Cold Rain (25 page)

‘Dalton isn’t buying a car, David. He’s looking for someone who wanted to hurt Johnna Masterson.’

‘Maybe I can help.’

I felt less confident when I walked into the brightly lit front offices of the sheriff’s department and asked for Detective Dalton. I did not like the place. Men and women came and went wearing county brown uniforms, sleek compact handguns, and all manner of accessories strapped to their belts. These were serious folks with powers I had not fully reckoned with from the comforts of my ivory tower. The people they escorted all had the same hangdog look. They were rough people too, but at the moment all the mean had been squeezed out: they were at the mercy of others, and they knew it.

I was getting rabbity sitting there, and was thinking about walking away while I still had my freedom when Kip Dalton appeared. He was cheerful, courteous, and apologetic for keeping me waiting. I found myself liking him again. I would have bought a car from him. He was that kind of guy. At the same time it occurred to me I could never have sold Kip a car. He kept his defences up. He ran the show. It would take Tubs Albo to get this man to sign a contract. Even then Kip would have come out all right. Having come to this decision, I should have made for the door: pressing engagement, heart attack, business at the bank, anything!

For some reason I recalled an old woman who had appeared at the car lot one day. A veritable army of well-meaning children and in-laws surrounded her. Milt had asked me if they were buying a car or having a family reunion. I explained what had soon become quite obvious. They weren’t going to let Mom get taken! The old lady had so much protection they couldn’t all fit into the car for the demo drive. At the desk her two eldest sons sat to either side of her, while the younger ones took chairs in phalanxes behind them.

When a buyer brought someone along to help negotiate a purchase we called that individual a third baseman. On that close, Milt said I didn’t have a third baseman, I had the whole frigging baseball team.

They took most of the afternoon taking any semblance of profit from the deal. Milt fussed until he knew they were going to buy. Then he worked his way down slowly until that old woman’s kids were sure we had nothing more to give.

As they drove off in Mom’s new Ford Milt waxed philosophical about motherhood and loving children.

The next day the old lady came back alone. Milt had explained to her kids after the deal was struck she just needed to sign off on some paperwork with our business office. Belaying their fears, he assured them that a purchase order was a contract. They had a copy!

All she needed was to take delivery and that wasn’t possible until tomorrow, since his business manager happened to be out.

With these assurances the old lady’s sons and daughters went back to their lives. Having eluded a fox they had no idea the wolf was waiting. I could still remember leading that old woman, now perfectly alone, across the lot to the business office, where Tubs waited with his friendliest smile.

Milt told me later I had given the car away at the front door, but Tubs, God bless him, had skinned the old woman alive at the back! And not another word about mothers and the sons and daughters who loved them.

At that moment, entering an interrogation room, quite alone and defenceless, I realized I was that old lady, in way over my head and foolishly hoping for a happy ending. I was even treated to a friendly smile and a warm welcome. For the occasion they had ditched Detective Jacobs. In his place was a good-looking woman in uniform. For some reason, Lt. Gibbons seemed less intimidating because of the uniform. At the farm I had been treated to the good cop/bad cop routine. Now it was good cop/sexy cop. I should have been worried, but I managed to assure myself they had found out about Buddy Elder. The hard ass Jacobs wasn’t necessary today.

I guessed Lt. Gibbons to be a couple of years past thirty, though I later learned she was in her forties.

She was attractive, perhaps a bit heavy but in an extremely appealing fashion. Like Molly, she didn’t appear to be someone who would back away from a physical confrontation. She could work with her hands, and she could hold her own in a room full of men.

My kind of woman.

Naturally, she was serious about Johnna Masterson’s disappearance. Unlike Detective Jacobs, who had kept his arms crossed over his bony chest, Lt. Gibbons did not appear to have any preconceived notions about my guilt. Dalton, too, treated me as a witness. I kept trying to assure myself that everything was fine. I was not the old woman naively seated before Tubs Albo.

I was a witness. I was going to help put an end to Buddy Elder’s game. Whatever it was.

