by MK Alexander
I examined the cane closely. It didn’t seem particularly strange. The brass jackal head was menacing enough, though it had an ancient Egyptian style to it.
“I must have this cane thoroughly examined,” Fynn said.
“For what?”
“That is the question.” He paused. “And I’m not sure who could make sense of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am speculating that this is what Mortimer uses to navigate, much as I use my compass. But I have no idea how that is so, how it functions.”
“Who can you ask?”
“No one in the present, except Mortimer himself, perhaps.”
“What made you jump?”
“Pardon?”
“From the diner?”
“Yes… the few clues you provided were enough.”
“Which clues?”
“Doctor Valenti for one. You mentioned he disappeared in the early nineteen sixties. I had a strong inkling he was Mortimer, but that he had left Sand City long before I arrived.”
“What else?”
“A clearer understanding of how the Sunset Park killing was concluded in the present, as it were… with the assistance of Mr Eddie and Mr Chamblis.”
“That was enough?”
“The photographs you showed me of Hackney and Chamblis as well. I wasn’t absolutely sure they were not Mortimer, but something about their ages bothered me.”
“Their ages?”
“Purely intuition on my part. Hackney seemed too old. And Chamblis not young enough.”
“You’re saying it was a hunch.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re still not positive?”
“No. I must meet these men face to face to be sure.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Hard to say with certainty, though most curious of all, your Mr Leaning seems to have disappeared. And I have no notion as to why.”
“Jack from the Times?”
“Yes.”
“We have one other lingering problem, I believe.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you own a tuxedo or can you hire one on such short notice?”
“I have a nice suit in my closet.”
“Ah yes, but this is formal attire, remember? I think a suit is not enough.” Fynn smiled. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Eleven.”
“Good, then we are in luck.” Fynn walked across the living room and opened a closet. He hauled out a clothes bag. “Anika has chosen this for you. She is quite good at guessing people’s sizes… and…” Fynn looked at his watch. “The tailor is due at any moment now.”
“The tailor?”
“I took the liberty of making an appointment. This may need a bit of alteration. Why don’t you try it on?” Fynn handed me the bag.
***
The fitting went well enough. It was almost perfect already, only a few minor alterations to the trousers. Fynn was right, his daughter was very good at guessing sizes, but I wondered how this was accomplished exactly.
Somehow, I had to get back home and then out again, and before the storm hit, hopefully. I had a rehearsal with Randy and the Rumblers. I broached the subject with Fynn.
“Well, I’m happy to call a taxi of course… though the traffic is quite impossible now.” He smiled. “I may have another option, and you would be doing me a great service as well.”
“What’s that?”
Fynn smiled again and led me to his garage. It was quite empty. There was no car, but there was a bicycle, Hector Diaz’s, chrome fenders and all. “Perhaps you could pedal home and afterwards return this to its rightful owner.” Fynn paused. “You remember Hector of course?”
I nodded. “How did you get this?”
“Oh… nothing extraordinary, I assure you. I merely walked to the briar patch the other day and took it. Needed a bit of lubrication on the chain but it seems to be functioning properly.”
“Okay, sure… it will be worth it, just to see the look on his face.” I started to push the bike out the door. In the corner of the garage I spotted a hand truck wrapped with several bungie cords. I looked over at Fynn and nodded. “What’s that for? Not the Policeman’s Ball, I hope?”
“Ah yes. Well, I promised I would not lie to you, Patrick. So it’s better that I say nothing at all.”
“Wait, that’s no answer.”
“Alright, let’s say it may come in handy on Saturday night.”
“Fair enough,” I replied and thought how that might work. “Wait a second, are you kidding me?” I gave Fynn a look.
“I am. This is not for Mortimer, but I will say it is not such a bad idea.” Fynn started laughing. “I was just moving some boxes in, Anika’s clothes, and books and such…”
chapter 36
shoe concerns
Back at the office I ran into Jo-Anne just as she was heading to her car. She came running over to me, carrying her big handbag stuffed with who knows what. “Patrick,” she called out and came right up to me. “How are you, honey? I haven’t seen you in ages.” She planted a big kiss on my cheek. “I’ve missed you,” she said, smiled and gave me a wink. “So, are you going to the Policeman’s Ball?”
“What?”
“The dance Saturday at the beach… Everybody who’s anybody is going to be there.”
“Are you?”
“Haven’t been asked yet.” She smiled at me almost expectantly.
“Oh… Yeah, well I kind of promised El already.”
Jo-Anne pouted a bit, then she smiled again. “Well, that’s very sweet of you, Patrick. But who’s going to take me?”
“I’m sure they’re lining up, darling.”
“Not yet.”
I wondered if she remembered our very brief fling.
***
Fynn and I drove to Fairhaven directly, completely on a whim. Somehow we were going to find Doctor Thomas Hackney. Our timing was perfect. All the summer traffic was heading north, we were heading south. It was a solid line of cars on the other side of the road. Along Route 16, I asked Fynn to hold the steering wheel, hold the car steady and straight. He made a poor job of it, drifting over to the left and almost over the breakaway lane dividers. I was on my phone tracking Hackney down. I found his office and his home address. We agreed calling him first was not the best idea.
