There were washrooms just outside the door. I detoured into one, claiming urgent need. Which was true. At my age it almost always is. But I also wanted to suggest that Teresa wash her face in cold water to help remove the signs of crying. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to think we’ve been bullying you, my dear,’ I said, trying to sound as if my image was my chief concern.
The cold water helped. So did Alan’s matter-of-fact conversation as we traversed corridors that seemed identical. He asked about artificial intelligence. He asked about applications of the technology. He asked about working conditions in the company, about community life in Victoria, about anything that came into his head. Teresa answered as best she could. I still didn’t understand anything at all about AI, but Teresa had calmed down, which was the important thing.
Finally she stopped at an elevator and pushed the call button. ‘The executive offices are on the top floor. They’re really impressive, and there’s an awesome view of Victoria and the harbour.’
Panicky, I looked at Alan. He consulted his watch and opened his mouth, but Teresa continued, ‘It’s a pity you can’t meet Mr Hartford. He’s very nice and always glad to greet visitors. But he’s away all day today.’ Her lip curled. ‘It’s for a meeting with one of the charities he supports. He’s always endowing this or contributing for that. He does so much good for the community! But there’s this woman – everyone says she’s out to catch him. I can’t stand her. She’s on most of the charity boards, too, so she sees him a lot. She’s too rich, too beautiful, too … everything. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see through her. She’s a predatory woman!’
‘Oh, dear. What a pity, if Mr Hartford is such a pleasant man.’
‘He’s too nice. He just can’t see that she’s got her claws into him.’
‘How did you meet this siren?’ asked Alan mildly.
‘Oh, I’ve never met her. I’ve seen her, once when Mr Hartford brought her here for a company gala. Tall, blonde, gorgeous. The best face and figure money can buy. Jewels, designer clothes. I can see why most men would be swept off their feet. But Mr Hartford is smarter than that. Elizabeth tells me – used to tell me …’ She swallowed, but she had herself under control. ‘Here’s the elevator.’
The executive suite was all that one might expect. I didn’t anticipate being allowed into Hartford’s actual office, of course, but the outer offices were certainly impressive. I could imagine potential clients being intimidated by the splendour and virtually hypnotized into accepting a deal a little less favourable than they had planned.
To my surprise, though, Teresa persuaded the decorative receptionist to open Hartford’s door and let us peek in.
It was much as I had expected. Everything lush, expensive, rather daunting. There was about an acre of desk, set at an angle so Hartford could look at whoever came in, but also could enjoy the view, which was indeed magnificent. The desk was clean and empty save for a photograph in a silver frame.
I raised my eyebrows at Teresa in silent question. The Siren?
She nodded almost imperceptibly.
We left, but not before I’d noted the flamboyant signature scrawled across the photograph: Alexis.
‘She would have a name like that, wouldn’t she?’ I commented to Alan when we had made it back to the car.
‘Now be reasonable, dear heart. You can’t blame her for the name her parents chose for her.’
‘I don’t feel like being reasonable. Alan, that poor girl!’
My husband is accustomed to following my sometimes convoluted thought processes. ‘Teresa. Yes. She’s terribly unhappy. I feel almost worse for her than for Elizabeth’s family. They have their tribe and their traditions for comfort. Teresa is alone, and far from home.’
‘Do you suppose she knows she was murdered?’
‘I don’t see how she could. That information has not been made public, and won’t be.’
‘But that means Silas will be blamed!’
‘No. I guess I didn’t tell you. You know the police often withhold critical information. Things only the murderer would know, in the hopes that the villain will give himself away. John told me a careful press release has been prepared saying that Miss George’s injuries are not consistent with an attack by any native bird, and that a search is being made for a bird that may have been kept as an exotic pet. That’s not a lie, by the way. Someone’s cockatiel got loose a few days ago, and it is being looked for. Not in connection with Elizabeth George, of course, but the police can’t be blamed for what the public infer.’
‘Devious.’
