Saving Farley's Bog (11 page)

CHAPTER 16

Didi

Stitch was wide awake long before Didi's alarm buzzed. He lay motionless. He heard the rustle of sheets as she slipped out of bed. She padded softly to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He listened to the water splatter as she washed. Then there was quiet. He looked up as Didi stepped out of the bathroom. She was wearing only a towel wrapped around her head.

“My God,” Stitch said sleepily. “You're drop-dead gorgeous.”

Didi jumped. “You're awake.” She smiled. “You never really saw me dance, did you?”

Stitch had rolled over on his side facing Didi. His chin rested in his left hand. “No. An oversight I deeply regret.”

Didi grinned. She lifted her arms over her head and turned gracefully. Her arms swooped down across her breasts and down her torso. She turned sideways and slowly sank into a split. She arched her back and extended her arms out and upward. Her splendid breasts rose and fell gently as she breathed.

She turned her head toward Stitch. “There. What do you think?”

“I think,” Stitch said huskily. “I think I know why you were the top exotic dancer in Canada.”

Didi folded her long legs underneath her. She rose gracefully and wagged a finger at Stitch. “In the world,” she scolded.

“I stand corrected. Listen, how about coming back to bed. Just for a few minutes?” he pleaded.

Didi laughed and dried her hair with the towel. “Sorry, sir. I have business to attend to.” She pulled a hank of wet hair away from her right eye. “But I look forward to continuing our relationship.” She winked. “As soon as I get back.”

Stitch sat up in bed. “Didi, let me come with you.”

Didi turned her back and began dressing. “We've been over this, Stitch. You are very gallant. But all that would do is get us both killed. You know they have a complete sheet on you now. And you know they're watching.”

Stitch knew she was right. “You'll come back?”

Didi turned around. She wore only a green silk skirt covered with bright flowers. She smiled again and walked to the bed. She gave Stitch a kiss on the forehead.

“I promise. Now you just stay in bed. I'll be back before you know it.” She gave Stitch one of her sensual little grins. “Keep the sheets warm, eh?”

Stitch awoke with a start. He shook his head. He'd obviously dozed off. He grabbed the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 9:45. Didi should have been back. He scrambled out of bed. He slipped on a pair of khaki shorts and threw on a white shirt. He burst out of the cottage and sprinted down the walk to the great house. He looked quickly around the grounds. Then he bounded up the stairs to the lounge. He pushed the door open and peered in. It was deserted.

He shut the door and stood on the top of the stairs. He looked down the long driveway. A single taxi was moving toward him. It pulled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Paul Newman climbed out of the driver's seat. He motioned to Stitch.

When Stitch got to the bottom of the stairs, Paul opened the back door of the taxi. “Mr. Stitch,” Paul said. “Please get in. I have a message for you.”

Stitch got numbly in the back seat. Paul pulled away from the hotel and began driving west away from Charlestown.

“Where are we going?” Stitch asked.

“Nowhere.”

Stitch settled back. “I might as well get comfortable then. It could be a long ride.”

“Not so long.”

“You said you had a message. From Didi?”

In the front seat Paul nodded. “Yes. Mrs. Anderson asked me to tell you she was sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Didn't she go to the bank?

“Not exactly.”

Stitch put his arm across the back of the driver's seat and leaned forward. “Look,” he said in exasperation. “What went on this morning?”

Paul kept his eyes on the twisty road. “It actually started last night. A private plane flew into the airport. The man on board asked the airport manager for someone he could trust.” Paul looked at Stitch in the rear view mirror. “He's my cousin. He called me.”

Stitch sat back. “Go on.”

“When I arrived at the airport the man handed me a package. A padded envelope. He gave me five one hundred dollar bills. I was to pick up Mrs. Anderson at the hotel this morning. He told me that she would ask to be taken to the bank. He told me to give her the envelope instead. I was to tell her to open it in the car.”

Stitch looked out the window at the green hills. “I'm on the edge of my seat. What happened next?”

