A Door in the River (3 page)

“That is a question for the ages,” he said, tolerantly.

“What I’m saying is, you don’t really
need
to know them. Not if things go the way they usually go. You just know what you know. You never have the desire or the occasion to ask if there’s anything you
ought
to know. But when a guy like this, at his age, and he’s found in a parking lot on an Indian reserve – ”

“In his pickup truck – ”

“Right. In his pickup truck.”

“It brings questions to mind.”

“It does.”

“And you knew him,” Wingate said.

“Yes. I knew him.”

He smiled at her and she recognized that glimmer of resignation so many of her co-workers already had. Nine
months and he was already giving her that smile. “So what do you want to do, Skip?”

“I wish Jack Deacon could look at him and confirm for me that it was a wasp sting. And that it really was anaphylaxis.”

“If you have any doubts, you’d better hurry. Isn’t the funeral Thursday?”

“I know,” she said and she scowled. “I wonder if Cathy’s worried about why he was down there in the pickup. Eleven-thirty on a Saturday night. Who’d need a workman that time of night? We should find out if the souvenir shop sold filters.”

Wingate got up in front of her desk and retrieved one set of the faxes. “Souvenir filters? Let me handle this, okay? I’ll call Jack Deacon, get his opinion on the reserve hospital and their report.”

“That’s a good idea. Do that.”

“Then I’ll call this Officer Bellecourt and see if she thinks there could be any loose ends.”

“Talk to Jack first.”

“All right,” he said. “Listen, I’m sorry, Hazel. I didn’t know you knew him like that.”

“I even babysat him a couple times. My dad drove me down to Kehoe Glenn and came back afterwards to pick me up.”

“This was just a sad, tragic accident. But I’ll …,” he said, holding the reports in the air.

“Thank you, James.”

______

The rest of the day passed with no news and minimal disruption. Had Hazel known it was going to be the last such day for some time, she would have made an effort to enjoy it more. But it was hard to enjoy anything, and a dark cloud sagged over her. There were still reports to read, though, there was never any peace, not even on a Monday. She’d had to send Constable Eileen Bail down to the big warehouse clothing store to take a description of a young male shoplifter from the store manager; she had to personally look into reports that primary school kids were smoking cigarettes in the alleyway behind the Beverly Cinema; and she still had to compose an excitement-inducing text for the Port Dundas Annual Main Street BBQ, an event the OPS paid for every Labour Day as a public relations activity. Those who didn’t like it called it a
stunt
, and it was a stunt, but most people liked it. Sometimes Hazel thought people asked for too little. The person who’d always loved it was Ray Greene. Frankly, sometimes she wished they’d do something different.

Henry. Henry Wiest was dead. Hazel was pretty confident nothing would come of her thoroughness, but she consoled herself with the thought that Henry would have appreciated it.

The next morning, Jack’s voice floated up from the speakerphone in Hazel’s office. Wingate took notes. It turned out Deacon had not seen the autopsy report. He’d met Dr. Brett
and discussed the case with him, and he’d relayed what he knew to Cathy. But, he said, he hadn’t wanted to assume privileges. So Wingate had faxed the autopsy along with Bellecourt’s report to him and arranged for Wiest’s medical records to be copied down to him in Mayfair as well. “Well, it’s interesting,” he was saying, “I’ve got the report and then I learned there were a couple of photographs as well. They didn’t send you those, now did they?”

“No.”

“Well, I decided to call this Bellecourt, and she said there were some pics of the body and the sting wound and she emailed them to me.”

“You can do that, huh?”

“Yes, Hazel. Anyway, it’s clear he was stung by
something
. Actually, twice. A wasp will do that. He was stung once on the face and once on the forehead, but it was hidden by his hairline.”

“So there’s at least one thing they missed,” Hazel said, leaning over.

“Not really. The tox screen is clear.”

“He was forty-six, Jack.”

“It’s sad, but it doesn’t create doubt about the cause of death for me. There’s quite a bit of pale edema around the facial wound in one of the pictures. It
looks
like a sting. His prostaglandins and the leukotrines were through the roof, and that’s consistent with anaphylaxis, and pre-existing atherosclerosis
is
a risk factor in anaphylactic deaths.”

