“Like I said, Chris. I’m open. I leave the decision up to you. Either way I’d just be happy if we can spend two weeks together.”
There was a tone to his voice that made my heart jump. If I could have beamed myself up to the Hebrides at that moment I would have.
“You said there were two things. What’s the other one?”
“That case I told you about, the kids and drugs…”
“Shoot. I’m sorry I haven’t had a minute to study your report.”
“Don’t worry about it. The situation has taken a downward turn. The young girl made a serious suicide attempt yesterday. She took an overdose of her mother’s painkillers. She’s still in a coma and they’re not sure she’s going to make it. I’d surely like to know what her part in the whole mess has been. You never know, if I can tell her I’m certain she’s innocent, it might help her.”
“What if she’s guilty?”
“My gut feeling is that she isn’t but even so I’d like to know with more certainty where I stand.”
“I’ll look at what you sent.”
“Anyway, phone me on the weekend with your decision so I can start booking my tickets if need be.”
“Copy that.”
He laughed. He was in on the office joke.
We exchanged a few lovey dovey words that I don’t need to repeat and we hung up. I picked up his photograph which sat on my desk and planted a big smacker of a kiss. Needless to say it was totally unsatisfying. I wanted to feel warm flesh next to mine, not cold glass.
For the hundredth time I wondered how we were ever going to resolve the distance thing.
I replaced the photograph and keyed in Leo’s number.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
He answered immediately as if he’d been sitting next to the phone.
“Any word from Sigmund?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“I have some information about the cars entering and exiting the casino.”
“Yes?”
I thought I’d give him the good news first. “The tapes confirm Sigmund’s statement that he left the casino at 8:47. He was driving a red 2004 Mazda Miata.”
“Is that his latest toy? I didn’t know.”
Now came the bad news. “However, another vehicle was clocked in at 10:41. It’s a beige Chevy Nova and it’s registered in the names of Trudy and Sigmund Forgach.”
“What! What the hell does that mean?”
“Just what it says. We know that was the car, but we don’t know who was driving.”
“We can settle that right now,” said Leo. “Trudy is with me. I’ll ask her.”
He muffled the receiver with his hand sufficiently to block out what he was saying. Then he said, “Trudy says she does co-own a Chevy Nova but she most certainly did not, repeat, did not go to the casino on Tuesday night. She was at her Daughters of Mary meeting at the church.” His voice was grim. “We can only assume
that the driver was Sigmund. That he returned and didn’t inform us. If he was clocked in at 10:41, he had time to meet Deidre. What time did he exit?”
“We don’t know that.”
I explained about the back way out. “So we have no way of knowing when he left.”
“I see.” There was a silence. “It seems even more imperative that we speak to Sigmund.”
It certainly did.
We hung up and I decided I’d had enough for the day. Everybody else had gone home. I quickly typed up my report and emailed it to Katherine.
Young Tiffany had looked alarmed at the thought of a computerless world but I was realizing how dependent I had become on my cellphone. Sometimes I looked up and saw other people walking by, cell glued to their ear, or a driver, phone tucked under her chin, trying to negotiate a left turn and I scowled critically. Hey, let she who is without sin throw the first stone. I made a turn onto my street, fiddling with the automatic message list on my phone, just in case Ed had phoned, and almost collided with a man walking his dog. I stopped with a jolt as the man actually scooped up his dog to safety. He glared at me, but just as I was making deprecating, “sorry, my fault” sort of signals, his face changed and he flashed me a big grin and a wave. It was Mr. Torres and Lily. I rolled down my window.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I do apologize.”
“That’s all right. No harm done. You must have a lot on your mind. How’s the case coming along?”
“It’s coming. We’re still following up leads.”
Lily wriggled in his arms, and he put her down. “I hope you find whoever did it soon. That poor child didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“Indeed not.”
I couldn’t really move as he was standing in the road blocking me, but at that moment, a car came up behind and the driver tooted his horn impatiently.
Torres peered around my car. “I should have know it was a young punk. Where can he be going that’s so important?”
“Wherever it is, I’d better move before he does a bumper car routine.”