“I did as I was instructed. I gave Mrs. Anderson the package. She opened it.”

“What was in it?”

“I was driving, so I am not exactly sure. But there was some money. Also an airplane ticket and a letter.”

“How much money, Paul?”

Paul shrugged. “I cannot be sure. I would guess around $10,000.”

Stitch chuckled to himself. “She must have been pissed.”

Paul glanced at Stitch through the mirror. “Yes. Mrs. Anderson seemed very upset. She crumpled up the letter and swore.”

Stitch laughed out loud. “I'll bet she did. What happened then?”

“Mrs. Anderson was quiet for a few minutes. Then she instructed me to take her to the airport.”

“And she got on the next plane out.”

“That is true.”

Stitch watched as goats clambered over a rocky river bed they were crossing. “Do you have any idea what the letter said, Paul?”

Paul leaned across the front seat. He opened the glove box and pulled out a crumpled sheet of lined paper. He passed it over the seat to Stitch. “She threw it on the floor.”

Stitch took the paper and smoothed it out on the seat next to him. The note had been written in ink in a man's hand.

Di. You're alive because I vouched for you. There's only one way to stay that way. Get on the 8:35 plane out this morning. Here's some money. It's my own. Take it and get on that plane. And then disappear.

T.

Stitch carefully folded the paper. He slipped it into his back pocket. He was quiet for a long time. “Next flight out is 4:00, Paul?”

“4:15. Yes, sir.”

“Will you make sure I have a seat? And then pick me up at 3:30.”

Paul nodded. He pulled off the highway and made a u-turn. “You'll be going back to the hotel now?”

Stitch nodded. His hand closed around the key chain in his pocket.

The room was a mess. But Stitch wasn't interested in clutter. The day was already hot and muggy. He stripped off his shirt and sat down at the coffee table. He opened his green case lying on the table. From a sleeve in the top he pulled out a tiny computer. He hefted it with one hand. Less than two pounds. How do they do it? He wondered. He selected a cord from several attached to the right side of the case. He pushed one end into the USB port of the computer.

Stitch reached into his right pants pocket. He unzipped an inside pocket and pulled out the key chain. He studied the black plastic triangle carefully. An ordinary key extended from one end. A mini USB port was cleverly hidden on one side. He pushed the other end of the computer cord into the port. Then he turned on the computer. He watched as the screen lit up.

Stitch pushed the Unlock button on the key chain. Suddenly the screen filled with the inside of the hotel lounge. The date and time read out along the bottom of the picture. Stitch pushed the button again then released it.

Now the screen showed Didi approaching the table. Stitch caught a glimpse of her gorgeous legs as she sat down. Her upper body was clearly framed on the screen. Perfect, Stitch thought. On the screen, Didi was leaning toward Stitch. She was too close to be seen. “I like to see your hairy chest,” she was saying. “You're a very good looking man.”

Stitch pushed the button once more. When he released it Didi was leaning toward him again. “You must believe me,” she was saying. “I didn't know they would kill him. I swear.” He pushed the button one more time. When he took it off this time, Didi was reaching toward Stitch. “You are very sweet,” she was saying. “I think I have an idea.” On the screen she leaned back in her chair. Stitch could see her tongue run slowly along her upper lip. “How about I sleep with you tonight?”

Stitch sat up and rubbed his eyes. He ran his fingers through his thick sandy hair. Then he leaned back toward the table. He saved the video on his computer. Then he disconnected the key chain. He looked closely at the plastic triangle. A tiny lens no bigger than the head of a pin was mounted near the upper edge. The whole thing was a tiny video camera. It had four hours of recording time. All on one teeny battery.

Man, Stitch thought again. How do they do it?

Stitch shut off the computer and closed it. He slipped it carefully back into its sleeve and returned the cable. Then he snapped the key chain DVR onto a ring in his carry-on. There were two things Stitch had learned early on: Always back up everything. And never keep the originals and copies in the same place.

