Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (28 page)

Saylor looked at Dan curiously. “No. It’s still closed. Were you expecting a change of direction on it?”

Dan affected an in-confidence tone. “Am I the only one to think it was awfully convenient for Lucille Killingworth to have a judge around to back up the claim of death by misadventure?”

Saylor shrugged. “The thought occurred to me.” His expression brightened. “I still think my theory was pretty ingenious.”

A knock came at Saylor’s door. A head poked in, white-haired, intense. Dan recognized him immediately. It was the serious-looking man who’d danced with Lucille Killingworth on the boat the night of the wedding. The man with barracuda eyes.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said. He didn’t seem to recognize Dan. “I’ll come back later, Pete.”

Before Saylor could introduce them, he’d vanished around the door. Dan waited a beat then tried for casual. “Who was that?”

“That’s Commissioner Burgess,” Saylor said, grinning. “The big shiny brass in this small town.”

“I think he was at the wedding,” Dan said nonchalantly.

“Yeah.” Saylor kept his voice low. “He’s a friend of Lucille Killingworth’s.”

Dan nodded. “Can we step out for a coffee somewhere?”

The Royal Café in downtown Picton was another holdover from Victorian times. A tin ceiling held onto its silver paint, but only barely. Large flaps hung down here and there, as though the sky had given way.

“Shoot,” said Saylor. “It’s free to talk in here.” He turned his head to the back of the café, where an older woman stood wiping cake crumbs off a table. “Maggie’s deaf,” he said with a wink.

“That file you sent me — did you check to see if it was intact before it went to the courier?”

Saylor looked at him. “I never even thought to look,” he said. “Wasn’t it all there?”

Dan shook his head. “Most of it, but there was one document missing.”

“Any idea what was in it?”

“It was labelled M.H. Possibly someone’s initials. Maybe a clerk’s. My guess is it had something to do with the assault charges Lucille Killingworth filed against her husband. I was hoping you could take a second look for me.”

Saylor looked perplexed. “I’ll try,” he said, “but I sent everything there was. I can get one of the junior officers to look around and see if it was misfiled, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope. It was in a bunch of boxes that got shuffled off to a storage unit more than ten years ago. I had to get special permission to open it.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Dan was silent for a moment. He looked up at Saylor. “Did you ever meet Craig Killingworth?”

“No,” Saylor said. “But my brother went to the high school where Craig was principal. I remember there was some scandal and he disappeared for a few months in the middle of a school year. Then came the assault charges and he lost his job. Suspended, actually. It shocked a lot of people.” His tone became reflective. “You never know about people — the secrets they hide.”

“I guess not,” Dan said.

“Last month I got called to a place just outside town. A mechanic, one of the toughest guys around, hanged himself in his barn. Of all the people you might expect to commit suicide, he wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of my list.”

“You’re right,” Dan said. “You never know. I’m curious though, why was a rich guy like Killingworth working as a school principal?”

Saylor’s face frowned in concentration. “I guess because it was her money,” he said. “I think she expected him to earn his keep.” He stopped and looked over at the counter. “Maggie!” he called in a loud voice.

The old woman looked up. “Yes, Pete? Did you call?”

“I did, Maggie. I’m just wondering if you remember the Killingworths.”

“Who?”

“Killingworths,” he said, even louder. “The husband disappeared about twenty years ago. He was the school principal.”

“Oh, yes!” she said, her face suddenly transformed by memory. “Other side of the reach.”

“Rich family, weren’t they?” Saylor asked.

The woman nodded slowly. “Oh, yes,” she concurred. “It was her father’s money. Nathaniel Macaulay. I don’t think you’d remember him. It was Nate’s great-great-great-grandfather who founded Picton. The Reverend William Macaulay. With a Crown grant of four hundred acres. I’m surprised you don’t remember your local history, Pete. Nathaniel must have died twelve, fifteen years ago. Something like that. You could check on the gravestone if you wanted. He’s buried up the road at St. Mary Magdalene.”

“Thanks, Maggie.”

She turned back to her work.

“There you have it,” Saylor said. He checked his watch. “I’d better be getting back before I’m missed.”

Out on the street, he shook hands with Dan. “Are you single, by the way?” He winked. “I could set you up with my brother.”

