Law and Disorder (11 page)

“That’s because I didn’t know they were arriving today, because nobody else, that would be you, remembered to pass on that particular detail.”

“Oh sure, blame me for everything.”

An attractive head popped around a corner. Ashley (or possibly Brittany) said, “Everything all right in here?”

“Absolutely,” I beamed, carefully avoiding the use of first names. “I was just telling Alvin we should make some tea. He said he’d just love to make it, and he apologizes for not thinking of that himself. How about I show you your room? I think you’ll be amazed.”

Ashley and Brittany loved the red room. “Perfect,” they squealed in unison.

Alvin, who had been unable to resist checking their reaction, had followed them upstairs, and now stood blushing in the doorway.

“Great,” I said, “toss your stuff in and then we can go downstairs and you can fill me in on the dragon boat races.”

“I can make you some lunch. It doesn’t have to be just tea,” Alvin said

“We’d love that,” one of them said, “but we have to meet up with our team. We lost a lot of time at the airport.”

“Yes,” the other one said. “We still have some serious training to do. We have to practice on the site too, and our team captain managed to get ten practice times booked. We’ve all kicked in to pay for them. We want to do well in this. We have a ton of pledges.”

The first one said, “Dad’s really proud of us, and he made sure a lot of people put their names down.”

“I’ll make a pledge,” Alvin said. “Even Camilla might cough up a few dollars. Probably.”

“Happy to,” I said, looking daggers at him.

“Can we do it later? We have to get out there.”

“I’ll take you,” Alvin said happily.

I was about to call Ray to tell him his girls had arrived when my cellphone trilled. I considered not answering, but I recognized the number.

P. J. said, “Bad news.”

“Spit it out.”

“Annalisa Fillmore.”

I hate that game of hide the information. “What about her?”

“She didn’t kill Rollie.”

“Well now, how do you know that, P. J.?”

I could imagine that gotcha grin right over the phone. He crowed. “She has an alibi.”

“Oh, pull the other one. How can she have an alibi? Do we even know when Rollie died?”

“We do.”

That was news to me. “Are you sure? I hadn’t heard anything on the news.”

“No, it’s not public knowledge yet. But as you know, I’m special. So, when did he die, you ask? Well, he was last seen in Hy’s washing down his tenderloin with a bottle of Cab Merlot, so we know he was alive at nine the evening he died. Then he was spotted in the water just before eleven.”

“I guess that kind of narrows it down.”

“Anyway, the point is she has an alibi for that entire time.”

“Big deal. Alibis are easy enough to fake.”

“Not this time.”

“Why? Did she have an audience with the Pope?”

“Close.”

“What do you mean, close? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Judge for yourself. Our Annalisa was at a fundraising dinner with a member of the federal cabinet, and not one but two provincial cabinet ministers. Oh and have I mentioned the chief of police?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Plenty of media too. And the people at her table say she never left, including our most famous national news anchor.”

“Who asked them?”

“I did.”

“Maybe they’d just all say that because they don’t want to be the one who…” My voice trailed off because I could hear how silly this sounded.

“No one is lying. Anyway, the whole thing was taped by community television and parts of it by one of the major networks. All to say, she could not have slipped out from this event to murder Rollie Thorsten. Even assuming she was capable of shooting him in the legs and tipping him into the water, she didn’t have the opportunity.”

“But…”

“Whatever else she may have done and no matter how much she might have wanted to kill him, I am afraid she didn’t do it. Must have been one of the thousands of other likely candidates, such as yourself.”

I could feel myself glowering.

“Don’t pout,” he said, even though he couldn’t see me. “There’s still Brugel.”

When I got off the phone, I learned I’d missed a message from Mrs. Parnell. She had some information for me and wanted to share it. Apparently she’d already had some success. No way was I pouting when I beavered in from the parking lot at the Perley and along to her room.

She looked up and grinned when I appeared in the door. “I hear young Ferguson is quite keen on your visitors.”

“For me, they might as well be from another planet. He does appear to speak their language. Anyway, they mentioned that they’ll be training a lot because they really want to do well in this race to raise the profile of their charity.”

“Splendid,” Mrs. Parnell said, nodding in approval. “I certainly would like to be able to observe this race. Bit hard stuck in here though. Never mind. Young Ferguson suggested I make a pledge, and I was able to do that. Now, have a seat, Ms MacPhee, and see what I’ve turned up. Quite a bit on this Brugel character, but nothing that seems to shed light on this situation. There’s some on your Roxanne Terrio. And some articles on the accident. Letters to the editor about bicycle safety and the perfidy of automobile drivers.”

“She wasn’t my Roxanne Terrio, but thanks so much Mrs. P. Boy, that is a lot of stuff.”

Mrs. P. smiled her satisfaction. “Let’s start with the obituary.”

Terrio, Roxanne Gaylene.