Stitch closed the green leather case and dialled the lock. He stood up and walked to the bar near the door. He picked up the bottle of Johnny Walker. He held it up to the light. There was about an inch left in the bottom. Damn, Stitch, thought. That woman can sure drink.

Stitch poured the last of the whisky into a glass. He walked across the room and slid open the door to the veranda. He stepped out into brilliant sunshine. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. He raised the glass. “Here's to you, Didi,” he said. He took a sip. “And good luck,” he added softly.

CHAPTER 17

The Hearing

Stitch walked into the courtroom at Daffy's side. Many smiled as they walked in. The place was packed, mainly with Farley's Bog supporters. As they made their way down the aisle, Daffy pointed to one of the few open seats. It was right behind the fence separating the lawyers from the gallery.

“For you, sir.” Daffy smiled, motioning at the empty chair. Stitch slid across the aisle and settled into his seat.

Stitch could also feel tension in the air. When he had returned five days earlier, Daffy was in the middle of fighting Venam's request to have the injunction overturned. And it hadn't been going well. Venam had assembled a team of high-priced lawyers from Toronto. More worrying, Judge Cox had gone to law school with the lead counsel, Franklin DeSoto.

So when Stitch had shown Daffy the video, he nearly fell off his chair. Halfway through he got up and gave Stitch a huge bear hug. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Stitch,” he blubbered. “I know I've said some nasty things about you. I was wrong. So wrong. You are the best detective in Ontario.”

“You including the north too?” Stitch asked.

“The north, the east. You're the best.” He gave Stitch another hug.

“Hey!” Stitch yelled. “You big oaf. You're going to break my ribs!”

“Ah, what's a few broken ribs? More important, you've broken the case!”

Daffy helped Stitch write out an affidavit. In it Stitch laid out the bare bones of what he had learned. In support of this affidavit, he included the video. He also attached a copy of the bank transfer and a transcript of his recording of Didi's cell phone call to Cecconi. The transcript had come via his RCMP friend Carl. With the information Stitch had turned over to the cops, he had become a hero with the RCMP. They sensed a big bust. Carl could see his own career taking off.

“This is dynamite,” Daffy said as Stitch signed the bottom of the document. “Pure dynamite. Along with Maxwell's statement it's a slam dunk. Even old Cox can't ignore this. We've got it in the bag.”

Stitch finished signing and handed the affidavit to Daffy. “Really?”

Daffy sighed. “No.” He sighed again. “In the courtroom anything can happen. They've brought in the best lawyers money can buy. Cox is friends with these guys. He used to be a corporate lawyer. He can throw all of this away. Say it's inadmissible. Irrelevant. Anything.”

“That's where you come in,” Stitch said. “They can bring in all the big city lawyers they want. But you're a great barrister, Daf. Don't let them get to you. Think about them on a wrestling mat. Their Armani suits are gone. Now they've just got shorts and a tank top on. Can't you see their scrawny little legs? Their pale arms? Their flabby gut? You could crush them with one hand.”

Daffy began to laugh. “Stop!” he cried. “It's too horrible to contemplate.” He laughed again. “But I'll keep that image in mind, partner.”

That was on Thursday. Daffy had filed the affidavit the following morning. That afternoon Judge Cox had called in the lawyers for both sides. The Venam lawyers had already received the evidence. They asked for an adjournment to study the material. Cox adjourned the hearings for the weekend.

And now it was Monday morning.

As Stitch sat down he turned and scanned the crowd. He spotted Molly sitting near the door. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave. He waved back. Then he turned around to face the judge.

Daffy had been right. The lawyers for Venam were good. DeSoto even looked impressive. He wore shimmering black silk robes.

DeSoto took the lead. Smiling and looking ever so confident, he made a simple motion: Dismiss all of the new evidence as it was not relevant to the injunction.

“Your Lordship,” DeSoto said. “This material is all very interesting. But this is a hearing about a simple matter. Should my client, Venam Shopping Centres, be prohibited from beginning construction of its project in Mapleton? Keep in mind, Your Lordship, that this project has received approval from the federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans. It has been approved by the Ontario Ministry of the Environment. It has received zoning approval from the Mapleton City Council.”

