Saving Farley's Bog (5 page)

CHAPTER 7

Meeting Bob Maxwell

Stitch walked back to the Rav. He got in and drove out of town, following the route the realtor had highlighted. The main highway headed east for about 15 miles. Shortly after leaving the real estate office his cell phone buzzed. He pressed the answer button on the steering wheel. “Yep,” he said.

“Stitch, it's Erin. Got something on Ms. Didi Anderson. And it's juicy.”

“Shoot.”

“Turns out Ms. Anderson is a former stripper. Performed as Didi Rose.”

“OK. Nothing wrong with that.”

“No, but it gets better. She was good. She headlined the biggest strip clubs in the country. Most were run by the mob. Seems she became Tommy Cecconi's girlfriend.”

Stitch whistled quietly. Tommy Cecconi was a member of the biggest crime family in Toronto. “Now there's a bad influence.”

“Yeah. Not sure she needed much help. Seems she split with Tommy but kept her mob connections. Became a very, very expensive call girl.”

“Poor Bob Maxwell. Didn't have a chance.”

“She was smart, too. Court documents show she was charged with money laundering last year. Bringing drug money in to invest in strip clubs and mob businesses.”

“Huh. Busy girl. What happened with the case?”

“Charges dropped. Seems like some key witnesses had serious memory lapses.”

“I'll bet. Anything else?”

“Well, your friend Daffy has become a media star. He's got everyone from the Suzuki Foundation to the Citizens for Farley's' Bog trying to stop the shopping centre. The Ontario Bar Association has threatened to disbar him if he gets arrested again. Or if he encourages others to break the law. He's making a big deal of Maxwell's disappearance. Demanding a provincial review. But in the meantime, Venam has their equipment on site. Demonstrators have stopped them so far. But Daffy says without an injunction it's just a matter of time.”

“OK, Erin. Get Daffy on a secure line. Tell him I think I've found Maxwell. I'll get back to him later.”

“Aye, aye, chief. Be careful, eh?”

Ah, Stitch thought. What a sweet kid.

Stitch drove through rolling sand hills dotted with jack pine. Trailers and small houses filled clearings. At York Bridge Road, he turned north. The road twisted as it wound down toward the water. Stitch caught a glimpse of the river as he rumbled over the old stone bridge. It was broader than Stitch had imagined. Maybe 40 or 50 feet across. It chattered quietly as it hurried around a bend to his right.

A mile past the bridge Stitch turned off on Patterson Landing Road. It was little more than a sandy track. He followed it for several more miles, turning occasionally onto even less-used roads. After 40 minutes he came to a mailbox. He could just make out the roof of the cottage below him. He took the steep drive down toward the river.

He drove slowly down the drive. Below him a single car, a late model Honda Accord, was parked by a low brown cabin. A red metal roof extended over a broad screened porch. He could just make out the river below through the dense trees. Beside the cabin, an aluminum canoe sat upside down on two saw horses

He studied the scene carefully. There was no movement. All he could hear were birds in the pines and the low burble of the river.

Stitch pulled the Rav next to the Honda. It had Ontario plates and a rental car sticker on the rear bumper. He walked up to the back door of the cabin and knocked. After a brief pause, a very surprised Bob Maxwell opened the door. Stitch noticed that he had grown a scruffy beard. He also was wearing contact lenses instead of glasses. But there was no mistaking the droopy eyelid or thinning hair.

“Mr., ah, Pearce?” Stitch asked.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is Stitch Robinson. I'm a private investigator.”

Maxwell's face crumpled. Surprise gave way to fear. He took a step back as if to slam the door. Stitch quickly jammed the sole of his shoe against it. Maxwell put his shoulder to the door and strained to push it shut. Stitch used his shoe as a wedge then grabbed the edge of the door with his left hand. The muscles in his arm bunched against the pressure. After a few seconds Maxwell gave up. He slumped against the wall, his eyes closed.

Stitch opened the door wider. “I'm working for your wife, Mr. Maxwell. She is worried sick about you.”

Maxwell remained leaning against the wall inside the door. He opened his eyes and looked at Stitch. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Why don't we just have a chat, Mr. Maxwell.” Stitch motioned to a picnic table under some trees nearby. “Let's just sit down and we can talk about what happened. No pressure.”

Maxwell took a deep, shuddering breath. He stood up straight and nodded. “I'll tell my girlfriend.”

Stitch shook his head. “I don't think Didi should know I'm here right now.”

Maxwell looked startled. “How do you know about Didi?”

“Like I said, Mr. Maxwell, I'm a detective. Where is Didi?”

“She's taking a nap on the front porch. I, uh. I think she had a few too many gin and tonics.”

“I see. Then no reason to disturb her.”

Maxwell nodded and sighed deeply. He walked out the doorway and toward the picnic table. Stitch knew Maxwell was thin from the pictures. But now he looked scrawny and bent like an old man. He looked more like 70 than his real age of 40.

Stitch quietly shut the front door and followed Maxwell to the table. Stitch sat down across the table from him. Maxwell had his elbows on the table. His hands covered his face.

“Mr. Maxwell,” Stitch began.

“Bob,” Maxwell said between his hands. “Call me Bob.”

“Bob, your wife asked me to give you this.” Stitch pulled out a small brown envelope from the inside pocket of his blue nylon windbreaker.

“Do you know what's in it?”

“No. That is between you and her.”

Maxwell slowly tore the top of the envelope open. He pulled out a letter handwritten on a piece of lined paper. As he did, a photograph fell out onto the table. Maxwell picked it up. Then he began to sob uncontrollably. The picture fell from his trembling hands. Stitch saw it was a picture of Molly and their two kids taken at Christmas. The little boy was smiling and waving at the camera. Their 10-year-old daughter held a puppy and grinned. Molly sat in a chair between them and smiled happily. It was clear that Maxwell was the photographer.

