The Icing on the Corpse (28 page)

By the back fence a large wooden box stored salt for the parking lot. Just to rule out everything, I headed for it. She wouldn't have snooped over there. It would have meant heading across a wide, slippery expanse and for what?

I turned. You couldn't see Randy Cousins's place from there. The dumpster and cars blocked the view. I looked up. The windows and balconies of the apartments faced the other way.

No one had a clear view of that spot.

I lifted the lid. Nothing but salt inside, nearly up to the lid.

Sometimes I get wild ideas, perhaps because bad things happen to people I know. But where was she?

Alvin loped into view. He shook his head. Another strikeout.

“She's gotta be here somewhere. People up the road saw her heading back this way a couple of hours ago.”

“A guy in the apartment building spotted her around here. Couple of kids confirmed. I've hit a wall with it. We have to call the police. First, let's check the side yards of the end-units in case she slipped. She didn't have her walker, just her cane.”

“Vanity, thy name is Violet,” Alvin said. “You think you're in shit with the world now, Camilla. Wait until cops find out why she was in the neighbourhood.”

“Doesn't matter. We have to call the police.”

“Will they do a house-to-house search?”

“They'll have to. Seventy-eight-year-old woman missing? Bad weather? We'll go to the media otherwise.”

“You mean P.J.?”

I nodded. “I've looked everywhere. Some kids saw her here around three. She was staking out Randy Cousins's place. And a guy saw her near a tall woman earlier. Might have been Cousins.”

Alvin's teeth were rattling, but at least the Mickey Mouse scarf absorbed some of rain. I didn't want to face the spectre of his mother flying in from Sydney to preside over his deathbed.

“Everywhere?” he said.

We both stared at the dumpster by the side of the building.

Since my Sorels were a lot more reliable than Alvin's pointy leather boots, I was elected to check, even though we couldn't imagine any way for her to get in there. It took a couple of minutes of slipping and clawing, but I managed to hoist myself up enough to check the inside. It had been recently emptied.

No Mrs. Parnell.

“Did you open that salt box?”

“Yep. She's not in it. Unless she's under it or behind it…”

Alvin didn't need to ask.

“No. I didn't look behind it. How could she get there? It's practically covered in snow. We couldn't climb it.”

By this time we were both running. I reached it first. Alvin careened into me. When I spotted the heel of a black boot protruding from the slush behind the box, it took thirty seconds to register. Alvin grabbed my phone and dialed 911.

I was on my knees brushing off the snow, freeing her face, checking frantically for a pulse. Feeling her icy hands.

Thinking no hand could be so cold.

Pacing doesn't help much. And when you're pacing with others in an emergency waiting room already stuffed with stressed and exhausted pacers, sometimes people take it out on you. Edwina expressed the mood of the crowd. “That's the limit, Camilla. Is there nothing you won't do?”

I kept my mouth shut. Every couple of minutes Alexa said, “Oh, Camilla.”

Edwina stayed fired up. “Poor Mrs. Parnell, what did she ever do to deserve this?”

I didn't need her to tell me off. I was doing that to myself, by myself. But Edwina seemed like an appropriate penance for my sins in this case. And she wasn't saying anything that didn't need to be said.

“Exactly. Nothing,” she said, her voice attracting the rest of the waiting room. “She was minding her own business, and look what's happened. Do you ever ask yourself why you do these things to people?”

“Edwina.” Daddy's voice stopped her.

Alvin jumped to his feet. “Violet insisted. She would have headed out anyway even if Camilla hadn't asked her. She loves investigating. She says it makes her feel alive.”

The only other sound in the waiting room was the squeak of shoes on the polished tiles. But listening to Edwina's accusations and Alvin's surprise defence was better than returning to the clump of plastic-covered seats and meeting my father's eyes. Anything was better. He sat without speaking, while Donalda patted his hand.

I kept pacing. I didn't want to deal with one more “Oh, Camilla.”

Alvin and I whipped around as a door opened and a young doctor popped in and said, “Family of Violet Parnell?” He headed toward us, shaking his head.

“Lord thundering Jesus,” Alvin said. “That's always a bad sign.”

I couldn't say anything. Alexa started to cry.

“It's amazing,” the doctor said, still shaking his head. “I wouldn't have given two cents for her chances, but she's kicking up quite a fuss.”

“Thank God,” I said.

Two skinny tears rolled down Alvin's pale cheeks.

“It's too early to predict the effect on her mental abilities, but it looks like she might be okay.”

“She's going to make it?” My voice was high and wobbly.

