Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (59 page)

Ed's warning about Pfeiffer's rogue ways came to mind.

“Describe him for me. Big? Small?”

Germ looked up from his broom. “On the short side. Not big. Coulda taken him out with one arm, if he hadn't been holding a crowbar.”

“Did you catch his eye colour?”

“Yeah, green, I think. I wasn't exactly gazing into them with love or anything, but they struck me as being green.”

“That sounds like Pfeiffer.”

“Who's that?”

“The cop who followed me the other night. It's got to be him.”

Germ gestured around at the studio. “Why would he do this?”

Dan looked at the destruction and shook his head. “Clearly, whoever it was came here to destroy something.”

Germ nodded. “What I wanna know is how the fuck he found me. I'm as off the map as it gets. Plus you've been using a different cellphone, so we know he can't have hacked into it.”

“I don't know,” Dan said softly. “Maybe he already knew everything before I switched phones.”

“No one is safe from the System,” Germ proclaimed gloomily.

Dan saw his smashed laptop lying off to one side. “He destroyed the master copies of the files?”

“'Fraid so.”

Dan suddenly remembered why he'd come. “That's a problem. I wanted to ask you to keep a close eye on the camera feeds in the next little while.”

Germ set his broom aside and came over. “Fill me in, dude.”

Dan updated Germ on his encounter at the retirement home. When Germ saw the blood on Dan's T-shirt, he rolled a joint and insisted Dan take a toke. Dan relented.

“But just this once, okay?”

“Fair enough,” Germ told him. “Better than the Red Cross any day.”

Dan continued his account of his meeting with Gaetan, pointing out the existential question: were there two boys or just one? “When I got there, I thought I heard two people talking. It sounded like a conversation, but when I found Gaetan he was alone.”

“Talking to himself?”

“Could be. As far as I could tell, Gaetan arrived alone. Maybe the other person was already inside the building and left before I saw him. In any case, he's not going back there. I hoped you could tell me where he ends up.”

Germ grinned. “No problem with that. The cameras are still in place. The only problem is displaying them. I need to get a few new screens first.”

“Get what you need and send me the bill,” Dan said.

Germ shrugged. “Not a biggie. I'll put in a call to a friend. I use second-hand monitors, so they're cheap. I should be able to grab some by tomorrow.”

Dan looked around and shook his head, thinking how deep he was getting in and wondering who else might get dragged down with him.

“I'm sorry, Germ. I never meant to put you or Velvet Blue in range of these people.”

“Yeah, good thing Velvet wasn't here,” Germ said ruefully. “Or maybe too bad. She would have taken him out before he knew what was happening.”

Dan checked his watch. He was going to be late for dinner. Worse, he'd have to explain to Trevor where he'd been. It wasn't going to be an easy talk. So far he'd managed not to sabotage this relationship, but lately he'd been pushing it to the limits.

“Gotta go,” Dan said. “You want to report the break-in to the police?”

He saw Germ's face and laughed.

“Yeah, right. What an idea. Report the System to the System.”

“Then I'll leave you with it,” Dan told him.

He strode back to the elevator. It had stayed waiting for him with its doors open.

Keeping Mum

Trevor was up and gone before the dawn light. Something about a special order cabinetry installation and busy tradesmen coming to the house early. Dan got up an hour later, exhausted and unsettled by his confrontation with Gaetan Bélanger and the break-in at Germ's underground fortress the night before. No sense going back to bed, he could tell it wouldn't help.

The bandage on his right side had seeped through in the night, leaving pinpricks of blood on the sheets. He rinsed the sheets and left them to soak in the basement sink. The night before, he'd managed to get to the bathroom and clean himself up before Trevor noticed. If he wondered why Dan had come to bed wearing a T-shirt, he hadn't said anything. Sex was going to be tricky for the next few days, however.

He was just trying to decide between having coffee and reading the newspaper at home or going out for a bite when his phone rang.

“It's Jags. I'm on the island.” He sounded unusually subdued. “Can you come over?”

Dan hesitated. “I'm just getting going here. Do you mind if I grab a shower and a bit of breakfast before I head out?”

“This can't wait.”

“Something happened?”

“You could say that. Someone just tried to kill me.”

Dan's mind leapt at the possibilities. “Are you all right?”

“For now. Just come over.”

“I'm on my way.”

Dan put down the phone, cursing the man for living in the one spot in the city that was inaccessible by car.

He swung down to the water. The ferry would take too long. He caught a water taxi directly to Algonquin Island then headed over to Jags' place. The sun was just climbing over the branches. The air felt hushed and expectant.

He knocked. Jags furtively opened the door and beckoned him in.

“You need to get an airlift service over to this place,” Dan told him.

His eyes travelled around the room, searching for signs of a problem. He didn't see anything unusual. At least nothing unusual for a rock star's island retreat.

“Did you see it?” Jags asked, closing the door behind him.

Dan gave him a blank look. “See what?”

Jags sighed and shook his head. “Come here.”

