Prairie Hardball (18 page)

It took me about half an hour and several cups of tea to calm Morley down. In truth, confession had taken away a great load of stress from an old man not accustomed to it. I tried to reassure him that the Mounties were unlikely to put him in jail for writing the letters. By the time I left, he seemed to be his chirpy self again, to the point that he was offering to show me his extensive string collection. I took a pass, and headed across the river to North Battleford.

I took the old highway, the scenic route down the valley to the low bridge over the North Saskatchewan River, a sluggish, meandering stream the colour of mud. The bridge touched down on Finlayson Island halfway across, a park with walking trails that I wished I’d had time to explore, but I figured I better go talk to the police about Morley.

Once at the RCMP detachment, I had to state my business to a receptionist through a speaking vent in the presumably bulletproof enquiries window. I asked for either Andy or Sergeant Deutsch, and gave my name. She punched up a number on her phone, spoke, and buzzed me in. Andy came out of an office door into the central office area, clearly surprised to see me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have some news for you,” I said. “Is this a bad time?”

“What sort of news? What have you done now?”

“Relax, it’s nothing dangerous. I think Sergeant Deutsch should hear it too.”

He sighed and took my arm, leading me into the GIS office, where Don Deutsch and Hugh Grenfell both sat, drinking coffee.

“Kate, this is a surprise,” Deutsch said, pleasantly enough. He got me a chair. “Would you like a coffee?”

“No, I’ve just had tea. And I have some information that might be important.”

“Try us.”

“I found out who wrote the letters,” I said. “It was Morley Timms. He told me he did.”

“He told you,” Andy said. “Just like that. What, you were hanging around, you and Morley, just shooting the shit and he said, by the way, I wrote those letters everybody’s so worked up about?”

“Well, no. I kind of figured it out and asked him about it.”

“Maybe you should back up a pace or two and explain how this happened,” Deutsch said.

I went through the defaced clipping and going to ask Morley about it; seeing the pens and realizing that they were similar to the ones that had been used to write the letters. That’s where Andy interrupted me.

“At which point it didn’t occur to you to just get out of there and come talk to us?”

“I didn’t want to lose the moment,” I muttered.

Deutsch rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“Didn’t want to lose the moment. Jesus wept.”

“So Old Morley admitted he did that?” Grenfell asked.

“Yes. It wasn’t hard to get him to admit to writing them. He wanted to talk about it.”

“Did he say why?”

“He apparently has some sort of bad feelings about the league that have to do with his past with Wilma. He thought he could scare the Belles into staying away. It’s kind of sad. He won’t have to go to jail, will he?”

Deutsch looked at Andy.

“Like you said, she has an uncanny way of getting right in the middle of things.”

“Look, I didn’t know when I went there,” I said, “but I was looking around his place while he made tea, and I saw all these different coloured pens he had, so . . .”

“So you decided to play detective,” Deutsch said.

“Then, he was really stressed, so I told him he wouldn’t have to go to jail.”

“Oh, you played detective, judge, and jury, too,” Andy said.

“I’m sorry, okay? He also said he didn’t have anything to do with the murder. I believed him.”

“No, I can’t see Morley for the murder, either,” Deutsch said. “But we’d better talk to the silly old bugger anyway. Give him a call, Hughie. Tell him we’re coming over.”

Grenfell picked up the phone.

“Did Morley have anything else to say?” Deutsch asked.

“He rambled on a bit about his war experiences, and how he wasn’t good enough to marry Wilma. Later, he changed the story, said that the league had ruined his life. That if it hadn’t been for baseball, Wilma would have stayed with him, waiting for him to get well.”

“She’d still be waiting, then,” Deutsch snorted.

Grenfell hung up the phone.

“Busy.”

“I’ll drop in on him on the way home,” Deutsch said, then turned back to us. “This takes care of one loose end, anyway. We don’t have to find a way to tie the letters to Rowley.”

“Oh, that reminds me, Mrs. Fernie came by the Hall of Fame just before lunch. She says her nephew couldn’t have done it.”

“Duh,” Grenfell said. “What did you expect? She’ll defend him because he’s family.”

“She seemed pretty convinced.”

“Thanks for passing along the message,” Deutsch said. “As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to have my doubts about him. He and his lawyer were awfully cooperative this morning. They agreed to supply hair and blood samples, and to a search of his house.”

“I’m not ready to write Morley Timms off,” Andy said. “There’s clearly bitterness there, and it’s had a long time to fester. Seeing Virna in that uniform could have triggered some sort of flashback.”

“But he has no history of violence, none at all,” Deutsch said. “The guy’s the town eccentric. Strange, yes. Dangerous, no. His only record dates way back to just after the war, when there were some drunken disturbances, but since then, nothing. We look after our own here, and Morley’s a solid citizen. Peculiar, but solid. Everyone loves old Morley.”

