The Devil's in the Details (25 page)

Whatever their reason, they were taking it way too seriously, and I didn't want to be part of it. It was time for another painkiller, and I had just a short while to let the medication take effect before heading to Hull.

The baseball cap combined with my Ray-Bans to work in my favour. The sweatshirt added fifteen pounds and ten years to my appearance. For once, that was a good thing.

With two of the cops looking my way, ducking back into the elevator seemed like a red flag. I fished out my keys, and Gussie and I stopped in front of Mrs. Parnell's apartment, since I had a key to that. But which key was hers? I tried a few, hoping not to be noticed. One of the officers approached me.

He flashed a badge.

I tried for just the right amount of interest, not guilt, not anxiety, just normal nosiness. Gussie barked, protectively. Luckily, this guy wasn't any of the many constables I had come in contact with.

“What can I do for you, officer?”

“We'd like to talk to your neighbour.” He pointed toward my door.

“How come?”

“Have you seen anyone enter that apartment lately?”

“No.” This was true, if not the whole truth. You can't really see yourself without a mirror. I said, “A lot of people are away for the weekend.”

“You know where she might go?”

“No idea.” Aside from Mrs. Parnell's, I had no place to go at that moment.

“Nothing comes to mind?” I guess this guy had aspirations to become a detective.

“I wish I did.” Very very true.

I hoped he wouldn't notice I wasn't familiar with the key to apartment 1608. Now with Laura's keys added to my clutch of home, mailroom, car and office keys, I had a fistful of metal. I felt a surge of joy as one key slipped into the lock. The lock turned.

Mrs. Parnell's lovebirds, Lester and Pierre, shrieked in dismay as the door swung open. What a pair of turncoats.

“Good luck, officer,” I said.

He flipped open his notebook. “Can I have your name, ma'am?”

That might have been a pivotal moment, but his radio went off. We said “excuse me” simultaneously, and I slipped into Mrs. Parnell's apartment without committing an actual indictable offence. The door closed behind me, and I exhaled softly.

My hands shook as I dialled P.J.'s number. This time, he picked up.

“I have a story for you, P.J. Come to my place and find out why half the police force is banging on the door of my apartment.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“I'm on it. This is great. Thanks, Camilla.”

I read Mrs. P.'s telephone number to him. “After you find out, call me at this number and let me know what's happening.”

“Where are you?”

“Just call the number.”

For some reason, Mrs. Parnell prefers to keep her telephone number unlisted. I wasn't sure how long that would slow down a former crime reporter like P.J.

There's a lot to do in Mrs. P.'s apartment. You could read a hundred books on World War II history, strategy or military memoirs. You could listen to a thousand classical or jazz
CD
s on her high-end stereo system. You could sit at one of her computers and search the net, or you could park yourself in the black leather chair and turn on the big screen television and watch anything that
VIP
cable has to offer. Of course, for any of these activities, you'd need single vision, a clear head and an untroubled mind. Every minute felt like a year as I slumped on Mrs. Parnell's leather sofa and fretted. My instincts told me to lie low. What if the next cop recognized me?

P.J. would take a while to get to the bottom of things. Once he did, I could head to Elaine's. My key strategies were: avoid long, time-wasting interviews with the police, avoid getting dragged off to the cottage by overbearing relatives, avoid missing yet another take-off at the Balloon Festival and avoid more blows to the head.

Lester and Pierre continued to shriek throughout my attempts to think. “All right,” I said, “I'll feed you.”

In retrospect, this was a bad idea.

In the time it took to replace their VitaVittles Gold and special honey nut treats, Lester and Pierre managed to elude me and head for the chandelier over the dining room table. Gussie was thrilled. I'd never seen him jump on a table before. In fact, I'd never seen him jump anywhere. But deep in his fuzzy body were the genes of a hunting ancestor.

Lester and Pierre shrieked shrilly. Gussie barked joyously. The doorknocker sounded ominously. I said “shit,” meaningfully. The phone rang. Naturally. No point in pretending there was no one home.

“Yes,” I said, peering through the peephole.

“Police, ma'am.”

“Hold on a second, please. The phone is ringing. Hello?”

“Camilla? It's P.J. You're not going to believe this.”

“Can I call you back?”

“Are you crazy? You need to hear this!”

“I want to hear it, but the police are at the door.”

“What's all that racket?”

“Hold on a second.”

The doorknocker sounded. This cop had no attention span. “Can you open the door, ma'am?

“My pet birds are out of the cage, and the dog is threatening to eat them. You can probably hear him barking.
Can I get back to you, officer?”

“It won't take long, ma'am.”

“It will if my birds escape. Can we talk through the door?”

I opened it a crack, hoping the space was too small for a lovebird to shoot through.

“Just a few questions about your neighbour.”

“I don't have much to say,” I started, when the miserable so-and-so next door shouldered his way past the officer. “But that's her next-door neighbour. He might know something. That will give me time to get the birds back in the cage. Or I could go to the police station later. Who should I talk to?”