Dan followed him to the nearest window. Jags pointed off to the right.

“Right there.”

Dan's eyes followed his hand. He found it: an arrow embedded in the wall of the porch.

“I take it that's not a decoration? Not one of your ‘props'?”

Jags' eyes darted warily from cottage to trees and back again. His voice was strained. “No, Dan. It's not a prop.”

“When did you find it?”

“I didn't find it. It nearly found me. It whizzed past when I was out watering my garden this morning. Let's just say it came very close to hitting me.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“I saw a kid running away.”

Dan's eyebrows shot up. “What did he look like?”

“Nondescript. A schoolboy. He had on a cap and …”

“A blue blazer?”

Jags nodded. “Does this have anything to do with that ear photograph I got last month?”

“I think so,” Dan said. “In fact, I'm afraid it probably does.”

He turned to the window and looked up and down the street. The nearest house was set off through the trees at the end of Jags' lot.

“Pretty isolated here. Did anyone else witness this?”

Annoyance spread across Jags' face. “Are you fucking kidding me? Look at this place.” He shook his head. “It's like this all day long,” he said, a little more subdued.

Dan looked around the room. With all the windows, it was possible to see right through the cottage from outside. Hard to hide in an aquarium like that. The glass might prove a deterrent against an arrow, but sooner or later Bélanger would come up with a gun.

“Are you sure you didn't recognize the kid?”

Jags shook his head impatiently. “No, I'm telling you …”

“And you're sure there's nothing you're leaving out? Some detail you need to tell me?”

“Fucking hell, Dan! Do you think I'd be holding out on you with someone shooting arrows at me?”

“Okay, okay. But if anything comes to mind, you need to let me know immediately.”

Jags was exasperated. “What kind of things? What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that Gaetan Bélanger just tried to kill you.”

“This kid they're all looking for?” Jags' mouth hung open.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “The same one who sent you the ear photo. Just that.” He looked around again. “Ok. I think it's time to go.”

Jags stared after him. “You're leaving me again?”

“No, you're coming with me. You need to get off this isolated island and stay in your penthouse where you have professional door staff to weed out unwanted visitors. Either that or you should leave town for a while.”

Jags nodded. “Okay. Give me a minute to grab a few things.”

Dan opened the door and looked around before stepping out. He scrutinized the scenery, wondering if Gaetan Bélanger was hiding in the shrubbery.

Jags returned with a small bag.

Dan said, “We'll have to tell the police about this.”

Jags shook his head. “I don't want anyone to know.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I don't want the publicity. It's not a good time for it.”

“For fuck's sakes,” Dan said. “This was a murder attempt. You have to let someone know.”

Jags sighed. “Okay, okay. Just give me an hour. I need to let my publicist know what's going on. She made me promise to pass everything by her first.”

Dan rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. “An hour,” he said. “Now let's get back to the city.”

Dan dropped Jags off at his condo and watched him go inside, after making him promise to report the incident to the police.

He sat in his car, thinking over what he'd encountered. So far, all roads seemed to lead straight back to Jags Rohmer. Jags with his fame and his fancy cars. Jags with his auto-erotic asphyxiation. Jags with his mysterious, isolated cottage on Algonquin Island and his Blue Mountain sanctuary. And, most of all, Jags
with his sexually amorphous past and his taste for extremes. While Dan didn't believe the reclusive star was
out murdering pedophiles and cutting off their ears,
he knew instinctively the picture he had was incomplete. For one thing, Jags could have sent himself the ear photograph. But why would he? Except for showing it to Dan and the police, he'd kept quiet about it. Even the obvious explanation that he wanted publicity for his book rang false.

There were other things that worried him. Jags had been written up in Gaetan Bélanger's blog. But what was the connection? And what about the mysterious intruder at the Blue Mountain retreat? When Dan got up to investigate, he thought Jags had been in his bedroom, when in fact he could have been outside the cottage rather than asleep in his room. But, again, what purpose would that serve? The only one Dan could think of was that Jags was trying to convince him that someone was after him. And now here was a crossbow attack, once again conveniently without witnesses.

Dan thought of Constable Pfeiffer's admonition that he'd personally pulled a dead boy out of the water off Toronto Island. He hadn't said which of the dozen islands it had been. But then he hadn't had to. They were all connected, each within a short walk of any other. At night, the island was darker than anywhere in the city. You could easily kill somebody and not be seen. The number of island residents had to be in the low hundreds, at best. If you kept your own secrets, who was there to spread them?

There was one person who might be able to shed light on Dan's enigmatic employer. He'd thought about her over the past few days, ever since meeting her,
but suddenly found himself decided. He would pay a visit to Marilyn Pfeiffer and see if she had anything relevant to say.

