by Vicki Delany
“I love drain day,” Townshend said.
***
Diane Barton was in her mid-twenties. She was tall, lean and fit, brown hair cut short with no attempt at style. She wore loose chinos, pockets everywhere, and a baggy Toronto Maple Leafs sweatshirt. Brown eyes blinked behind thick glasses and a broad silver ring circled every one of her ten digits. She wore no make-up and walked with long strides and her handshake was firm.
“Gee,” she said, when Winters told her of the death of her employer, “that’s too bad.”
The dirty plates in the conference room had been cleared in the few minutes since the police meeting, and fresh tea was ready. Winters could get used to working in this environment.
Diane dropped into a chair. “What happened?”
“When did you last see Mr. Steiner?”
“Last night. Around five, I guess. We’d been out shooting most of the day, and went over the pictures.”
“Where was this?”
“In his room. He didn’t like them.”
“Didn’t like what?”
“The pictures. Said they were crap. Which they were. He figured it was the light and wanted to go someplace different. That’s what I was doing today. Looking around for the right place.”
“All day?”
“I’ve been sitting in the damn car all day. There was an avalanche on the pass. Dumped a shitload of snow all over the highway. I had to wait for freaking hours. I tried to call Rudy, but,” she shrugged, “there’s no reception up there. Do you think they allow smoking in here?”
“I doubt it.”
“Me too.” She eyed the tray of sandwiches. “Are those for us?”
“Help yourself.” Her story about her phone was probably right. In these mountains you didn’t have to move far from the center of town to lose the signal. “How long have you been working for Mr. Steiner?”
“About six months. It’s my way of trying to get my foot in the door. I’m a crackerjack photog myself, but it’s tough to get a break. I lug his stuff around, scout locations, admire his crap pictures, and hope to hell to get someone to look at mine.”
“You don’t think he was a good photographer?”
“He was on the way down, and let me tell you, it’s a long way down. But he still has the connections, you know. Had the connections, I guess. I’m sorry he’s dead, but he was just a job to me.” She shrugged and took a bite of a thick sandwich, roast beef on whole wheat.
“Tell me about his wife.”
Diane laughed around a mouthful. “She married him because she couldn’t get anyone with real influence. She married him because it beats working on your back.”
“Are you saying Mrs. Steiner was a prostitute?”
She threw up her hands. The rings reflected light from the lamp on the table beside her. “No, I’m not. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. She did some modeling—Wal Mart flyer type of stuff. Crotch shots of sturdy white cotton underwear. She wanted to do better, hell we all do. Sometimes a girl’s gotta sleep with the movers and shakers, or so they tell me. Which is why I prefer to be behind the camera, not in front of it.”
“You don’t like her?”
“I can’t stand the freakin’ bitch. Knows nothing about photography but is always sticking her surgically-altered nose in and telling me what would look good. He was loaded and connected, I’ll tell you that. Can’t imagine that had anything to do with her ‘falling in love’ with him.” Diane wiggled her fingers in the air to make quotation marks around the words.
“What about him? What did you think of Mr. Steiner?”
“I didn’t like him or not like him. He was the boss. I did my job.” Sandwich finished, she studied the array of food again, and settled on a Nanaimo bar.
“What time did you leave Mr. Steiner’s room?”
“Five-thirty, probably. Around then. It hadn’t taken long. Rudy hated the pictures so there wasn’t much to discuss. I told you that.”
“Did you see him again?”
“No.”
“What did you do after leaving him?”
“Went to my room for a while, read. About eight I went out to eat. Had dinner, by myself as per normal, and then back to my room.”
“What time did you get back?”
She looked toward the window. “Ten-thirty, eleven maybe. I had nothing better to do, so had a couple of beers with my dinner, and went for a walk.”
“Which restaurant?”
“Something Thai.” She shrugged again. “They might remember me, it wasn’t busy.”
“Did you see Mrs. Steiner at any time?”
