“And you continued to socialize with him?”
“No, I didn’t. My father died quite suddenly, and we moved from Sydney very shortly afterwards. Of course, the rumours were upsetting, so I kept to myself. I didn’t really have any occasion to see him after that time.” I opened my mouth, but she interrupted me. “But I would have had time for Jimmy. You can believe that.”
The funny thing was, I did believe it.
“One more question,” I said. “If you didn’t complain to the police about Jimmy, who did?”
Honey looked like she’d been smacked with a solid right hook. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go now.” She stood up, tossed a twenty onto the table and headed off across the cobbled courtyard at a brisk clip. I figured that was the end of what might have been a beautiful friendship. And I knew I’d hit paydirt.
Twenty-Three
The meeting with Honey Redmore hadn’t used up the hour I’d allotted to it, so now I had time on my hands before I was to meet P. J. I had the Buick, and I was close enough to Elgin Street to strafe Mombourquette to see if he’d learned anything about the fire in Alvin’s building. You always have to sneak up on Mombourquette, or he disappears into some dark recess with a flash of the tail.
Of course, it was a Saturday in July, and anyone with a life wouldn’t have been at their desk. I was betting Mombourquette didn’t have a life. Particularly with his partner on three weeks leave.
Amazingly, the cheerful wave to the desk Sergeant outside Criminal Investigations got me a nod. “Must be a party going on.”
I couldn’t imagine that. I stuck my head into Mombourquette’s office, anticipating that he would recoil as usual. I did the recoiling.
“How ya doing?” Ray Deveau said.
My mouth hung open.
Mombourquette said, “Close your mouth, it’s bad enough you smell like a brewery.”
“Lennie said you might drop in. Good to see you.” Deveau got to his feet and shook my hand warmly. Words failed me.
“Gracious as always,” Mombourquette said.
“I’m surprised,” I managed.
“Looking for Jimmy Ferguson. It’s my case. Time’s running out. And now we know it’s more than a runaway situation.”
“Doing his job. Without any help from you,” Mombourquette said.
“Actually, Camilla was great. Always one step ahead. Made a big difference to us. Opened up quite a few possibilities.”
“Really? How many laws did she break in the process?”
Deveau gave that big, booming laugh. “We lost count, but back home we’re not as tight-assed about that stuff as you Mainlanders.”
“Yeah, right. What do you want, Camilla? We’re about to leave.”
Deveau grinned. “We’re heading out for a bite to eat, and maybe a drink. You want to join us?”
“She’s busy,” Mombourquette said.
Lucky me, I found my voice at that point. “Love to paint the town red with you guys, but, sadly, I have a date.”
Deveau’s grin faded. “That’s too bad.”
“Especially for the date,” Mombourquette said.
“I want to talk about the fire at Alvin’s place. Who’s the point person on the Ottawa force for the Jimmy Ferguson case? I know it isn’t you, Lennie, but I figure you can get the information to the right desk.”
“Have you found out something?” Deveau said.
“Why can’t you be more like your civilized cousin?” I asked Mombourquette.
Mombourquette flashed his incisors. “Get to the point, if you have one.”
“I’d like to know if you’ve heard from the Hull guy whether that big fire on St. Joseph was arson. That was Alvin’s place, and Jimmy Ferguson was in the building the night of the fire.”
“You’re kidding.”
Mombourquette turned a paler shade of grey. “We weren’t aware of that. There weren’t any fatalities.”
“Just lucky, I guess. Have you seen the place? Nothing left. A charred hole in the ground. Neighbours saw Jimmy running away from the building. So, at least, we know he was alive after the fire.”
Deveau said, “I knew I could count on you. Do you have names of people who might have seen Jimmy?”
“I gave them to Alvin. He’s staying at Mrs. Parnell’s.” I wrote down the number. “I think they’re all French-speaking.”
“And me stuck with a name like Deveau.Quel dommage. How will I cope?” Always chuckling, that man. I wondered if all that good humour would get on your nerves after a while. “You want to give me your number?” he said. “I might need to check in and share information.”
