Prairie Hardball (14 page)

I spent the next couple of hours reading the research material that I’d borrowed from the Hall and putting my notes from that morning in order. Then I lay down with a book, which ended up face-down on my chest. When I stopped contemplating the insides of my eyelids, it was half-past five. I decided to call home to let them know Andy and I would be a few days late getting back.

We live in a three-storey brick house in the Riverdale neighbourhood of Toronto. I bought it with a former lover back in the days when anything east of the Don River valley, which bisects the city, was considered so déclassé that even a normal working stiff could afford a house there. Now, the area is positively trendy, and my house is worth more than my parents’ whole block in Indian Head, which shows how crazy things are in this country. I could sell my fairly modest place and buy a mansion anywhere else in Canada.

About ten years ago, when the relationship broke up, I bought out his share and turned the house into a duplex so I could afford the mortgage. Andy and I have the top two floors and I rent out the first floor and basement to my friend Sally Parkes and her son, T.C., who has grown into a teenager under my roof. He answered the phone in the deep voice I’m still not used to.

“Hey, T.C., how are you?”

“Hey, Kate. Where are you?”

I explained.

“Cool,” he said. “Another body drops at your feet. Have you ever thought about maybe hiring yourself out as some sort of karmic hit man? Hit woman.”

“Very funny.”

“No, listen. Say someone wants to get back at some enemy, right? So you get a fee up front to just, like, go visit the guy, and it’s easily fifty-fifty something bad’s going to happen to him. If it does, you get the rest. I’ll be your agent. We’ll get rich.”

“T.C., put a lid on that imagination. You’ve been reading too much science fiction. Is your mum around?”

“No, she and Tip are at the vet.”

Tip Keenan, a private detective who had once been a colleague of Andy’s, had been involved in finding a missing woman in our neighbourhood the previous year, and had been involved with Sally since then. He’s a nice guy, and has made a great and pleasant difference in all our lives.

“Why? Is something wrong with Martha?”

Martha is T.C.’s foster dog, a sweet mutt who came into our lives at the same time as Tip.

“No, it’s Elwy, he’s just being a bit weird.”

My heart sank. My cat, Elwy, is pushing twenty. Lately he has been showing some creakiness in his joints and crankiness in his disposition, but he’s been otherwise fine.

“Weird, how?” I asked.

“Well, he’s not eating, for one thing.”

“That’s hardly going to hurt him,” I said, trying to laugh.

“Right. And he was meowing a lot. But it’s been really hot, so that might be what’s wrong. Anyway, Mum took him in just to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thank her for me. And tell her to phone me when she gets back. Use my phone so it won’t go on your bill.”

I gave him the number and hung up. When Andy called a few minutes later, I almost burst into tears when I told him.

“That’s too bad. But he’s had a lot of good years.”

Andy tolerates cats, but just doesn’t get my bond with Elwy.

“He’s not dead yet,” I said, angrily. “He’s probably fine. I just feel badly that I’m not there with him when he’s . . .”

I choked up again.

“Are you all right, Kate?”

“No, I’m not all right. But thanks for asking.”

“Kate, what are you getting yourself so worked up about? He’s only a cat. And you’ve been expecting him to die ever since I’ve known you.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re upset. I hope you hear some good news soon. We’ll talk about it when I get back.”

“When will that be?”

“It might be an hour, it might be two. There have been some developments.”

“What kind of developments?”

“I can’t talk about it right now. Anyway, maybe you’d better have dinner with your parents.”

“I can’t face the early-bird special. I’ll wait for you. I mean, you have to eat sometime, right?”

“Okay, I’ll give you a call before seven to let you know.”

“I’ll be here, or in the bar, if I find some company. Edna would probably like someone to have her cocktail with.”

“Or your new best friend Jack,” he said.

“Your favourite suspect, you mean?”

“He’s getting less favourite every minute,” Andy said.

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you right now.”

“So you’re happy for me to go drinking with him?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he grumbled. “But you’re a big girl, you can do what you want.”

“You’ve got that right,” I said. He grunted.

“Got to go. I hope Elwy’s all right, really.”

I called my parents next, to tell them I had to wait for a phone call from Toronto and they should go ahead without me.

“If you’re sure,” my father said. “I wouldn’t mind waiting except we have plans to meet with the Denekas and Edna.”

“No, I need to know how Elwy is,” I said.

“I understand,” he said. “I feel the same way about Shadrach. Keep your chin up, and let me know what happens.”

