Torque (37 page)

Fenn sat down. Then he stood up again.

“Which reminds me. I know that Jenner was
apprehended while trying to hitch a ride along one of the side
roads in Bruce County. But I also heard he made bail. How did
Harrowport manage to bail out a guy that had shot a policeman?”

Frank Bloomfield, who had so far been content
to listen in, chose to field that one. “Good question, eh,
Joe.”

Officer Abes gave a wry smile. “Got a good
answer, Frank?”

“I wish. First of all it wasn’t Harrowport
who put up the fifty grand. It was his wife. Secondly, that woman
must have friends in high places because it’s a rare judge who will
set bail for a guy who wounded not one but two cops.

“He didn’t get a free pass, though. His
Worship, Judge Bender, did set the condition that Mr. Jenner be
placed under house arrest, and that he had to wear an ankle
monitor, but…ahhh, it ain’t right.” Bloomfield shook his head and
sat down.

And that was about it. The lawyers mentioned
that the motorbike rider Fenn had hit with the hammer may lay
assault charges but considering the circumstances, that action
would probably backfire. However, they did recommend that ‘Dusty’
file suit against all parties involved for damages to his motel.
They then requested that no one speak to the media until the cases
had gone to court. Detective Inspector Lareault thanked everyone,
once more, and the meeting was over.

Asha and Fenn lingered a few minutes with
Tony and Kim. It gave Fenn a chance to tell his friend he’d sent
the GTO to a body shop for repair.

“It’ll come back looking like new, then you
and I can rebuild the power train.”

“Thanks, Chas. It’s good to have something to
look forward to.” Tony’s smile was as bright as ever but Kim
scarcely responded.

Out in the parking lot Fenn slipped his arm
around Asha’s waist. “I’m glad you wore your Doc Martens, today,”
he said. “If you think Dieter and Carole can manage without you for
the afternoon, I’d like to take you somewhere.”

“I neither care if they can or they can’t,”
she replied, her arm over his. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Hop in the car. Let’s go for a ride.”

CHAPTER
54

Along with the other items in the attaché
case, Fenn had also discovered the Challenger’s distributor rotor.
He’d slipped that into his jacket before handing the bag to the
police. It was the one item a smart detective could have used to
connect Fenn to Jenner and the cash. Fenn had also made out like
the car’s smashed side window had been broken for a while. He’d
temporarily covered it with a clear plastic sheet and duct
tape.

As they skirted Toronto and headed north, he
and Asha discussed how the press coverage had focused more on
Ex-Detective Rowan’s criminal connections than on the good work of
the officers who’d successfully closed the case. Fenn had avoided
much of that ballyhoo by quietly packing his cat and few belongings
off to his new digs in Muriel Stafford’s basement.

He’d spent little time ruminating about his
work situation—a subject that neither he nor Asha chose to broach.
Fenn drove for about an hour then exited the highway and pulled
into a gas station.

“This is the place where I talked to you
until the cell phone died,” he said. “I didn’t know what you had
heard and what you hadn’t.”

Asha smiled. “I think I caught it all, except
maybe the last bit. What was it you said?”

Fenn pretended to think about it.

“I might have said I’d fallen in love with
you.”

The smile widened. “Actually I did catch
that. It’s just nice to hear you finally say it.”

He’d already informed Asha of their
destination, and as they turned onto Little Chute Road they saw the
burnt remains of flares where the roadblock had been. He pointed
out The Retreat’s wrought iron gates then parked in the same lay-by
as last time.

“And here’s where we enter the woods.”

It was a great day for a hike. They saw a
deer, and since Fenn had travelled the route once before they were
soon gazing upon Harrowport’s million-dollar cottage from the edge
of the forest. Fenn pointed out a red Mercedes sports car parked
near the front steps, and the strips of yellow police tape hanging
from the doorway to the foyer.

“Someone is home but I don’t think we’ll stop
in.”

Hand in hand they backtracked to the junction
and followed the trail that went to the gorge. The motocross bike
was gone from the gully but on the section of trail where the ATV
had intercepted him and Kim there were still bloodstains in the
dirt.

“Abes shot Rowan, and then he got shot by
Jenner,” Fenn explained.