“Good chance. She's hallucinating a bit. Whenever she regains consciousness, she demands to speak to my commanding officer.”

“Can we see her?” Alvin said.

“You family?”

Alvin hesitated for a smidge too long.

“Sorry, just immediate relatives. We'll keep her in ICU until we get a definite improvement in her condition.”

“I am family,” Alvin said.

The doctor looked at me. What the hell? Alvin was somebody's family, as long as we weren't being too specific. “Yes,” I said.

My father would soon point out my need to make a good confession. I might as well chalk up a walloping list of sins.

“We're all family. How long will it be until she improves? If she improves,” I said.

“No way to tell. Elderly people recovering from hypothermia, a lot depends on their age, general state of health, will to live, the kind of support they get from relatives.” He raised an eyebrow at Alvin. “Some of it's just plain luck.”

“Right.”

“The miracle is she didn't fracture any bones. But the head wound adds to the uncertainty.”

“The what?”

“The injury was fairly serious. She'll need intensive care for a while.”

“I didn't see a head wound,” I jabbered. “What caused it?”

The doctor laid a hand on my sleeve. “Perhaps you'd better talk to the police.” He looked over my shoulder, where Conn McCracken loomed.

There was a decided chill in McCracken's car. I sat in the back as we drove into the parking lot across from Randy Cousins's place.

“Even for you,” McCracken said, “this is something, Camilla.”

“The doctor was talking about a head wound? What kind?”

“We get to ask the questions,” Mombourquette said. “That would be just one of many things you're unclear on.”

“Did she hit her head against the box when she fell?” I asked. I answered my own question. “No, that doesn't make sense. She couldn't climb behind that box by herself. Someone dumped her. Someone strong. They must have knocked her out first.”

“Maybe you didn't hear me,” Mombourquette said.

“Listen,” Conn said, “we're not giving you information, because you'll just use it to get into more trouble than you're already in.”

“If that's possible,” Mombourquette said.

“So she was hit on the head then. Look where we found her, right out of view of everyone. Someone lured her to that box, whacked her on the head, tossed her behind it out of sight and left her to die. Just like what happened to me on the canal. Hey, here's another coincidence. It happened right after a witness saw her talk to a tall woman.”

Well, that torqued up the tension.

We parked in the lot. “I want you to show me exactly where you found her. Exactly how she was lying. Exactly,”

McCracken said.

“With pleasure. And let me mention, I don't know how yet, but it's related to Benning and you sure can't hang this one on Elaine.”

“I figure those kids mugged Mrs. Parnell for her purse or her cigarettes,” McCracken said.

“No. Not in this neighbourhood. In the apartment, people watch out for each other. Anyway, she still had her purse and cigarettes.” I didn't mention the kids had been impressed with Mrs. P.'s knowledge of explosives. Why buy trouble?

“Anyway, Ident's on the way.”

“Good. I want to know whose fault this was.”

“I can tell you whose fault it was,” Mombourquette said.

I
t was nearly seven-thirty when I pulled the rental car into Lindsay's driveway.

Merv was not even slightly glad to see me. “Don't you have a home?”

I pushed past him into the foyer. I tried not to elbow his gall bladder. Lindsay was curled up on the leather sofa. She smiled limply when I strode into the living room.

“This won't take long. Lindsay. You need a lawyer and I'm happy to represent you. In return, I need a favour.”

I raised my hand to silence Merv. “More trouble. Mrs. Parnell was attacked this afternoon while working on this case. She's in intensive care. We have to pull together to find out who killed Benning and framed Elaine before anyone else gets hurt.”

Lindsay crumpled onto the sofa and stared. “Attacked? Mrs. Parnell? But why would anyone hurt her?”

“How can you represent Lindsay when all you can think about is Elaine? You're on your own, Camilla.” Merv likes to be in charge. He obviously thought the job of the guy in charge was to keep Lindsay from facing reality.

Lindsay said, “Do you think the attack on Mrs. Parnell is connected with what's been happening?”

“You bet.”

“Forget it, Camilla. If she's hurt, it's because you've been sticking your nose into the wrong things again. Lindsay has been through enough. You're not getting her into any more rough situations.”

I loved that, like I created the Benning nightmare. But I didn't take the bait. “Listen to yourself, Merv. Lindsay's life is on the line here. Whether you want it or not, she's involved.”

Lindsay said, “She's right. What do you want me to do, Camilla?”

“You don't have to do anything,” Merv said.

She gave his hand a brave little squeeze. “It's time I stood on my own two feet.”

