Red herrings solving str.., p.21
Red Herrings: Solving Streetwise Crime, page 21
I was very happy and relaxed when I started my Vespa scooter and put-putted back home that afternoon. Life could only get better.
That's why I was totally blown away to Oz when I saw who was standing on the dock outside my float house waiting for me to come home. The skin on the back of my neck began to prickle and fear crawled between my shoulder blades. Anyone who could blow away the mayor's balls at six o'clock at night in his own office, well, anyone who could do that or suspected of doing that wasn't my cup of mocha right then. I might need that karate course, but I didn't even have my white belt yet and this man had a revolver in his hand.
I was out of my depth and I knew it. Mark wasn't in the next office waiting for me to call out that I was in trouble. Samir was flat on his back in Vancouver Civic Hospital and Constable Tom was standing guard outside his room. My heroes had deserted me. I had to be my own hero.
I saw Lorne O'Halloran standing on the slippery grey boards of the dock outside my float house. He staggered a little and gulped from a flask he'd taken out of his jacket.
I didn't have to hear the click of his revolver to know that it was loaded and pointing at me. He'd obviously replaced his missing weapon. Lorne was big, drunk, mad, and tough. So I kicked the accelerator on my scooter and roared out of the parking lot.
"Come back here, you bitch!" he blustered. I floored it.
I was going for help. Discretion is the better part of valor, mom had always said.
Bam! A bullet whined near my back tire. Bam! Bam! The next bullet flattened the tire. I skidded out of control and scraped my leg along the gritty asphalt. Sparks flew as the Vespa screeched along the pavement and came to a smoking halt at the edge of the road.
"You've done it now, Lorne O'Halloran!" I shouted. One should never mess with a Valkyrie. "You're burnt cheese toast at the end of the line in the soup kitchen. You're dead animal meat hung up to rot. I'll stand up in court and see your sorry flesh putrefy in jail for the next hundred years." That is, if you can get out of this alive. SHUT UP, VOICES.
Chapter Sixty-five
I heard Lorne laugh and feet scrabbled on rocks up the trail to the parking lot. The edges of my vision glowed and the sun came up in the west just before a flock of blue dodo birds escorted my former supervisor to the top of the hill. I had to think fast. The next Flupenthixol shot was due. My Zyprexa was back in the kitchen cupboard. My stress level was over the top of the mountain. My brain was full of shredded confetti like in New York on St. Patrick's Day.
St. Patrick's Day. The Irish and their pride and booze, and this man's name was O'Halloran. This was May, not March seventeeth, and the cherry trees were in blossom. But I had to confuse him. 'To see the cherry hung with snow.'
"Up the Irish!" I shouted and lifted an arm in greeting. He hesitated, gun in hand.
"Buy you a drink?" I asked and stumbled to my feet. Lorne looked puzzled. The Vespa lay smoking, dead on the tarmac.
"Ever see the sequel to Gone with the Wind? It's called Scarlett. Excellent movie but the critics panned it. What do they know, eh, Lorne? It was set in Ireland, beautiful green land of shamrocks and faery people. You know the faery people? There's gold at the end of the rainbow. Let's talk, big fellow."
"Talk?" He stumbled and almost dropped the gun.
"Yeah, no harm done or offered."
"I think I might have a drinking problem," he mumbled. Yeah, I’d always thought so. He shoved the gun into his pants pocket. "I'm sorry I shot at you."
"You did," I said. I wiped my hands on my khaki pants. My brown plaid shirt was ripped.
"I got tired of drinking coffee," he said. "Alone."
"You had a slip. No big deal." My hands were sweaty and covered with dirt.
He dropped to his knees and covered his face with his beefy hands. "I didn't do it," he sobbed. "I didn't kill the mayor."
"I know," I said. "We won't mention this little incident. You just go home and get cleaned up."
"You know?" He peered at me through his interlaced fingers. "But I thought… you and the detective… the arrest."
"We were bluffing."
"You can't bluff like that. It isn't right."
"I know. I'm sorry. We all make mistakes."
"Have you got it figured out yet?"
"I need your help, Lorne. First sober up, get some hot coffee in your belly so you're a wide awake drunk." I smiled. He would pay. He would pay big time. First I had to disarm the son of a beaver bitch.
A silver SUV whirled around the bend in the road going down to the marina. Mark. Never was so glad to see a cop of any complexion in my life. Crumb, my leg burned. I had major road rash all the way up to my thigh. I hated myself for being a weak sister, but I sort of collapsed in Mark's arms when he opened the car door.
"What's this?" he said.
I noticed the cut-off rose in his buttonhole. I noticed the yellow halo around the sun rising in the west. I noticed Lorne reach for his revolver in slow motion.
Mark shot him. I heard Lorne scream. There you've done it, stupid, roared the voices.