‘We have to be. We’re dealing with a ruthless killer.’
If I hadn’t been feeling so depressed I would have smiled. Alan hadn’t even realized he had identified himself with the police working the case. An old fire horse …
‘Do you think you can find the way home, love?’ he went on. ‘We have a good deal of thinking to do, and I for one could use some good coffee. Paul Hartford may be a generous employer, but his canteen coffee is beyond dreadful.’
I made coffee, good coffee in a French press, and the fragrance made me feel a bit better. There was still some shortbread left, and the snack helped restore some balance to my mind.
‘I presume,’ said Alan, leaning forward and tenting his fingers, ‘that you brought along your trusty notebook.’
‘Of course. Where did I put my purse?’
Alan eventually found it in the bathroom, where it certainly had no business to be. He brought it to me and I fished out notebook and pen. ‘Though I don’t know what I’m going to write down. My mind is a hodgepodge of emotions, with very little that makes sense.’
‘Ah. I thought you were too upset to notice much. And it is upsetting, I agree.’
‘It’s miserable. The whole thing.’
‘Yes. But you need to stop wallowing and start thinking. In short, get busy, love!’
His tone ticked me off. I glared at him.
He grinned back. ‘Worked, didn’t it?’
‘Alan Nesbitt, sometimes you make me so mad I could––’
‘Yes, I know. But you’re not feeling quite so wretched, are you?’
I maintained a dignified silence.
‘Good. Now let’s think about what we learned this morning. Our little tour was quite interesting, don’t you think?’
‘Hmph! We found out about Paul Hartford’s fancy piece, if you think that’s interesting.’
‘I think it is, actually. I could stand to know a bit more about her, but if she’s on the board of several charities, that shouldn’t be too difficult. One look at, say, a symphony program listing benefactors should give us her last name.’
‘Well, there can’t be too many Alexises, I wouldn’t think. Drat the name. You can’t even make it plural easily. Alexi?’ I made a note: check donor lists.
‘And then there’s the fact that Hartford certainly knew Elizabeth George,’ Alan went on. ‘Did you notice the unoccupied office up on the royal tier, near Hartford’s suite?’
‘I wasn’t actually noticing a great deal,’ I muttered.
Alan patted my hand. ‘Never mind. You’re not used to this sort of thing. One never becomes hardened to the tragedy, but I did learn to compartmentalize, set my feelings aside while I was working, and fall to bits later, if I had to. Usually it was when there was a child involved.’
That brought me out of my mood. I shivered. ‘Oh, Alan! And all those years after Helen died and you were alone, I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Well. So there was an empty office. You think it was Elizabeth’s?’
‘I do. It was the next but one to Hartford’s. It hadn’t been cleared out, and there were a few pictures and so on that looked like the work of indigenous artists. And there was a large bouquet of roses. Wilting in the wastebasket.’
I tried to think what that meant. ‘Um. They were past their prime and Elizabeth threw them out, and no one has cleaned up the office yet.’
‘Some of the roses were still in bud.’
‘Oh. So the cleaning staff threw them out – no, that won’t work. A cleaner would have taken them away.’
‘Almost anyone would have taken them away once Elizabeth had no further use for them. They were lovely, expensive flowers. No, what I think is that they were a gift from someone Elizabeth didn’t care for, and she discarded them immediately.’
‘You think Hartford?’
‘Why not? We know he was a womanizer. There’s the Siren, of course, but if rumour is to be trusted, she is pursuing him. Most men prefer to do the pursuing. Elizabeth was an attractive woman, and she was in constant contact with him.’
‘That does make sense. And she rejected him, so he killed her?’
Alan shook his head. ‘That seems weak. Yes, he would be a man who would not take rejection lightly. But not to the extent of murder. No, I think there’s something else behind this. And I remind you that all this is pure speculation.’
‘Maybe the Siren killed her. A woman scorned, jealous of a rival for Hartford’s affections.’
