Blood on a Saint (8 page)

He changed the subject and talked music with Collins until they got to the Athens for their dinner.

Monty

The Crown prosecutor would be busy trying to find out whatever he could about the accused, Pike Podgis. For his part, Monty had to find out whatever he could about the victim, Jordyn Snider. About the people in her life, about other possible suspects. Suspects he could dress up and parade before the jury, figuratively anyway, as people who might really have committed the murder, while poor Pike Podgis had to endure the slings and arrows of a miscarriage of justice. In the usual course of things, the first suspect in a killing of this kind was someone closely associated with the victim: husband, boyfriend, ex-boyfriend.

If there was one part of his job Monty detested, it was knocking on doors interviewing witnesses, or informants, or gossips, about a case. It was something he seldom had to do, but this time it could not be avoided. He had had a brief appointment with Podgis, told him what he was going to do, then hustled Podgis out of the office, so he could get to work. He had to learn more about Jordyn Snider and her circle of acquaintances. It sounded mercenary to put it this way, but the more questionable the background, the bigger the pool of other suspects.

Monty had put it off by starting with her teachers earlier in the day on Tuesday. But none of them seemed to know her well. She had moved to the Fairview area of Halifax just before high school. The principal of the school said the family had lived southwest of the city in Tantallon before that; if Monty did not get anywhere with her acquaintances from age fourteen to nineteen, he might go back to her time in Tantallon. But he hoped that would not be necessary. She had followed a patchwork program of studies in grades ten to twelve, with a few academic courses supplemented by offerings called Contemporary Life Issues and Diversity in Community. She graduated, but barely, with an average of fifty-four. Her highest mark was in Audiovisual Explorations, her lowest in Math Studies. That did not sound like real mathematics to Monty; did they just talk about math and not actually do it? She missed many, many days from school and did not spend much time in conversation with her teachers. She tended to sit in the back of the class when she was there, and fiddle with her hair and makeup. Her parents had never attended any of the parent-teacher nights or other school events, as far as anyone could recall.

Now, on a long street of rental properties in Fairview, just off the Halifax peninsula, Monty was introducing himself to Rhonda Hillier, in the apartment next to that of the Sniders in their building. But Rhonda was not all that forthcoming.

“I know you have a job to do, and you have to act for her killer, but — ”

“I represent the person accused of the crime, but of course I believe the police arrested the wrong man. So anything I can learn about Jordyn might, I hope, lead to the real killer. The first place to look, of course, is boyfriends or old boyfriends.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I just used to see her go in and out of the building. Didn’t really know her.”

“Did she seem happy the times you saw her? Or could you tell if anything was bothering her?”

“No, I wouldn’t be able to tell one way or the other. Teenagers, you know! There’s nothing I can help you with.”

“Her family — ”

“Hardly ever saw them. I have to go now. Sorry.”

It was much the same at the other doors. Nobody had ever seen much of Jordyn or the members of her family. A couple of people mentioned that Jordyn’s mother seemed nice, quiet, almost shy. There was an older sister, but she too seemed to come and go without connecting with the other residents of the building. The brother, Jason, was never there; he lived somewhere else.

Finally, at a little one-and-a-half-storey house across from the apartment block, he found someone willing to chat. Lorena Gouthro invited him in for tea and told him she had been living in the house since leaving Cape Breton in 1971, and still dreamed of going home. But here she was, still in Fairview, still missing New Waterford.

“So, Lorena, is there anything you can tell me about Jordyn, the people around her, anything that might help ensure we find who really killed her?”

“I used to be a little concerned about her.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Nothing definite at all. It’s just that I used to see her coming home very late at night. I don’t mean night. It was morning, but it would be dark. I’m up at five in the mornings because of medication that I’m on; it conks me out early in the evening, and I wake up early in the morning. But I suppose I shouldn’t make too much of the hours Jordyn would keep. She was a teenager, so late nights go with the territory. And I never saw her with a boyfriend, if that’s what you’d like to know. I’m sure she dated; she was a very pretty girl. But I don’t remember seeing her with a fellow here in the neighbourhood.”

“Are you acquainted with the Sniders?”