“English, Jack,” said Hazel.

“Thickening of the arteries,” he said. “Mr. Wiest probably should have been on a statin since, judging by his medical records, he had hypertension. And, finally Hazel, the bloodwork from the reserve shows elevated levels of the enzyme that gets released when there’s damage to heart muscle. An anaphylactic reaction can cause a heart attack, Hazel, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay.”

“This satisfy you?”

“I suppose. Does it satisfy you?’

“Well, you asked me for an
opinion
, Hazel, not a finding. I’m satisfied with my opinion.”

“Huh,” she said, and the tone of her voice made Wingate tilt his head at her. “Actually,” she said to Deacon, “one other thing occurs to me. How common is it to be stung by a wasp at night? Aren’t they usually tucked up tight in their beds at the hour Henry was stung?”

“I don’t know. I could look into that.”

“Will you?”

“Sure.”

Wingate leaned forward and disconnected. Hazel had been taking notes during the call and she continued to write after Deacon’s voice was cut off.

“So?”

She held a finger up. After a moment, she turned her notebook to him and he saw what she’d written there
under a number of point-form notations:

Probable heart attack

Wasp sting at night?

“Jack just said he agreed with the reserve’s autopsy.”

“No, he didn’t,” said Hazel. “He said his
opinion
was that it was accurate.”

“And you don’t agree?”

“I want to be sure.”

“Okay, listen. I won’t get between you and your hunch anymore, but I don’t think the grieving widow is going to take too kindly to your second thoughts while she’s getting ready to bury her husband.”

“He’s being cremated. And I wish I didn’t have them. Second thoughts.”

“You want to have a reason to doubt. That’s what you’re like. My advice is, as I was just about to leave for my first ever vacation as a Westmuir resident, to let it be.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Thursday.”

“Going to get to know the charms of our scenic county?”

“Will be completely unreachable.”

“What’re you going to do, though?” she asked, a little absently. She was adding something to her list.

“Just some reading. Reading, slowing down, and relaxing.”

He left. She looked over the thing she’d written at the
bottom of her list. Under
Wasp sting at night?
she’d added,
Why the hell was he down there?
“Were you buying something?” she said out loud, as if the dead man were in the room with her. “Were you meeting someone? Is that why you parked in the back?”

She held the list up and then let it droop away in her hands.
What if you were still wild, Henry?

She buzzed her assistant. “Melanie? Can you find me the number of Eagle Smoke and Souvenir on RR26?”

] 3 [

Tuesday, August 9, early afternoon

When Hazel walked up the steps of 72 Church Road for the second time in as many days, Cathy Wiest was already standing in the doorway, looking at her with an expression halfway between exhaustion and alarm. She was in a long apron dotted with soap suds and she was wearing rubber gloves. She held up her forearms like a surgeon waiting for a patient.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Hazel said.

“Nothing important.”

“Don’t let me stop you from doing your work. I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing.”

“Are you coming in? I’m dripping on the carpet.”

Hazel stepped awkwardly into the house and removed her cap. “I won’t stay.” Cathy Wiest was walking back toward the kitchen and Hazel followed. “I just thought I’d come by – ”

“You said that.” Cathy was standing with her back to her now, at the sink. There was a tower of dishes to her right, on the countertop, and she was lowering them two at a time into soapy water.

“Looks like I’ve caught you at a bad moment.”

“Not at all,” Cathy said. “You can make yourself useful if you want.” She held a towel out. Hazel took it from her. Standing beside her now, Hazel saw a curtain rod standing in the sink as well as several pairs of sunglasses.

“You are cleaning
a lot
of things.”

“I’m going through the house and washing everything in it. The laundry is done, including the curtains, and I did the walls this morning.” She passed Hazel a plate. “Are you trying to decide if I’m nuts?”

“No,” she said, perhaps a bit too fast. “It’s therapy.”

“Obviously.” She passed Hazel a pair of dice. She stared at them for a moment and then dried them and put them in the cutlery bin on the drying rack. “So get to the point, Hazel. You already know how I am. All the doorknobs in the house are soaking in a bucket of bleach in the mudroom. That’s how I am.”

