Authors: Howard Engel
Dead & Buried (34 page)
“Wasn’t the Commander out of town when Pásztory died?”
“He’d just got back but was keeping a low profile, until the arrival of guests for the wedding made it impossible to stay in hiding. He and Biddy had been living at the club since their return from the south.”
“Benny, you’re not saying that Murdo Forbes killed Jack Dowden and Alex Pásztory, are you? That would be too ironic!” Anna was looking at me earnestly. Her
cheeks were quite flushed with the excitement of what she was participating in. I had to break the connection and focus on some neutral object, Pete Staziak, who repeated the jist of Anna’s question.
“Well, all I can tell you is: Dr. Roppa, the archaeologist told me that he met the Commander at the fort on the morning that Jack died. We know that Caine was covering up for somebody. What better candidate than the man who had been lobbying the board to take him on? Caine was the fair-haired boy in the Commander’s eyes, and the Commander was Caine’s best hope for a foot on the ladder to success. Is it taking a big leap to say that Caine would look out for the Commander? In the case of Dowden, Caine only had to move the body to a new and potentially less threatening location and to arrange for witnesses. It was the second death that involved the hiding of a body.”
“Can you place the Commander anywhere near the fort on the day Pásztory was killed?” Chris asked.
“The people running a Bed and Breakfast in Niagaraon-the-Lake say a Bentley that matches the description of the Commander’s car was parked in front of their place on the afternoon Pásztory was murdered.”
“Where exactly is that?”
“Four short blocks away from the fort. I’ll give you the names.”
“Wouldn’t there have been a lot of drivers and working men on the site at the time of both killings, Benny,” asked Staziak.
“Dowden was killed very early in the morning. If it was witnessed only by Caine, I’d call that luck, dumb luck. The second killing took place at a time arranged by the Commander, who knew where and when they wouldn’t be disturbed. He was getting more calculating, becoming better at it.”
“Savas took a deep breath and finished the cognac in his glass. “It’s not a suit of nettles, Benny. You haven’t really wrapped up the Commander in his guilt. What else do you have?”
“Pásztory was shot with the Commander’s own gun. We knew that but weren’t taking it into account since the Commander’s dead too. And that brings me, Anna, to the other reason for Biddy shooting her husband. He was getting out of hand. He had always been a businessman of the old school, more a robber baron than an enlightened bureaucrat. Dowden got in the way, so he knocked him to his knees and rammed his own truck into him. Pásztory threatened to blow the lid off everything, so he was given a short, sharp shot right in the heart. Not just a lucky shot, Pete,” I said facing Staziak. “Remember the Commander had military training. So had Biddy, now that I think of it.”
For a few moments we just sat looking from one face to another. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. The cognac was gone from Savas’s glass, so I gave him some of mine. I put down the cigarette I’d been waving around unlit for the last hour. The ashtray nearest me was almost empty.
“This isn’t very satisfying, Benny. Who gets the handcuffs? Biddy Forbes? I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Chris, I’ll let you dance around that question. It goes beyond the scope of my jurisdiction.”
“Hell, Benny,” Pete reminded me, “you don’t have any jurisdiction!”
“I feel sorry for Biddy Forbes,” Anna said.
“She was in a tight corner.”
“Still. They’d been married for nearly fifty years.”
Savas turned to Anna, grinning. “That’s a better argument for it than Benny gave!” he said, jerking his thumb in my direction.
“There’s just one more thing: how did you know that Dowden was killed at the fort and not in the Kinross yard?”
“It’s a question of pods and seeds, Pete. Are you familiar with a plant called Dame’s Rocket, also known as
Hesperis matronalis?”
And that’s when they started clobbering me. All three of them.
THIRTY-TWO
It was nearly noon when I climbed out of bed. The first thing I noticed was the stale smell of dead cigarettes. I was growing sensitive to the state of my health. My infatuation with smoke was fading. I was going to have to face it, but I put it off until I could look at myself with clean teeth and a shaved face.
After a leisurely breakfast at the Di, I drove over Western Hill and parked outside Irma Dowden’s little house. Behind one of the houses of a neighbour, somebody was burning leaves, which was against the law but smelled nice in the wind.
Ralph, the dog, met me at the front door. He hadn’t grown any friendlier since our first meeting just two weeks ago. Irma’s small face appeared a few feet above the dog’s.
“Oh, it’s you, is it. I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Get down, Ralph! Let him be! You better come in, Mr. Cooperman, I mean—what was it—Benny?”
“That’ll do nicely,” I said, making my way once again into the simple living-room with the picture of Jack and his Freightliner on the mantlepiece. We both sat down, before Irma jumped up and headed to the kitchen. Again
she offered either tea or coffee. She was still bluffing about the coffee, I think, but I’ll never know, since I opted for tea. After talking with our voices shouting from kitchen to living-room through the empty dining-room, I decided to join Irma at the back of the house. Soon we were sitting at the antique green table drinking tea. I told her what I’d found out and what had happened since I’d seen her last. When I finally finished giving her the short version, she looked into her cup sadly.
“You’ve done a lot of work in two weeks, Benny, and I know I should be thankful. I am in a way. But, in another, it still won’t bring him back, will it?”
“Would it have been better if there was somebody going to jail?” She shook her head.
“I don’t think so. I was never out for blood, you know. I was never out to get people. It was just that damn company, Kinross. I was thinking that Kinross was different than people, but it turns out that it’s this fellow Caine and all those others.”
“I guess it doesn’t help when the murderer is a stroke victim in her upper seventies.”
“I might go see her in the hospital. She must feel terrible not being able to communicate and all. I’m not doing anything this afternoon. I could just drop in for a few minutes around three o’clock.” She caught me smiling. “What’s the matter with that?” she asked.
“I was just thinking that three o’clock was the time of your appointment to see me back at the beginning of the month. You were ready to take on the world that afternoon.
You’d already been to other investigators. Now, it looks like a provincial inquiry, which was already underway when you came to see me, will put an end to the way Kinross and the other companies have been ignoring the law. Maybe we’ll get better laws after this. We need them.”
“I hope so, I hope so, but it still won’t do me any good. I’m not getting the lift, Benny, that I hoped you’d provide. All I can think of is those poor people and that terrible, mad old man.”
“That’s why Biddy killed him.”
“She put a stop to him, that’s what she did. Funny the law can’t touch her for it, isn’t it?”
“It wouldn’t enhance the image of the law. It would bring it into disrespect, detract from its majesty and authority. And we can’t have that, now can we?”
“Well, I guess it’s all too late now anyway. It’s all dead and buried. Would you like to have another cup of tea?”
“Why not?”
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A BENNY COOPERMAN MYSTERY
Benny is recovering in a Toronto hospital from a serious blow to the head. He was found unconscious beside a dead woman in a dumpster, so he figures he must have been close to solving a case, though he has no memory of the events. With his girlfriend, Anna, working as field agent, he tries to piece together the events that led to a murder—and his own injuries.
Find out more about Howard Engel mysteries at
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Left with short-term memory loss and unable to read, Benny Cooperman is ready to pack in his career as a private investigator. But an old schoolmate convinces him to locate her missing husband—or at least the family savings. Benny’s quest takes him to the seductive environs of Murinam, a former French possession in Indonesia, where nothing is as it appears to be. The heat is on as mayhem and murder ensue among the colourful denizens of the tropics, but Benny keeps a cool head.
Find out more about Howard Engel mysteries at