“Tell them about the hat,” Grenfell said, chuckling.

“Yeah, this is typical Morley. He gets a disability pension from the government, but he does general odd jobs around town, too. Some carpentry, repairs, caretaking here and there, like at the Hall of Fame, things like that. Like I say, we look after our own. But every once in a while, he up and decides it’s time for a holiday. There’s never any warning, no rhyme or reason to it. But what he does, see, when he decides to take time off, he has this checked cap, a red checked cap, an old hunting cap with earflaps, that he wears. And if you see Morley around town in that damned checked cap, winter or summer, you know he’s on holiday and isn’t going to show up at work.”

“How long do these vacations last?” I asked.

“Sometimes a day, sometimes a week, sometimes more, sometimes less,” Deutsch said.

“When he’s got the hat on, it’s like he’s invisible,” Grenfell said. “Then one day, boom, he puts another hat on and he’s back on the job. He’s quite a character. But, like Don said, he’s harmless.”

“You can come with me when I talk to him, if you like, Andy,” Deutsch said.

“No, you know the guy. I trust your instincts. I’m going to go back to the hotel and maybe talk to Jack Wilton a little more.”

“We’ll all keep digging,” Deutsch said. “I’ll talk to you later. After I see Madey.”

Andy and I drove back in our separate cars. I was grateful for the solitude. I was in no mood for another scene about Jack Wilton.

I ran into the Denekas when I got back to the hotel. They were coming out of their room, near the elevator on Andy’s and my floor. He was struggling with two suitcases. She looked awful.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Meg’s had one of her spells,” he said. She looked at me with empty eyes. “We’re going home now. Her doctor is waiting.”

I took one of the bags.

“Let me help you.”

“Thanks.”

We rode down in silence, except for a strange humming sound from Meg.

Andy was in the lobby. He assessed the situation instantly and took both the Denekas’ bags and led them out the door. Peter Deneka turned to me on his way out.

“Say goodbye to everybody. Your parents and Edna. Thank them for me, and tell them I’m sorry.”

He led his wife out into the rain, one of the saddest sights I’ve ever seen.

When we got upstairs, Andy claimed the first shower. I called home to check on Elwy. I could tell from Sally’s voice that the news wasn’t good.

“I just talked to the vet,” she said.

“And?”

“And it looks bad, Kate.”

“How bad?”

“The worst,” she said. “It’s his heart. She said it’s, wait a sec, I’ve got it written down. Cardiomyopathy. That means blood clots in his heart. And kidney failure, Dr. Reeve says.”

“But he was fine before, you said.”

I was grasping at a very weak straw, and I knew it. Andy, who had just come out of the shower, stopped towelling his hair and looked at me, concerned.

“Isn’t there anything else she can do?” I asked. “More tests? Some kind of treatment?”

“He’s not going to get better, Kate. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, shit. Talk to Andy,” I said, and held out the phone. He took it and asked Sally a couple of questions. Then he told her to hold on and turned to me.

“Sally says that she and T.C will go and be with him,” he said. “Or the vet will wait until you get home.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I should be there with him.”

I looked out the window at the parking lot. Andy put his arm around me, and rubbed my back.

“Just a second, Sally,” he said into the phone, then put the receiver to his chest.

“It’s up to you, Kate,” he said, softly, “but I think you should just let him go. Sally says he’s in pain now.”

“But he’ll feel like I’ve betrayed him,” I said.

“No,
you’ll
feel like you betrayed him. I think he’ll be happy just to go to sleep.”

“I don’t want him to suffer,” I said.

“Sally agrees,” he said. “She says that T.C says so, too. He said to tell you he’ll hold Elwy while he gets the shot.”

“Oh, God, that’s so brave of him,” I said, tearing up.

“Elwy will feel safe with him. You know that.”

“Tell her,” I took a deep breath, “tell her to go ahead.”

“Do you want to tell her yourself?”

I shook my head and curled up on the bed.

“When is this going to happen?” Andy asked into the phone. “I see. All right. I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

“Wait, don’t hang up,” I said. He told Sally to hold on.

“Do you think . . .” I was embarrassed. “Do you think we could get his ashes? I’ll put them in the garden.”

I broke down again. Andy relayed my question, then hung up.

“Sally’s going to take care of it,” he said. “She’ll save the ashes and you can all do it together.”

“All the flowers will grow big and fat,” I said, trying to smile. “He was useless all his life. I might as well put him to work now.”

Andy lay down next to me and wrapped me in his arms.

“I just want to go home.”

“Let’s go.”

“Don’t you have to stay?”

“They don’t need me anymore,” he said. “They can handle the rest of the investigation. I was only really needed that first day when there were so many people to talk to. We can go tomorrow, if you like.”

That decided, Andy went to the ice machine so we could have a drink. I called my parents and arranged to meet them in the hotel restaurant. As a special concession, they agreed to wait until six to eat.

