Serpents Rising (4 page)

“Why do I get the feeling you guys aren't looking for a nice four-bedroom with a spacious yard and several recent upgrades?”

“Gifford Sharp?”

The man eyed Cobb for a few seconds before answering. “I'm him,” he said. “If you're in the market, it's Giff.”

“I'm Mike Cobb. I'm a private investigator looking into the shooting at your house on Raleigh.”

Sharp looked back at the computer screen, tapped a couple of keys, looked up again. “I already talked to the cops.”

“We won't take much of your time. Just wondered if you could tell us who your renters are.”

“I could, but like I said, I already spoke to the
real
investigators.” He dragged out the word “real.”

I reached in my pocket, pulled out a notepad and a pen, flipped open the notepad. Cobb saw me do it and said, “This is Adam Cullen, reporter for the
Herald
.”

Sharp shifted his eyes to me. “I don't need no publicity here.”

I steadied the notebook, pen poised to write.

“We don't
need
to give you any,” Cobb dragged out “need,” a couple of beats longer than Sharp had with “real.”

Sharp said, “What do you want to know?”

Cobb said, “Your renters — who might they be?”

“Outfit called M and F Holdings.”

I put my notepad away.

“How long have they been renting the house?”

“Just coming up on two years. I bought it in January, had it rented by February 1.” Proud of that.

“How did the rental come about?”

“Two people walked in here, just like you did, except it was a man and woman.”

“What were their names?”

“Smith.”

Cobb raised his eyebrows.

Sharp shrugged. “I'm not the government. I don't ask for ID. People sign a contract, give me the first and last month's rent and the damage deposit, they move in.”

“How much rent?”

Sharp cleared his throat.

“What was that?” Cobb leaned on the desk.

“Two thousand.”

“A month?” I asked.

“Yeah, a month.”

“So they gave you four thousand dollars and the damage deposit,” Cobb said.

A beat.

“Not exactly.”

“Then
what
exactly?”

“They … uh … paid for a year in advance.”

“Twenty-four thousand.”

“Well, actually, thirty-four.”

“Sorry,” Cobb said. “You lost me there.”

“Twenty-four grand for rent, another ten damage deposit.”

“You normally charge ten thousand dollars damage deposit on your rental properties?”

Hesitation. “Not normally, no. It was … uh … their idea.”

“So they wrote you a cheque from M and F Holdings for thirty-four large in advance.”

“Right.”

“And no catches?”

“No…. Well, only one. They told me they didn't want me coming around the house — no owner drop-in checks or anything like that.”

“And for thirty-four thousand clams, I'm betting you didn't see that as any kind of obstacle.”

Sharp shook his head again. “Look, I got work to do here.”

“What happened when the year went by? You see the Smiths again?”

“Just her. She came in a couple of weeks before the lease expired, paid up again.”

“But just twenty-four thousand this time, right? Because the damage deposit had already been paid.”

Sharp looked down, didn't answer.

“Let me guess, Mr. Sharp. It was thirty-four thousand again and maybe a reminder from Mrs. Smith that you didn't need to be coming by the house.”

Sharp didn't look up.

“Mr. Sharp?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he looked at me. “You ain't writing any of this in the
Herald
, right?”

I tapped my pocket and smiled at him.

Cobb said, “What did they look like?”

“The Smiths?”

“No, Giff, the Obamas. Who are we talking about here?”

“She was a looker. Classy broad, expensive clothes, tall, dark hair, nice smile, not movie star looks but not far from it.”

“You see what they were driving?”

“Uh-uh.”

“What about Mr. Smith? What did he look like?”

“Hard to tell. I was looking at
her
, you know what I mean?” He chuckled. Neither Cobb nor I smiled. “Big guy, not in terms of height but broad like a football type, maybe a linebacker, you know? Probably works out or maybe does steroids, what do I know. Hair sort of reddish, I think. I only saw him once, I don't remember exactly.”