Maxwell read the letter slowly. Then he carefully refolded it and slid it back into the envelope. He took the picture and looked at if for several seconds. He slid it into his shirt pocket.

Maxwell stared at the table top. “You must think I'm a real shit.”

“I'm not here to judge, Bob. People get tangled up in all kinds of situations. Good people. I just try to make sure people who need to talk to each other have the chance to do it.”

Maxwell sighed and leaned back. He stared blankly at the pines over his head. “I don't know how I got myself into this. Just a few months ago I was happy, successful. And now look at me. Blackmailed. On the run. Stuck in some shack in the middle of nowhere….” Maxwell's voice trailed off and he looked at Stitch. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“Sounds like you had some help. You mentioned blackmail.”

Maxwell's face suddenly became wary. “I don't think I should get into it. Too dangerous. For everyone.” He sighed deeply again. “I'm so isolated. Thank God for Didi.”

“This is Didi Anderson?”

Maxwell looked surprised. “No, no. My girlfriend. Didi Rose. I thought you knew about us?”

“Maybe more than you do. Didi Rose is an alias for Didi Anderson. Ms. Anderson has ties with the mob. She used the name Didi Rose when she worked as a stripper.”

Maxwell's face screwed up in shock and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly. “You've got the wrong person. Didi was a secretary. For a lawyer.” He sat upright. “She was certainly no stripper.”

Stitch's face remained open and noncommittal. “I see. So how did you meet Ms. Rose?”

For the first time, Maxwell gave a little laugh. “A real coincidence, actually. We literally bumped into each other. I was driving to the pub after work. And Didi accidentally ran into me at a stop sign.” He smiled. “Poor thing. She was so upset.” He looked at Stitch. “Still can't drive worth beans.”

“What happened then?”

“After she hit me?”

“Yeah.”

Maxwell thought for a moment. “She got out of the car, all apologetic. She kept telling me how sorry she was.”

“What was she wearing?”

Maxwell chuckled a little self-consciously. “This beautiful yellow silk tank top.” He looked up at Stitch. “Really clingy. And cut-offs. I couldn't help notice how gorgeous she was.”

Stitch nodded. “Tank top and cut offs. Just what I'd expect a legal secretary to wear to work.”

A look of uncertainty crept into Maxwell's eyes. “It's wasn't like that at all. She was on her day off.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You aren't suggesting she hit me intentionally?”

Stitch said nothing. “What happened from there?”

Maxwell looked back down at the table. “I don't know. One thing led to another. When we collided she hurt her neck. She was afraid to drive. She asked me to take her back to her apartment.”

“Which was conveniently nearby.”

“Well, yes…Yes, it was.”

“And then?”

Maxwell hesitated. “She was in such pain. She asked me to massage her neck. She, uh, she took her top off so I could work on her back.” He looked back at Stitch. “Look, Mr. Robinson. I know what this looks like. But Didi isn't that kind of person. She's caring and giving.” He hesitated. “My life seemed ideal to outsiders. Good accounting business. City councillor. Perfect wife and kids. But it wasn't all milk and honey.”

Maxwell hesitated again. “My wife and I had drifted off in different directions. She was into her charity work and gardening. Her soccer mom role. She hated politics. I just dropped off her radar screen. We hadn't slept together for months.” Maxwell's gaunt face had settled into lines of sadness. “I found love where I could.”

“Tell me about the blackmail,” Stitch repeated.

Maxwell seemed lost in thought. “That was the worst. How they got those pictures of Didi and me I'll never know. They threatened to give them to the press. To my wife.” Maxwell looked up. “Even make sure my kids saw them. Can you imagine? What kind of people would do that?”

“Ruthless ones. Who were they?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Only saw two of them. One said he was a lawyer. He came to my office with the pictures. He never said who he was or who he represented. But I only had to do one thing to keep him from releasing the pictures.”

“Change your vote on the shopping centre rezoning.”

Maxwell nodded miserably. “But they were very generous,” he said sarcastically. “They would also give me $100,000. A new identity. I could start over with Didi. All I had to do was change my vote. Oh, and disappear.”

“Which brought you here.”

“Yeah. Didi had vacationed here. She rented the place. We were going to hide here until we decided where we wanted to go permanently.”

“Swell girl.”

Maxwell looked up sharply. “Don't try to run her down. She's sweet. She stood by me through all of this. She was so upset about the pictures. They had obviously been following me. And for them to catch us in bed in her apartment. She was devastated.”

“I'm sure she was.” Stitch leaned across the table. “Mr. Maxwell, you cannot keep running. Sooner or later you will be found again. If you're lucky.”

Maxwell looked puzzled. “If I'm lucky?”

Stitch looked directly into Maxwell's watery blue eyes. “Think about it, Mr. Maxwell. These people are willing to bribe and blackmail you. Do you really think they'd hesitate to have you killed? If they think you pose any threat to them, you're a dead man. Guaranteed. No Didi. No family.”

The full weight of Stitch's words seemed to push Maxwell's shoulders even lower. He stared miserably to one side. “So what can I do?”

“Your only option is to come back and tell the whole story. I know lots of good lawyers. So far you haven't done much that is illegal. Possibly some minor corruption charges. But once you come back and tell the story, they're on the defensive. Not you. Let them spread the pictures. Embarrassing, but at least you're not dead. And then the police go after them. Blackmail and bribery are illegal. Plus, I have a feeling about this.”

“Feeling?”

“Yeah. This is big. There's a lot of money flying around. Venam may be ruthless, but I've never heard of them resorting to blackmail.”

“What do you think's going on?”

Stitch shook his head slowly. “Not sure. But if you come back with me we'll get to the bottom of it. Before anyone else gets hurt.”