I'm glad she said it. Saved me the trouble. “Good. I want you to pay a visit to Elaine at the Regional Detention Centre. Visiting time for the public is evenings from seven to nine. You can still get there tonight if you hurry.” I handed her a list of names. “Find out if she saw any of these people on her way to your place. Don't let on you're working with me. Don't show her the list. Act like it's just a regular visit. After all, you are her friend. Then make sure every name gets worked into the conversation.”

Merv was ugly enough before he rolled his eyes.

Lindsay nodded. The list contained everyone I could imagine who might have spotted Elaine on her pizza run. It led off with Randy Cousins and included even unlikely candidates like Vanessa Gross-Davies, Chair of the WAVE Board of Directors, and that phony uncle, P. J. Lynch. I asked them to find out if she had seen any police officers at all.

Merv and Lindsay both lifted their eyebrows.

“And call me as soon as you find out. Leave a message if you have to. We've all had enough of this bullshit.” I didn't wait for them to answer. I headed back to the hospital for the night shift.

As I elbowed my way through the waiting room outside the ICU, I ran into Donalda and my father. Daddy had finished his bedside duty. I'd never seen him look so tired. He leaned heavily on Donalda's arm.

“Oh, yes, um, Camilla. I've been reading to Violet.” His copy of Chesterton's
St. Francis of Assisi was
still tucked under his arm. Poor Mrs. P. She was more the Winston Churchill type. Booze, smokes and rapier wit. Alvin had the right idea. Almost as soon as Mrs. P. was wheeled in, he'd draped a hot pink lei on her IV pole and left a copy of
Frank
magazine for her edification.

You can always tell when you're in an Intensive Care Unit. If you don't catch on right away, the subtle squeak of the nurses' rubber-soled shoes, the lines from intravenous drips, the half-light, the heavy hints of antiseptic and the muffled weeping will clue you in soon enough.

It was a long night. I wrapped up at daybreak, after spending hours doing paper analyses, grasping for the missing piece of insight that would clear up everything. I hadn't found it. I did slip out a couple of times to try to reach Lindsay and Merv on the pay phone. I kept getting their answering machines. And they kept getting mine. I spent the rest of the time reading the
Ottawa Citizen
to Mrs. Parnell's unconscious form. I made a point of not staring at her ashen cheeks, her cold, grey knuckles, or the lumpy skin on her hand with the needle for the intravenous feed. Since the ICU staff swore even unconscious people react well to voices, I picked out intriguing stories with military overtones. It's never hard to find some former Brigadier General belting out opinions in the paper. It made a nice change, I was sure, from my father praying or my sisters chatting about the mid-winter white sales or Alvin promising her some high-grade weed if she would just wake up.

Once an hour I left the unit to pace through the endless,
291
nearly deserted, hospital corridors. I needed to clear my head and to plan to let Randy Cousins get what was coming to her. I hadn't come up with a good scheme to prove she'd attacked Mrs. Parnell.

The rest of the night, I hunted for stories which might amuse her, say successful military capers involving helicopters. But I'd given up hope of hearing Mrs. Parnell's wheezy chuckle again.

“Ms. MacPhee, you'll never guess,” she said suddenly around four in the morning. I dropped my newspaper when I leapt off the chair.

“What?” Not the most effusive greeting for someone who regains consciousness after a long and frightening twelve hours.

“A strange man named Eugene told me my family has been sitting with me round the clock. Isn't that amazing?”

“Eugene's your nurse this shift. Why is it amazing?”

“Everyone in my family has been dead for years. This is well beyond the call of duty, wouldn't you say?”

“Maybe they're not as dead as they look.”

“What happened? You said Eugene's my nurse and this appears to be a hospital.”

“You're in Intensive Care.”

“Explains the appalling lack of sherry. I want to get home and get my new speakers set up. There'd better be a damned good reason for keeping me here.”

“There is. You were checking out Randy Cousins and someone conked you on the head and tucked you out of sight to die of hypothermia.”

“Nevertheless, apparently I didn't die. Too stubborn.”

I pulled closer to the bed. “Tell me, what's the other guy look like?”

“I wish I could remember, Ms. MacPhee. Everything's blank.”

“Ah.” There went my hopes.

She lifted her hand to her head and massaged her temple with two bony fingers. “I'd prefer a good old-fashioned hangover any day.”

“In that case, you should avoid icy, dark and deserted parking lots.”

“I was in a parking lot?”

“Yes. Across the street from Randy Cousins's house. Ring any bells?”

She shook her head. “Ouch.”

“Save the head-shaking for a better time. Do you recall why you checked out the parking lot?”

