The K Handshape (26 page)

Leo’s eyes met mine and I grimaced, a “we’ve all done it” sort of expression. I don’t know if that would have calmed him down or not because Janice came into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt but Ed Chaffey just called. He said they’ve picked up Zachary Taylor’s trail.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Her entrance couldn’t have been better timed if we’d all been in some Agatha Christie play. Leo looked as if he was going to jump out of his seat and run right there and then.

“Tell us more, Janice,” said Katherine.

“A farmer near Beaverton heard the appeal and phoned in. He said he’d let a man park his camper van in his field. It fits the description we have… unfortunately Taylor isn’t there. He has a scooter which he uses to get around on and the farmer says he went out early this morning. Ed’s men are going to stake out the place to wait for him to return. If he does.”

“Did the farmer give any indication as to whether Taylor knew we were after him or not?” Leo asked.

Janice had brought in a sheet of paper. “The farmer’s statement was as follows: ‘He seems like a nice enough fellow. He said he was travelling in the area, had some friends to visit, and gave me some money for a few days for use of the field. That was fine with me, nothing in there anyway at this time of year.’” Janice glanced up. “Farmer then says, ‘He did seem a bit het up but it was hard to tell as he was deaf as a post so we had to write everything down.’ Ed said to tell you that he’s on to the ‘write everything down’ remark and will collect a sample from the farmer as soon as he can, assuming he kept the notes.”

“A scooter will give him some mobility,” said David, “but he can’t move that quickly. If he wants to do a real run for it, I’d guess
he’d go to the railway station or the buses.”

“Or for that matter, he could rent a car,” said Leo impatiently. “They should get somebody down to the depot immediately with his description.”

“I’ll speak with Ed but I’ll bet he’s already checking out those options,” said Katherine.

Leo went to stand up but Katherine waved him back into the chair. “Hold on. Let’s finish the meeting properly. I think Ray had something on the parking ticket.”

Ray picked up his notebook. “I haven’t got something, so much as I’ve got nothing. There is no record of a parking ticket being handed to a camper van on Mary Street on the morning our witness mentioned. We’ve gone four or five days each side of that date but nothing has shown up. No tickets at all were handed out on that street. The department was short-handed apparently so didn’t go near some residential streets. Mr. Torres was dreaming.”

Katherine frowned. “So we have nothing to put Taylor in the area of Deidre’s apartment?”

“None.”

“I’ll pass that along to Ed. Maybe he can have Mr. Torres re-interviewed. Anything else?”

“Just that Ed expected to have information on the exit and entrance vehicle licence plates later today.”

“Fantastic. We’ll break for now. Thank you everybody.”

I’d brought my lunch upstairs so I could do a bit more work on my test case but I’d barely opened up the CD when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,”

Leo entered. “Hi, Chris. Sorry to bother you, although that’s all I seem to be doing these days. I’ve got some news I wanted to share.”

“Sure. No bother. Have a seat.”

I dragged forward my only guest chair. The offices were tiny, as I told you. He didn’t sit down but stood near the door as if he might have to make a dash for it at any minute. His alarm monitor was on overdrive.

“I’ve just been in with Katherine and she told me that they can’t find Sigmund.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. Ed Chaffey phoned the bank where Sig works and they said he’d called in sick. They got hold of Trudy but as far as she knew he had gone to a special seminar on investing that the bank was holding. The bank says there is no such seminar. Of course, she’s in a complete state now and is convinced he’s been murdered as well. She left a message with Janice that she’s coming to Orillia and she’ll meet me at my condo in…,” he checked his wristwatch, “an hour from now.” He stared at me. “My God, Chris, what’s he playing at?”

“I don’t know, Leo. There might be a perfectly simple explanation. You said his mother is a control freak. Maybe he’s gone fishing and doesn’t want her to know.”

“Fishing? Oh right. I see what you mean. She’s got radar like a bat and if you wanted to do anything she didn’t approve of, which was a lot of things, you had to get pretty sneaky about it. And I have the sense that my poor son has learned to be very sneaky indeed.”

“What’s Ed have to say?”