Chapter Sixty-six
What I heard from Sergeant Ross, who got the message from Constable Tom, was that Samir cooperated fully. "So did Pepsi, to his credit," the sergeant said. "Samir's surgery went very well. He's resting with his leg in a cast. The hospital put him in a private locked room and Tom's outside."
"The constable took Pepsi's and Samir's statements and got them sworn to on an affidavit by a Notary Public. Both statements were consistent."
"Good," I mumbled. Goody two shoes, whispered the Screamer, not screaming now.
I remembered the muddy shoes in the morning and how Samir had showered first thing, that morning we found out the Doc was killed. Pepsi and Samir had parted ways before midnight so Pepsi could go to work. That gave Samir the time and opportunity to do the deed and get home, sneak into bed before I woke up. "Putting pillows into a bed to make it look slept in is the oldest trick in the schoolboy's box of tricks. I fell for it," I said. "We had a curfew at the Powolskis and he knew it. It didn't look good for Samir. Hence he tried to cover it up."
"Looks that way," the sergeant said. "Anyway, you're cleared, Annie."
I wondered if the police had been around to question Meredith and Henry Powolski. What they thought about it all. I guess if they opened up their house to cons and crazies they should expect some police activity and questions about their residents. I wondered if Meredith was expecting Pepsi and Samir to come back. Of course they would. There was no place else to go that they could afford. And they loved it there. Mrs. P treated them real good.
I got a prescription for my meds and had them filled at a local pharmacy.
"You'll give me the injections here at the pharmacy? Just call Dr. Blanche. He's set it all up there in Campbell River, too far for me to travel every two or three weeks for a shot."
"That's fine," the pharmacist said. "We do it all the time. We know Dr. Blanche. I'll give him a call."
"I'm not supposed to leave the Island."
"No one can leave the Island. These are bad times." The pharmacist began some paperwork, at the back where I couldn't see.
"I can see Dr. Blanche when I need him." I hoped that wouldn't be often. Intent on his paperwork, the pharmacist smiled, dismissing me.
It took a few days to fix my scooter almost good as new. After that, it wobbled a bit though, and I had to be real careful. Probably shouldn’t have been driving the thing after Lorne shot the back tire out and it skidded on the gravel. Oh well, my Vespa and me were a fixture on the island and everyone knew it. So I got it repaired.
A week later, I went down to the landing at Modge Bay and welcomed Samir and Pepsi home. They were escorted by Constable Tom, but not in handcuffs, to Tom's credit. The RCMP and the sergeant met them at the pier, too, as the ferry chugged in, spilling water from its engines and maneuvering into the dock. Mark was on board as someone who'd met them at the mainland off the Island Queen.
Mark was on supervision for firing his police gun but hadn't been given a leave of absence. He'd seen a counselor a couple of times. I didn't detect any guilt or regret for firing at Lorne. It was clearly self-defense and I was a witness.
"Poor Lorne," I said to Mark as we walked to the police paddy wagon. "He has a broken shoulder, bullet went clear through the bone, but other than that he's physically all right except for the drinking problem. I saw him down at a twelve-step meeting a few times."
"Almost anyone would do anything, if full of too much booze, especially an alcoholic like Lorne with a bad history," I continued, trying to match pace with Mark, my hero.
"I found out that Lorne came from a military background too, and was dishonorably discharged for assaulting a superior officer," Mark said. "Funny how those pseudo-cop occupations find the right people."
"Or the wrong ones," I said. Mark pushed Samir and Pepsi into the back of the police van and locked the door. "Will Samir be all right?"
"He manages with crutches. I'm surprised how far he's come since the operation. His surgeon is a genius."
"They won't keep him long, will they?"
"They might transfer them to Victoria. I don't know. They'll face the circuit court judge in the morning."
"Lorne's on probation for drawing a firearm against a police officer. He's lucky that's the only charge."
I didn't say anything about shooting at me. I tried to protect Lorne, the gods only knew why, I guess it was old habit. He'd been like a father to me at one time. I was confused about my feelings for authority figures. I generally got along all right with them. Except for when I was twelve and set fire to the living room drapes to demonstrate my rage and frustration with authority at home. No wonder your father doesn't trust you.
Behind my back, I counted the vertical stripes on Mark's shirt.
Chapter Sixty-seven
Samir and Pepsi were released the same day, after a closed-circuit TV appearance with a Justice of the Peace. They were warned to stay in Serendipity but other than that, they were free to go.
"Guess the evidence wasn't overwhelming," I said as Mark frowned and drummed his fingers on my kitchen table. The laptop was streaming music but not very loud.
I found out later that Mark had interceded for the pair. Odd, since he'd been convinced of Samir's guilt all along.
"He's not going anywhere," Mark said. "Guy's just out of the hospital and major surgery, he should be at home recuperating."
"Nice of you," I said. "Changed your mind about him?"
"I think too much evidence is stacked against other players in this melodrama."
"Like Lorne O'Halloran?"
"Like that."
"Ever watch Sergeant Preston of the Yukon?"
"Loved it," he said.
