Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (141 page)

The minister raised his arms and Dan stood with the others. For a moment, he felt something like pride: pride in his city, pride in his community, pride in his country. All these disparate tribes coming together to celebrate the life of a woman born in a land and culture so different from his own. Yet here they were, in an openly gay church, commemorating their faith together in a place that represented every nation, even to the point of allowing all who came there to reshape and colour the fabric of the land.

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me,”
intoned the minister.

Dan glanced at the heads bowed in prayer. He envied the untroubled faith of this man who extolled such brave words and the believers who calmly accepted them, even if he could not.

“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.”

A fervent
Amen!
rang out. Dan considered Yuri Malevski’s mansion. It too had been a place for all, even the outcasts: drug users, immigrants, transsexuals. It was a dream Malevski had believed in to the point of helping even those who sometimes despised him. He thought of Irma, who thought his life an abomination, even while he paid her bills and calmly accepted her censure. So too with Yuri’s young lover, also from another culture, whom he accepted under his roof where they once planned a future together.

“I go to prepare a place for you …”

And then there was the odd boy, Ziggy, who also relied on Yuri’s hospitality. Yuri had ministered to each of them, in his own way. He opened his doors and welcomed them all.

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”

The minister’s sleeves billowed as his words echoed around the sanctuary:
“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again …”

Dan was on his feet even before he fully understood. Heads turned in curiosity as he made his way down the aisle and along the creaky wooden floors, banging knees, and trying desperately not to run until he was finally outside and bolting down the stairs to the street.

He had his cell in his hand and heard the line ringing.

I will come again …

She answered. Dan listened to her impatiently, waiting for her to finish.

Look closer to home, baby.

“We found it. It took a lot of looking, but you were right, Dan.”

“Good, good!” He told her what he knew.

What movie has a bridge and a bell tower?

She listened carefully. “So you’re saying Santiago was there, too? In the house?”

The first death was faked …

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying! But earlier.”

“I don’t understand. Who brought the phone to the pawn shop? Santiago’s fingerprints were all over it.”

“And nobody else’s?”

“No, not even …” She was already with him. “… Yuri Malevski’s!”

Dan’s words fell out in a jumble, describing his encounter with the illegal immigrant who cleaned houses, of her passion for Christ, her intense dislike of Yuri Malevski. She had been there.

“Those weren’t Santiago’s fingerprints.”

“Then whose were they? Are you saying the cleaner stole the phone?”

“No, listen. I think we’re missing the boat here.”

He told her his theory. A missing phone, a missing candelabra, a missing immigrant. Even the missing fingerprints. Not what was there, but what wasn’t. She was harder to convince this time after his blunder at the mansion that morning, but she was willing to consider it.

“Can you prove it?” she asked.

“Give me half an hour.”

Twenty-Nine

Orchids

She started at the sound of his voice. “Please, no! I cannot!”

“Irma, you must help. What would Jesus have done?” Dan blurted out before she could hang up. “Would he have turned his back on the sinner?”

He knew she wouldn’t turn him down.

“I’ll come to you.”

He scribbled her address on a napkin and dashed to his car before she could change her mind. She’d been there, Dan realized. She was a witness to something, even if she didn’t know it. He himself didn’t know precisely what he was looking for, just that beneath the surface of a very clean house lay a clue that would help him unravel the mystery.

When he’d checked the weather, he saw it had snowed the previous evening and well into the night. The month had been terrifically cold, the temperature hitting a low of minus eighteen-point-three. Nothing unusual for February, but he thought the snow was the telling detail.

Yes, she said, watching him nervously. No one had been in or out of the house when she arrived that morning. No footsteps trod through the snow from either the back or front door. The drive hadn’t been shovelled. Anyone coming or going would have left a trail. It was impossible to cover the tracks. Ziggy hadn’t lied when he said he hadn’t been in the house before she got there. Donny had told him Ziggy stayed on his couch that week, even if he was a little cloudy on the precise dates. It didn’t matter, really, because no one could pinpoint exactly when Yuri had died. Still, that wasn’t it.