“Dana, the mother. I see her once in a while at the Bluenose getting groceries, though I haven’t seen her to speak to since the murder. I slipped a card under their door, but haven’t had a chance to convey my sympathy in person. Poor Dana, she’s a very nice person. Always friendly. A bit timid, but she always says hello, asks how I am, cautions me to watch out for the ice on winter days, that sort of thing.”

“That’s what other people have told me, how quiet Jordyn’s mother is. Was, even before this tragedy. Was Jordyn a quiet girl, or . . . ?”

“Wouldn’t have to be at her age. She could get out with her friends, blow off some steam, carry on with other young people. But of course I never saw her anywhere but here on the street.”

“You said ‘blow off steam.’ Was there something going on, something that makes you think she might have had to blow off steam?”

“Oh, I have no idea, honestly. I really didn’t know the girl. I was just thinking of the mother. It didn’t look as if she got out much.”

“How about Jordyn’s father?”

“Stepfather. He wasn’t the fellow that was here when they first moved in. I’ll get a nod or a hello from him when I see him, but I’ve never had a conversation with him.”

“Anything else? Can you tell me a bit more about these late homecomings?”

“Just that I’d see her walking home in the wee hours. Not with anybody, and that’s why I worried a bit. A young girl alone on a dark street. Probably just coming home from a party. And before you ask, she didn’t look as if she was drunk or on drugs. But when I think of it now, it was only on a few occasions. And it was years ago. Not recently at all.”

“All right, Lorena. If you think of anything else, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. Here’s my card. And thanks for your time today.”

“You’re welcome, Montague.”

†

Monty had not learned much of anything from his neighbourhood survey. There was a stepfather, a timid mother, the daughter walking alone late at night. One might mould those bits of information into a profile of sorts, but there were no concrete details that Monty could use. There were no names, specifically no boyfriends’ names. So the next stop would be the police station. The police had their man, as least as they saw things, but they would have looked into the victim’s background to see what might have led her to such a violent end. Monty hoped he might get something out of his police contact. If not, he would consider giving the assignment to a private investigator. But if he could tap into work that had already been done, he would begin there.

He picked up the phone and called the police station for Constable Truman Beals. He was out, so Monty left a message and heard back within the hour. They arranged to meet at the Tim Hortons on Spring Garden Road.

“Truman, how’s it going?” Monty asked when they were seated with their coffee.

“Not too bad, Monty. You? Been blowing your harp at the Shag lately?”

“Oh, yeah. The usual. You should do a guest performance again sometime soon.” Beals’s guest appearances with Monty’s blues band had become infrequent since Beals joined the cop shop. Too many “persons known to police” in the crowd at the Flying Stag, a.k.a. the Shag.

“I’ll think it over. But in the meantime maybe Podgis will do a live show from there, little tribute to his lawyer after you get him off.”

“Think I’ll get him off?”

“Wouldn’t be the first shit bird you got released from captivity.”

“Thank you, Truman. That makes me feel really good about myself. I won’t have to attend the self-esteem workshop this week.”

“Damn. I won’t be seeing you there? You’re the only one in the whole group who shares with me. I feel a relapse coming on.”

“You’ll get over it. Couple of nights on the beat, everybody waving and smiling at their local coppers, you’ll be your usual fulfilled, empowered self. But, to tide you over till then, here’s a chance to help a member of the defence bar help his wrongfully accused client beat the rap. Think how good that will feel.”

“I’m armed, white boy. Don’t piss me off.”

“Busy yourself with your coffee to cover the awkward moment while I try to figure out how to get this conversation to go where I want it to go.”

Beals took a leisurely sip of his double-double. Monty did the same.

“All right,” Beals said, “what are you after?”

“Jordyn Snider’s love life.”

“With Podgis, you mean? It didn’t last.”

“Not with Podgis. As far as I know, they never met.”

“They met. It was nasty, brutish, and short. Like him.”

“Well, I can’t really expect you to be open-minded and inclusive about who else might have done this, Tru. But I know you would have looked into her background, to see how likely she would be to take up with Podgis on the spur of the moment. That would have involved her history with men. And that’s what I’m looking for. Her boyfriends.”

“Brandon the rapist, you mean? That who you’re asking about?”

“Must be. What’s the story? Was Jordyn the victim?”