Dan grinned in embarrassment. “Thanks, but I’m not on the market at present.”

“Too bad,” Saylor said. “For him, anyway.” He nodded to a young couple passing on the sidewalk before turning back to Dan. “Just a word of warning,” he said. “It’s a small town here. Watch your back while you’re snooping around. Especially with Commissioner Burgess a friend of Mrs. Killingworth.”

“Warning noted,” Dan said. “Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.”

“And thanks for coming by,” Saylor said, as though it was Dan who had done him the favour.

Sally gave him a glum look on his return the following morning. She’d retired the blue, orange, and violet for an all-black outfit. She was a veritable Queen of the Night, with a stroke of magenta eye shadow. Mourning or colour fatigue, it was hard to say. She sighed and plunked her notebook onto his desk. Dan glanced up, trying not to look amused by this expression of exasperation.

“I can’t find him anywhere,” she said.

“Who?” Dan said, playing dumb.

“Oh, great! You don’t even remember what you asked me to find for you.”

“Fill me in,” Dan said.

“I can tell you without doubt there is not a single Magnus Ferguson listed with any public telephone directory in the entire country,” she said. “I have now checked the records dating back ten years.” Dan whistled. “Not only that, I’ve also called all one hundred and fifty of the ‘M. Fergusons’ listed and not one of them claims to be or to know a ‘Magnus.’ And now, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to go back to cleaning chamber pots.”

He laughed as she flounced out of his room and then turned right back around. “Oh yeah — and this very creepy guy has been trying to get hold of you since yesterday. He refuses to leave a message.” She placed a name and number on his desk and left.

Larry Fiske
. Dan didn’t recognize the name. He dialled the number and reached the reception desk at the firm of Fiske and Travis. Dan was put through immediately. Fiske identified himself as a lawyer representing the Killingworth family. Of course, this was the mysterious “Larry” that Thom and his mother had discussed during their meeting with Dan. Finally, Dan thought, he was going to be told Lucille had hired him to find her missing husband. He had more than a few questions, and was still undecided whether or not he’d willingly continue with the request to find Craig Killingworth.

“Mr. Sharp, I’m told you have been very loyal to the Killingworth family.”

That had been Lucille Killingworth’s phrase, Dan recalled. He needed to make clear his position once and for all. “Mr. Fiske, I would not describe my actions as being loyal to the Killingworths,” he said slowly. “When I met with Lucille and Thom last month I was simply doing them a favour. In a personal capacity.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” Larry went on. “So are you taking on the case?”

“I’m considering it, yes.”

“Then I have to advise you that the Killingworth family would take exception to your decision if you choose to take on that request. Craig Killingworth’s disappearance twenty years ago caused his family considerable grief, which they have since managed to get over. They would not want all that stirred up again. They would also not take kindly to having you turn against them now.”

Dan was completely thrown. If they didn’t want him to take on the case, then who did? His tongue suddenly got stuck to the roof of his mouth. “In what capacity are you advising me, Mr. Fiske?”

“In a personal one.”

He oozed unctuousness. Dan decided he would hate this guy if he ever met him.

“Perhaps it’s a good time to mention that it has come to my attention there’s some question of attempted rape in connection with you and a guest of the Killingworths.…”

Dan exploded. “What?”

Larry went on as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “… as well as a question of intent to spread the HIV virus. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. If a test shows you to be HIV-positive, you could be up on charges of attempted murder.”

“Who’s going to order me to take an HIV-test?”

“You know very well that it’s within the jurisdiction of any court, should the matter come to that.”

There was silence on the other end. Dan felt his heart galloping a path through his stomach, but he wasn’t going to let a lawyer get the better of him. “Don’t try to bully me, Mr. Fiske. And don’t insult my intelligence. I’m obviously smarter than you.”

“Really?” Fiske’s voice dripped disdain. “How do you figure that?”

“Simple — because I’m not a lawyer. And if anything, I’m the one who should be worried about catching something.”

“Yes, Mr. Sharp. You probably should be very worried. I’ll leave you with those thoughts.”

The call clicked off.