No. What he was seeking lay elsewhere.

Dan glanced around the minuscule apartment. It was neat and clean, pretty much as he’d expected. It was also barren. A poverty house with crosses adorning the walls in every room. The only true decorations were a couple of framed prints and several orchids just opening into bloom.

“Nice flowers,” Dan said, hoping to put her at ease.

“Yes, thank you. From son.”

She was far warier this time. Her dark eyes followed him, reading every gesture. Words could be made to say anything, all stories were half fiction, anyway, but a person’s movements did not lie.

“You said the house was very clean when you arrived.”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly.

“As though no one had been there for some time?”

“Yes.”

Because in all likelihood no one had been there
, Dan thought.
No one living, at any rate.
He saw the dawning, the realization in her eyes. She’d seen something.

“He is —”

“He is what, Irma?”

“He is still there!”

Curiosity turned to fear. Her eyes darted around the room, like a trapped bird looking for a window.

“Who?”

A hand rose to cover her mouth.

“Jesus!”

She uttered the name with quiet vehemence. For a second, Dan thought she was cursing. Or worse, losing her mind. She’d be hopeless as a witness.
Who did you see?
the prosecutor would ask.
Jesus!
she would respond, staring out at the court like a madwoman. He needed to bring her back to sanity for a few more minutes, until he’d finished questioning her.

“Mr. Malevski doesn’t take away,” she said.

“Take away what?”

“Every week I leave pamphlet, every week he put in garbage. Wicked man. But this is same pamphlet I leave on table one week before. Why he doesn’t throw out?”

Dan shook his head. “You’re saying you left a religious pamphlet and Mr. Malevski didn’t move it or pick it up from the previous week?”

She nodded fearfully. “Yes!”

“So when you got there, the house was the same as it had been when you cleaned the week before?”

“Yes! Except kitchen. I wipe …”

Someone had to clean up that mess.

“You wiped up the blood?” he asked.

A sob escaped her. She nodded.

“Tell me what you found when you arrived.”

She sat silently for a moment, collecting herself. “House is very clean, except kitchen. But greenhouse is not normal.”

Dan turned to her. “The greenhouse?”

“Flowers are dead. I wacuum. So many on floor.”

Dan nodded, thinking of Hank’s peace offering. “They all died, didn’t they?”

“Maybe one, two is okay …”

Dan thought of what he’d learned on the Internet. There was such an amazing variety of orchids. They were like immigrants, of every race and colour, brought from shore to shore by travellers, traders, and buyers. Ziggy had told him how much some of them cost. Dan hadn’t believed it until he read it online. One particular plant had sold for two hundred thousand dollars. Most of them lost their flowers when exposed to cold, but others — a handful — actually thrived, one or two varieties out of thousands. Yuri had owned several such orchids.

“Was it cold when you arrived? In the house?”

He already knew the answer.

“Yes, is freezing. Like refrigerator.”

Sensitive to temperature, humidity and light, the orchids had suffered with the lowering of the thermostat. But not all.

He thought back: Lionel left for Mexico on the third, but Charles had stayed behind, joining him two days later. What had Lionel said of Charles? That he was afraid of him. That Charles had experience making money disappear into foreign accounts. He thought of the sleeping pills Charles insisted Lionel take to relax. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place: Dan suddenly knew who Santiago’s other boyfriend was. Charles had known, too.

Irma waited until Dan asked everything he needed to know. There wasn’t much time left. On his way out, a photograph caught his eye. Irma, looking much the same as she did right now, only smiling and with a handsome young man at her side, his arm thrown over her shoulder.

“Son?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“A good-looking boy.”

“Thank you.”

“Family is important,” Dan said.

She smiled.

Thirty

The Unravelling

Dan knew he had to move fast. At least one life was at stake. There was no sense going back to the Lockie House. The code had been changed and he thought he knew by whom. It wasn’t necessary to break in to confirm anything. Even if his theory proved correct, as he was sure it would, there were limits to what the police would accept. He’d simply have to prove to Inspector Johnston what he knew to be true.

