah?” Keller said, answering Winters’ call.
Winters outlined what he’d found. Keller grunted in acknowledgement.
“Caseman sounds like a piece of work,” Winters said. “Trouble looking for a place to happen.”
“I had the pleasure,” Keller said. “And it wasn’t.”
“Your son’s been staying out of trouble for the past year.”
“Smartening up, maybe.”
“Any sign of him?”
“No. And that isn’t good. His phone, the one he used to call me, was found in the apartment. Our hotel was the last number called. Two incoming calls since, messages left. The ringer was off, and the phone under a table, so we didn’t hear anything. When we returned the call, it went straight to voice mail. No name, a standard message. Blechta’s trying to track the caller down as well as get the phone company to let us into Matt’s voice mail box.”
“Might be significant if someone tried to get Matt and isn’t picking up now.”
“True. But cell phones can be unreliable in the mountains.”
“As well I know.”
The background chatter faded, and Winters guessed Keller had sought some privacy.
“You ever heard of this guy, Eddie Blechta?”
“No.”
“See what you can find, will you, John? I want to know what sort of cop I’m dealing with here.”
“Will do.” Winters looked up at a knock on his door. Jim Denton, the dispatcher. He mouthed, a call.
“It’ll have to wait, Paul. Looks like I’ve got work to do.”
“When you can get to it.”
“We’ve got your back here if you need anything.”
“Thanks, John.” The chief’s voice broke. “I appreciate it.”
“Trouble at the Grizzly Resort site,” Denton said. “A couple of carloads of protesters have arrived.”
“That’s not our call. The location’s out of town. Do the horsemen need help?”
“No, but another bunch is heading our way. There’s a matching demonstration forming in front of the offices on Front Street. Armed with protest signs and bullhorns.”
Winters swore under his breath as he reached for his jacket.
Chapter Twenty-three
LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER RESTAURANT. BANFF, ALBERTA. SUNDAY NOON.
The Lighthouse Keeper was almost full when Lucky Smith entered. A woman called out, “Be with you in a sec,” as she crossed the room carrying plates piled high with pancakes and sausages, eggs and potatoes and toast. The place was warm and redolent with damp wool drying, strong coffee, and hearty, greasy breakfasts.
“Table for one?” the waitress asked, reaching for a menu. She was about Lucky’s age with a worn face and wary eyes and an inch of gray roots in too-black hair twisted into a rough bun.
“I’m looking for Tracey. Is she around?”
“I’ll get her.”
The waitress went through to the kitchen and Tracey came out almost immediately, carrying a coffeepot. She headed for a table, poured refills, asked if everything was okay. Only when her duties were finished did she approach Lucky.
“Mrs. Smith? Thanks for coming.”
“Can you talk? You’re busy, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Kev said it’s okay if I take my break now.” By the look on the older waitress’ face, it was not okay with her but she said nothing. The door opened, and a group of four came in with a wave of cold, damp air. Lucky and Tracey slid past them onto the street.
“You’re going to freeze.” Lucky nodded to the girl’s t-shirt, black, long-sleeved, with a picture of a lighthouse on a rocky point facing an incoming storm printed on the front.
“I’m okay.” Tracey dug in the pocket of her baggy pants and came up with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Without asking permission, she lit up. She shifted from one foot to another, and glanced up and down the street while she sucked smoke into her lungs. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick.
“Why the lighthouse motif?” Lucky asked, trying to take some of the tension out of the air.
“Huh?”
“In the restaurant? It’s all about lighthouses and fishing villages. We’re a long way from the ocean. Everything else around here is about mountains.”
“Oh. Kev, the owner, he’s from Newfoundland. Hasn’t been back since he was a kid, says he has nothing to go back for. I think he misses the sea sometimes.” She was smoking rapidly, barely exhaling one puff before dragging in the next.
“How long have you worked here?” Lucky asked. She had no desire to engage in small talk, but this nervous girl seemed to need time to gather her courage to say what she needed to say.
“Two months. It’s okay, I guess. I’d like to get better hours, though. I work at a car rental place in the evenings.” The streets were busy with cars and the sidewalk with pedestrians. The women moved away from the restaurant doorway as two men came out and a couple went in.