“Guy writes you a cheque for thirty-four grand, you don't recall what he looked like? Why am I having trouble with that?”

“Had one of those noses that looked like it had been broken a time or two. Maybe fights or something. And real big hands, I remember that. Good dresser too, like her that way.”

“How old?”

“Mid to late thirties maybe. Both of 'em.”

“And you never went by the place since that first time they came in.”

“That was part of the deal.”

“That isn't what I asked you.”

“I might've drove by a time or two, just to make sure the place was still standing.”

Cobb laid the picture of Jay Blevins on the desk facing Sharp. “You ever see this kid? Maybe during one of your drive bys?”

Sharp looked at the picture, picked it up and handed it back to Cobb. “Never seen him. Who is he?”

“Missing kid we're trying to find for his family. A kid who did some buying at the house you rented to the Smiths.”

“Don't know anything about that.”

“I'm sure you don't. Appreciate your time, Giff.”

Sharp handed each of us one of his cards. “You ever lookin', give me a call. I've got some nice condos in the southeast …
nice
condos. Or if you know somebody and send them my way, I usually offer a five hundred dollar incentive, but you guys, seven fifty.”

I took the card. “Is that Sharp with an ‘e'?”

I smiled at him as Cobb turned and led the way back outside. I fought the urge to grind the business card under my heel on the way to the door. Cobb didn't say anything until we were back in the Jeep.

“Sharp,” he said. “Middle name Notso.”

“I'm not sure about that. Seems pretty savvy to me. I don't know of many landlords pulling down that kind of revenue.”

“Good point. By the way, nice touch with the notepad.”

I grinned and Cobb chuckled.

“You hungry?”

I looked around hoping there was another option besides the donair spot a few doors down. “I am, but I'd be a whole lot hungrier if we were anywhere but here.”

He nodded. “Got any more ideas as to where we might look for Jay Blevins or Max Levine?”

“A couple.”

“Good, let's grab a sandwich somewhere and get back at it.”

“We can do better than that — head down to Chinatown. We do dim sum and talk to a couple of guys I know. Longshots maybe, but worth trying.”

Cobb looked at his watch.

I said, “There's a place that'll get us in and out fast. One of the people I think we should talk to works right near there. The other guy won't be hard to find. Both of them are … uh … connected.”

Cobb nodded. “Let's do it.”

Twenty minutes later we had miraculously found a parking spot on 3rd Avenue just off Centre Street and were sitting at a corner table at the Peking King. The “King-King” as it's known to the locals is one of those
best kept
secrets
, virtually unnoticed and unknown except to the Chinese residents of the area and a few non-Asian types like me who have stumbled across it by accident.

Cobb told me he didn't know dim sum from chop suey so I ordered a few things I thought were conservative enough for the fledgling diner: shrimp dumplings, steamed wheat buns with pork filling, a couple of bowls of duck egg and pork congee (a kind of porridge with non-porridge-like stuff mixed in), some lotus leaf rice and, to test Cobb's limits at least a little, a few Phoenix talons — deep fried chicken feet served in a black bean sauce.

Cobb did well, eating at least a little of everything — he seemed to like the dumplings a lot, the congee somewhat less and, to my surprise, he went back at the Phoenix talons a second time.

As he chewed on a wheat bun, he looked at me and nodded. “I wanted to thank you for this.”

“I don't need much of an excuse to come to King-King.”

“I meant helping me look for the kid.”

“Haven't helped much so far. You think he's in real danger?”

Cobb's shoulders moved up a couple of centimetres, then back down. “If I was a betting man, I'd lay five to two on they go after the kid. Show the world nobody fucks with them, that kind of thinking.”

“A lesson.”

“Something like that. These two guys you mentioned, what's the deal with them?”

