A Nose for Death Page 5

  “Gabe, it’s Des.” The corporal sounded shaken. “There’s been a homicide.”

  Joan looked at her watch. It was two-fifteen in the morning. As soon as the RCMP car pulled into the motel parking lot, Marlena ran up and screamed at the husky young officer as he climbed out. “I saw them making out in the hallway,” she screamed. She pointed at Joan. “Her! Her and Roger!”

  If Joan had swilled four G and Ts, Marlena had soaked in a bathtub of rye. Would anyone believe her accusations?

  Through the rain she saw Marlena’s husband, Ray. He’d joined the growing circle of onlookers, but didn’t do anything to stop his wife’s ranting, nor did he offer her any sort of comfort.

  Gabe’s SUV pulled up, splashing through the pitted gravel. He climbed out, nodded in Joan’s direction but didn’t stop, didn’t smile, and went directly to have a word with the young cop.

  Marlena immediately draped herself over him like a sodden rag. “It was awful, Gabe. I walked in, there was blood all over the place. All over the bed.”

  “I gotta take a look around, Marlena. We’ll take your statement in a bit.” He gently peeled her from his arm, handed her back to Corporal Des Cardinal, then headed to the cabins. The door to number 23 was hanging open. As with all the motel units, there were signs of forced entry from years of drunken parties. Bikers, rig workers, and high school kids, they’d all left their mark: old damage, painted over, but not completely erased. The clientele of the rejuvenated Pine Tree Resort was more upscale: convention delegates coming for the upgraded facility, families enjoying the close proximity to the lake, faculty visiting Lakeview College that had been established in Madden the previous year. Inside each one-room cabin were a bed and dresser, a kitchenette area with a microwave and small fridge, a table and a sofa. Entrances faced the parking lot, but each unit also had a sliding patio door leading to a picnic area by the woods.

  Gabe braced himself before crossing the threshold. The smell of new murder blasted him as he entered the room. He was accustomed to the iron scent of blood. Although homicides were not all that common in Lakeview County, death came regularly by way of accidents and suicides. This, however, was different. He had never investigated the murder of someone he’d known since childhood. That their relationship had been such an emotional one made it even stranger. Roger lay slack-jawed, with his head hanging over the end of the bed. A butcher knife protruded from his chest. Forensics would identify the exact number of wounds, but Gabe instantly knew that someone had savagely stabbed Roger multiple times. All he had on was a worn pair of boxers decorated with cartoon reindeer. Pale and skeletal, the rocker looked impossibly old. His famous curls appeared more white than blond in this light, at least the locks not soaked crimson did, and his outstretched arms were etched with the road map of drug abuse that had spanned his adult life. The amount of blood sprayed on the wall above the headboard and over the bedside lamp was startling, even to a seasoned cop. Somebody had been angry with Roger, angry enough to kill him over and over again. Or afraid, wanting to make certain that he wouldn’t get up again. It didn’t look as though he had struggled. Whoever it was had surprised the rock star. But he’d been awake when the knife went in the first time.

  Marlena was slightly more sober a half hour later when Gabe questioned her in the lobby of the resort. Her statement would have to be weighed against her inebriation and her tendency to exaggerate.

  “It was open when I got there,” she said.

  “Open, as in ‘wide open’?”

  “No. Open as in it sort of opened when I knocked, like it wasn’t closed tight.”

  “And what did you do next?”

  “I called, quiet, you know, like: ‘Roooger’. Like that.”

  “And?”

  “I went in.” She shuddered. “And saw him there on the bed.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  Marlena shook her head.

  “Or see anybody?”

  Her eyes snapped toward him. “Of course I did. Don’t try to get her off the hook, Gabe. I may not have seen her in his room, but I know bloody well that Joan did it. I saw Roger come out of her room. And I saw them making out in the hall by the bathrooms when the band took a break.”