‘Lt. Gibbons works Sex Crimes,’ Dalton explained casually. ‘The sheriff thought it might be a good idea to get her into the case at this point.’ Dalton was, he said, still convinced Johnna Masterson was going to turn up alive and well, but they had to work the case as if something had happened. A running start, he said, just in case. Gibbons reviewed my previous interview without a hint of suspicion. I answered as before with perfect honesty. ‘You didn’t call Masterson when she didn’t show up?’ she asked me.

‘I called her house, but there wasn’t any answer.

There wasn’t anything else I could do, so I went home.’

She asked about the times, and I had to explain that I had driven around some before I went back to the farm. Sometime after three-fifteen, in bed by three-thirty, I said.

‘You didn’t talk to her again after her call at ten o’clock? You’re sure about that?’

‘No, and it was ten-fifteen,’ I told her, wanting to have everything correct and to the minute. ‘We didn’t talk. I’m quite sure about that.’

Detective Dalton sighed. ‘That’s where we have something of a problem, Dr Albo. You see, they tell us at Denny’s a woman called you. She said, according to them, it was some kind of emergency. The waitress got you and you took the call.’

‘Right,’ I said, feeling some gratification in the fact that they had done their homework. ‘But it wasn’t a woman. The person who called me was Buddy Elder.’

Lt. Gibbons developed a slight frown, the only indication on her otherwise placid face that she was having trouble with my story as well. ‘The call came from Johnna Masterson’s cell phone, Dr Albo. It’s the same phone she used to call your house at ten-fifteen.’

‘Then you’ve got a suspect,’ I told her without blinking or even considering the matter from their perspective. I knew Buddy was behind Johnna Masterson’s disappearance, and it was about time they started looking in that direction.

‘That’s where we have another minor problem,’

Dalton answered. ‘We’ve only got your word that you talked to Buddy Elder on the phone that evening and not to Johnna Masterson.’

‘The cashier heard the conversation,’ I answered, and then I froze. The cashier had listened to me tell Buddy I was going to kill him. Only she had talked to a woman – and would naturally assume I had threatened to kill… Johnna. I had used Buddy’s name, but I was betting in the all excitement of a death threat the cashier had forgotten that.

Lt. Gibbons tried to be sympathetic. They weren’t suggesting I was lying. They were trying to understand what had happened, and, unfortunately, there were some discrepancies. That was all it was. It happened in every investigation.

How did I explain a woman calling Denny’s?

Gibbons asked.

It was a fair question, assuming the person who answered the phone had not made a mistake. Dalton gave me this point with an expressive tip of his head.

‘But assume it was a woman who called,’ I said, already imagining Denise Conway in the role. ‘The most likely explanation was Buddy either had one of his girlfriends call or he forced Johnna to do it.’

Lt. Gibbons gave me an incredulous look. Whether it was acting or not, I couldn’t tell. ‘You think Mr Elder abducted Johnna Masterson?’

‘Johnna was agitated when she called me at the house. She told me she wanted to talk about Buddy.

I got the feeling at the time Buddy had threatened her, but it’s possible, given the way she talked, he had her even then. The woman was practically in tears.’

I expected curiosity at this point. This was the road I wanted them to take, but instead of responding, they changed the subject. Lt. Gibbons asked about my affair with Denise Conway. Didn’t happen, I told her. Gibbons expressed mild surprise. I tossed my hands out, palms up. Bring her in. Ask her. Give her a lie detector test.

New subject. What happened between Buddy and me at The Glass Slipper? Bad judgement. And the altercation at the funeral home? I wanted to talk to Denise, and her husband objected. Husband? I told them about Denise and Roger getting married. Kip Dalton asked me how I knew that. I got the feeling he thought he was the only one in the know. I gave a casual shrug of my shoulders. Denise had told some of her dancer friends about it. Kip was curious about this, I could tell, but he didn’t press me on the details. ‘You were telling Denise your lawyer was going to sue her for bringing charges against you?’ Gibbons asked.

‘I was talking about perjury in a deposition. I didn’t mention filing a civil suit against her. Now that she’s worth over five million I guess it’s an option.’

Dalton asked, ‘Some people tell us that when you tried to talk to Johnna Masterson that evening she was afraid of you.’