“Did you tell them about Elwy?” Andy asked.

“They were very sympathetic,” I said. “They never said he was only a cat.”

He handed me a drink.

“To Elwy,” he said, raising his glass. “He was a fine and noble cat.”

“To fine and noble Elwy who had a good long life.”

“And to leaving the lovely Battlefords,” he alliterated.

“At long last,” I agreed.

“Do I sense disenchantment with small-town prairie life?”

“From me? No. Except I have been having erotic dreams about grilled octopus on the Danforth.”

“And retsina, and a small Greek coffee after.”

“And walking down the street at midnight and still seeing people awake.”

“And traffic that doesn’t stop for pedestrians.”

“And traffic, period.”

“And our own bed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said.

The phone rang. It was Don Deutsch. Andy took the phone from me, listened for a few moments, swore, then hung up.

“What is it?”

“Morley Timms has shot himself. Don’s picking me up.”

“Suicide? Morley? Oh, no.”

“So it seems. He left a note, apparently. Addressed to you.”

“A note to me? Why?”

“I don’t know. Don didn’t say.”

Andy grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“Wait,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”

“No way.”

“The note is for me, I have a right to go.”

“Kate, the man shot himself in the head. Think about it. This is not a crime scene you want to see.”

That gave me pause.

“I’ll call as soon as I know anything,” he said.

I took a shower, then went to my parents’ room and told them what had happened.

“Andy was wise to have you stay here,” my mother said.

“I just hate to be shut out of things,” I said. “I hate it when he treats me like an outsider.”

“But you are, Kate,” my mother said. “Police officers have to see and do a lot of unpleasant and dangerous things. Andy is just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection,” I said, sounding petulant and stupid even to my own ears.

“We’ll go have supper, and wait for Andy to come back,” my father said. “He can tell us all about it.”

We went down to the restaurant. We had just sat down when Jack and Edna appeared, so we asked them to join us.

“I was looking for you, Reverend Henry,” Jack said. “I have a favour to ask.”

“I hope I can grant it,” he said.

“Well, the police are releasing my mother’s, her remains, tomorrow. I have decided to have her cremated here. That’s what she wanted, cremation, so her ashes could be put with Aunt Wilma’s. At the old ballpark. That’s where they both wanted to be. Anyway, I’ve spoken to a funeral home, and they will take care of all the details. And, well, frankly, it’s a lot easier to transport ashes.”

“A sensible decision,” my father said.

“My mother wasn’t a church-going woman,” Jack explained, apologetically, “but her roots were in your church. I’d like you to say a few words at the funeral home. Not really a service. More like a, well, a blessing.”

“I could arrange a service, if you like,” Daddy said. “I’m sure the local man would be glad to let us use the church.”

Jack shook his head.

“Under the circumstances, I’d be happier with something more low-key. I thought we could just have people who knew her gather together to see her on her way. And then I’d drive Edna back to Watrous and take Mother home.”

“Whatever you like,” my father said. “I would be honoured.”

“I’m sure that some of the people from the Hall of Fame would like to come, too,” Edna said. “And we should invite Garth Elshaw and Morley Timms.”

Oh, dear. My parents looked at me, and I told Jack and Edna about Morley’s death.

“What, I mean, when? Why?” Jack asked.

“I’m not sure. I was there earlier this afternoon, and it happened since then. Andy’s there with the police now.”

“Morley wrote the threatening letters,” my father said. “That’s what Kate found out. Perhaps he regretted the pain he caused.”

“There’s another reason to kill himself,” Jack said. “Because he killed my mother.”

“He denied it when I talked to him,” I said. “I believed him, then. Now I don’t know what to think. He left a note, addressed to me, Andy said. Not that they’ve let me read it. Anyway, that might be some kind of explanation.”

“What did he tell you about the letters?” Jack asked.

“It all went back to his relationship with Wilma, somehow. He said he didn’t want to relive bad memories. He didn’t exactly make sense. I should never have left him alone.”

“Don’t, Kate,” my father said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I was the one that confronted him and made him admit to writing the letters. That obviously sent him over the edge.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” he said. “As you said yourself, he seemed fine when you left.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t, was he?”

“Did he blame poor Virna for his breakup with Wilma?” my mother asked.

“He was all over the map about that. He said at one point that he understood why they could never marry, he and Wilma, because of the way he was after the war, but later he seemed to blame baseball for taking her away.”

“Well, I’m not sure I understand anything anymore,” Edna said. “What about the other man? Does this mean he didn’t do it?”

“We’ll have to wait to hear from the police,” I said. “Andy said he would let us know as soon as he found out what was up.”

The waitress came to take our orders. When we were done, the subject of Morley’s death was dropped until Andy’s return. We talked about Elwy instead, which didn’t do much to cheer me up. After dinner, I left them with their coffee and went up to the room to wait for Andy’s call.