He pulled out his phone as he turned his car around. Johnston was with him now. She agreed he had a point. A big point. And he was closer to Radio City than she was.

“I can get there first,” he said.

“Be careful!”

Charles and Lionel were just crossing the lobby, bags in hand, when Dan arrived.

Fury rose on Charles’s face. “I told you to leave us alone!”

“Please, Charles!” Lionel grabbed his husband’s arm to quiet him. “Dan? What’s this all about?”

Dan gave him a rueful look. “It’s about …” He shook his head. “It’s about orchids.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s about orchids.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles demanded.

Lionel quieted him again and said softly, “I don’t understand.”

Dan took a breath. “To understand, you have to work backwards. A man is killed in his own home and the door is double locked. Makes you wonder why. Why go to the bother of locking a door when you know someone’s going to find the body eventually? The easy answer is, to give the killer plenty of getaway time. Sure, why not? It’s the likeliest reason, but in this case it wasn’t the real reason because nobody was trying to get away. Then I thought maybe it was a sign of veneration. Of love, even. It fit Ziggy’s story. Maybe Santiago’s, too. He and Yuri had been together long enough. In any case, either of them could have done it. It might have been an accident and the killer later sealed up the place like some kind of shrine. But that wasn’t it, either.”

“How do you know?” Charles asked.

“Because this murder was meticulously planned. The only thing that didn’t fit was the timing.”

Dan saw the first cruiser pull up outside the building. Inspector Johnston got out and drew her gun. A second cruiser nosed into place behind it. Two more officers leapt out and followed.

Dan kept talking. “So I asked myself, what if the death didn’t occur when it was supposed to? What if it occurred earlier than we were led to believe? Once I asked that question, things started falling into place. Except in that case, why would someone break into the dead man’s house to use his cell phone?”

Lionel shook his head, a crease puckering his brow.

“You would only do it if you wanted to make it look like the cell’s owner was still alive. Someone used Yuri Malevski’s phone to make a call to Mexico and to text an entry code to a house cleaner.”

Lionel shook his head. “You mean it wasn’t Yuri who called me?”

Dan shook his head. “No. It was someone else.”

“But who?” Lionel asked. “It was Yuri’s voice on the message.”

“Or a recording of Yuri’s voice.”

“Oh.”

Dan nodded. “Who else was around to use Yuri’s phone? You and Charles were in Mexico. The cleaning lady was just a cleaning lady who’d been set up to further the plot along, so I didn’t think it was her. A transsexual named Jan used to frequent the house, but no one had seen Jan for some time, so once again it was unlikely. There was even a weird neighbour with a grudge, plus a supposedly crooked cop thrown into the scenario to confuse things. And, unbeknownst to nearly everybody, a strange boy named Ziggy lived under the eaves in Yuri’s house. He confessed to me he’d extracted the entry code texted to the cleaning lady from Yuri’s cellphone. A very sweet lady in possession of some extremely valuable orchids, by the way.”

Dan saw Inspector Johnston standing at the back of the lobby listening to him.

“At first I wasn’t so sure about Ziggy, but I quickly realized he was more of a neurotic than a psychotic. Killer? Nah, I don’t think so. So who else was there?”

Dan let the question hang in the air. He turned his gaze on Charles. “You left late to meet Lionel in Mexico, didn’t you?”

Charles suddenly looked bewildered, dropping the lawyer’s bravado.

“I had a case to close. I made arrangements to meet with Lionel two days later. It was a Saturday. The airline will have a record. I told you this already.”

“True,” Dan said. “I don’t doubt what you say. But somebody made a call and sent a text. Then the phone disappeared. I don’t think that was part of the plan. It showed up this morning in a pawn shop with the fingerprints of the suicide victim who jumped from Overlea Bridge, by the way. Though it’s beginning to look as though that wasn’t really a suicide after all,” Dan said.