Death in the Garden City

by Jeanne M. Dams

  Alan cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘I mean, if he thought I was a doddering old lady from Hicksville USA, he doesn’t think so anymore. I think I may have been too smart-alecky for my own good, but he riled me. So condescending.’

  ‘But smart enough to catch your innuendos?’

  ‘Oh, he caught them, all right. And resented them, and I’m sure filed them away for future action.’

  Alan tossed it away. ‘Never mind. One testy bloke isn’t our problem right now. I’m going to try again to call John and find out if there’s any news.’

  This time John was available. Alan put him on the speaker so I could hear, too.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not a whole lot of progress to report. Of course I’m not official anymore, so I can’t demand information, but the Mountie in charge of the investigation is being kind. And I truly hate to say this, but the victim has been positively identified as the woman you mentioned. Her name – her English name – was Elizabeth George.’

  I had to swallow hard before I could ask, ‘And her people have been informed?’

  ‘Yes. Once the coroner had a probable ID from her dental work, he called her parents. Her father came in and identified the body.’

  ‘That must be the hardest thing any parent would ever have to do. Your kids aren’t supposed to die before you do. And they were so proud of her …’ I couldn’t go on.

  ‘How are the family taking it?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell. The Cowichans don’t readily let their emotions show, especially in front of white people. They are a proud people, and they have suffered endless persecution from the invaders. They have learned to endure.’

  Alan had to swallow a couple of times himself. ‘And has the coroner determined the cause of her wounds?’

  ‘Not with any certainty, except that he has ruled out any kind of avian attack. They didn’t tell me everything that was said, but apparently the placement and nature of the gashes left the coroner quite certain. Also – Dorothy, you won’t like this, either – he found a head wound consistent with a blow from something hard and round. Probably a rock. It could not have been caused by her fall.’

  ‘Then … it was murder.’

  ‘Dorothy, love, you know medical examiners don’t draw that sort of conclusion. They observe and report what they see. The police then make inferences from what the medical evidence tells them.’

  ‘Right.’ I was annoyed by what I considered nit-picking. Which was probably why Alan said it. Like most men, he becomes extremely uncomfortable in the presence of a crying woman, and he especially hates to see me cry. He’s discovered that anger will almost always drive away my tears. ‘Blast it, I know that. But I’m not with the police, so I’m allowed to make inferences and draw conclusions all I want, and I say that poor woman was murdered. And I hope a particularly hot fire is being prepared in hell for whoever did it!’

  ‘Doubtless it is. And doubtless Lucifer, or whoever is in charge in that realm, knows who’s going to end up in that fire. It would be helpful if we had any ideas ourselves.’

  I don’t know what triggered it, but an idea began to take shape in my brain. No, idea was too strong a word. A vague notion, a link. ‘John, now that they know who the woman was, do they know who she worked for?’

  ‘Dorothy, it took me a couple of hours to think of that question, and you come up with it first crack out of the box! Yes. She worked for AIntell. Paul Hartford’s firm.’

  ‘There could be no connection at all.’ Alan’s voice sounded weary. He’d said the same thing, in various words, several times already.

  We were gathered on John’s patio, tall cool drinks in front of us, watching the evening turn from pearl to amethyst and hashing over everything we knew and surmised about the death of pretty, bright, ambitious, young Elizabeth George. I’d stopped saying ‘What a waste!’ every five minutes. I couldn’t stop thinking it.

  ‘Very well, we know that Paul Hartford is not a pleasant person,’ Alan went on. ‘In fact, he is a distinctly unpleasant man under that veneer of charm.’

  ‘Which hoodwinks most people,’ said John grimly. ‘Especially women.’

  ‘Yes. And we know that Miss George worked for him. That doesn’t prove they knew each other. How many employees does Hartford have, John?’

  ‘Maybe three hundred. It’s a fairly large outfit, as tech companies go.’

  ‘So he wouldn’t necessarily have known the woman, unless she was in the higher echelons.’ Alan ran a hand down the back of his head, always a sign of frustration.