“He’s got out an alert to all patrols. He’s been gone for several hours though and if he is for whatever reason doing a bunk he could be across the border by now.”

He glanced up at my Paddington Station clock that I had on the wall.

“Shoot, I’d better go and get ready to meet Trudy.” He gave me a rueful grin. “Of my two wives, I’d deal with Loretta any time. She can be overwhelming if she’s got a bee in her bonnet or a cause of some kind to fight for but at least she’s straightforward. We like each other, actually; we just shouldn’t have got married. Trudy on the other hand is like dealing with a feather pillow with teeth. You think you’re grabbing something all soft and squishy and you suddenly find yourself with a bite mark on your hand. A deep one, I might add.”

At that moment, my desk phone rang. Leo waved and mouthed, “I’ll see you later,” and left. I answered the phone. It was Ed Chaffey.

“Chris, we’ve got Zachary Taylor in custody.”

“Fantastic! Where was he?”

“At the post office. I’d alerted the clerk there to let us know if he came in and sure enough he did. I had an officer there within two minutes.”

“How is our man?”

“Not sure. He’s stone deaf and it’s impossible to communicate with him. Apparently McCloskey had to write out that he wanted him to come to the police station to answer some questions. I’ve been in touch with the social worker at the language centre, a Mrs. Scott, and she has agreed to come and interpret. I was hoping we could have the use of your services as well.”

I almost leaped out of my chair. “I’ll be over right away. Wouldn’t miss it.”

The interview room at the station was bare and functional with a table, a telephone, four hard chairs. Ed ushered me in. Mrs. Scott, who had met us in the station lobby, followed behind. A female constable was sitting opposite Zachary Taylor, who actually had his head on the table like a kid in school having nap time. He didn’t stir when we came in.

“What’s happening, Molly?” asked Ed.

“Nothing, sir. He put his head down and fell asleep about ten minutes ago.”

I had a chance to study Taylor. He hadn’t removed his red-checked hunting jacket or wool toque and the long fair hair that straggled from beneath it looked unwashed. He was unshaven and there was a strong smell of cigarettes in the room with a top note of sweat and dirty clothes. Except that he looked so young and vulnerable, if you met Zachary Taylor standing on the street, you might expect him to ask for spare change.

“Chris, I’m going to go into the video room with Molly and let you do the interview. We don’t want to be accused of intimidating the guy. We’ll need you, though, Mrs. Scott. Where to you want to sit?”

“I’ll sit beside Miss Morris.”

Ed and the constable left. A moment later, Molly’s voice blasted over the intercom.

“Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”

“It isn’t us who’re deaf,” remarked Mrs. Scott.

“Lower the volume a touch, will you?” I replied, talking at the back wall where the video cam was located in an inconspicuous aperture. “Am I coming in clearly?”

“Fine.” This was Ed. “We’re all set here. Let’s get going, shall we?”

Zach kept on sleeping.

“Will do. Mrs. Scott, will you wake him up?”

She reached over and touched Zach’s hand. He was awake immediately, staring at the two of us with fear. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. However, even looking like he did, there was no mistaking his resemblance to the child he had fathered, little Joy Larsen.

He made an unintelligible sound and Mrs. Scott immediately signed something at him.

He answered in kind.

“He wants to know why you’ve brought him to the police station.”

“Tell him we want to ask him some questions…” I stopped, suddenly realizing I wasn’t sure if he knew that Deidre was dead. Unless he was her murderer, of course.

“If you carry on speaking,” said Mrs. Scott, “I’ll interpret as we go.”

“We understand you are a friend of Deidre Larsen.”

He made a knocking motion with his clenched hand. “Yes,” said Mrs. Scott. “Why do you ask?” He looked alarmed. “Has something happened to her?”

Good acting, psychopathic dissociation, or real concern, I didn’t quite know.

“When did you see her last, Zachary?”

“I don’t remember exactly, about a month ago, I think. You’re scaring me. Please tell me why I’m here and why you are asking these questions.”

His gestures were large and frantic and it was odd to hear Mrs. Scott interpreting them in a cool, calm voice. “Has she made a complaint against me?”

“No, why would she?”

“No reason, it’s just that…” He dropped his hands and Mrs. Scott stopped speaking.