“Was that before or after Jenner tried to
club you to death.” Asha gingerly touched the yellowed bruise on
his cheek.

“After. The best bit is down here, though.”
He led her to the warming hut.

Asha peered inside and said, “Explain again
how you came to be wearing Kim’s kilt.”

“Nothing happened. Honest Injun. Come this
way, we’re going to take the path to the beach.”

Fenn didn’t expect to see the ATV still in
the river but there it was. This was also the spot where he’d
nearly been shot by one of Canada’s best marksmen.

“If I’d known he was up there I wouldn’t even
have picked up the shotgun. There was a bang and I hit the
deck.”

“Those guys don’t miss. How did you
survive?”

“He didn’t fire. The gunshot was from his
partner. Abes heard the radio chatter and tried to call the sniper
off. Now, depending on whom you talk to, there was either too much
noise from the helicopter, or the chopper was interfering with the
radio signal, or the sniper’s earpiece had dropped out. Anyway, he
didn’t get the message to stand down so his partner ran up the hill
and let off a round to get his attention. Poor Kim thought I’d been
killed.”

Asha kissed him. “You are lucky to be alive,
Chas Fenn.”

They continued on to the portage path and
came to the narrow beach past the rapids. Here, the forest came
almost to the water’s edge. Something scurried through the
shrubbery. They walked another thirty yards then Fenn dropped his
pack on the beach.

“Wait here a moment. I just have to nip into
the bushes.” He was gone nearly a minute before re-emerging with a
bundle of tartan cloth.

He was going to say, 'Check this out.' What
he said was, “Oh.”

Standing behind Asha with his left hand over
her mouth and his right hand holding a curved blade to her throat
was a large man. He wore a balaclava that revealed only his eyes
and a camouflage suit that was newly purchased if the starched
creases were anything to go by. He’d probably bought that very
shiny, very sharp, hunting knife at the same time.

“Hello, Jenner.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

Fenn shrugged. “What are the odds? Besides,
your new anklet gave it away.”

“Then you know why I’m here. Hand over the
kilt.”

“It’s just a kilt.”

“So, why did you leave it in the woods?”

“I didn’t want Kim to know I’d ruined it—do
you know what she’s like? What am I saying, of course you do, she
kept getting unkidnapped.”

“Cut the crap, Fenn. Where’s the cash?”

“You went through those rapids just like I
did, Ronald. Where the hell do you think the cash is?”

“I think it’s wrapped in that kilt. Now hand
it over.” Jenner put pressure on the blade at Asha’s throat. It
nicked the skin. She tensed and a drop of blood appeared at the
cut. Fenn could see how this was going to end and slowly shook his
head.

“Alright. Have it your way.”

He tossed the kilt but before it hit the
ground, Asha had grabbed Jenner’s wrist and twisted under his arm.
She thrust the knife hand up, dislocating his shoulder with a
sickening pop. Jenner bent forward, his cry of agony muffled by her
knee smashing into his nose. The knife fell from his fingers. Asha
rose up on her toes then brought her elbow crashing down on the
base of his skull, just behind the earlobe. Jenner dropped face
first to the ground and lay still.

Asha retrieved the knife and kneeling on
Jenner’s back nicked his throat to precisely match her own cut.

“Now we’re even, Creep.”

Fenn simply smiled. “I guess he came to
DriveCheck sometime
after
you’d won the Provincial Martial
Arts Championship.”

“Yeah. Somehow I never got around to
mentioning that.”

“How long do you think he’ll be out for?”

Asha shrugged. “Until he wakes up.”

After tending to her cut, Fenn propped
Jenner’s inert form against a tree. They used his bootlaces to
secure his hands behind the trunk, and his ankles together, and
then swiveled the balaclava to blindfold him. Blood dripped from
his crushed nose and ran past the nick on his neck.

“Do you think he came out here by himself,
Chas?”

“That red Mercedes we saw probably belongs to
Harrowport’s wife. I still don’t get that connection but he either
borrowed the car or she drove him up here. From what I’ve heard
about Marjorie Dynes-Harrowport, though, I doubt she’ll risk
breaking a heel searching the woods for this guy.”

Fenn stuck the hunting knife in the ground
out of Jenner’s reach.