“Nope. But I wouldn’t expect to see her hanging around any place I might frequent.”
“I’ve been told he rarely went out to eat.”
“Oh, yeah. He was a weirdo all right.”
Winters’ ears pricked up. “In what way?”
“Scared of germs, like that millionaire guy who never left his hotel room, but not so bad. Rudy didn’t eat in restaurants because who knows what germs are floating around and landing on the food. He didn’t like ordering from room service, but he had to eat when he traveled, didn’t he? It was better than going out. I’d been here a couple of weeks before they got here, scouting out locations mostly, and picked them up at the airport in a rental car. Before he got into the car for the first time, I had to wipe the whole interior down with disinfectant. While he watched me doing it.” She snorted. “He didn’t trust me not to say I’d done it when I hadn’t. It was always like that, some things he’d freak over. I suspect that’s why Josie had a separate room. Women are okay for, you know, sex, but you don’t want them spreading their yucky female germs around. Just my opinion, mind, he never said that.”
“Sounds like an interesting man.”
She popped the last bite of the square into her mouth and wiped her fingers on her thighs. “He was that.”
“What are your plans now?”
“Now as in right now, or for the rest of my life? I’m going upstairs to clean up and grab something to eat. I hope to hell the hotel bill’s covered. Tomorrow I’ll ask Josie what she wants me to do with Rudy’s stuff. Then I’ll probably go back to Vancouver and wait for another job.” She looked at him. “I can go home, can’t I?”
“I don’t see why not. Give Detective Lopez your contact information in case we need to be in touch.”
Chapter Six
Barb Kowalski leaned back in her office chair and stretched. Things were happening, and although she wasn’t an officer and not directly involved in the investigation, it was hard not to get caught up in the flurry of activity and the tension a murder always caused.
The CC had drunk so much Coke yesterday, owing to pressures of the case, he’d run out. On a good day he went through about ten cans. On a bad day, when the stress level was up, it could be twice that. The drink was his indoor tobacco substitute. Between the amount he smoked and the quantities of pop he consumed Barb hated to think what his lungs looked like and what his dental bill must be.
She eyed the French press at the side of her desk. Half a cup left, but she needed to get up and move. She felt like she’d been here all day although it was only ten o’clock. She decided to have the yogurt and apple she brought for lunch, and pop out later and buy a sandwich. Maybe a bag of Doritos for an afternoon snack. She could start her diet tomorrow.
She headed for the lunch room. Jim Denton, the dispatch officer, was on the phone; the legal clerk walked past with a pile of folders, and the by-law officer came through the door. The monitors showed that the cells downstairs were all empty. Molly Smith had gone to career day at the middle school, John Winters and the Chief were preparing for the arrival of IHIT, Ray Lopez was at the Hudson House Hotel, sifting through clues probably. Barb thought she’d like to follow them around one day, see what the police actually did out there.
She rounded the corner to see a Mountie standing in the hall, reading the staff notice board outside the lunch room. Brad Nosewort
hy had put up a sheet asking people to come to the car wash to raise money for his daughter’s hockey team. Barb pointed at the picture of the smiling girls posing for the team picture in their heavy gear. “She’s very good,” she said to the Mountie, “Brad has high hopes for an Olympic star one day.”
“Worth getting the car washed then,” he said. It was Adam Tocek, the one dating Molly Smith. They made a nice couple, Barb thought.
Inside the lunch room a man laughed. “Can’t imagine fucking a cop. Might as well be fucking a drag queen.”
Tocek’s face hardened. He walked into the room.
“You guys talking about someone in particular?”
Barb followed him. Dave Evans was sitting at the table, his legs outstretched. The man who’d spoken was Jack McMillan, a long-time retired officer who hung around the station sometimes, remembering the days when he’d been useful.
Evans looked at Tocek. “Nope. General chit-chat.”
“That’s what you get when you let girls do a man’s job. I wouldn’t want to go with a girl who could beat me up,” McMillan said with a laugh and a spray of spittle.