  Gabe talked to Joan next. She stood looking out of the large lobby windows. But there was little to see in the darkness. More likely, she’d been watching his mirrored reflection as he questioned Marlena. He handed her a coffee.

  “She says you and Roger were . . . ” She was watching him as he groped for the most delicate words. “Being intimate in the hallway by the johns.”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  “That you had your hands all over each another. Listen Joan, I’ll end up questioning dozens of people. Roger had a lot of friends and even more enemies. Could you just tell me what happened?”

  “When I went to the washroom, Roger followed me. He came on to me in the hallway and he wouldn’t back off. I left through the emergency door. That’s what set the alarm off last night.”

  Gabe remembered that she’d done the same thing when they had gone to a Led Zeppelin concert in Vancouver. They had tried to be cool but couldn’t stand the crowds and smoke. Escaping through the exit door, the blaring alarm had exposed them. They’d been seventeen years old. This time the escape had been more serious.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you’re his friend and it was nothing. He’d been drinking and I’d handled it. At least I thought I had. Just after 1:00 am. he knocked on my door.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “He was drunk, he didn’t need a reason although he said it was to apologize.”

  “That possibly makes you the last one to see him alive.” They were both silent.

  She looked at the Styrofoam cup in her hand. “I better not finish this. I doubt that the reunion dinner will happen now.

  I’ll need a nap before I head for home.”

  “Peg Chalmers is head of the organizing committee. She won’t let a little homicide mess up her plans.” His effort to make it less awkward landed badly. “Besides . . . ” He felt the line between them shift. “It would be better if you didn’t leave town just yet. We can’t officially ask you to stay.”

  “You mean I’m a suspect?”

  “Hell, Joannie, we’re all candidates. Someone killed Roger.” He took the cup from her hand. “You better get some rest. Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”

  When they reached her door, Gabe simply put a hand on her shoulder, gave her a sad, lopsided smile, then walked away. She bolted the door and added the chain latch for extra measure. She checked the patio door to make sure it was locked then looked in the bathroom and under the bed. She changed into her yoga pants and a sweatshirt in case she had to make another instant appearance. As she was crawling under the covers she noticed the message light on her phone blinking. Had it been on when she got in last night? She followed the recorded instructions for retrieving voicemail.

  “Hey, babe.” It was Mort. “Checking in on my favourite gin tanker. I tried your cell. Hope you’re not too bored out there in the boonies.”

  “Bored,” thought Joan. As she closed her eyes the early morning sun was already cutting a razor of light across the ceiling.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE COFFEE MAKER GURGLED AND HISSED while the hot water dripped through a generic pre-packaged coffee filter. Joan was accustomed to a rich dark Italian roast brewing, but the scent of any coffee was better than none and essential to the beginning of her day. She sat on the edge of the bed and searched the impossibly thin Madden phone book for Peg Chalmer’s number. After four rings, a young woman answered.

  “Peg?”

  “I’ll get her,” was the response. The phone clattered onto a hard surface.

  After a long wait the receiver at the other end was picked up. “Hello?” Peg sounded quiet and tired. She explained that she’d been hit hard with the flu and a blinding headache. Normally wild horses couldn’t
have kept her from the reunion. She’d been heading the planning committee for three years. Peg was beside herself over Roger’s death. Never in a million years had she expected anything so horrible to happen. She’d braced herself for a fist fight or two but never death, never murder. “And it’s totally my fault.”

  “Your fault?” asked Joan.

  “The entertainment committee didn’t think we should spring for a motel room, that he should stay with his parents,” said Peg. “We’re running on a skeleton budget. I agreed with the committee at first, but Roger wouldn’t let up about it. Let him feel like a star, poor guy. That’s what I thought. If I hadn’t caved at the last minute, I bet he’d still be alive.” She’d already said that to the police. Corporal Cardinal had called first thing this morning to ask her to pull together a list of reunion participants, but she didn’t have an actual list of who had shown up. The women at the registration table weren’t certain that everyone had signed in last evening. They knew for sure that some people had arrived late.