I managed to say goodbye without losing it completely, then sat on the bed feeling like an idiot. Why was I so upset? Andy is right. I’ve assumed that every winter would be Elwy’s last since he was fifteen. And he
is
only a cat. A homely, portly, not very smart, old black and white alley cat.

I turned the television to the Titan game, which, with the time difference, was already underway, then curled up in the armchair and tried to let it divert me.

There’s a strong bond between human and pet. Maybe because it is without words. Or maybe because it’s the one love we give unconditionally, without keeping any of it held back because of fear of being hurt or betrayed.

We’ve been through a lot together, old Elwy and I. When he was a kitten, I was still in my twenties, living on my own and just starting to make it freelance, flying high and invincible. Anything was possible when Elwy and I started out.

It’s amateur psychology time, ladies and gents. Elwy was, of course, my last link to that young and confident Kate Henry I’d mislaid somewhere along the way. My last link to that knock-’em-dead redhead who got lost somewhere under the wrinkles. Man, what a lot of emotional weight to give to seventeen pounds of fur and purr.

The phone rang. Sally, back from the vet.

“They’re keeping him in overnight. He’s dehydrated. I guess he hasn’t been drinking enough water in all this heat. I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t notice anything was wrong until today.”

“Sally. No reason to. Did they say what might be wrong?”

“The vet’s going to run some tests. She says she wants to avoid exploratory surgery because of his age.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Blood tests for liver and kidney function, like that. When a cat’s as old as Elwy, any number of things can go wrong.”

“Whatever it turns out to be, I don’t want him to suffer.”

“I know that. It probably won’t come to that. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks for taking charge. I know it’s not any fun for you, either.”

“It’s nothing, Kate. We love Elwy too.”

Now she was getting weepy.

“This is silly,” I said.

“No one has ever accused us of being sensible, my friend.”

“Thank goodness for small blessings. Give my love to Tip.”

“And ours to Andy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I know something. And you let us know when you’ll be coming back. We miss you.”

“Me too.”

I hung up and hugged myself in my chair, wishing Elwy was there to comfort me.

Hugh Grenfell brought Nathan Rowley in just after six. He was a heavy man in his late twenties, dressed in jeans and a washed-out green Saskatchewan Roughriders T-shirt. His dark blond hair was cut short in front and curled below the collar in back. His weedy moustache and goatee didn’t do much for his looks, which could have used some help. His blue eyes were small and close-set, and his cheeks pitted with acne scars.

It doesn’t matter, Andy thought, big city or small town, this is the kind of petty crook you can spot at a thousand paces.

“Mr. Rowley, thanks for coming in,” Deutsch said, getting to his feet, smiling. He put out his hand. Rowley shook it warily.

Okay, Andy thought, as Deutsch introduced him to the suspect, now we know who’s going to be good cop. What’s my role? He decided to settle for silent cop for the time being and see what was needed.

Rowley took the proffered chair and crossed his right ankle to his left knee. He betrayed his nervousness by jiggling his right foot, but otherwise seemed calm.

“Why we’ve invited you here, Mr. Rowley, is to ask you some questions about Saturday night,” Deutsch said. “I guess you know that one of those older women that were at Shooters that night was murdered.”

“I heard that, yeah,” Rowley said.

“Well, now, I understand that you were there that night,” Deutsch said, pleasantly, “and we were all hoping you could tell us what you remember. Did you see the women?”

“Sure,” he said, helpfulness written all over his face. His toe tempo went up a notch. “I seen them. It was hard to miss. They’re not the kind you usually see there on a Saturday night. Hall of Fame, eh? I saw it on TV.”

“That’s right,” Deutsch said. “There was one of them in particular. You would have remembered her. She was wearing that yellow dress. The old-fashioned uniform with the skirt.”

“I remember her. Jeez, was she the one that got killed?”

“Why is it you remember her?”

“Well, the uniform and all. That was pretty unusual. Me and my buddies from work, that’s who I was with, some buddies from work, we were like, right at the next table, eh?”

“Go on,” Deutsch said.

“Well, like we talked to her. We’re on a softball team together, right? Me and my buddies from work. She said that she and the other old ladies could whip our butts. That’s what she said. ‘We could whip your butts. What do you think about that?’ It was pretty comical.”

“Yeah, comical,” Deutsch said, mildly. “Did you happen to notice anything when they left, whether anyone followed them.”

Rowley closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, no doubt, or the better to formulate a story. Then he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t notice anything because we left before they did. Yeah, I remember now, they was all still sitting there when we left.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, nodding like one of those toy dogs in the back of a car. “Because we said goodbye to them when we left, because we’d been talking to them and all.”

“What time was that, Nathan? Just to keep our records straight.”