“No. It was another, very young, girl.”

“And the guy?”

“Brandon Toth, eighteen years old when this happened two years ago, convicted of sexual assault causing bodily harm. Got eight years.”

“Whoa! Must have been bad.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So he’s still in the pen.”

“He’ll always be in. Soon as he gets out, he’ll do it again. And back inside he goes.”

“And this was Jordyn’s beau.”

“Till they broke up.”

“I should hope they broke up. Having your boyfriend sent to jail for raping another girl is one of the leading causes of women ending relationships, according to the latest study in — ”

“
He
dumped
her
.”

“Oh. Met somebody new in the showers in the penitentiary?”

“Who the fuck knows? Point is, he’s behind bars in Dorchester. So you can’t pin the murder on him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But maybe she had other suitors drawn from the same pool.”
If so they would make very handy scapegoats in the defence of Pike Podgis.

“I don’t know whether she dipped into that pool more than once or not. But I do know Podgis did a show on that peculiar phenomenon.”

“On what phenomenon?” Monty asked, trying to sound more casual than he felt.

“On girls who date bad boys. I don’t mean guys with fast cars and a dime bag of weed in the glove compartment. I mean guys who have committed rape, aggravated assault, murder. Doesn’t hurt their chances of scoring with some of the girls out there. Not a bit. The show was about the lengths these girls will go to in order to keep their psychopathic sweethearts happy. Whoa! Just when I thought I’d heard it all. Of course, Podgis also did a show on ‘the things guys will do to get laid.’ He’d know! Guy looks like that? What would he have to do to get lucky with a woman? Kill her, I guess.”

Monty knew when it was better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open his mouth and remove all doubt.

Beals smiled and made him an offer. “I’ll dub you a copy of the tape of those shows. There are some other dandies on the tape too.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Think nothing of it. I’ll be happy to. Now, where were we before we got distracted by
Pike Podgis: His Life and Works
?”

“
Jordyn Snider: Her Life and Loves
.”

Beals looked as if he was thinking it over, then said, “Okay. We interviewed one guy she went out with.”

“Who?”

“Drew MacLean.”

“Did he give you an alibi?”

“He’s definitely not a killer.”

“So. No alibi.”

“He doesn’t need one. As I said, not a killer.”

“You only see the good in people, Truman. Have you ever arrested anybody?”

“Have you ever had an innocent client?”

“On occasion.”

“How about this occasion?”

“How can you look into the sweet face of Perry Calvin Podgis and ask such a question?”

Chapter 5

Brennan

If Brennan thought the appetite for miracles might miraculously disappear from his churchyard, a story in the Wednesday, October 7, edition of the
Herald
suggested otherwise. Miracle fever would not be extinguished any time soon.

N
EW
M
IRACLE
C
LAIMED IN
H
ALIFAX

Pilgrims camped on the grounds of St. Bernadette’s church in Halifax are claiming a new miracle. The church is the site of alleged apparitions of the Virgin Mary. It is also a murder scene, where 19-year-old Jordyn Snider was stabbed to death. But the crowds are still coming. And now, devotees say, a man has been given the miraculous gift of a second language, thanks to the intervention of the Blessed Virgin. Ignatius Boyle, a 56-year-old homeless man, is a well-known figure in front of the library on Spring Garden Road and at the St. Bernadette’s statue where the Virgin is said to have appeared. Now Boyle, a unilingual anglophone, is speaking French. People who have known him for years say he has never spoken French before now. Boyle suffered a fall on Morris Street two weeks ago, and was rendered unconscious. He was taken to the Victoria General Hospital early on the morning of September 24 with undetermined head injuries. Befanee Tate, the young woman at the centre of the Mary sightings, says that when Boyle awoke from his coma three days ago, he began speaking to hospital staff in French. He has not spoken a word in English. According to Tate, one of the other pilgrims, a francophone woman from Moncton, New Brunswick, visited Boyle and was able to translate what he said. The New Brunswick woman said there was a religious component to his remarks. The hospital would not give out any information about Boyle’s condition, but people have been gathering in the hospital parking lot and keeping a vigil beneath his window. One man said Boyle had acknowledged their presence with a wave and a sign of the cross.