“Ms. MacPhee.”

“What?”

“Could you welcome me back to the living before you begin the third degree?”

“Welcome back, Mrs. Parnell. You have been missed.”

“By my whole family, apparently.”

“Plus Lester and Pierre send their regards. As does your cat. And the guys delivering the speakers.”

A throat cleared behind me. That sweet and burly guy named Eugene. “Somebody's awake. We'll get the doctor over to see you.”

“Better tell him to take a number,” said Mrs. P.

“We'll need to examine her now that she's conscious.” Eugene pointed to the other side of the curtain, like he expected me to take the hint.

“Don't talk about me as if I'm not here,” Mrs. Parnell said. “I may be old, but I'm formidable.”

“Formidable's good,” Eugene said.

“I hope my car hasn't been towed, Ms. MacPhee.”

“Lucky I had your spare keys. Alvin drove it home for you.”

“Excellent. Help yourselves to it. No good to me here.”

“Time's up,” Eugene said.

“I need a minute. I have a couple more questions.”

“No questions. Step outside.” I didn't rate a smile.

“Good-bye, Ms. MacPhee. See if you can get my friend Harvey to drop in for a visit, will you?”

Alvin and I were both in fairly good humour, since Mrs. Parnell had given new meaning to the phrase bounced back. Daddy and Donalda were on the job. I figured Daddy could keep Eugene in his place.

I needed to get moving because the day-to-day business of Justice for Victims had been piling up. People with problems needed to be advised, politicians needed to be badgered, funds needed to be raised, briefs needed to be barbed and bills needed to be stalled. I needed to catch the hell up, and Alvin needed to get the lead out. I did not need to sleep. A couple of hours upright on a plastic visitor's chair was plenty for anyone. I was thundering up the stairs to the hospital parking garage when the Level 3 door opened and I found myself nose to chest with Randy Cousins.

We both stood our ground.

“Well, well,” she said.

I checked around. For once, not a soul crowded the metal stairway.

“I hear you're interested in my activities.”

She was one scary lady. I kept quiet. Where the hell was the rest of the world when you needed it? Unless I was very wrong, this was the woman who tossed Mrs. Parnell behind a salt box and left her to die of hypothermia. Not to mention dumping me headfirst into that snowbank on the canal. I didn't feel like arguing with her at the top of a metal staircase without any witnesses.

“Let me fill you in,” she said. “We're not on opposite sides.”

“Right. If you're trying to find yourself alone with Mrs. Parnell, forget it. Two people are with her at all times. And she doesn't remember her assailant.” I tried to deke past her and scoot through the door to the parking area. At least there'd be witnesses.

She extended her arm and blocked the way. “No wonder you piss people off.”

“That's my goal in life.” What the hell. She might be about to toss me down three flights of stairs, but I didn't have to snivel.

“Everyone needs a goal,” she said. “We're not so different. My goal was getting that little prick Benning locked up forever.”

She sounded like she meant it. That came as a surprise. I said, “I'm listening.”

“I hear you think I killed him.”

“Did you?”

“I hated him. I could probably have done it, but we have departmental rules.”

“Maybe it was an extracurricular activity.”

She chuckled. “For somebody, it probably was. I'm just as interested as you are in finding out who the somebody is.”

“I'll send you monthly activity reports. How about that?”

“You're a riot. Connie and Lennie tell me your elderly friend might make it. I hear she was checking out my neighbours when she was attacked. That makes me wonder what's going on. I hope it makes you want to leave this investigation to the pros.”

“What investigation? I thought the Benning case was a done deal. Elaine serves time because the cops can't believe she's innocent.”

“Of course she's innocent. We're not idiots.”

“Really? Maybe I'm wrong.”

“You're wrong about a lot of things.”

The metal door to Level 3 opened, and three people pushed into the stairwell. Randy Cousins moved sideways to let them pass.

“Oh, good. Witnesses. Courts love them.” I turned and spoke to them as they clattered down the stairs. “I'm Camilla MacPhee and this is Constable Miranda Cousins. Please note the time and the fact that we're having a dispute, in case you hear that I've gone missing.”

Those three certainly could scurry.

“Very funny.”

“Since we're being candid, answer this. If your only involvement in this case is the pursuit of truth and justice, why was Mrs. Parnell attacked across the street from
your
house?”

Her jaw knotted. “I don't know. And I intend to find out. It will be easier without you making Connie and Lennie go ballistic every ten minutes and putting your friends and family in serious jeopardy. You know, Lennie has to swallow half a bottle of Mylanta every time he hears your name.”