“How long have you and Matt been together?”
“Two months. We met right after I got to Banff. I hate it here. I wish we could go someplace else, but Matt has a job at Sunshine lined up for when the season starts.” Nothing was left of her cigarette but the filter. Tracey threw it to the ground and crushed it under her foot. Her running shoes were heavily scuffed, the laces shredding at the edges.
“Matt?” Lucky said.
The girl’s wide brown eyes filled with tears. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” Lucky assumed Paul would not want her telling Tracey that Matt had called his father, asking for help. The police, he’d once told her, exchanged information in one direction only. Lucky wasn’t with the police, and she was free to say whatever she liked, but she decided to wait and see what she could learn. “What do you know about what happened, Tracey?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. And now my damn battery’s died. He knows I’m working this morning. He can call me at the restaurant if he wants. I hope…I don’t know what I hope.”
“Do you have any idea where Matt might have gone?”
Tracey shook her head.
“A friend’s place?”
“Maybe, but I can’t think who. Matt doesn’t have many friends other than Barry and Tom and Alistair, the guys he lives with.” Tracey chewed at a hangnail on her thumb. It came away with a spurt of blood. “He might…”
Lucky waited. The girl sucked at the beads of blood. “Might…”
Her voice was low. She watched cars driving past. “Might have gone to a hotel with a girl, when he got off work last night. Girls on holiday, wit
h money to spend, they hang around the wine bar some nights.” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Does he go with them often?”
Tracey shook her head. She lit the fresh cigarette with trembling hands. “No. I don’t know! I don’t know what he does. They’re so much prettier than me. They’ve got loads of money, are looking for a good time. Why wouldn’t he?” She started to cry. “Look, I’m sorry I called you. That’s probably what happened. He’s shacked up with some rich bitch and doesn’t even know Barry’s dead.”
Lucky looked at the tear-streaked face, and debated what to say. Matt had not gone with a woman last night. He’d come home, probably as soon as he got off work, found his roommate dead, phoned his father. And then he disappeared. She reached out and touched the girl’s arm. Startled, Tracey turned and looked at her through eyes red and wet, full of disappointment and sorrow. Lucky gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
“Matt phoned his father last night before three. From the apartment.”
“He did?”
“Yes. That’s all I can tell you. When we arrived he was gone.”
Tracey wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“He didn’t pick up a woman at the bar, and he did go straight home. So where might he be now? Think Tracey.”
“Hey, Trace!” The older waitress stood in the open restaurant door. Warm air and the scent of frying bacon and plenty of grease swirled around her. “You gonna be all day? I need help in here.”
“Back in a minute.” The second cigarette joined the first on the wet sidewalk.
“One minute. Or I’m complaining to Kev. I can’t work this whole place by myself.”
“I have to go,” Tracey said. “Kev’s okay, but he doesn’t like slacking off.”
“You’re hardly slacking off.”
“Whatever. I missed the start of shift going around to Matt’s place.”
Lucky pulled a pen and notebook out of her purse. She ripped a piece of paper out of the book and scribbled on it. “Here’s my cell number. Call me if you think of anything. Please. Even if you only want to talk.”
Tracey took the offering, and turned it over in her hands. “Matt does a lot of hiking and camping. He likes to go into the backcountry by himself, sometimes for days at a time. If he needed to get away for a while, he might have done that.”
“If you hear anything from him, please let me know. Tell him his father is very worried.”
“I will. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Smith.”
Lucky watched as Tracey slipped back into the restaurant. A cold drizzle had started to fall as they stood on the sidewalk talking. Lucky was wrapped in her raincoat, but the girl wore nothing but her restaurant uniform. She seemed to love Matt Keller, perhaps a good deal more than he loved her. Poor thing.
But Lucky wasn’t here to interfere with anyone’s romantic relationships. She flipped her phone open and called Paul. He answered immediately.
“Anything?” she asked.
“No. Hold on a sec.”
She waited. The mountains surrounding the town had been swallowed by low-hanging clouds. The rain was picking up and pedestrians scurried for cover.
“Okay,” Paul said. “I wanted to go some place private. I’m now in the men’s room. They’ve put a BOLO out on Matt. I told them he called me precisely because he didn’t kill that man, but they’re, shall we say, keeping their options open.”