“I’m sorry, Cathy.”

“Are you here to make me
more
miserable?”

“No. I’m not,” she said confidently. “I’m just wondering about a couple of things, a couple of loose ends.”

“Loose ends.” A stapler.

“You put a stapler in hot water?”

“There’s no staples in it. Just dry it thoroughly.” She watched the detective dry the stapler.

Hazel took a breath. “Did Henry mention to you where he was going to be Saturday night?”

“He was at the store until six. Then he said he had to pick up a shipment of filters. They come in huge boxes: it’s easier to go to Mayfield to get them than it is to have them shipped all the way up here.”

“The reserve is really out of the way if he was coming home with them.”

“Maybe he had a call. Or he took the 26 and stopped to buy some water.”

She heard Cathy stringing the scene together as she spoke. “No one saw him in the store,” she said. “I called down about an hour ago to see if he went in. He didn’t.”

Cathy Wiest turned her hip against the countertop. “What are
you
saying he was doing down there?”

“I’m asking you because I don’t know. You said he didn’t smoke.”

“So what? They did the autopsy, Hazel. I can’t ask him why he went down there now, can I?”

“What about the casino?”

“I have no idea. He never went there when I’ve known him.”

“But he did, you mean? He used to go?”

“Like I say, not while I’ve known him. Knew …” Cathy pulled the apron up over her head and walked into the
hallway. Hazel followed her. Cathy was digging a pack of cigarettes out of a drawer in the hall table.

“I overheard Uncle Ed talking about a brief period of wild youth,” Hazel said.

“You don’t know about that?”

“Not in any detail.”

“It was a hundred years ago, Hazel. He had a little gambling problem at one point. As far as I understand. And he took some money from the store a couple of times. I wasn’t here, I just … oh, for Christ’s sake –”

“Cathy, what is it?”

She’d turned away and clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Cathy?”

“Wait here.” She went up the stairs behind them, leaving Hazel in a state of anticipation and confusion. She listened to the footfalls cross overhead and then back, and Cathy came down the stairs with one of those little manila envelopes banks give people their cash withdrawals in. It was bulging. She handed it to Hazel.

It was full of hundreds. Hazel said, “Ah.”

“There’s fifty-five of them.”

“And Henry didn’t normally carry around this kind of cash?”

“No.”

Hazel hefted the heavy little packet in her hand. “Cathy …”

The woman’s hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her mouth. “You’re just going to wear me down, aren’t you?”

“I want to redo the autopsy.”

“Christ.”

“Don’t you need to know? You didn’t have to show me the cash, Cathy.” She tossed the envelope onto the hall table. “You must have doubts of your own.”

“Don’t you have to keep that?”

“It doesn’t mean anything yet.”

Cathy opened the drawer in the table again and took a second cigarette. She tossed the cash in and closed the drawer. “Do I have to do anything?”

“No. But I thought I’d get your permission anyway.”

“You can just reorder the autopsy by yourself?”

“I have to ask a coroner, but it’s fairly straightforward.”

“Then why come to me? Why even tell me? Do you want my blessing or something?”

Hazel looked at a vase of flowers on the hall table. “I guess so.”

“Just do what you have to do,” Cathy said angrily.

Hazel went to the door and left it open as she descended the steps into the garden. It smelled like warm grass in the day’s heat. Cathy Wiest called to her, and Hazel turned around in the riot of flowers. Cathy’s face was burning. “How will I know when all of this is going to be over?” she said.

“The investigation?”

“No, Hazel.” She spread her arms. “
This
.”

] 4 [

Evening

Hazel was almost used to the renewed pleasure of eating dinner at her own table, going to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own star-filled window. The time spent recuperating in her ex’s basement had been almost as difficult as the back pain that had caused her to seek his aid. Now the back pain that had plagued her for years was mostly gone. With its absence, and the fact that she hadn’t had a Percocet since the end of May, she felt renewed. Women her age weren’t supposed to have renaissances, but here she was having one. Maybe the timing of Ray Greene’s return to Port Dundas was supposed to be part of this rebirth of hers? Maybe she was
meant
to get out now. Actually retire. Get a hobby. Take care of her mother.