DeSoto paused. His fierce gaze swept the gallery. “The real question is this: Should a bunch of radical environmentalists be allowed to stop a legitimate, productive company from carrying out its business.”

The room buzzed with angry muttering. People turned to each other, whispering and gesturing heatedly.

“Order!” Judge Cox shouted. “This is not a classroom! I will have order or I will clear the court!”

The noise subsided. Stitch could sense Daffy tense in front of him.

The judge sat back, still glowering at the crowd. Then he turned back to the Venam lawyers. He looked at DeSoto over the top of his spectacles. “That's a pretty feeble argument, Counsel. This affidavit and the evidence provided are very compelling. On the surface at least, it strongly suggests zoning approval may have been obtained illegally. Motion dismissed.”

Stitch looked over to see DeSoto frown slightly. He walked back to his table and shuffled some papers. “In that case, Your Lordship, we would move to have Mr. Robinson examined on his affidavit.”

Stitch's heart pounded. He glared at Daffy's back. “Turn around you bastard,” Stitch muttered to himself. “You didn't say anything about me testifying!”

Daffy stood. To Stitch's astonishment, he said, “We have no objection, My Lord.”

Stitch got up angrily. He stalked through the gate and up to Daffy. “Maybe you don't have any objection.” Stitch said through clenched teeth. “But I damn well do.”

“Mr. Robinson, please take the stand,” the court clerk called out.

Daffy shrugged. “I didn't think they'd call you. Figured they wouldn't want all of this out in the open.” Daffy put his big paw on Stitch's shoulder soothingly. “Just tell them what happened. It'll be fine.”

Stitch glared straight ahead. “Screw you,” he said.

“Mr. Robinson,” the judge ordered impatiently. “Please come to the front of the courtroom.”

Stitch made his way to the stand. The court clerk asked Stitch to state his full name.

“Samuel Ticknor Robinson,” Stitch replied.

Daffy looked at him, his eyes wide. “Samuel?” he asked silently.

“Better than Beatrice,” Stitch mouthed.

“Do you swear your testimony to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the clerk asked.

“I do.”

Stitch sat down and faced Franklin DeSoto.

DeSoto kept a little smile on his face all the time he questioned Stitch. Stitch had seen that smile before. Mostly on gangsters who knew they were untouchable. On crooked businessmen who knew they'd never be prosecuted. On the faces of corrupt politicians too smart to be caught. It was a look of scorn. Of contempt. Stitch felt a strong urge to punch him in the mouth.

Most of the next half hour was simply a review of what Stitch had put in his statement. Stitch started to relax. He related the events as they occurred. He expanded on the events and conversations.

“Thank you, Mr. Robinson,” DeSoto said, turning toward his table. Stitch breathed deeply. It was just about over.

“Oh, just one last thing.” DeSoto turned back to Stitch. “I believe Ms. Anderson was a stripper, was she not? Performed under the name of Didi Rose?”

“That's what I understand,” Stitch answered warily.

“The video tape of Ms. Anderson's confession was very convincing. How did you get it?”

“I don't understand the question.”

DeSoto walked up to Stitch. The smile had hardened on his face. There was a gleam in his ice blue eyes. “You don't understand, Mr. Robinson? You seem like a pretty bright guy. I want to know how you got the confession.”

“It's all in the affidavit,” Stitch began. “I heard her in the bank…”

“That is not what I mean,” DeSoto broke in. “You videoed her confession. Did she know she was being taped?”

Stitch squirmed. “Probably not, but that doesn't mean what she said…”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Robinson,” the judge barked.

“I will repeat it. Did Ms. Anderson know her confession was being recorded?”

Stitch sat back in his chair. “No.”

“No, she did not,” DeSoto repeated. “And to get that confession, did you get her drunk?”