“Any other suspects?”
“No one in particular, but this Caseman guy was a real lowlife. I doubt finding suspects will be a problem.”
Lucky laughed without mirth. “Good thing I was with you last night. I might have considered doing some damage to him myself. Have you tried phoning Matt?” Stupid thing to say. As if that wouldn’t have occurred to the police. But Paul answered her question anyway.
“His phone was left in the apartment. His car’s parked outside on the street.”
“I might be able to help. I’ve had a chat with Tracey.”
“Who the hell’s Tracey?”
“Matt’s girlfriend, apparently. At least she thinks she is, although I got the impression she’s not very secure in the relationship.”
“Lucky…”
“Sorry. She’s a waitress at the restaurant. The one where we ran into Matt yesterday. She called me earlier, called you, actually, at the hotel, looking for Matt. She’s been calling him, but he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know where he is, but she says he’s a keen backcountry camper. Goes into the wilderness by himself when he needs some down time. I thought…I thought that might be a possibility.”
“I swear, Lucky, you can get more out of people in a casual conversation than any officer in the interrogation room. They’ve been trying to get ahold of someone who phoned Matt this morning, but they’re not answering, and the phone company hasn’t come back yet with a name or address.”
“Her phone battery died. I get the feeling she’s not too well organized at the best of times.”
Paul chuckled. “Trust Lucky. Where’s this girl now?”
“At the Lighthouse Keeper.”
“Okay. Officers will be there shortly. It might be nice if you happen to be hanging around, if you think this Tracey trusts you.”
“Is it important, do you think, about the camping?”
“It might well be, my love. It might well be.”
Chapter Twenty-four
HIGHWAY OUTSIDE INVERMERE, BRITISH COLUMBIA. SUNDAY AFTERNOON.
Smith pulled over at a rest stop to let Sylvester have a break. The dog ran about, head down, nose twitching, searching for exactly the right spot, while she made a call. So far the drive had been easy. The road on the mountain pass between Salmo and Creston had been recently groomed and cleared of snow, visibility was good, traffic light. The weather was supposed to stay dry for the remainder of the day until she crossed the Yoho Pass into Alberta.
“I’m outside Invermere, Mom, and thought I’d check in. I should be there in another two hours or so, all going well. Any updates?”
“A few, although no sign of Matt. Acting on a tip that Matt’s a keen wilderness hiker, the police had one of his roommates check his things. He says some of Matt’s camping and hiking equipment might be gone.”
“They think he’s gone into the wilderness, then?”
“Looks like that’s a possibility. The roommate couldn’t be sure. He said he hadn’t been in Matt’s room for weeks, and it’s possible Matt sold some of his stuff. He was always short of money. They all are while waiting for ski season to begin. Paul was relieved to hear it. If Matt had time to get his things…”
“Then he wasn’t coerced into leaving. What did this roommate have to say about the death? Was he there?”
“His name’s Alistair and he’s a musician of some sort. He played at a bar last night and the band members went to someone’s place after closing for a few drinks and to hang out. He came home to find the police crawling all over his apartment. The other roommate says he spent his night at a girlfriend’s.”
“All possible, Mom. How’s the chief doing?”
“The Mounties are letting him tag along, although they’re not telling him much. As long as Paul’s kept in the loop, and kept busy, he’ll be okay.”
“And you, Mom? How are you?”
“I’m fine, Moonlight. I’m dreadfully worried about Paul, but I don’t have a personal involvement in this. I’ve only met Matt once since he was a child and it wasn’t a very promising encounter. I’m glad you’re coming, dear. If I have to support Paul…”
“You need someone to support you. See you in a couple of hours. I’ll call as I’m coming into town and you can tell me where to meet you. Oh, I’ll need someplace to stay. Is town very busy, are there likely to be any motel rooms free?”
“I’ll check you into the Banff Springs.”
Smith sputtered. “I can’t afford to stay there.”
“My treat. I’m heading bac
k to the hotel now. There doesn’t seem to be much more I can do.” Lucky let out a long sigh. “I just want this to be over.”
“I know, Mom. I know.”
“Bye, dear.”
Under Cold Stone: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Novels) Page 9