“Most women don’t want to either,” Tocek said.
You tell ‘em, Barb thought.
“Does she let you play with her gun, Tocek?” Evans said. His voice was low and very tight. “Or do you prefer her truncheon?” He looked at McMillan, fishing for a laugh. “That’s if you can find a place to put it.”
“You fucking prick.” Adam Tocek crossed the room in one step, and before Barb knew what was happening Dave Evans was on the floor, blood pouring from his nose. She yelled.
“Hey.” McMillan jumped up. “No need for that.”
Evans leaned on the counter and pulled himself to his feet, bright red blood streaming down his face. He swung at Tocek and the Mountie ducked. Tocek punched Evans in the stomach and he grunted and staggered backwards. He fell against the water cooler, but came back fast. Barb heard the blow strike Tocek’s jaw. “Help!” Barb cried. “Someone help.”
“Break it up, break it up.” John Winters was between the two men, his arms outstretched to separate them. Evans moved as if to go around him.
“I said break it up. Next one to throw a punch is up on charges. McMillan, get out of here.”
“You got it, Sarge.” He walked past Barb, chuckling. “Just like the old days.”
“He came out of nowhere and took a swing at me.” Evans wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at it. He spat a lump of bloody phlegm onto the floor.
“Too bad I didn’t break your fucking mouth,” Tocek said.
“You want to tell me about it,” Winters said, “we’ll go to the Chief’s office for a formal chat and call in a lawyer. Otherwise, Evans, get back on the street. Tocek, what are you doing here anyway?”
“Just paying a visit.”
“Visit’s over. Get lost.”
Tocek turned and walked out of the lunch room, rubbing at the knuckles on his right hand. Barb stepped aside to let him pass.
The commotion had drawn everyone out of their offices, and they were standing around the dispatch desk watching. Jim Denton was on his feet and Al Peterson, the Staff Sergeant, was there. Molly Smith clutched her hat in her hands and her blue eyes were large and round in a pale face. Tocek stepped toward her. She said something Barb didn’t hear, but she caught the tone easily enough. Tocek turned and walked out the door.
“Some guys can’t take a joke,” Evans said to the crowd.
“Not another word,” Winters said. “You people have nothing to do? Crime has stopped in our fair town, has it?”
People slipped away. No one said anything.
Dave Evans didn’t look at Smith as he passed.
“I need a ride to the airport,” Winters said. “Al, if you don’t need her, I’ll take Molly.”
“Okay,” Peterson said.
“Meet me by the cars in five.” Winters walked down the hall.
Barb touched Smith’s arm and gave her a small smile. She looked shell-shocked, and Barb was sure she must have heard some of what had been said in the lunch room. Everyone else in the place probably heard it as well. “I have some cookies in my drawer, if you want to talk.”
Color, too much of it, flooded back into Smith’s pretty face and her eyes blazed. “Talk?” she said. “Oh, yes, I want to talk. But not to you. Thanks anyway, Barb.”
***
Molly Smith clenched the steering wheel. She’d been sitting in the damned van for fifteen minutes and Winters hadn’t bothered to show.
Perhaps he didn’t need a ride to the airport; he just wanted to get her out of there before everyone broke into gales of laughter.
She’d programmed her phone with a special ring for Adam. It rang. She didn’t answer.
She’d walked through the front doors of the station, feeling good after talking to the kiddies about a career as a police officer. They were young enough to still think being a cop was neat and peppered her with questions. She’d been pleased to see that almost as many girls as boys had come to her presentation. She’d been able to forget, for a while, about her dad, about Charlie Bassing.
Then she’d walked into that. It had given her a jolt of pure pleasure to see Adam standing in the hall, talking to Barb, and she’d been about to walk over and say hi. She heard something of what Evans and McMillan were saying, but before she could react Adam threw himself into the middle of it.