October 24, 1965 – April 2, 2009

Tragically in a bicycle accident on April 2nd in Gatineau,
Quebec. Roxanne was predeceased by her parents André
and Mary Ann. She was a resident of Ottawa and a
graduate of University of Ottawa School of Law. She leaves
behind to mourn her beloved chihuahua, Moxi, and her
colleagues at Terrio and Fox, Real Estate Law.

A memorial service will be held at a later date. Donations
to Canadian Chihuahua Rescue would be appreciated.

“A sad life, it seems,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Many of us have no family, but not to leave behind a single friend. How tragic that seems. I don’t know where I would be without you and young Ferguson.”

“And we’d be lost without you. You’re still making new friends, but Roxanne seems to have had no one. There’s just the chihuahua, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose. I wonder who wrote the obit. It seems like they didn’t know her well.” Someone from work maybe? “You said you found more information?”

“I did find a few items online, but nothing interesting. I’ve printed out what I did locate. There’s a stack of information there, but I doubt if you will find much useful in it. Ms Terrio seems to have led a quiet and uneventful life. She’s been in real estate law for a long time.”

“Well, you know, that just makes me wonder all the more why her name would be connected with a lousy joke.”

“Indeed.”

“Worth a bit more digging, Mrs. P?”

“There’s nothing I like better than digging.”

I raced home in time to beat yet another visit from Jacki Jewell, the woman who could not take no for an answer. I was debating whether to let her in or sic the cops on her. As it was, she just wanted to check out the basement and the backyard again. She had a client that she thought could “overlook” some of the issues in the house.

I didn’t even know what that meant, although I held Alvin responsible. First Jacki snooped through the basement, complaining loudly about the boxes. Next she did something mysterious with a measuring tape in the backyard, flinching and turning pale at the sight of Alvin’s cherished frescoes.

I made myself comfortable in the kitchen and went over the rest of the papers that Mrs. Parnell had printed out for me. The most interesting by far was Judge Robert Cardarelle. I paid close attention to his obit.

Cardarelle, Robert Clément 1943-2009

Robert Clément Cardarelle LLB, retired Federal Court
of Canada judge, died suddenly on Saturday, May 23,
2009 of anaphylactic shock. He was born in Hull, Québec
and was predeceased by his mother, Marie (Lamoreux)
and his father, Aurèle, and son, Alain. Judge Cardarelle is
survived by his wife France (Tardiff), and brothers Simon
and Rhéal of Gatineau. He was a graduate of University
of Ottawa School of Law. There will be no visitation and
the funeral will be private at the request of the family. In
lieu of flowers, donations to the Jonas Smythe Treatment
Centre would be appreciated.

I read it twice. I’d known Judge Cardarelle in my early days practicing law. I remembered him as a remote, unsmiling and difficult man. Some of my classmates had been scared to death of him. Still he’d made a name for himself in the Federal Court. He was perfectly cut out to deal with cases involving federal law: immigration, income tax and maritime law. Except for immigration, his job didn’t involve much messy human drama. He wasn’t one to mix socially. A good friend of my sister Edwina’s lived next door to him in Rockcliffe Park. Coco Bentley had once confirmed my opinion by mentioning he wasn’t much of a neighbour. I seemed to remember her calling him a titanic tightwad. He must have turned her down for a fundraiser or something. Still, I was astounded to see this larger-than-life man reduced to a crisp and cold paragraph. And private funeral? Not giving any previously wounded colleagues a chance to gloat at his grave? That might explain it.

I looked up as Jacki buzzed through the back door and into the kitchen, her stilettos tapping on the ceramic floor. “That’s good,” she said. “I think the backyard might suit my client quite well. We can paint over that fresco. As for the inside, we’re lucky he’s colour blind.”

I suppose I was staring at her, slack-jawed, because she went on. “So it won’t be necessary to cover up the you know.”

She must have meant the murals. I noticed that the closer she got, the more attached to Alvin’s wall paintings I became. I owed him that much. I made a decision. Maybe I couldn’t fire her without provoking World War III with my sisters, but I bet I could make her quit.

She frowned at the pile of papers on the smart little kitchen table. “Of course, there must be no clutter of paper anywhere.”

I yawned.

She stared at me. I realized she might not have seen Alvin’s handiwork upstairs yet, despite my helpful suggestion earlier. “Have a look at the guest room,” I said with a straight face. “I think I mentioned that Alvin’s freshened it up a bit.”

I smiled at the clack of heels on the staircase. Perhaps I imagined the little squeak. I counted to ten and listened to the heels on the stairs again. I raised my eyebrows in a helpful way as she minced into the kitchen.

“Great colour, isn’t it?”

“No, it is not. Red is a big big no-no. Maybe in a formal dining room, but really not even then if you want to sell the house. People polarize around red. We need neutrals. Neutrals!” She yelled this rather like a fireman bellowing for the pumper truck.

“I’ve heard that red is a neutral.”

“Red. Is. Not. A. Neutral.”

I shrugged. “Guess I was wrong.”