“Sure,” I said. I wrote my cell number and home number on the back of my card and handed it to Deveau. I enjoyed the expression on Mombourquette’s face. “I’d better get yours too, Ray. I’m heading for Bluesfest tonight. Alvin thinks that might be a place Jimmy would go.”
“I’ll call you. I’m staying at Lennie’s.”
I was proud of myself. I didn’t say a word about tails, whiskers or holes in the wall.
• • •
Even the threat of rain doesn’t dampen the spirits of a crowd at an outdoor festival. Great if you feel like fun. I didn’t expect to keep Jimmy out of my mind long enough to enjoy the shows fully. Particularly with P. J.’s mood.
“Okay, you can stop fussing. I’m here now.” I followed P. J. through the special Clubhouse entrance and onto the Bluesfest Grounds.
“I can’t get over it. You missed Blue Rodeo last night and all the afternoon stuff today.”
“Cool it, P. J. Remember, you never heard of any of these people before. You like alternative rock, remember? If it’s too big for the garage, you lose interest.”
“Funny, Tiger.”
Even with the special entrance, I picked up the buzz from the crowd. Close to twenty thousand people merged and surged on the site, heading to one of the four stages or the Compact Music tent to buy CDs. People bought souvenirs, festival chairs, beer. Music swirled all around, and people moved their bodies to the sound. Even me. I couldn’t keep the shoulders or the hips still.
This was the first time I remembered being at a Bluesfest without having to carry a blanket or chair to sit on. Our Clubhouse passes guaranteed chairs that you didn’t have to carry, great views of the stages and our own Clubhouse portapotties.
“Wouldn’t want to line up with the hoi-polloi,” I said.
“Don’t knock it, Tiger. You’ll be glad not to be standing downwind of twenty guys after they’ve had a couple of beer.”
He had a point.
We passed the Gospel Tent, which was practically swaying to the beat of the music inside. We zigged and zagged towards the Main Stage, on our way to The Louisiana Stage. Acres of grass were covered with low festival chairs, plastic lawn chairs, folding camp chairs, picnic blankets and canvas armchairs with beer holders. If I took a guess, many of the people would have been pushing fifty, but kids spilled around, lying on blankets, working on puzzles or quiet games.
I sniffed the air and got a whiff of illegal herbs. If Alvin had been there, he would have approved.
I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure this was the place to be. After all, Jimmy Ferguson wouldn’t be hiding out in one of the Clubhouse tents. And while the views would be great and the sound even better, it lacked the scouting opportunities I’d have in the milling crowd. On the other hand, we would be making tracks between Clubhouse tents if we were going to catch the performances I’d picked for the evening. Dr. John at the Louisiana Stage, followed by John Hammond up the hill at the Acoustic Stage, and the big Main Stage performance, George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
P. J. didn’t mind me doing the picking, which was wise on his part, but he wasn’t thrilled to have me handing out posters to everyone we passed either.
“I can’t believe you put your telephone number on them, Tiger. Why not just write your name on the bathroom wall?”
“Funny.”
We settled into chairs
in the Clubhouse by the Louisiana Stage, and I made myself comfortable. P. J. got us drinks (I said anything but Corona), then headed off to score some appropriate food. I’d handed out a dozen more “Have You Seen Our Jimmy?” posters to the other people in the Clubhouse by the time he got back with Blackened Chicken Salad for me and BBQ Brisket Po Boy for P. J.. The band was late, as usual. At an outdoor festival with four stages, no one should be too surprised if performances run late, or bands have last minute substitutions. In spite of it, everybody stayed mellow.
P. J. said. “This is about relaxing and cutting loose. Right?”
“I can’t really cut loose until we find Jimmy. You’ll have to relax for both of us.”
“I think I’m going to do that,” he said. “Nicholas is taking the weekend off to take care of personal and spiritual matters.”
“Nicholas? Excuse me while I throw up,” I said. “You’re on a first-name basis with Nicholas Southern now?”
“You don’t know the guy, and you let your knee-jerk liberal prejudices close your mind.”