In Fairhaven, his practice was shut up tight. He wasn’t in the coroner’s office either. That left only his home address. He had a substantial place just on the outskirts of town, a modern lakefront house. We found him alone in his kitchen, preparing supper, and knocked on the screen door. Fynn had no real authority but when we introduced ourselves he didn’t seem too surprised.
“I’ve heard of you, both of you…” He looked us up and down. “Come on in, what can I get you?”
Hackney was tall, well over six feet. He had white hair and a matching beard, expertly trimmed. He was also rather broad, his hands and feet were colossal, almost out of proportion. I looked down at his shoes. Italian or not, they were way too big. I couldn’t imagine him ever squeezing into a size eleven.
I looked at Fynn and he glanced back with a subtle negative raise of his eyebrow. This man was not Mortimer.
Inspector Fynn started the conversation about Samuels and Roxy.
“Sammy and I were best friends in school. We practically grew up together,” Hackney explained.
“Sammy?”
“Hank, I mean…”
“And?”
“Well, a couple of months back he found a collar and a set of tags from a little pooch. A dog that should have been dead for almost forty years, but there it was... barking and wagging its tail.”
“You mean Roxy.”
“Well, a dog exactly like Roxy, and a dog that belonged to my niece, my younger sister’s daughter: Clara.”
“Clara Hobbs?”
“That’s right. Her dog disappeared back in, oh… nineteen seventy-five, I think. Never found. Clara
was devastated back then…” Hackney paused reflectively. “Well, we didn’t know what to make of it all. Sammy was stumped and so was I. Was it some kind of tasteless prank? Why did those tags show up all these years later? And why did they show up on the same breed of dog, a yorkie?”
“Did you mention this to Clara?”
“Of course… ha, she thought I was crazy… senile maybe…” Hackney chuckled to himself. “She’s coming up this weekend, from New York.”
“Was this a private conversation?”
“With Clara?”
“No, with Doctor Samuels.”
“Of course it was.”
“No one else could have heard what you said?”
“Well no, I mean yes…” Hackney grimaced slightly. “Anybody could have heard.”
“What do you mean. Who was there?”
“You were there,” he said and looked over.
“Me?” I asked
“You, and the whole staff of the Chronicle, I’d guess. We were all having lunch at the Land Ho… You were sitting right next to us, one table over.”
“When was this?”
“Back in March or April, I think.”
“Did you go to the basement to check the files?”
“No, never got the chance. I did search through some old newspapers though. Not that I found much.”
“At the library?” I asked.
“Yes… Mrs Lovely tried to help.”
“This is all rather extraordinary,” Fynn commented.
“I’ll say.”
“Well then,” Fynn said with some finality, “You’ve been most helpful, Doctor Hackney… I really cannot thank you enough.”
“You can thank me by telling me what’s going on. Does this have something to do with poor old Sammy’s accident?”
“That’s rather doubtful, though I do grieve for the loss of your friend.” Fynn reached into his jacket pocket and handed Hackney and envelope. “May I extend a small courtesy?”
“What’s this?”
“Two tickets to the Policeman’s Ball. It should prove to be quite an exciting evening.”
“Well… thank you, thanks very much.” Hackney smiled pleasantly enough and put the envelope on the kitchen table. As we were leaving, I noticed a basket filled with walking sticks by the door, and above that an old fashioned hat, a fedora. I gave Fynn a nudge. He glanced over and spoke to Hackney again:
“Tell me Doctor, did your good friend use a cane?”
“Sammy? No… except that one time when he broke his ankle. That was years ago… Funny you should say that though.”
“Why?”
“A little competition between us…” Hackney chuckled. “We collect these things.” He picked out one of the sticks from the basket. It looked to be carved from a single branch. “We like to go on long walks together… and sometimes we’d show off our new acquisitions.”
“And why is this funny, as you say?”
“Oh. Sammy found a cane a couple of months ago… up near the bike path in Sand City. He showed it to me.”
“Where is it now?”
“No idea, in his office maybe?”
“Was it unusual in any way?”
“I’ll say. It had the head of a dog on top, carved in metal… I’ve never seen anything like it.” Hackney paused. “And it was a sword cane.”
“A sword cane?”
“Yeah, I unscrewed the handle and there was a sharp narrow sword inside. This thing was not a toy, let me tell you.”
It finally dawned on me what Mortimer had done at the kennel. He retrieved his cane which was his sword, and his weapon against the poor caged canines.
***
Early the next morning, Detective Durbin led Fynn and I into the tiny interrogation room at the Sand City Police station. Fynn whispered in my ear, “Not Mortimer…”
Charles Chamblis was already sitting in a plastic chair, an empty styrofoam cup on the table. He looked at his watch and then up at us. “What are these two guys doing here? Not exactly standard police procedure, is it Durbin?” He started complaining at once.