  “I was almost one of them,” said Joan. Remembering the young woman who had answered the phone, she remarked on how fortunate Peg was to have her daughter helping her.

  “That wasn’t Tabitha.” Only Peg would have named her daughter after a 1960s television character. “It was Daphne. She’s staying with me. We’ve been yakking away. Thirty years is a lot of catching up.”

  “Don’t overdo it.”

  Peg gave a weak laugh. “I’m fit as a fiddle. It’s just a little bit of flu.”

  At the other end of town, a less friendly conversation was taking place. In the hills high above Madden, Marlena Stanfield was punishing her bow-flex for everything that had happened the night before. With each sit-up she seemed more agitated.

  Gabe stared out through the wall of windows of her exercise room. A fog had rolled in and hidden the valley below. He could just make out the outline of the Welcome sign on the far bank of the invisible river. Ray stood waiting in his work clothes. His fleece, bearing the Stanfield Developments logo, was zipped to the neck to protect against the morning frost, rare at the end of May. His face reddened with frustration when Gabe spoke.

  “If you don’t mind, Ray, I need to speak to Marlena on her own.”

  “You want to know what she was doing at Roger’s cabin at two in the bloody morning? Well, so do I.”

  Marlena let them stew another moment, probably deciding between a good offence or defence. Gabe knew that if this marriage fell apart neither could abide the loss in economic stature. Like so many couples, they’d grown dependent on the comforts of life and would rather suffer the daily unhappiness they knew than the unknown of a more modest existence.

  Her reply came out like cold syrup, thick and sweet. “Darling, he was a guest in town. I was checking on everyone.” She continued pulling on the weights.

  “The whole world knows you have a thing for Roger,” said Ray.

  “Had,” she stated flatly.

  “What?”

  “Had, Ray. Roger is dead, remember?” She sat up and wiped her armpits with a towel.

  “Oh you mean there is a place you draw the line? Hell, Marlena, the whole time he was here rehearsing you dressed like a teenager.” Gabe had never seen the usually soft-spoken man so angry. “Your boobs were pushed up so far, they looked like they’d pop right out of your shirt.”

  Gabe had often wondered if it had been the thrill of the hunt that had attracted Marlena to Ray. When Ray was married to Sarah, he basked in her glow. His high school sweetheart had been beautiful and selfless. Sarah was loved by everyone, and beside her Ray shone like a knight. Marlena had relentlessly preyed upon him.

  Their own two daughters, now twelve and fourteen, were miniature versions of their mom. The youngest, Mandy, was already on a diet. At a softball tournament a couple of weeks ago Gabe had heard Tanya cite Marlena, insisting that eating disorders were bullshit and the best lunch was a SlimFast bar. Both girls treated their dad as though he was a bank machine.

  Ray finally grabbed his hardhat and briefcase, and stomped up the stairs.

  Gabe waited until he was sure Ray was out of earshot. “Who else did you check in on, Marlena?” He hoped to get straight answers now that she was sober.

  “I checked on everyone last night. Well, damn near. Mary and George Armitage, Gerald, the Galatis. Next I was going to see Joan Parker. But it looks as though she got to Roger first.”

  Marlena swung her legs around to sit on the bench.

  Her words came in a measured tone. “I never screwed, Roger. I would’ve.” She took another drink. “But I didn’t. ”

  “How’s the apartment hunting?” Gabe held his kitchen phone with one hand and rubbed his neck with the other. He needed sleep. He’d only managed to catch twenty minutes of shut-eye since the murder.

  Betty laughed in reply. “Teddy hates everything. He says he’ll get distracted in residence and finds something wrong with all the basement suites. Apparently the last one smelt funny.” For someone who was known as a tough ass among social workers, Betty was all tapioca when it came to their only child. “He thinks we should wait until August, but I’d hate to get stuck in the last minute rush. We have a few more places to check out. I doubt we’ll make it home before Monday night.”