Stitch looked anxiously at Daffy. Daffy stood up. “Your Lordship, that requires knowledge Mr. Robinson does not have. Sharing a drink is not the same as getting someone drunk.”

Cox stared straight ahead. “True. But the circumstances under which Mr. Robinson obtained the statement are relevant to the case. You can continue, Mr. DeSoto.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship.” He turned back to Stitch. “In the video we see a bottle of whisky on the table. Johnny Walker Blue, I believe?”

Stitch nodded.

“Please speak up, Mr. Robinson,” the judge ordered

“Yes, that's right,” Stitch said.

“How much of that was left by the end of the night?”

“About an inch.”

“I see. That means that the two of you drank almost all of a 750 ml bottle of scotch.” DeSoto looked at the judge. “Is that what happened, Mr. Robinson. Did you split nearly an entire bottle of scotch?”

“Yes, but that was over…”

“Thank, you, Mr. Robinson,” DeSoto interrupted. “That would mean that each of you consumed about 350 ml of scotch. That is about 12 ounces of alcohol, or almost 10 drinks.”

Stitch watched DeSoto's face intently. He heard the crowd rustle in their seats.

“Ms. Anderson, I believe, weighs about 115 pounds, Mr. Robinson?

“Something like that.”

“That would put Ms. Anderson's blood alcohol content at over .4.”

Daffy shot to his feet. “Objection. Counsel is misleading the court. Mr. DeSoto knows from the video that the alcohol was consumed over a period of three hours.”

DeSoto tugged at the front of his robes. “Very well. I will rephrase my statement. By the end of the evening, Ms Anderson's blood alcohol level would have been in excess of .2. This would have made it illegal for her to be behind the wheel of a car. Do you agree, Mr. Robinson?”

“That is probably the case.”

DeSoto paused. “So I will ask you once more, Mr. Robinson. Was Ms. Anderson drunk by the end of the evening?”

Stitch looked DeSoto directly in the eyes. He held his stare for a long moment. “Ms. Anderson did not appear drunk to me. We consumed the alcohol over the period of several hours. And I assure you, I did my part.”

The spectators tittered. Judge Cox glared ominously at them.

“At no time did she slur her words,” Stitch continued. “As you must have seen on the video. Her statement was clear, concise and unequivocal.”

DeSoto's smile slipped a bit. He nodded. “One last thing, Mr. Robinson. It appears that your intent was to have Ms. Anderson drink enough alcohol to lose her inhibitions. And as a result she gave you her confession.” He paused and looked down at some notes in his hand. “And she did lose her inhibitions, didn't she?”

Stitch said nothing.

DeSoto raised his head and looked at Stitch. “Did you have sex with Ms. Anderson the night you taped her confession?”

Stitch's heart thumped in his chest. His gaze swept over the room until he found Molly. Her eyes had gone wide. She stared at him in shock.

“Your Lordship,” Daffy exploded. “This is totally irrelevant. Mr. Robinson's sex life is not at issue here.”

Cox looked over his glasses at Daffy. “Perhaps not, Mr. Abbott. But how Mr. Robinson obtained the confession is at issue. Please answer the question, Mr. Robinson.”

Stitch sat upright in the chair. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Then he looked directly at Molly. “Yes. I did.”

DeSoto smiled smugly. “Thank you, Mr. Robinson. That's all.”

Stitch slumped in his chair.

Cox glared out from behind his bench. “Counsellors, do you have further individuals you wish to call for questioning?”

“No, Your Lordship.” Daffy and DeSoto said in unison.

The judge rose from behind his bench. “In that case, there will be a three-hour recess. We will resume at 2:00.” He looked at Daffy. “Counsellors should be prepared to make their final submission after recess.” Daffy nodded dispiritedly.

The crowd moved out of the courtroom. They murmured and pointed at Stitch.

Stitch finally stood up and walked over to Daffy. “That went well.”

Daffy snorted.

“How bad is it?” Stitch continued.

Daffy shrugged. “They have nothing. So all they can do is try to smear the messenger. That's you. And call into question the reliability of the witness.”