“Oh, like twelve-thirty. Not real late. Like I had to drop my buddies off first, and it wasn’t one o’clock when I got home. My aunt, who I live with? She likes me to be home before one.”

“I’m sure your aunt can back you up on this, Nathan? The time you got home.”

“I don’t know. She was in bed. Maybe she heard me. Why?”

“We’re just trying to get the times straight, who left when, just to narrow things down.”

“Well, it was definitely before one. I know that.”

“And it took you half an hour to get home.”

“Well, like I said, I had to drop my buddies off, eh? Maybe it was after twelve-thirty when we left, but not much after.”

“And you spoke to the women before you left.”

“Yeah, they were teasing us about whipping our butts, like I said. So we sort of teased them back. Told them to meet us at the ball diamond the next day. Just kidding around.”

“How did they seem?”

“Oh, they was happy. They was a bit drunk if you want to know the truth. Kind of funny to see a bunch of old grannies shit-faced.”

“You’ve got a thing about old grannies, right, Rowley?” Grenfell asked, quietly. Rowley’s toe stopped tapping. Then Andy knew who bad cop was going to be.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Rowley said, avoiding Grenfell’s gaze.

“Your record, Nathan,” he said. “You don’t think we know about that?”

“Wait a minute,” Rowley said, looking from Grenfell to Deutsch, then to the other men in the room. When he got to Munro, silent cop just folded his arms and stared, as if at a zoo exhibit. “What’s this about? You’re trying to pin this on me because I’ve got a record? No way! You got the wrong guy.”

“Calm down, Mr. Rowley. We’re not charging you with anything. Corporal Grenfell, you shouldn’t have frightened Mr. Rowley. He’s just trying to help. He’s cooperating. He’s being a good citizen.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

Grenfell sat back in his chair. Chastised.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, eyes down.

“It’s young Mr. Rowley you should be apologizing to, not me,” Deutsch said.

Grenfell muttered something no one could hear. It might have been an apology.

“By the way, would you like a coffee or anything?” Deutsch asked. Rowley jumped at it.

“Hugh, get our guest a coffee,” Deutsch said. Grenfell got to his feet and went out the door. On his way, with his back to the suspect, he winked at Andy, who had to cough behind his fist to hide his smile.

“You’re doing fine, Mr. Rowley,” Deutsch said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Listen, I just want to help,” he said. “I did my time, and I’m rehabilitated. I’ve changed. That stuff before, I was drinking and doing a lot of drugs. Now I’m straight. I’ve got a job here, and a place to live, you know? I don’t want to cause anybody any trouble, okay?”

“We don’t want to cause you any trouble, either,” Deutsch said. “Now, can you tell me the names of the buddies you were with. Names and addresses. Just to make sure we’ve got all the witnesses in place.”

“Sure. Ernie McLeod, he lives here in North Battleford. Jimmy Kelly lives with his girlfriend over here, too. I drove them first. And Banjo Rasmussen, he’s over near my aunt’s place.’

Deutsch pulled a list out from a file on his desk.

“Banjo Rasmussen. Would that be Benjamin Rasmussen? Is that his real name?”

“I guess so,” Rowley shrugged. “Banjo’s all I know.”

“Well, good,” Deutsch said. “We’ve got these names and numbers already. Just sit tight for a second. I’m going to make a few phone calls.”

He went out the door, leaving Rowley alone with Andy. After a few minutes on silence, Rowley looked at Andy.

“How’s it going?” he asked. No reply. “You don’t talk a lot, do ya?” Nothing.

“Jeez,” Rowley said. “I can’t believe this. I hope you guys don’t think I had anything to do with this.”

He stood up and began to pace.

“Man, oh, man. I can’t believe this.”

Grenfell came back into the room and handed Rowley a Styrofoam cup. He took a sip and grimaced.

“Don’t you got any sugar?”

“We’re fresh out,” Grenfell said, then turned to Andy.

“The punk said anything incriminating yet?”

“Hey, I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Rowley said. “You got no reason to call me names.”

He slumped back down in his chair, his knees spread wide.

“Shut up, punk,” Grenfell said, emphasizing the last word coldly. “We got you for breaking parole, at the very least.”

“No way,” Rowley said. “What are you talking about?”

“Your parole prohibits the use of alcohol or consorting with known felons.”

“I wasn’t drinking anything. Just Cokes. I was the designated driver. How much more law-abiding do you want me to be? I was doing you all a favour, keeping drunks off the road. And my buddies aren’t what you call them, felons. They’re just guys I work with at Wal-Mart. They don’t have no records. You can look it up.”