“Inspector Fynn has every legal right to be here,” the detective replied.
“What about him? You think I’m going to say anything with this guy sitting here? You think I’m crazy or something?”
Durbin nodded and led me back into the corridor. He gave me a quick smile and opened the adjoining door. I could see through the glass. He put his finger to his lips and left me alone in the darkened room.
“I told you already, I want my lawyer. I’m not saying a word.”
“Burton, Michael and Dean are on their way, I’ve been assured of this,” Fynn said as he sat opposite.
“When is he coming?”
“Soon. Traffic this time of year is horrendous. Of course, you must know that.” Fynn smiled. “Perhaps he’s held up in the courthouse? He will be here directly. No more than a few hours, I should guess.”
“A few hours? I got important stuff to do today.” Chamblis checked his watch again.
I saw Fynn whisper into Durbin’s ear. The latter gave a nod.
“Hey, you’re not fooling me for a second,” Chamblis said. “I know Jardel is right behind that mirror.” I waved back unseen. “You know, I’m filing against you, Jardel,” Chamblis shouted, “just as soon as Dean gets here.” He wagged a finger in my direction.
“It’s a long drive from Fairhaven… so we might have a long wait,” Durbin said and sat back.
“He better get his ass here in a hurry.”
“Of course we wouldn’t want Mr Dean to violate any traffic laws, eh?” Fynn said.
“Absolutely. It would be terrible if he got pulled over by say, a state trooper… or even arrested,” Durbin added.
“Wait a second…” Chamblis looked at both policemen. “What the hell are you trying to do here?”
“We are all patient men, I should say.” Fynn smiled. “Perhaps you would like some refreshment?”
“Not thirsty.” Chamblis crossed his arms and looked around the tiny interrogation room. He glanced over at the mirrored wall as well.
“Of course, Mr Chamblis, you have every right not to speak with us. Detective Durbin has not charged you with anything as of yet.”
“As of yet?”
“Honestly, things don’t look very good.”
“For who? For you, the police? You got nothing on me.”
“But I am not the police exactly. I represent Interpol.”
“Interpol? What the hell?”
“Do you travel abroad often?” Fynn asked.
Chamblis said nothing but stared back and screwed up his face.
“I would hate to see any sort of blemish appear on their files… it can make things so difficult at the airports.”
“I’m not saying a word,” Chamblis resisted.
“This is your legal right. And I agree everything you say should be on the record… This is crucial to me. We should not make a… how do you say? … A deal. Such might be counter-productive to the truth.”
“The truth?” Chamblis asked though it seemed more like just a reaction.
“Oh… yes, what Eddie told us. We are wondering if that’s the truth as well.”
Chamblis’ face collapsed into anxiety. “Eddie…” he muttered mostly to himself. “What did Eddie tell you?”
“Best we wait for your solicitor.” Fynn smiled again and then nodded at Durbin. The detective reached behind him and took something off the shelf, a plastic bag with a pair of shoes inside. He put them on the table and stared hard at Chamblis.
“What size do you wear, Mr Chamblis?” Fynn asked and then interrupted himself. “Oh, I’m sorry— I should not be asking such questions… yet.”
“I can explain those.”
“There’s no need to. We should wait, I think. On the record, yes?” Fynn smiled at Chamblis. “Perhaps I now have time to read this rather interesting forensics report… What was it about again, detective?”
&
nbsp; Durbin looked over Fynn’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, the forensics… it matches the dead girl at Sunset Park to the trunk of Chamblis’ car.”
“That hardly means anything…” Fynn said pleasantly.
“What are you talking about?”
“The trace evidence in the boot of your car. Hair and fibers. Her DNA is a match.”
“Well, who the hell is she?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell us,” Durbin said sharply.
“Let’s amend that to, we are certainly anxious to verify her identity.”
“So you know who it is?”
“I don’t suppose it would help your case if she is well known to you. A friend? An employee? A casual acquaintance? A paramour even...”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Perhaps not, but your associate does.”
“Ha, I have lots of associates. Who are you talking about?”
“The man you work for.”
“I don’t work for anyone. People work for me.”
“As you say…” Fynn rose quite suddenly and stretched. “Well, since it’s going to be such a long wait, I suppose I’ll find some lunch.”
“Wait a second,” Chamblis said and looked at his watch again, “Lunch? It’s like eight-forty-five. I didn’t even have breakfast yet.”
“Is it that early?”
Chamblis said nothing for the moment. I could almost see his thoughts churning. “This is like some kind of friggin’ nightmare,” he finally blurted. He looked at Fynn and Durbin helplessly. “Okay, what do you guys want to know?”
“Best we wait for Mr Dean,” Fynn said, still on his feet. “I’m quite sure you have nothing to tell us about your mysterious associate. The man you call so much on your cell phone.”
“Well, I might… why are you so interested anyhow?”
“No reason in particular.” Fynn smiled and put his hand on Durbin’s shoulder. The detective also rose from his chair.