  Gabe had been the one maneuvering to keep them all close, trying to save the marriage, the unit. Now he was glad to hear that his wife and son wouldn’t be home until the end of the long weekend. Betty was resentful when he had to work overtime, and Roger’s death guaranteed that life wouldn’t be simple for the next few days, perhaps longer. But as quickly as he thought of work, the image of Joan came to mind. He realized that he was jealously hoarding the little time they’d have together.

  “How’s the reunion going? Did you and Roger make up?” Betty was asking out of courtesy, not any real concern. In retrospect the incident with Roger had been so stupid. Two middle-aged men letting their tempers flare. Gabe decided not to alarm her. He’d tell her about Roger’s death when she was back in Elgar. He should have patched things up with Roger, apologized for threatening to arrest him last week. Now he’d never have the chance.

  “Just be careful on the highway,” he warned. “It’s supposed to rain all weekend.” He hung up and headed for the shower. He’d left instructions that everyone who had been at the reunion, guests and staff, should be asked to congregate at the high school gym at ten. He’d be surprised if his officers were able to get everyone there. There was no record of where his former classmates were staying. There was the hotel and Riverside RV Park; they’d also have to match attendees to relatives in the phone book. They couldn’t order witnesses to stay in town. Pretty soon people would start spreading like buckshot. When that happened, the chance of solving Roger’s homicide would become exponentially more difficult. They had their work cut out for them.

  There were patches of blue peeping through the clouds as Joan walked from the motel to the new high school. “New” was a relative qualifier since it had opened almost twenty years ago. The sprawling complex served the vast surrounding region of logging towns and the nearby nickel mine. Madden was also the regional seat of provincial government. The school served a cross-section of blue- and white-collar families. Her old school was diminutive in comparison. Those grounds had been turned into a pretty park, and the sign in front of the old red brick building identified it as the Madden Cultural Centre and Day Care. It was much smaller than Joan remembered.

  A small group of smokers congregated outside the new school. Thirty years ago they would have been laughing and posing. Now they huddled in social banishment. She heard a shout from behind her.

  “Joan!”

  Even after decades, she recognized the warm contralto voice. She turned and grinned at Hazel, who was moving toward her with open arms. Except for forty extra pounds, her old friend hadn’t changed much. Her dark hair, flecked with grey, was in the same Beatle bob that it had been thirty years before, and her heavy-rimmed glasses had be
en replaced with a frameless pair. She wore a straight silk shift that hung to her ankles and Joan was certain the pattern of bright tangerine and teal swirls was an original hand-painted design. They fell into each other’s arms and Joan felt herself pushing back tears again. It was either pre-menstrual or pre-menopausal, this constant urge to cry, compounded by the stressful night. There was comfort in the incensed silk shoulder. She held Hazel at arm’s length.

  “It’s quite a shock, isn’t it?”

  Hazel nodded. Her eyes were swollen red, as though she’d been crying for hours. She took the tissue that Joan offered and wiped the tears from under her glasses. “He’d been unhappy most of his life, Joannie. Maybe now he’s found peace at last.”

  This seemed a strange reaction to Roger’s murder. Hazel was a minister, and even when they were kids she’d been the rational one, but it was a placid position in the face of such violence.

  The crowd was filing into the school. Hazel took Joan’s arm and they entered together.

  The gymnasium stink rushed at Joan. A hundred windbreakers, rain jackets and sweatshirts, a hundred pairs of running shoes, rain boots and loafers crammed into close, airless quarters permeated the room, along with variations of soap, shampoos, and colognes. The worst, though, was the smell of sweat pouring from bodies that had consumed far too much liquor the night before.

  Gabe stood at a podium set on the floor instead of up on the stage. Just like Gabe, she thought, to want to be on the same level as everyone. She let escape a small smile.