  ‘No. And that’s where you two might help. Someone needs to do some digging, find out more about Miss George and her position in the company, and any possible ties to Hartford. The RCMP have their hands full. Not only are they short-staffed, but last night a large shipment of drugs was seized, coming in by ferry from the mainland. Every possible resource is working on that case. Do you think you could nose around AIntell, talk to people, see what you can find out? I can’t, of course. Hartford hates me with a passion, and I confess I’m not too fond of him, either. He’d have me thrown out of the building before I put a second foot through the door.’

  ‘But he knows us, too,’ I objected. ‘At least he knows me. He memorized my face in about a second. He’d know me again, for sure. And he knows Alan is here with me, and he’d smell a very large rat if we came to his office.’

  ‘I’m not sure that matters, Dorothy,’ said Alan thoughtfully. ‘He already knows we’re a nuisance. We’re connected with John and Amy; therefore we’re on The Other Side. If he has nothing to hide, he might be pleased that we took the trouble to come and admire his business. We might be so impressed that we’d change our minds and join the ranks of his sycophants. If on the other hand he is in fact up to something nefarious, he would be certain that his minions would deal with the problem. If I’m reading his character properly, he thinks he’s invincible.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right about that,’ said John. ‘All the same, you could be walking into danger. I shouldn’t have asked. Forget it. We’ll find another way.’

  ‘No.’ I spoke more sharply than I had intended. I modified my tone. ‘John, we came here to help. This is the first venue where we might really be of use. The company headquarters is located actually in Victoria?’

  ‘Yes, near the university. UVic, that is. But—’

  ‘No buts.’ This time it was Alan speaking decisively. ‘Dorothy is quite right. This is a very civilized city in a civilized country. I find it hard to believe that we could come to any real harm among the cubicles. We’ll start first thing tomorrow. Oh, confound it, that’s Saturday. Will they be open?’

  ‘There won’t be a full staff, but the offices will be open for business.’

  We went home soon after that, decided we weren’t in need of a meal, and went gloomily to bed.

  When morning came, I was somewhat less enthusiastic about our mission. I couldn’t help remembering those cold blue eyes. ‘He’s a ruthless man, Alan. I don’t look forward to this.’

  ‘Chin up, old girl. This is an opportunity for you to use two of your famous gifts. Where are my shirts?’

  ‘The same place they were yesterday, in the closet. What gifts?’

  ‘Ah, found them. First, your renowned ability to strike up a conversation with strangers and turn them into instant friends.’

  ‘Mmm. But I don’t know a thing about the more esoteric limits of technology.’

  ‘And you can use that. Claim you’re uninformed but enthusiastic, and ask for enlightenment. And that brings me to your other unparalleled talent, that of thinking up believable lies.’

  That made me laugh, as Alan probably intended. ‘I admit I’ve never minded lying in a good cause. Now let’s see. Why are we going to visit this place, we who know nothing about AI and care less?’ I thought for a moment. ‘Oh, that’s it! We’re feeling left out of things. The world is passing us by. We want … no, we need to be up to speed on the world of technology. Bec
ause … um. Because your grandchildren know so much more than we do, and it’s humiliating. And because we want to take back some advanced ideas, back to England, to … to help the Cathedral with some data-management problems. How’s that?’

  ‘I’m not sure AI is used in data management.’

  ‘Then that makes our claim of ignorance that much more believable. Though in my case, at least, that part of it is Gospel truth. And throwing in the Cathedral makes us sound so ultra-respectable.’

  ‘Dorothy, I do love you! The picture you invoke, tossing the Cathedral about … and before we’ve even had our coffee. Let’s remedy that omission and get cracking.’

  The AIntell building was impressive, at least from the outside. Four storeys high, white stone, with large blue glass windows that made the whole thing look a little like a striped toy. ‘Cold,’ I remarked to Alan.

  ‘You’re projecting your feelings.’

  ‘My feet are certainly cold,’ I admitted.