“One of them, Jackie Chow, works down the street, runs an adult video store. Sells more than videos there. The other guy is a part-time pimp, part-time dealer. Buys and sells guns as a sideline. I only know his first name, Yik. Bigger player than Jackie Chow but not the top banana. Not a nice man, but I did him a favour once and if he's in the mood he might tell us something interesting.”

“Yik.”

“Yeah, he doesn't like it if people make humorous remarks about his name.”

“Maybe he should change it.”

“That would be the kind of remark I'd avoid.”

Cobb shrugged. “What kind of favour?”

“It was while I was doing the series on drugs in Calgary. I'd met with Yik and he'd filled me in on the coke scene — without any names, of course — in this part of the city. While we were having coffee at a place not far from here, a couple of cops came into the place wanting to be macho. They spotted Yik and thought this would be a good time to interrogate, aka hassle, him. I let them know I was a newspaper guy and then made a big deal of taking down badge numbers, descriptions, anything I could think of; I wrote down their questions as fast as they could ask them. They either got nervous or pissed off and finally stomped out of there. I didn't think it was any big deal but Yik liked that I backed him. We'll see if he remembers.”

“That notebook of yours is a handy little implement.”

“Sometimes.” I grinned.

We finished the main course and though I recommended he try the Malay steamed sponge cake for dessert, Cobb settled for green tea. I ordered an egg tart and opted for oolong tea.

When my dessert arrived, Cobb pointed at it, not in a good way. “What is that?” It was an accusation disguised as a question.

“It's called an egg tart.”

“I know that. I heard you order it. What's the stuff on top that looks like hay?”

“Bird's nest.”

“Sure, that's what they call it. What
is
it?”

“Bird's nest.” I tucked into it.

“Nice.”

He watched me eat for a while. “I haven't asked you because I think I know the answer but did anything further come up in connection with your wife's death? Any leads? Suspicions?”

I shook my head, set my spoon down. “Nothing.”

“I wish I could have helped you more than I did. That damn thing still doesn't make sense to me.”

“You did all you could. I wasn't unhappy with your investigation.”

Cobb nodded. “I know you weren't. But I was. I wanted to get the son of a bitch.”

I nodded.

Cobb stared at his tea cup, not seeing it. “I think about it sometimes … even after all this time. That there must have been something we … I missed.”

“The arsonist didn't give you or the police and fire investigators much in the way of clues.”

“Maybe. But there's something or someone out there that if we could just find it, or him, we could finish this thing. I've thought about it a lot. Sometimes I even wonder if we shouldn't have looked a little closer at your wife.”

I stared at Cobb. “What do you mean?”

“I know you said she didn't have any enemies but I sometimes wonder if there wasn't something, maybe, in her past.”

I shook my head. “I know it's tempting to think about especially when we've got nothing else, but as I said then, there just isn't anybody who could possibly have any reason … Look, I know every guy thinks his wife is perfect, but —”

“Not every guy thinks that.”

“You're right. And I know I sound like a parent with the smartest, best-looking kid in the world, but Donna was the person others came to when they were having some spat or other, they'd ask her for advice, like an unofficial counsellor. I just don't think —”

“I know. I get that. But what about before she knew you? Something in her more distant past. Not necessarily something
she
did or even knew about. Maybe some guy that had the hots for her in college and years later the guy's a whack job and decides to show her that nobody gets away with dumping him. I know it sounds far-fetched, but believe me, Adam, weirder shit than that — a lot weirder — has happened. And
does
happen.”

“Believe me, I've thought about it, gone through every moment of our lives together, every conversation
…
I just don't buy it. Even her growing up. We talked about that, the way couples do. Donna was the braces and glasses kid in school, kind of geeky, she didn't become the beautiful woman … okay, there I go again.”

“It's okay. I saw pictures. She was beautiful.”

“But she wasn't that way all her life is all I'm saying. She didn't really bloom until she was pretty well through university. Didn't even date much. And if there had been a guy like the kind you're talking about, she'd have told me.”