‘She wasn’t afraid of me. She just didn’t want to talk.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

Kip Dalton knew the reason. What he wanted was to know if I would try to conceal things. I also knew that his information came second-hand. Without a warrant the university would not hand over the evidence Blackwell had collected. That left me in the awkward position of explaining the charges. As these appeared to be frivolous without the diary, I had to bring that up too. I could see by their expressions they knew nothing about it.

‘Is it possible for us to have a copy of the diary?’

Gibbons asked.

What was the point? The whole thing was a lie.

‘Why would she write about an affair that didn’t exist?’

I explained my history with Buddy Elder. At the time I would have described my demeanour as animated. In retrospect, I’m sure both Gibbons and Dalton imagined that I was coming unhinged. Like all madmen, I was intent upon proving myself sane and reasonable. The effect vacillates between paranoia and psychosis.

Lt. Gibbons listened patiently to my explanation, then asked about the material in the diary. I tried to make light of it. It was a complete fabrication after all. ‘Nothing too serious, just graphic sexual encounters between the two of us in my office. Some abusiveness thrown in.’

‘What kind of abusiveness?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It was all a lie. There was no affair!’ She wanted to know anyway, and I told her.

‘Fellatio. She didn’t want to perform it in my office, and I forced her to do it.’ I laughed, conscious of the inappropriateness of such a response but unable to stop myself. It was the abusiveness, I realized, that attracted Leslie Blackwell and Lt. Gibbons. Buddy Elder had understood his audience. A sexual encounter? It happens. Reluctance to co-operate? Understandable.

Forcing it? That crossed the line. In Buddy Elder’s script I was the pig all women hated.

Officer Gibbons said to Detective Dalton, ‘I want to look at this diary.’ To me Gibbons said, ‘I’m still having trouble understanding how Johnna Masterson got involved in this.’

‘So am I,’ I said.

They kept nudging the inquiry forward, and I kept filling in the blanks. Nothing got better. As Lt. Gibbons quietly entered into the official record
bodacious ta-tas
, I realized I could delude myself no longer. I was not a friendly witness. I was The Man.

Still I pressed on. I had no choice. Buddy Elder had set this thing in motion, and my only chance was to describe the diabolical intricacies of it. It was a bit like explaining chess to a poker player. When I had finished, Dalton summarized for both of them. ‘That’s a fairly elaborate scheme, Dr Albo.’

I nodded enthusiastically. It was indeed.

‘Why would he do that?’

I said I had no idea.

‘Did you make a threat the other night on the telephone?’ Lt. Gibbons asked.

I hesitated. They had the cashier’s statement. ‘Yes,’

I said. ‘I did.’

Lt. Gibbons pressed for a clarification. ‘You threatened Mr Elder, not Johnna Masterson?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘What did the two of you talk about, if you recall?’

Dalton asked.

‘Nothing, really. He said something about the university giving me a letter of censure instead of firing me.

That was the rumour he had heard at the funeral home, anyway, and then he said he hoped nothing happened to change their minds.’ The detective didn’t quite follow me, so I explained. ‘The only thing that makes sense to me is he knew Johnna was going to be missing. He was telling me something was going to happen.’

‘You think she was there during the conversation?’

Gibbons asked.

‘Buddy knew I was at Denny’s. How could he have known that if he didn’t set the whole thing up? I didn’t even tell my wife where I was going.’

‘So you’re saying only you and Johnna Masterson knew you were planning to meet at Denny’s that night?’

‘And Buddy Elder.’

Dalton thanked me for coming in. I had sure given them a lot to think about. I nodded dumbly, trying to assure myself the interview had not gone as badly as it felt. Maybe they
did
understand. Maybe they were reluctant to let me know the real suspect was Buddy Elder. Such are the lies we tell ourselves after our worst moments.

As he walked me out of the building and over to my truck, Kip seemed almost sympathetic again. It was hard for a man to say anything these days without getting in trouble with someone. I grumbled my agreement, feeling vindicated – one man of the world talking to another. He shook his head and looked out across the city. He remembered the days when sex was just sex. Now, well if they could put the President of the United States on a witness stand and grill him for eight hours on national TV about a blow job, no one was safe!