  Alan opened the door for me and gestured me in. ‘Lights, camera, action,’ he murmured.

  ‘I’m not ready for my close-up yet, Mr DeMille.’

  Alan gave me a gentle push, and I found myself standing in front of a security desk manned by an unsmiling guard.

  ‘Your name, please?’

  I wasn’t prepared for that, and stammered for a moment, wildly trying to come up with an alias. But what if he asked for identification? I turned the stammer into a cough and gave him my real name.

  He looked at the computer screen. ‘I’m not finding your name, Ms Martin. Did you have an appointment?’

  Worse and worse. Why had it never occurred to me that such a business would have elaborate security protocols? ‘Oh, dear,’ I said, affecting as English an accent as I could manage. ‘I’m frightfully sorry. We didn’t realize we’d need an appointment. Actually I’m just here to learn a little about Artificial Intelligence – is that the right term? My church back in England, Sherebury Cathedral – perhaps you’ve heard of it?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, well, anyway, they’re working out new systems of data management, and though I know almost nothing about computers, I read somewhere that your company is very highly thought of in the tech industry, and I thought I might talk to someone and perhaps take back a business card, or … or something.’

  The guard just looked at me.

  ‘And I brought my husband – this is my husband Alan – I brought him along for moral support.’ I giggled. ‘I suppose you can tell I’m scared to death. I’m really out of my depth here.’ And that, as an old aunt of mine used to say, was more truth than poetry. I was trying hard not to shake.

  ‘I see.’ The guard looked us over. ‘This is not our usual procedure, but we do occasionally give guests a tour of the facilities. If you’ll give me your bag to search, ma’am, and if you will both step through the metal detector, I’ll call someone to take you through.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so kind of you! And will our guide be someone who can answer my questions? They may be very stupid ones, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be very helpful.’

  The guard by now was bored with us, having decided we were stupid and harmless. He was thorough in his examination of my handbag, though, and with my passport right there on top, I was very glad I hadn’t lied about my name or residence.

  By the time we’d gone through the scanner, a young woman had appeared. ‘These are the people who want to learn something about our operation here,’ said the guard, only just managing not to sneer.

  So far I wasn’t overly impressed with Paul Hartford’s employees. Helpfulness and courtesy did not appear to be high on the list of company values.

  The young woman was something of an improvement. Dangling around her neck was a badge proclaiming her to be Teresa Betz. She was in her late twenties, I estimated. Her face was pleasant, but wore an expression I couldn’t quite read. At least she didn’t scowl at us.

  She managed a smile as she handed us guest badges. ‘I’m happy to show you around and answer your questions as best I can, but I’m just a secretary. I don’t know a lot about the actual work the techies do.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine.’ That’s perfect, I wanted to say, since I don’t want information about the actual work. ‘I’m a computer dunce myself. I just need to learn enough to know whether AIntell can be of help to my church.’

  ‘Where did you say you’re from?’ she asked as we left the security area and went down a hallway lined on either side with doors.

  Oops! I’d let the English accent slip a little. Here where everyone talked almost like the people I grew up with, it was hard not to revert. ‘England now, Sherebury, in Belleshire. But I’m from Indiana originally. Have you always lived here?’

  ‘No, I’m from a small town in Manitoba. I came here to work for AIntell, because I couldn’t find a good job where I lived, and they pay well here. I don’t know, though. Now … oh, we’re passing the offices of most of the programmers. I can’t let you see what they’re doing, because some of it’s really secret, but you can look in one of the offices.’

  ‘Oh, my. Secret as in government secrets?’

  ‘No, no. Just industrial secrets. AI is a really important, growing field, you know, and there is a lot of competition as to who will solve some of the problems first, that sort of thing.’

  She knocked on one of the doors and asked if visitors could come in. The woman at the desk pushed a key that, I assumed, darkened her screen, and nodded.

  ‘There’s nothing much to see,’ the woman said. ‘You’ve seen one computer station, you’ve seen them all.’