It was drizzling when he rolled up in front of her Cabbagetown address. He sat and watched the house. Neglect was its salient feature. It stood there — withdrawn, lonely. Those were the words that came to mind as he stared at the façade, rundown and overgrown with vines. Like Jags Rohmer, she too was a recluse, he realized. He thought briefly of Darryl Hillary, yet another recluse who had hidden behind a less wealthy façade. He thought of the jumbled contents inside Marilyn's home, the disparate objects marshalled together like the favourite belongings of a dead pharaoh and placed inside a sarcophagus to accompany her into eternity.

He got out of his car and walked with a heavy tread up to the door. She answered his knock almost immediately. She didn't look surprised to see him.

“You're my son's friend,” she said.

Dan didn't bother to correct her. “Dan Sharp.”

“Yes, I remember. The one who works for Jags Rohmer.”

“That's right,” Dan replied. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you. It's actually about Jags.”

She hesitated. She seemed to be pondering the question or perhaps was uncertain whether to grant him an audience without consulting her appointment book.

“You what…?”

“I'd like to ask you about Jags Rohmer,” he repeated, louder this time.

“Jags? Yes, of course.”

She waved him in impatiently. He followed and caught the disapproving look she gave her reflection in the mirror. What did she see: the downturned mouth and greying hair? Time and drugs had taken their toll, but she was still handsome despite the stark cheekbones, despite whatever inner turmoil she'd endured, and the eyes that had seen more than she'd intended.
This pill makes you stronger, this pill makes you
sad …
She was beautiful, yet it gave her no consolation.
Too many memories
, Dan thought. The drugs hadn't dulled her past enough for her to appreciate what she still had, as opposed to what had been left behind.

She retreated to a kitchen that hadn't been remodelled in years. A shelf of tin boxes, with cups and saucers running the length of one wall. Small ceramic figurines danced above them. Dan suspected they hadn't been dusted for some time. Some would have called it cozy, charming. He called it cluttered, claustrophobic.

“Would you like coffee? Tea?”

She laughed when she saw his expression.

“Despite whatever impression you may have formed of me, I don't drink in the daytime.” So demure. “I could offer you something stronger, if you prefer.
I didn't think police officers drank while on duty.”

“I'm not …” he began then stopped. “Tea's fine.”

“I'll put the kettle on,” she said, turning.

“No rush,” he said.

She turned back to him. “I'm sorry?”

He smiled. “I said there's no rush.”

“Good. We'll have a nice chat then.”

She went into a pantry. He heard her clanking around. When she returned, she set a teapot on the table. She plucked the kettle from the stove and brought it over, pouring carefully, as though she didn't trust her hands to be steady. She passed him a cup and looked up expectantly.

“You said you were having difficulty with Jags?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I just wondered if you might shed any light on what sort of a man he is.”

She smiled. “Jags Rohmer is a man who is extremely hard to get to know. A very private man. Does that answer your question?”

Dan picked up his cup and sipped. “Would you say he's a trustworthy man?”

She looked slightly taken aback. “Goodness! If you're asking me such questions, I would say you need to get better acquainted with your boss.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

She scrutinized him. “What exactly are you wanting to know?”

Dan hesitated.

“Please, be frank,” she said. “That's why we're here, isn't it?”

“You were his lover, weren't you?”

“Yes. It's no secret.” She shrugged. “There were so many …”

Dan wondered if she meant rock stars for whom she had spread her legs or lovers in general.

“I'm trying to find out if certain things about him are true. Certain allegations about his sexual nature.”

She gave him an appraising stare then looked away. Something seemed to hold her attention outside the window for a moment. Then she turned back to him. “Are you asking me if Jags Rohmer is gay? Because I can assure you that wasn't the case when I knew him.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, well,” she said, waving a hand in the air. Brushing aside decades, not just years. “We go back a ways. A few years, at least. How far back is hard to say.” She gave him a flinty look. “I'm not as young as I look.”

“Then that makes you just a little bit past thirty,” he said.

“Flatterer.” She laughed. “Not that I mind, of course. I'm not one of those women too modest to accept a compliment.”

Or too honest to lie
, Dan thought.

She took a silver case from her pocket and flashed a cigarette at him. He was surprised by how large her hands were, the fingers arthritic and swollen. Almost like a man's hands. He shook his head.

“No, thanks.”

She glanced down at the coffee table. “Do you mind?”

Dan took his cue. He picked up the lighter, a monstrous pink granite piece that might have passed for a souvenir in an era of oversized cars with gigantic fins. He flicked it, leaning forward to let her catch the flame much the way he'd seen her do with her son. She inhaled and sat back, comfortable in her kingdom of memories and bric-a-brac that strangled the room like weeds.

“Now where were we?” she said, like some femme fatale waiting to pounce.

“Jags Rohmer.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flashed with pleasure. “My, that was a while ago. I remember the first time I saw Jags. He wasn't famous yet. He was performing at the Nuts and Bolts Club on Victoria Street. I was just a teenager, a mere child really. And Jags was just starting to become known. I remember he had a hit song back then. It was on the radio. Every time you turned it on you would hear that song. Something about blue skies and sunny days that lasted forever.”