“It’s just that, what?”

“She can get mad about things.”

“What sort of things?”

“She didn’t like it if I tried to see her uninvited.”

“In what way did you try to see her?”

“I went to her old apartment to try to find her. I guess she doesn’t live there anymore. She was just subletting anyway. I probably scared the wits out of the poor old lady who’s there now. Is that it? Has the old lady made a complaint?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

Zach’s eyes were fixed on Mrs. Scott and he signed rapidly, punctuating his gestures with grunts and half-pronounced words.

“Did Dee make a complaint about that? I just wanted to talk to her and maybe she thinks that’s pushing her boundaries. I didn’t mean to scare the lady. I wanted to talk to Deedee. I didn’t know she’d moved.”

“What did you want to talk to her about?”

Zach shifted his gaze and scowled at me.

“Do I have to answer that? It’s my business,” said Mrs. Scott.

“I cannot force you to answer any questions, this is simply an interview, but it would help us with our enquiries if you would tell us more about your relationship with Deidre.”

“What enquiries?”

I groaned to myself. We hadn’t charged him with anything and couldn’t at the moment. He didn’t have to say a thing. In spite of myself, even knowing how deceptive some killers could be, I liked him. There was an intelligence in his eyes, not at all the same as the cunning I’ve seen in the eyes of psychopaths. Once I was interviewed for one of the Toronto news channels when there was a uproar about yet another vicious murder. “Can you tell who is a murderer?” the interviewer had gasped at me. “If so, how?” “It’s all in the mouth,” I replied. “Psychopaths seem to have full lips pinched at the side.” I was younger then and hadn’t learned to pick my words carefully for the media. The interviewer had a field day with that quote. “How very scientific,” she said. “I know a lot of people that description would apply to.” I’d been teased unmercifully at the station. I should have got them to flash a sign on the screen,
Do not attempt to do this on your own, consult a
professional
. However, I stick by what I said. It is in the mouth. And forget all that crap about psychopaths being charming. If you spend much time in their company you can see easily how superficial that charm really is. The icy thermocline is only inches below the surface.

I realized Zach was watching me intently. I had to tell the truth. However, I had the feeling it was not going to be easy.

“Zachary, I’m very sorry to tell you that Deidre Larsen is dead.”

Mrs. Scott signed and I saw his face turn white. A strange sound came from his throat, very similar to the one that Joy had made.

“How? What happened?”

“Her body was found in the lake early Wednesday morning.”

“Not suicide? She wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

“No. She was murdered.”

He dropped his hands to his lap, put back his head, and howled, a deep primitive cry that pierced to the heart. Mrs. Scott waved, trying to get his attention. Finally he lifted his hand and his fingers frantically shaped a sign I now knew.

“No! No! No!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

It wasn’t possible to go any further with Zachary Taylor. He was completely distraught, refused to pay attention anymore, and sat with his head in his hands, moaning.

“He probably has questions himself that he wants answering,” I said. “Ask him if that’s the case.”

She did but he didn’t seem to take it in and ending up waving her hands away as if they were irritating insects. Ed and the constable came back into the room, and at his request, Mrs. Scott tried to communicate to Zach that we did have to question him again at a later date and he mustn’t leave town.

He refused to look at anybody and we decided to leave him alone. Ed made sure there was a constable assigned to keep an eye on him and we left him in the interview room with Mrs. Scott, who was valiantly persisting with her efforts.

Ed closed the door behind us.

“While you’re here, why don’t you come and meet Tiffany Nowland? She’s got some printouts on the licence plates. Do you want a coffee?”

“Machine?”

“No, I wouldn’t dare. There’s a kitchenette at the end of the hall. There’ll probably be a pot of more or less fresh coffee on the burner.”

Like hundreds of offices around the country, socializing occurred in the kitchen nook where both officers and civilians, as we call them, were taking a break. I don’t know who had ultimate
responsibility for keeping the coffee on the go but this pot was good, hot and fresh. The three other constables eyed me curiously but Ed didn’t stop for introductions and, coffee in hand, I trotted after him down the hall to the central area, which like ours was divided into cubicles.