“If the cops don’t pick up the signal from
his monitor, we’ll call in an anonymous tip.” He pulled Asha to him
and kissed her. “You were great. Now where were we?”

“Well, you were in the bushes.”

“So I was.” He went back in. “What I said
about Kim being pissed off was partly true, but I also left the
kilt for a marker. I didn’t want to leave my jacket because it was
off-white and too obvious.” He re-emerged and handed Asha a
partially-filled plastic bag. She reached in and pulled out a damp
bundle of hundred dollar bills.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Fenn nodded.

“How much is in here?” Her voice now a
whisper.

“Over two-hundred large,” he whispered back
with a grin.

“I feel like an outlaw. It’s kind of
exciting.”

“It’s off the books, and it’s all ours. So,
Miss Fabiani, what does the lady think about a Caribbean
wedding?”

“A Caribbean wedding? Why, mercy, Mr. Fenn.
This gal hasn’t even heard a proposal, yet.”

“A proposal. Yes. Right. Wait here.” Fenn
went to his backpack. When he returned he looked steadily into her
dark eyes for a moment, then went down on one knee and opened a
small box.

“Miss Fabiani, would you do me the extreme
honour of becoming my wife?”

He watched her lips part and her eyes start
to moisten.

“Oh, my. That is the most beautiful ring.”
She took the box for a closer look. “Mr. Fenn, I will marry you on
one condition.”

“Condition? I thought love was supposed to be
unconditional.”

“My love is, but my wedding is not.” She gave
him a coy look.

“All right. What is your condition?”

Asha picked up the kilt and held it out. “You
have to wear this.”

His look of dismay made her laugh out
loud.

“Tell me you’re kidding. C’mon, Asha. Surely
you don’t mean that.”

She slipped on the ring and made it sparkle
in the sun.

“Oh, but I do, Mr. Fenn. I most certainly
do.”

CHAPTER
55

Bloomfield signed the checkout form and left
it on the desk.

“Keep the box handy, Bob,” he said. “I’ll be
right back with this.”

The Property Clerk responded by going back to
his newspaper. Senior to Bloomfield in years if not in rank, he was
no longer fazed by the bizarre and gruesome relics of crime. Bagged
or boxed they were simply items to be logged, and
Basement
Bob
was content to clock his time in the cage until the pension
kicked in.

The Harrowport Case as the media had dubbed
the whole affair was a major coup for the Department, and the
effect on staff morale was palpable. The tsunami of paperwork that
came with it had been taken in stride, and the sergeant grinned at
the new wrinkle he would now add to the mix. He bypassed the
elevator in favour of the stairs, paused briefly at the top to
catch his breath, then made his way to Lareault’s office.

The door was open and Bloomfield rapped on
the frame as he crossed the threshold. Lareault, intently writing a
report, acknowledged the big man’s presence by ignoring him. While
he waited, Bloomfield scanned the storage boxes and spotted the
Durrell file that he had dropped off a few days, or was it weeks,
ago.

The detective’s hand stopped, pen poised, but
his eyes remained on the page.

“Yeah, Frank. What’ve you got?”

Bloomfield waggled a thick wad of cash
wrapped in plastic film and placed it on the desk. “Bob Beamer
dried and catalogued the currency that our friend, Fenn, fished
from the river.”

Lareault ran a line through several words and
replaced them. “Okay. And?”

“And it’s counterfeit.”

The pen tilted down as Lareault looked up.
“Say that again.”

“Tainted. Queer. Sourdough. Funny money.
Whatever you want to call it. It’s well-made but not worth the
paper it was printed on.”

“All of it?”

“Every bill that we’ve got; so the odds are
the two hundred G’s that got washed down the river were also
bogus.”

Lareault began to smile. “Alleged.”

“Eh?”

“The
alleged
two hundred G’s that were
alleged
to have washed down the river.”

“I thought you didn’t like that word.”

“It’s starting to grow on me. Who all knows
about this?”

“Just you, me, and the guy in the lock-up who
never speaks.”

Lareault looked at his notes and flipped back
a page. He scratched out another line. “I’m going to document this,
but for the moment I’d like to keep it quiet and let nature take
its course.”