"Well, King, this case is closed." He put an arm around my shoulders. I melted a little inside but shrugged his hand off my bones. "It isn't, though," I said.
"I think it's looking pretty clear. It's either Lorne or Samir."
"Not necessarily."
"Why are you protecting them?" Pink was singing Goin' to California.
"I don't think either one of them did it," I said.
"You changed your mind about Lorne?"
"Yes, I can change my mind. I'm figuring things out, and Lorne didn't do it. He's a mess, but he didn't blow away the mayor. He couldn't plan something like that, doesn't have the brains or the guts without alcohol, and he wasn't drinking at that time."
"I believe Lorne's gun is in Victoria now," Mark said. "The one he pulled on us in the parking lot. I got a question."
"What?"
"Are you off this case or not?"
"I talked to Erna about that yesterday. She says it was Lorne took me off the case, and she's put me back, with retroactive pay."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Yes, Martha Stewart."
"What about the stress? Are your drugs handling it?"
"My meds are fine. No more visions, no more voices." I lied again. Nobody has to know.
"I didn't know about that," Mark said.
"What? The hallucinations or the obsessions?"
"It must have been hard to work with all those problems," he said. "I can't imagine that myself. You're a strong woman."
"We're all strong, all us crazy people. Can you imagine how much willpower it takes to get up every morning and face the day when your meds make you feel like crap and you can't get your head off the pillow in the morning because you're drugged out of your mind? To go to work like that, to talk to friends and employers when your voices are screaming and whispering evil intentions on the part of everyone you trust or should trust? To pretend everything's all right when snakes are coming out of the TV screen?"
"I can't imagine," he said.
"Every med has side effects and the psychotropic meds are amongst the worst. Sedation is only the tip of the Titanic. I used to fall asleep on picnic tables. But the worst is the stigma. The worst is the general public's fear and the suspicions of wrongdoing when you're not doing anything wrong, if anything goes wrong and there's a mentally ill person nearby, guess who gets the blame? Guess who gets investigated? Guess the nasty innuendos and the snubs? My dad thinks I have a weak mind. My mom knew better, bless her heart, but my dad wanted to take me right out of the will. My relatives all thought I was stupid not mentally ill, they don't know the difference. Guess who's stupid? They are."
"Yes," he said and put his arm back around my shoulders. This time I let it stay for a few minutes before shrugging off his touch. I felt a pang in my guts and my bowels started to let loose.
"I think you're upset," he said.
"That's a problem?" I asked and grinned. "I should be upset. There would be a problem if I wasn't."
"You're right. You should be upset. Prejudice of any kind isn't right."
"You're right, Mark." I felt tired all of a sudden, so weary, so tired of all the fighting and the posturing and the staying strong because there was no choice, it was either that or die.
"Some of us kill ourselves," I said.
"Why?"
"We can't face it anymore."
"You are strong and courageous people. Misunderstood."
"I'm not keeping the truth secret."
"Good for you." Mark tapped his feet to music spilling from the stereo speakers.
"Want to get away?" he continued. "I've been thinking, after this is over…"
"No," I said. "You just feel sorry for me."
"I don't," Mark's breath was warm and very close to my face. I could feel the exhalation of air stir the fine hairs lying across my forehead. "I…"
"What?"
He didn't say it. I was glad he didn't say the word I'd been afraid of all my life. No wonder I never felt safe. There were too many jerks out there using the wrong words to get their own way, and too many saps who believed them. Was I a sap?
Oh, yes. Little stabs of excitement bucketed through my viscera, my guts, my belly, my chest, my brain, where it all begins.
I reached out and stroked the smooth contour of Mark's face. That took a lot of guts but I couldn't stop once I'd started. My fingers traced the outline of his thick broad eyebrows, his brow, his fine nose and… his mouth.
His lips brushed mine. Soft like summer sunshine on a basking hill open to the thrill of exploration. I felt the tip of his tongue and drew back.
"Too soon." He put his face in his hands.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I think you should go."
Pink sang Lonely Girl.
Chapter Sixty-eight
Boy, that Samir looked handsome sprawled in my armchair by the stereo. Even his cast and the crutches he'd used to get here looked sexy to me. I liked him vulnerable. I wondered how it would be to crawl into bed with a man with a cast, if there were any complications and who would be on top? I couldn't imagine he would. That was an interesting premise. The guy who always had to be in control. The irresistible force against the immovable object. I smiled to myself at the image of the two-backed beast with a stump.
Memories of Mark two days ago surfaced, his lips brushing mine, his tongue searching my mouth. I felt like a whore looking at Samir the way I did now. If Amy Winehouse sang Back to Black that would have been perfect, but instead there was the two of us chatting in my little rooms. The judge had let Samir and Pepsi go on their own recognizance, meant there was a bond but they didn't have to pay anything unless they broke their probation. Meaning unless they left the island or did something else illegal. Like drugs, maybe. I pulled on my lower lip and frowned.