“That’s me, pinko commie all the way. You’re letting bad values slip in by osmosis. I thought you guys in the media were supposed to keep an open mind.”
“More open than yours. In fairness, the guy has good ideas and values. He made a ton of money by working hard and using his brains, and he’s got real leadership qualities. At the same time, he’s an urban guy, not a hick. Don’t snort, Tiger, it’s not flattering.”
“Hard work? The guy makes over a hundred million in a dot.comedy, and you call it hard work? Blind luck and a knack for pulling a fast one is more like it.”
“Come on. He built a company and sold it. Someone valued it enough to buy it.”
“Oh, yeah. I bet they’re real happy now. Where is that company? Oh right, in the toilet. But Nicholas still has the big bucks. How many shareholders would like to tar and feather him?”
“Caveat emptor. You know that, Tiger.”
“No kidding. But you know something, P. J. I don’t like what’s happening to your politics.”
“Seriously, you have the same views as Nicholas does on people taking responsibility for their own actions, on criminals serving sentences that match the seriousness of their crimes. A lot of the things you go out on a limb for are the same principles he has.”
“Next you’ll suggest I could vote for someone like him. Be careful unless you want your mouth washed out with soap.”
“You and whose army? What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.”
“Jimmy?”
“No such luck. It’s someone else from Sydney. And I’ve got to track him down.”
“What? We just settled in. Where you going?”
I didn’t hear any more since I had scrambled out of the Clubhouse tent, trying to catch up with a jeaned backside as it vanished into a sea of people.
• • •
“I’m sorry, P. J., but I had no choice.”
“You were gone forty-five minutes. You missed Dr. John, who is someone I actually enjoy. Who the hell were you chasing?”
“I was chasing after a certain Reefer Keefer from Sydney. One of the people Jimmy spent time with the afternoon of his disappearance. He’s a small-time dope dealer, an ex-con, and I guess some kind of musician. Oh, and a liar. Anyway, he slithered away.”
“I gathered by the fact you don’t have a prisoner that you didn’t catch him. How come you’re limping?”
“I tripped over a tent wire. At least I got close enough to see he had a blue wristband, so we know he’s got a pass for the whole festival. He’s probably planning to be here every day. So that’s someone else we’re on the lookout for. Besides Jimmy, of course.”
“You are.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not keeping an eye out for Jimmy.”
“Of course I am, but I don’t even know what this other guy looks like.”
“He looks like your Lord and Saviour in faded blue jeans.”
“Don’t mock me. Come on up to the Acoustic Stage, we might be able to catch the last bit of John Hammond. If we’re lucky.”
I wondered if Jimmy would be at the Acoustic stage and decided with the complex program and huge crowds it was as likely as anywhere else. You could have a good time anywhere. “Don’t rush, P. J. These things always run late.”
• • •
By 9:30 I had distributed every one of my Jimmy posters, had had four false spottings of Reefer Keefer and, for reasons that didn’t seem sound in retrospect, had consumed two more beer.
P. J. and I settled into the Main Stage Clubhouse to wait for George Thorogood and the Destroyers to make their appearance. P. J. gave me a little pep talk about personal responsibility and the potential effects of societal change on our soggy economy.
I yawned, pointedly.
“Laugh all you want, Tiger, but this guy is on to something. I think he really could end up with a new political party people would be proud to join. He’s got a definite appeal to younger voters.”
“By any chance, P. J., have aliens eaten your brain?”
“Plus Nicholas Southern has integrity, which is undervalued.”
“Certainly undervalued by reporters, which you seem to have forgotten you are.”
It takes more than that to get P. J. off a high horse. He droned on for the next little while, even as the band set up on the stage. Once we got comfortable, the effects of several nights of lost sleep, my frantic hour-long race around Lebreton Flats, the two beers and P. J.’s channelling of Nicholas Southern’s right wing ravings combined. In the middle of a show with one hell of a decibel level, my head flopped back, and I started to saw logs.