‘Perhaps. But remembering that face, does Alexis look like a woman who would ever be jealous of another woman?’
I had to admit that she did not.
‘I’m going to call John and report what we’ve learned. The facts, not the speculation.’ Alan permitted himself a wry smile. ‘I don’t envy Hartford when the RCMP come to question him.’
‘I don’t envy the cops,’ I retorted. ‘That man is dangerous, Alan.’
Neither of us was hungry for lunch, having eaten sweet stuff all morning, but we needed groceries to eke out the bare necessities we’d purchased earlier. While we were out, we bought a couple of newspapers, the Globe and Mail, a national paper, and the local Times Colonist. On the way home Alan opened the latter. ‘Oh, my,’ he said. ‘His Nibs has entered the realm of politics. “Paul Hartford, owner and CEO of AIntell, Inc., has announced his candidacy as a Member of Parliament for Victoria. This is his first official entry into the political realm, but he has been active in the Conservative party for some time and is well known both here and in Ottawa as a rising party leader. Locally, he is a major benefactor of the Victoria Symphony; last year AIntell was a major sponsor of Symphony Splash. Among other contributions to the community are his support of the UVic athletic program and his endowment of many scholarships, particularly to students in technology programs. In a statement opening his campaign, Hartford said, ‘I believe I can help to make this lovely city an even better place to live. We need to control the petty crime that is marring the sense of peace in our beautiful community, and we must also deal with the major problems of homelessness and drug abuse. In a few days I will outline the steps I propose to take to solve these and other issues, in order to benefit the citizens of our wonderful home.’” Then it goes on to name his other benefactions, a long list. And what do you think of that, my dear?’
‘I think I’m glad I don’t live here. I’d just as soon vote for Attila the Hun. Or perhaps I do wish I lived here, so I could vote against him.’
‘And I think he’s a very clever man. We’ve worked it out, haven’t we? Without even realizing it. Knowing now about his political ambitions, and his general nastiness, the pattern emerges. Hartford’s at the bottom of the disturbances. He creates a problem and then promises to solve it. He may have a little harder time with drugs and homelessness, though. Presumably he didn’t create those problems.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’ I gave the steering wheel an angry whack; the car veered and Alan reached over and steadied the wheel.
‘Easy, love. Perhaps you might wait till we get home to express your fury?’
‘Do you know what I want to do? Besides throw a full-blown temper tantrum, I mean? I want to talk to Amy and see what she thinks about all this.’
‘That is an excellent idea. Do we have enough in the way of provisions to invite her to dinner? Or perhaps her and John?’
I took a mental inventory of our recent purchases. ‘Everything except dessert, I think. But there’s ice cream, and maybe John knows someplace where he could pick up some fruit. Berries, for choice, if there are any ripe ones yet.’
I got busy in the kitchen as soon as we reached the condo, while Alan called John with the invitation for him and Amy. ‘We’re in luck,’ he reported back. ‘The early strawberries are just in, and John will pick some up on his way to get Amy.’
‘Great. Then I’ll make some shortcake. A pity I didn’t buy whipping cream, but the ice cream will do nicely. Though I would have enjoyed whipping up the cream. By hand!’
‘You could attack some bread dough,’ he said helpfully.
‘No time. I can attack the chicken with the cleaver, though.’
‘I believe,’ he said, ‘seeing the way your mind is working, that I’ll retire to the safety of the living room and read the papers.’
‘Coward!’
By the time I had the chicken nicely simmering with wine and herbs and other good things, my temper was under control. Hacking away with the heavy cleaver had indeed been therapeutic, though I thought I’d have to buy Sue a new cutting board. And I’d thought out what I wanted to ask John and Amy.
I put some new potatoes on to boil just as our guests arrived, and we settled down with drinks while the coq au vin finished cooking. ‘We’ve learned some very interesting things,’ said Alan, ‘but they’re not the sort to serve as a first course. Can we think of something pleasant to talk about before dinner?’