Jack McMillan was a misogynist pig, bitter that the world had moved on and left him behind. He hung around the station and the coffee shop where the staff usually went implying things about her and Dawn Solway, the Trafalgar City Police’s only other female officer. Most of the younger guys paid him no attention. Evans didn’t like her, that wasn’t news, and no doubt happy to talk to someone who felt the same, but she knew Evans was first of all a cop. She never thought his personal opinion about her would get in the way of doing the job.
What the hell was Adam thinking? Or rather not thinking. Did he think he had to fight her battles for her? Screw that.
For a moment she thought about talking it over with her mom. Then she remembered that Lucky had more important things on her mind right now than her daughter’s love life.
The passenger door opened, and Winters got into the van. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Last minute call from Ray.”
“Did he find something?”
“The occupant of the room next to Steiner’s says he might have heard a gunshot. He said he was watching TV and didn’t pay much attention. He remembers what program he was watching at the time. It was on from eight-thirty to nine and was almost over. If he’s right, it gives us a good idea of the time Steiner died.”
“The grieving widow has condescended to make an appointment with us for this afternoon. I might bring you along, Molly. The INIT people are both men, it might be good to have a woman there.”
“To comfort the poor dear? Make tea, maybe. Pat her hand if she gets distressed.”
He looked at her. “No, Molly. To see her from a different angle. She looks to me like a woman who knows how to manipulate people.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Her face burned and she pulled out of the parking lot.
She waited for him to say something about what had happened in the lunch room. He didn’t.
“I heard about your dad. How’s he doing?”
“I spoke to Mom this morning. They’re hoping to operate tomorrow. The operation’s not a big deal, but he’ll need a lot of looking after for a while.”
“How’s your mom taking it?” Winters knew Molly’s mother well. Lucky had a tendency to be at the center of whatever trouble was brewing in Trafalgar.
“Hard. She’s all fuss and bother, fluffing pillows and doing everything short of feeding Dad with a spoon. Not like her normal self at all.”
“Let me know if I can do anything. Or Paul. You know he and your mom go back a long way.”
She actually laughed at that. Political agitator and environm
ental activist verses small town constable and later chief of police. Lucky Smith and Paul Keller had eyed each other over the battlements, only sometimes rhetorical, for many years. “I was surprised he hired me, considering the history those two have.”
“You never know what people are thinking, Molly.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing. IHIT’s sending us two guys. I need more, but that’s all they can spare right now. What with hotel guests, staff, tradespeople, and those walking in one door and going out another, we could be interviewing people until the cows come home. My prime suspect turned out to have been stuck in a road closure rather than fleeing the scene, and the widow is calling in her lawyer. Which I suspect isn’t because she’s about to confess, but wants to make sure she’s not caught up in legalities when she should be making sure her inheritance is secure. If she’d done it, I don’t think she’d have called the lawyer. She’d be wanting to play the grieving innocent. But I’ve been wrong before.”
He looked out the window and watched the scenery pass. The mist hung low over the mountainside, occasionally moving aside to grant a glimpse of brown, dark forest. Dirty snow filled the shadows and crevices at the side of the road. Impromptu streams poured down the hills, carrying snow melt. The river was below them, cold and black, and moving fast. Winters rubbed his thumb over the face of his watch.
Smith remained quiet, knowing he only wanted a sounding board, not her opinions.
“I need to talk to the room service waiter who made a delivery to the room that night, not long before the estimated time of death. So far we can’t find him.”
“You think that’s suspicious?”
“No. He isn’t scheduled to work, and his roommate said he’s gone hiking with his girlfriend. There’s no answer at his cell phone, which, if he’s in the mountains, will be because he’s out of range.”
His own phone rang. He glanced at it, hesitated, and then answered. He sounded weary.
“I was late. Didn’t want to disturb you. Well, there’s always a first time. No, that’s not a good idea. I’ll be tied up all day.” He hung up without saying goodbye. A fight with the wife, Smith assumed.