I will regret that to my dying day. There’s no such thing as just a concert when you’re talking George Thorogood.
• • •
This is Ottawa. We have noise bylaws. As Alvin had mentioned earlier, you can hear the Bluesfest clear across the Ottawa River in Hull, so the whole thing shuts down by eleven o’clock. P. J. and I waited until the last possible minute before we joined the throng flowing towards the parking lots. I knew many people would be heading off for after hours concerts, but all I could think of was my bed.
“I can’t believe you slept through that,” he said, as we wove our way towards my place. “It’s not even possible. You’re like the date from hell. First you want to fight over politics, then you snore.”
I didn’t say anything. My eyes were closing again. They popped open when he pulled up in front of my apartment.
I said, “Did you really think this was a date?”
“Like I said, from hell. We have all day tomorrow to try again and see if we get the hang of it.”
• • •
I stumbled through the foyer to the elevator. On the sixteenth floor I tiptoed past Mrs. Parnell’s place. For once, she wasn’t in her doorway, and no sliver of light showed under the door. I figured if she had good news or really bad news, she and Alvin would let me know. I wanted to pitch head first into my bed. Therefore, the sight of Vince Ferguson sitting on my sofa at midnight was the emotional equivalent to having a piano dropped on my head.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“I have to stay somewhere.” He was peevish as always. “Not my idea. Violet insisted.”
I blurted, “But you’re supposed to be at my sister Edwina’s.”
“Everyone else is at your sister’s. I got into town about twenty minutes ago. I drove straight here by myself. I’m beat. Allie is out somewhere, so Violet told me to settle here. Allie’s on her sofa tonight. I’ll head out tomorrow. It’s not like you didn’t stay at our place.”
I guess Vince had drawn the short straw. Me or the street. He probably had to think long and hard before making his decision.
“Fine. You get the sofa.”
By now I’d been jolted wide awake. Worse, I would have to wear bedclothes, something else to be resentful about. As I was about to toss my Bermuda shor
ts into the hamper, I spotted the splash from Honey’s spilled Corona. That reminded me. Maybe it wouldn’t be a wasted night after all. Now I had an opportunity to ask a few tough questions of Vincent Ferguson, Ph.D.
Of course, I had to get dressed again first. I knocked on my living room door before coming out and telling a big lie. “I’m glad you’re here, Vince. I’m sure Alvin appreciates it too. He’s pretty exhausted.”
“Aren’t you helping him?”
Typical Vince with that accusing tone in his voice. “That’s not the point. Naturally, I’m helping him.” More than you are, I thought. “Remember, Jimmy might not want to be found.”
“I don’t see how he can evade you, if you’re all really making an effort.”
Sure, like he hadn’t evaded Vince and his mother in Sydney. A moment of silence fell before I played the offensive. “Speaking of evading. How about you fill me in on one bit of information. You said Jimmy had been questioned in connection with the alleged assault on Honey Redmore.” Dead silence. It wasn’t like I’d invented the story. “I understand the assault never happened.”
“Correct. I told you that.”
“But you also told me Jimmy was questioned by the police.”
“What does this have to do with anything? We’ve been all over it. It’s old news.”
“Bear with me, Vince. So he was questioned.”
“Yes. And released.”
“Look, we both accept the assault never happened. I spoke to Honey Redmore, and I believe she’s as outraged as you are about Jimmy being questioned.”
“You spoke to her about it? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“I suppose I do, although I don’t know why that should bother you. But the fact is the police did interview him.”
“Listen, we are going through a very difficult time here since Jimmy disappeared. We don’t need you upsetting people even more.”
“Guess what. I don’t give a shit if people get upset. You are not the only one feeling the impact. Your own brother, Alvin, has been in a state of near collapse, and I don’t see anyone in your family giving a thought to how he’s doing, although I hear that’s nothing new. Mrs. Parnell is seventy-nine years old, and she thinks he’s worth dropping everything for. I don’t even have time to go in to my office to get my own work done, so stop with the goddam stonewalling and tell me what happened.”
Little Boy Blues Page 20