“No, they don’t, punk, but I can name you seven other guys in that bar who do.”

“But I wasn’t with them.”

“I don’t think that technicality will get in our way if we decide we want to hold you, Mr. Law-and-Order,” Grenfell said, sarcastically.

He sat glaring at Rowley, who didn’t enjoy the attention. After a few moments of silence, Grenfell leaned forward so his face was just inches from Rowley’s.

“What did you do, Nathan, wait for her outside the bar and jump her? Or did you follow her to her room?”

“I didn’t do it. You’ve got to believe me, man.”

“You’re going down on this, Nathan. Make it easy on yourself. Tell us what happened.”

“I want my lawyer,” Rowley said.

“I bet you do,” Grenfell said. “I just bet you do.”

He sat back in his chair when Deutsch came back into the room. Rowley stood up.

“I don’t have anything more to say,” he said.

“Oh, let me be the judge of that,” Deutsch said.

“I think Mr. Rowley is trying to tell you thinks he needs a lawyer,” Andy said.

“I know my rights,” Rowley said. “You have to let me talk to my lawyer.”

“Relax, Nathan,” Deutsch said. “We haven’t charged you with anything. We are simply looking for information about that night. You have been cooperative so far, and we appreciate it.”

Rowley glared at Hugh Grenfell.

“Tell him to back off, then,” he said.

“Corporal, you’re out of line,” Deutsch said. “Now, we just have a few more loose ends to tie up. Thinking back on that night, did you see anyone else talk to the women at that table?”

“No. No one I knew, anyways. There were a couple of old guys in suits who said hello. And one old fat guy who was trying to get his wife to leave. She wouldn’t though. That’s all I saw.”

“All right. That’s very helpful. Now, I was just wondering something else. About the Hall of Fame. You’ve been there, I guess.”

“Sure. I help out my aunt there sometimes when she’s in charge.”

“It’s an interesting place. Lots of interesting things. You play ball yourself?”

“A bit. Just softball now. But I was a pretty good hitter in high school.”

Deutsch nodded a few times, then rather abruptly stood up. He smiled and held out his hand.

“We won’t need to trouble you any more today.”

Rowley looked relieved.

“By the way,” he added, as an afterthought, “who did you say your lawyer is?”

“Alan Cramdon,” Rowley said. “In Saskatoon.”

“Well, I’m impressed,” Deutsch said, then turned to Andy.

“Ever hear of Cramdon before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“He’s the biggest, meanest, sharpest lawyer going,” Grenfell said. “You know what I mean? You got them down your way, too? The real smart lawyers?”

“You mean the ones guilty guys hire?” Andy said, picking up the cue.

“That’s the kind I mean,” Grenfell said, with a nasty smile.

“By all means give him a call, when you get home,” Deutsch said. “He’ll explain that you’ve got nothing to worry about because we haven’t charged you with anything. But tell him we might want to have another little chat with you in the next few days. He’ll tell you what to do.”

“Can I go now?” Rowley asked.

“Sure,” Deutsch said, then called for Constable Resnick, who came into the room a few seconds later.

“Dewey, can you give Mr. Rowley a ride home?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, that’s just great,” Deutsch said. “And maybe you’d just keep an eye on the house tonight. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then, off you go, Mr. Rowley. Thanks for all your help.”

Rowley, got up, looking confused. Just as he got to the door, Deutsch called to him.

“Mr. Rowley, you drive a pickup truck, don’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just asking. Have a nice evening.”

The three policemen watched in silence until the suspect was out of the building.

“What do you think?” Deutsch asked.

“He’s starting to sweat,” Grenfell said.

“You give terrific bad cop, by the way,” Andy said.

“Hey, what about my good cop?” Deutsch asked.

“Excellent, as well.”

“Compliments aside, what’s your read on the guy?”

“He’s worth watching. What did you find out on his alibis?”

“Two of them weren’t home yet, but Banjo Rasmussen confirms he was dropped off last, around ten to one.”

“Which doesn’t mean Rowley went right home,” Andy said. “One o’clock was when Virna Wilton was seen leaving the bar. He could have been back at the hotel by then.”

“His aunt says she heard him come in,” Grenfell added. “I talked to her before the kid got home. Only she says it was 12:30. They didn’t have time to get their stories straight.”

“Anything else at the house?”

“I looked at his room. There was an old autographed baseball there. Like the ones they have at the Hall of Fame.”

“Could be a trophy, like the things he took from those women’s houses before,” Andy said.

“He says it was his late father’s.”

“Check it out in the morning,” Deutsch said. “He’s the best suspect we’ve got.”