“Son-of-a-fucking bitch!” Dan snarled. His hand shook as he forced himself not to bang the receiver down. His mouth was dry. He tried to marshal his thoughts. Things were definitely getting out of hand. And worse, what he’d assumed about being hired to find Craig Killingworth was totally false. The mystery was spreading, with no sign of who wanted Killingworth found.

Dan thought back to the report. Craig Killingworth had disgraced himself in his hometown and in the eyes of his family, then got on his bicycle and — what? Been hit by a car and died? Committed a crime and scrammed? Or simply started a new life for himself without looking back? All of these were possible. Sometimes locating a missing person seemed like taking a multiple-choice exam. Other times it felt like digging through the rubble to find something you only suspected was there, if it wasn’t in one of a thousand other places.

Sometimes, with a few known facts, it was like a recipe. Put in all the ingredients, including a few conjectured ones, stir round and round, and
voila!
— a cake — though in this case a particularly inedible one. Dan smiled at his analogy. He’d try it out on his boss one day. When he’d cleared himself of the filing cabinet incident. When his boss regained a sense of humour. Okay, maybe not. And — oh yes! — don’t forget the missing ingredient:
I have to advise you that the Killingworth family would take exception to your decision if you choose to take on that request
. That was the icing on the cake. Maybe Lucille Killingworth did not want her husband found. Why? Did she have something to hide?

Dan looked over the information Sally had left on his desk. He turned to his computer and checked flight schedules then pressed the intercom button. His boss answered. “Good morning, Daniel.”

“Good morning, Ed. It’s about the Killingworth case.…”

“I haven’t had time to think about who I might be able to spare.”

“It’s okay,” Dan cut him off. “I don’t want you to replace me. I’ve decided to stay on with it. If that’s all right.”

He heard his boss give a confused chuckle. “Yes — by all means. It’s fine with me. More than fine.”

“Good,” Dan said. “In fact,” he checked his watch, “I’m off in about three hours to catch a plane to B.C. to follow up on a lead there.”

“Fascinating. Enjoy the weather.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Eighteen

Islands in the Strait

From the windows of the plane, the green span of Lion’s Gate Bridge glinted in the sunlight. Below, the city was a quilt of urban crosshatches rolled up against the mountains and edged down to the sea. For the first time in weeks, Dan felt a sense of relief. Maybe it was just the rush of flying, the release of escape. Flight brought a sense of endless possibility, of life lived elsewhere than the city he’d planned and failed to leave every year for the last ten years. (Then again, he reminded himself, it always felt a little like failure to think he might actually leave it for good.) Or it may have been his proximity to Trevor, the Mayne Island Hermit, whom he hadn’t yet made up his mind to see. It wouldn’t do to get Trevor’s hopes up if things were suddenly to take him elsewhere. The vicissitudes of fate did not smile favourably upon chance love affairs in strange cities. The gardener he’d come to find might prove not to be here after all, putting an abrupt end to his trip. Still, a call at least was in order:
Hello, I’m here. Goodbye again
. But what was the point?

Beneath them, the Earth turned while the plane resisted gravity. For the moment he was a pirate, an Old World explorer circling the new one, with endless opportunities stretched out below. And in those limitless seconds of suspension, right up until the moment the wheels touched ground and life resumed its expected course, it seemed as though anything could happen.

They were over the Strait of Georgia. Below, the Earth lay fractured in a myriad broken pieces. Mayne Island was one of them, a soft bed to land in. The dying light gave the islands a magical cast, their dismembered outlines surrounded by silvery moats and darkening shorelines.

Surrey, on the other hand, was anything but magical. It was tawdry and squalid, though unlike other urban disasters this one wore its squalor with a sort of hometown pride. B.C.’s moderate climate and reputation as a haven for drug users had created an underclass of addicts and an attendant criminal fringe element. The push to ready Vancouver for the Olympics had unsettled its transient population, and many had migrated to the tidal plains to the south.

Picking up his rental car at the airport, Dan watched a wreck of a man scouring the asphalt for cigarette butts. The ride got grimmer the closer he got. Surrey made the unseemly parts of Toronto look like a picnic basket on a checkered tablecloth. He stopped for directions at a 7-Eleven. A Native woman approached him holding a can of Schlitz, tab clicked open. She held it out, her expression childlike. “Drink?”