Torres stepped out of the way. “You will let me know when you’ve caught somebody, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
I knew that people fastened on to a case that they had been involved in. It was “theirs.”
With Lily trotting beside him, he headed for the sidewalk and I started up. Within a second, the car behind me surged around and roared off. As far as I could see there were not one but two punks. I recognized them as the teenage sons of the woman a few doors down from me who as far as I knew were under house arrest and not supposed to be anywhere else. I’d better have a word with Ed before the trouble they were heading for escalated.
There were no scary letters in my mailbox and Tory and Bertie were glad to see me, gladder to see the can opener and the cat food. I walked into the living room, drew all the curtains, made sure the kitchen door and window were secure, and after plugging in the kettle, I plonked myself down on the couch to make my phone calls.
First was Paula who answered in a low depressed-sounding voice.
“I’m just going to change my clothes and then I’ll be right over.”
“No you won’t,” she said, her voice stronger. “You need a night in. I’m fine. Craig said he’s coming.”
I wanted to say something sarcastic but bit my tongue.
“And Mom was here this afternoon so I’ve had plenty of TLC.”
“How’re you doing?”
“The truth? I’m scared shitless, Chris. It’s hard having two problems at once. I don’t know which to concentrate on and which I should be more worried about.”
I made reassuring noises but tried not to fall into the trap of silencing her with false optimism. If she needed to talk about her fears then I’d listen. In fact, she didn’t want to dwell on that and wanted to talk about her mother. Did I think she was all right? She was still too thin and she looked years older.
“She’s still grieving, Paulie, she needs a bit more time.”
The conversation moved on. “No, Craig hadn’t been in yet. He thought it was better if my mother came and he stayed at home with Chelsea and you know how he hates hospitals.”
Ah yes, he’d been on the golf course when Chelsea was being born. Even that joyous moment hadn’t helped him overcome his fear. I didn’t say that of course.
“Is there anything else you want?” I asked. “How about a nice juicy case file to look at?’
That got a laugh and got her distracted from the perpetual enmity between her husband and best friend. I told her more of the details of the case and how things weren’t looking too good for Sigmund Forgach.
“Do you think he’s a serious possibility?”
“Gut feeling, no, but he’s certainly not telling us the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so until I know what that is, he’s top of the list.”
“Poor Leo. He must be taking it hard.”
“He is but he’s like King Lear: the suffering seems to be turning him into a more likeable human being.”
At that moment, a nurse entered Paula’s room to tell her it was time to take her “vitals” and we hung up. I sat and stared at my phone for a few moments. Paula had said she had two problems to deal with. I felt so helpless. Whatever she had to go through if she did have cancer, I would be with her every step of the way, but I wished with every fibre of my being that she would be let off. The racing heart seemed more containable, less dangerous, but it was certainly a worry too.
Suddenly I heard a creak on the landing outside my door and I could feel myself go into high alert. I knew the door was locked, but since the letter, my space had been violated and I was suspicious of everything. The creak came again and this time there was a soft rapping on the door. Mrs. Harley had installed a fish eye in the door and for the first time, I was glad she had. I peered through. Gary Fellows was standing on the other side of the door, his face distorted by the lens. I opened up.
“Chris. I’m so sorry to trouble you this late at night but I wondered if I could sleep with you?”
I burst out laughing and he gave his best Nathan Lane imitation, raising his shoulders and extending his hands. “Whaat?”
“You fickle creature you. What’s Ahmed going to think?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I’d said exactly the wrong thing. As I ushered him into the living room, I saw his eyes had teared up. He sat on the couch and Bertie promptly seized the chance to jump in his lap. Gary started to stroke the cat’s soft fur. Bertie, the goodwill ambassador.
“Our getaway didn’t help at all,” said Gary. “In fact, things got worse. He’s gone off to his girlfriend’s and says he won’t be coming back.”
He looked so woebegone I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Gary.”
“I loved him, Chris, more than any other boyfriend I’ve had. I thought he was happy with me.”
“He was, I know he was.”
But when I thought back, I realized that the signs had been there ever since Ahmed came back from Egypt. I’d assumed he was still grieving for his father, and his withdrawal from Gary, and me too for that matter, were because of that.
