Seaweed in the Soup (34 page)
Mrs. Nairn went out. Bernie put his corncob pipe on the windowsill. We both put our uniform caps on and went along the corridors to Superintendent Mallory's office.
“Wait here a minute while I have a word with the boss,” Bernie said.
He went in. They kept me waiting for a few minutes, and then it was my turn. Victoria's senior policeman was sitting at his desk. Bernie Tapp and Nice Manners were facing Superintendent Mallory from separate corners of the large room. Nobody looked very happy.
Mallory stood up to return my salute, sat down again and told me to stand easy.
I tucked my hat under my left arm and remained standing with my feet together.
“I've received CDI Tapp's final report, Seaweed,” Mallory said, his voice slow and grave. “As regards the cocaine possession charge, you are exonerated. These are sad times for the Victoria Police Department. Constable Bradley died in disgrace, and your career is finished. I commend you for your role in solving several recent murders. With one notable exception, you've been a credit to the force and to the uniform. I take no joy in this occasion, believe me.”
Mallory stood up, walked to a hat stand by his window, and put his uniform cap on. Scowling at Nice Manners he said, “Did you hear me, Inspector? Sergeant Seaweed's police career is finished. Do you have anything further to contribute?”
“No, sir,” Manners replied with a voice and manner that reminded me of TV's bible punchers. “This is a sad day for the Victoria Police Department.”
“You don't think, Inspector Manners, that under the circumstances you might consider dropping the attempted assault charge against Sergeant Seaweed?”
“I have considered that possibility, sir. I've thought about it long and hard. However, in all sincerity, I think Seaweed must be dismissed. Otherwise, department morale is bound to be undermined.”
Mallory's voice was troubled. “What about you, Silas? Don't you have anything to say in your own defence? Surely there must be something?”
“No, sir.”
“That's it then,” Mallory was saying, when Bernie spoke up.
“Excuse me, Chief. There is one last small detail we should clear up before Seaweed gets the push. As Inspector Manners has pointed out, department morale will suffer otherwise.”
“All right, get on with it!” Mallory said irately. “For the sergeant's sake, let's not drag this farce out any longer than necessary.”
The word
farce
brought a bit of colour into Manners' cheeks.
Bernie marched to the door and opened it. Harry Biedel and two RCMP officers were waiting outside in the corridor. Bernie brought them in and paraded them in a line alongside me. Superintendent Mallory looked mystified, but he remained silent.
“These three officers were present when Inspector Manners removed the suspicious parcel from Seaweed's chimney,” Bernie announced. “Will you correct me if I'm wrong, Inspector?”
Manners nodded.
“Isn't it also correct that just before that event, you kicked Seaweed's cat?”
“Kicked a cat?” Manners said, startled. “Well, I may have done, although you're making it sound worse than it was . . . ”
“Rubbish!” Harry Biedel shouted. “Manners kicked the poor little creature so hard it flew across the room and hit a wall. That's why Silas went for Manners' throat . . . ”
“Silence, Biedel!” Mallory bellowed. “Hold your tongue until I give you permission to speak.”
“Be damned to that, sir,” Biedel shouted angrily. “Silas loves that cat and everybody in Victoria's police department knows that's why Silas went after Manners' ass. Too bad I held him back. Manners deserved a whipping. Too bad we haven't . . . ”
“Constable Biedel. Get out of my office! Leave this instant, I'll deal with you later.”
Biedel saluted and went out.
Silence reigned until Bernie said soberly, “Chief, we're in a predicament. If Inspector Manners insists on punishing Seaweed, I will have no option but to charge the inspector with cruelty to animals. Animal cruelty is a firing offence.”
“Wait a minute,” Manners said. “Animal cruelty isn't a firing offence . . . ”
“It is if the charge is pressed by a senior officer,” Mallory corrected him. “Pity though. It means that I'll lose two valuable officers instead of one.”
“Here goes,” Bernie said soberly. “Inspector Manners. You are hereby charged with . . . ”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, let's not be too hasty,” Manners interrupted. “When I consider all of the ramifications . . . ”
“I can hardly believe my bloody ears, Inspector!” Bernie yelled. “A man of your high and mighty moral principles! Don't tell me you're having second thoughts?”
“All right, don't rub it in, Tapp,” Superintendent Mallory bellowed. “I've heard enough nonsense and bad language for one day. Sergeant Seaweed, you are reinstated without loss of salary, seniority or privileges. Inspector Manners, you wait here with me. The rest of you get out.”