He said something that was drowned out by the shrieking of Lester and Pierre. I swung around to see Gussie make an optimistic leap toward the chandelier. Lester and Pierre swooped across the room, touching down on a cluster of framed photos of Mrs. Parnell's World War II comrades. Gussie followed them, barking. The birds, the dog and the tinkle of breaking glass drowned out my words. “Thank you, officer. You'll hear from me.”

“What is going on there?” P.J. said.

“You wouldn't believe it.”

“And you won't believe this,” P.J. said.

“Right. Did you find out why the cops are looking for me?”

“They have a warrant for your arrest.”

“What?”

“Promise me I get the exclusive interviews.”

“Don't be a jerk.”

“Well, Tiger, looks like murder.”

“Murder? That's not possible.”

“To be more precise, two murders.”

Two murders?”

“So I'm told.”

“Who the hell do they think I murdered?” I held on to the table as the room whirled.

“First, Laura Brown, and second, someone called Chelsea O'Keefe.”

“That's just nuts.”

“No yelling. I'm not the one with the warrant for your arrest.”

“Sorry. I'm a bit shaken up.”

“Can I get an interview from you about how it feels to be accused of murdering two women?”

“Come off it, P.J.”

“You said if I found out what was going on, you'd give me a story.”

“This wasn't the story I had in mind.”

“Yeah, but fugitives from the law can't be choosers. Oh, wow, look at that.”

“What now?”

“Two of your sisters just pulled up. Man, do they look dangerous.”

“How did they find out? Is this on the news or something?”

“Someone on the force must have let your brother-in-law know.”

“Is Conn with them?”

“Yeah. Ow. He doesn't look happy.”

“I can understand that. Are all the cops still there?”

“Of course.”

“Damn.”

“So are you going to tell me where you are?”

“Not likely, P.J.”

Elaine was bubbling when she picked up. Her appointment must have gone well.

“Elaine? Don't talk, and don't get mad. This is an emergency, and I need your help.”

“May I at least know how and why?”

“How, yes. Why, no. You're better off not knowing.”

“But . . .”

“The police are involved.”

Elaine hates the police. Sometimes that's a bad thing. Sometimes it's a good thing. This time, it worked in my favour.

“Sure,” she said.

“I need you to check out my apartment building to see if the police are still staking out the building. Check my floor too. Pretend to be visiting me, maybe. And if the coast is clear, I need you to call me back and tell me.”

“The police have your apartment staked out?

“Yes. We might need a slight diversion.”

“Consider them diverted.”

“And bring those snapshots. I'll find you in the parking lot.”

I counted on Elaine taking fifteen minutes, not including diversion. That gave me time to find something to wear in Mrs. Parnell's closet. Mrs. Parnell is about twenty pounds thinner than I am, six inches taller, and forty-five years older. Her feet are size ten, mine are a six. She puts her money into music and hi-tech gadgets instead of duds. Aside from that, no problem.

Eventually, I found the Tilley hat I'd given her for Christmas and a London Fog short trench coat possibly from the sixties. I kept the Ray-Bans. It was kind of fun. I always loved dressing up as a kid. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could do to hide Gussie, but I figured we could still slip away in whatever confusion Elaine would generate. Just in case, I hit the kitchen, found some flour and sprinkled it on Gussie's coat. I wasn't sure what was more surprising: that Gussie looked like a different dog or that Mrs. Parnell actually had flour.

I was pretty well ready to go when the fire alarm went off.

Elaine was splendid in a lime-green tailored shirt, with matching capri pants. She had long, green, pointed slingbacks on her feet. Her hair was in some kind of updated French twist. She seemed quite elated, which gave her complexion a nice boost. Alvin would say she rocked.

I held on tightly as she took the corner at 80 kph. Gussie let out a yelp. A couple of tourists jumped for cover.

“Thanks, Elaine. Although you can get charged for pulling a false alarm. There are a lot of seniors in that building. Someone could have panicked and had a heart attack.”

“You wanted a diversion, you got a diversion. Stop bitching and tell me what's going on.”

“I can't. If I did you'd be aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

“Are you a fugitive?”

“If I said yes, then you'd be aiding and abetting a...”

“That can't be good, if you're a lawyer. Can they charge you with avoiding arrest?”

“Yes, if they can prove I knew I was going to be charged.”

“So now you're officially on the lam. Not that I'm aware of that.” This is the kind of stuff that makes Elaine truly happy. More than, say, a long drive in the country.

“Being on the lam is not the official name of anything in the Criminal Code of Canada.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I have a pretty good defence for the avoiding part. What with the head injuries and all. Brain damage. My Emerg doctor will back me up.”

“Right. A judge should be sympathetic.”

“Depends on the judge, considering the seriousness of the allegations.”

“Holy moly. What are they?”

“I still have to find out what's going on. Maybe you can follow the news and see what information they've released. In the meantime, I need to get my cash card back. And I have another little task for you. Feel like providing another diversion for me, no fire alarms this time?”

“Diversion is my middle name.”

“I'm glad you have that nice outfit on. Head for the City parking garage, the indoor one in the market. We have to leave Gussie in the car for about twenty minutes. It will be cool enough in the underground parking for him.”