‘There’s always the weather,’ said Amy, ‘but the trouble is, in summer it’s always delightful here, so that topic gets boring. Let’s see. They’re having sales at a lot of the stores in Mayfair Mall, if you’re interested in some bargains in clothes.’
‘I’m always interested in bargains,’ I said, ‘but at my age and figure I don’t get wildly enthusiastic about clothes. Although I did buy a gorgeous Cowichan sweater in Duncan. I’d never heard of them before, but they’re amazing.’
John and Amy agreed, and that did it for that subject. Silence fell.
‘Something smells wonderful,’ said John, a little desperately.
‘Coq au vin,’ I replied. ‘One of the things I’ve made so often I don’t need a recipe anymore. And it’s almost ready, so I’d better dish it up, and we can give up on trying to avoid what we all want to talk about. Alan, could you set the table, please? I’m sure Amy can help you find whatever you need.’
FIFTEEN
When we were seated, John, unexpectedly, raised his glass. ‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ he said without a trace of a smile. ‘To the truth and those who seek it!’
We were all happy to drink to that. ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’
I hadn’t realized I had said it aloud until Alan murmured, ‘Amen.’
I turned red. Any discussion even remotely connected with religion is almost certain to offend or embarrass someone, and I truly hadn’t meant to speak my thought. But Amy smiled at me. ‘I might not have put it quite that way, but you’re absolutely right. I lived with lies and deception the whole time I was married to Paul. It was exactly like being in prison. A comfortable, well-furnished, plush prison. So yes, here’s to you, Dorothy and Alan and John, and everyone else who’s trying to free Victoria from the chains of dishonesty and corruption.’
Now that the subject had come up, I was suddenly eager to talk about it. ‘Amy, maybe I shouldn’t ask, and tell me to shut up if you want, but why did you divorce Paul? I mean, besides the fact that he was intolerable as a husband.’
‘The final straw was the usual one, the Other Woman. Or women, actually. He was a very attractive man. Still is, for that matter, if you don’t know what’s behind the smile. That, and his money, drew them like flies to honey. He was discreet about it at first, but then he took to squiring his lady friends to the charity events he loved to sponsor, flaunting them while I stayed home to look after his daughter. He thought I was s
o besotted, and so dependent on him, that I wouldn’t dare protest. He was wrong.’
‘But didn’t that obvious infidelity upset those charitable organizations? I would have thought a certain moral tone would—’
Three pitying looks stopped me.
‘Dorothy, my dear, a fair amount of slime is often papered over by good deeds,’ Alan said gently. ‘The end justifying the means. You don’t suppose every contributor to charity is doing it to support the cause!’
‘Of course I don’t! I’m not that naïve! Tax deductions play a big part.’
John shook his head. ‘For small donors, individuals, yes. And of course a business will welcome anything it can use to reduce its taxes. But image-building can be far more important. Paul Hartford’s image has always been very important to him. He loves big powerful cars, but he bikes to work, to prove how conscious he is of environmental issues.’
‘But that’s just what I’m saying! Wouldn’t all this womanizing spoil the benevolent image he was trying to cultivate?’
‘You have to remember who runs the big charities,’ said Amy. ‘If a man is the chairman of the board, probably he either doesn’t care about the morals of donors, or is envious. As for the women – and most of the big guns are women – they just thought that poor Paul had a little wife who’d let motherhood turn her into a drudge, so he had every right to escort someone decorative to the fundraisers. And the beautiful ones probably had dreams of being at his side the next time.’
I finished my glass of wine. ‘The more I hear about that man, the less I like him. I suppose you’ve both known about his political ambitions long before it came out in the paper today.’
John sighed. ‘No specifics, but as the paper said, he’s been cosying up to the Tories for quite some time. Nobody can prove it, but nobody on the right side of the law would be a bit surprised to learn he’s been offering tech help for voter manipulation. You Americans don’t have a monopoly in political corruption, you know.’
Death in the Garden City Page 11