  That was plainly true. Except that her screen was bigger than most I’d seen, her office looked exactly like my little cubbyhole at home, where I wrote letters and looked up stuff and played far too many games of FreeCell. ‘It’s a lot neater, though,’ I commented. ‘Most seem to be way more cluttered.’

  ‘That’s company policy,’ said the woman with a grin, ‘and it’s a pain in the neck. We have to keep our working materials safely stashed away in the desk except when we actually need to use a piece of information. Wastes a lot of time.’

  ‘Oh, and we’re wasting your time now,’ I said. ‘I did want to ask, though: is there a brochure somewhere that describes the services AIntell offers?’ I launched into my cover story, and she reached into a drawer and handed me a glossy booklet.

  ‘Our most recent annual report,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, but don’t you need it?’

  ‘If you’ve ever read an annual report, you know the answer to that. Besides, I can get another if I should want one.’

  I thanked her and we turned to leave. Just as we headed out the door, I heard her say, quietly, ‘Are you all right, Teresa?’

  I didn’t hear her answer, but when she herded Alan and me out the door, I saw tears welling in her eyes.

  ‘Teresa, I don’t mean to pry, but I can see that something’s wrong. Is there any way I can help?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … it’s just that someone close to me – my best friend, actually – she died yesterday, and now—’ Her grief choked her.

  ‘My dear, I’m so sorry. Would you like to forget about our tour? I think you may need some time to pull yourself together.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ She sniffled; I handed her a tissue. ‘But maybe we could go get a cup of coffee or something? The canteen’s not too bad, and it’ll be nearly empty this early. Mostly people don’t take a break till around ten thirty or eleven.’

  I shot a guilty look at Alan. I felt like a monster, encouraging this poor child to talk. I had very strong suspicions that the person she was mourning was the murder victim, and Teresa ought to be home letting the tears flow. I quirked an eyebrow at Alan. Should I go on with this?

  He made the tiniest of nods. Well, then, we’d be monsters together. How sweet.

  The canteen, as predicted, was deserted. Everything was se
lf-serve, so Alan fetched us three cups of coffee and three doughnuts that had seen fresher days. They would suffice for dunking, though, and Teresa needed the sugar, though we certainly didn’t.

  ‘Would it help to talk about it, Teresa?’ asked Alan gently. ‘I have daughters, myself, and sometimes crying on my shoulder used to make them feel a little better.’

  She tried to smile. ‘You’re very kind. I don’t usually get so soppy. It’s just that … well, I didn’t find it really easy to make friends here. I’m a Métis, you see. If you know what that means.’

  ‘You have a heritage that includes First Nations people. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes. My grandfather, my mother’s father, was a Cree. Manitoba has a lot of indigenous people, even still. My grandfather was a wonderful man, strong but gentle. Back when he was young, the Cree were–were sometimes not treated very well. There was a good deal of bitterness, on both sides, when he fell in love with and married my grandmother. Things are better now, but … anyway, I thought when I moved here, I could make my own way, but there are still barriers. Subtle, but real. So until I met Elizabeth, I was pretty lonely. She understood. She was brilliant and funny and beautiful, and she was a full-blooded Cowichan, so she knew—’

  I handed Teresa another tissue. I could hardly speak myself.

  Alan went on, gently but without overt sympathy. He knew from years of talking to the families of crime victims that too much sympathy could hurt as much as too little. ‘Your friend was a co-worker, then?’

  ‘Yes, didn’t I say? Not a co-worker, exactly. She was way up in the company, a senior programmer, reporting to Mr Hartford himself, and I’m just a peon. That’s one reason it was so great that she was nice to me.’ Teresa blew her nose and tried to smile. ‘I don’t know what made me tell you all that. I’m so sorry. We’d better get on with our tour, or someone will catch me loafing.’

  FOURTEEN

  I thought there was now very little reason for us to continue, and I was more and more uneasy about running into Paul Hartford, but Alan signalled silently that it was best we see it through. So we followed Teresa from the canteen.