“I was just about to make tea, do you want some?”
He looked sideways at me. “You don’t happen to have some of that great Scotch do you?”
“Indeed I do. Do you want Lagavulin or Glenfiddich?”
“Which is the peaty one?’
“Lagavulin.”
“A double-double then please. I’d like to drown my sorrows.”
“Not on my precious imported you won’t. You’ll savour one glass and that’s it.”
It was an ongoing joke between us how little Gary actually drank. The fact he’d even asked for Scotch indicated how upset he was.
“You will join me, won’t you? You know what they say about drinking alone?”
“You don’t have to share the bottle?”
He managed a grin. “That too.”
I went into the kitchen, put aside my oh so healthy herbal tea and poured us each a good slug of the best Hebridean.
The liquor, the laughs, the cat’s pseudo devotion worked and Gary relaxed.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Nothing. And I mean nothing, no sex, no talking, nothing. It was clear he hadn’t wanted to go away and he doesn’t want to work things through. As far as he is concerned, I was a mistake, a sin if you want to put it that way. He has to make amends to Allah and to his family, of equal power in his mind, and find some nice virgin, marry her, and propagate as soon as possible.”
“If he’s spending the night with the said girlfriend, isn’t he already breaking the commandments?”
“Oh she’s not a virgin. Far from it apparently.”
“Does she know about, er, does she know about you?”
“No. I’ve been considering finding out where she lives and showing up demanding I get my boyfriend back.”
He took a big, unappreciative gulp of the Scotch which would have caused Gill and the real Scotch drinkers to shudder in horror. This stuff cost $100 a bottle. I sipped on mine.
I felt sorry for Gary, who in my books was one terrific guy, but I also felt sorry for the unknown girlfriend. The villain of the piece was Ahmed but then he was obviously in the grip of other influences. So much for culture clash. There was all too often severe bruising.
Gary put his glass on the coffee table. “Thanks Chris. It’s getting late. I’d better let you get to bed.”
He paused and his eyes met mine. “I meant it when I came in and asked if I could spend the night with you?”
“What? You don’t mean do an Ahmed, do you?”
He grinned at me. “Chris, I’ve known I was gay since I was four years old. You’re a very attractive woman and I love you but I don’t want to have sex with you. It’s just that, I, well I would feel better if I knew you were in the next room.” He patted the couch. “I could sleep here.”
“You can use the guest room.”
“No, that’s all right.” He began to do his best Uriah Heep imitation, rubbing his hands and squirming. “I don’t want to be any bother. Just think of me as a stray cat you’ve brought in from the cold. I’ll curl up with Bertie and Tory. You won’t even notice.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t use the litter box, that’s all I ask.”
He guffawed. “Ah ye’re a good-hearted lassie, Christine Morris. If I were straight, I’d ask you to marry me on the spot.”
“If you were straight, I’d seriously consider it.”
He gave me a flamboyant kiss, first on one cheek, then the other. His chin was unshaven and bristly and he smelled like Scotch.
“Thank you, dear friend,” he whispered.
Once again it was pre-dawn when my phone rang.
Groggy, I struggled to grab the receiver, already blaming Joan for an inconsiderate call. I didn’t switch on the light so didn’t see the call display.
“Hello?”
“Miss Morris, this is Grace Cameron…”
The voice was clear, words precisely enunciated, but for a split second I couldn’t remember who she was.
“You were at my apartment yesterday. I returned home after all.”
“Yes, yes, of course, I’m sorry, Miss Cameron. I was momentarily in another world.”
“Of course and I do apologize for the early hour but I wanted to speak to you particularly because I found you quite a sympathetic person … I have just received a telephone call from my friend who lives in a seniors’ building just two blocks from here…”
I heard her intake of breath. “Sorry, I had to use my puffer. My friend’s name is Doris Bryant. She is confined to a wheel chair…” Another gasp. There was something coming through the line that made me alarmed. “Before I continue, Miss Morris, I should say that I have given my word to my friend that I would not contact the police. It was with great difficulty that I persuaded her to give me permission to call you…”