Mallory waited till the door closed before starting his excoriations, but didn't trouble to conceal his anger or lower his voice.
Out in the corridor, Harry Biedel and the two RCMP officers were listening and grinning their heads off.
“Way to go, Harry,” Bernie said. “I don't think you have anything to fear from Mallory. He might even give you a medal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bernie wanted to close up shop and buy me lunch, but I was feeling a bit peculiar after the day's events, so I declined with thanks and drove to my office instead.
Cynthia Leach was out. PC was out. I left the window blinds shut, took out the office bottle and poured myself a drink. I toasted Queen Elizabethâwhose majestic gaze seemed severe that dayâand thought about life.
I was back in harness. Big deal, so what? What did I have to look forward to? Dragging small helpless children from the clutches of drunken abusive parents. Enforcing Victoria's open-container bylaw. Arresting angry high-school dropouts wasted on crack. And Twinner Scudd and his cohorts were going to cause a problem for me down the line, but maybe I had it coming. He had probably saved my life, but I hadn't done much in return. When I tried to intervene with Crown prosecutors, I'd been told that Twinner had undoubtedly conspired in several recent killings. Five years meant he was getting off lightly.
A motorist with giant speakers was parked outside Swans pub, listening to vintage, high-volume rock and roll. When Dire Straits finished singing “Money for Nothing,” it was ZZ Top's turn. They were still belting out “Velcro Fly” when my desk phone rang.
It was Piggy Mainwaring. She was wondering if I knew what Mae West used to say about men?
“Mae had a lot to say about men,” I replied, “most of it accurate. In
She Done Him Wrong
, Mae said: Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
“In
Diamond Lil,
Mae West said: Why don't you come up and see me sometime.”
“Mae's real name was Mary Jane West,” I said, just to show off.
I put the phone down, finished my drink slowly, and after some more thinking, I hiked upstairs to the second floor. Piggy's door wasn't locked. I entered her office without knocking and sat in one of those fat leather club chairs, admiring her beauty without speaking.
It was obvious that Piggy was no longer in hiding, because the blankets had gone. The canned food and dehydrated milk had gone. The place was the same as it had been the first time I'd seen it, but Piggy wasn't. Ms. Mainwaring had aged ten years in a few weeks. She was 40 years old and now she looked it. Before, she'd looked 30, but rapid-onset aging is the price you pay for contributing to the deaths of three innocent partygoers.
P.G. Mainwaring was still desirable and very beautiful, though. She was wearing a black suit and black pumps, and the sexual force field that surrounded her was powerful enough to made my balls ache. While she poured me a drink, I tried not to think about her bent across her grandfather's desk with frilly silk pants around her ankles, but I was thinking about it, and it probably showed in my eyes when she gave me a glass of Grand Macnish and kissed me on the lips.
I tried to be indifferent, and wasn't.
She leaned back against the desk and said, “Hi, Silas.”
“Hi, Nibsy.”
“Well, handsome, where do things go from here?”
“Eddie Cliffs and Twinner Scudd go to jail. Larry Cooley and Lightning Bradley get cremated, and I get my job back. You are just as you were before, except older.”
“How's that?”
“You? Okay on the outside, looking after a thousand apartment buildings.”
“Why am I on the outside?”
“That, Nibs, is the way these things go.”
“Don't be difficult, darling. I want to know about you and me.”
I heard myself say, “It's like a wartime romance after the All Clear sounds. We leave the air-raid shelter together, but you go back to your mansion and I go back to my reserve.”
“Pretentiousness doesn't suit you, darling,” she reproached me. “Do you really think you can walk out of my life like this?”
“It's over, Nibsy, let's not kid ourselves.”
Moisture appeared in Piggy's eyes, and her lower lip trembled before she pulled herself together and went into the bathroom. I poured myself another scotch.
She came out of the bathroom looking perfect, just like an ice queen.
Without another word, she locked up her grandfather's office and we went downstairs arm in arm. Out on the street she stood on tiptoes, kissed my cheek and told me that she loved me.
I said goodbye and watched her walk away down Pandora Street.
Then I went back to my office and had another drink and thought about Felicity Exeter until PC came in.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STANLEY EVANS' is the author of two previous novels,
Outlaw Gold
,
Snow-Coming Moon
as well as the Silas Seaweed series, which includes:
Seaweed on the Street
,
Seaweed on Ice
,
Seaweed under Water
,
Seaweed on the Rocks
, and
Seaweed in the Soup
. Stanley and his family live in Victoria, BC.
Introducing the
SILAS SEAWEED
mystery series
