Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (135 page)

“Is it finished?”

“I stayed up all night working on it.”

Dan noted the dark circles under his son’s eyes with a mixture of amusement and fatherly concern. Nothing he wouldn’t have done at that age. His raised eyebrows said Ked was supposed to have been sleeping, but that under the circumstances perhaps the behavioural lapse would be overlooked.

“Watch this,” Ked said excitedly.

He gripped the psychrometer at the base and twirled it overhead. A pair of arms lifted and whirled like helicopter blades. After a minute he stopped and placed it on the table.

“Now we check it.”

He pointed to two thermometers encased in glass.

“The first one is dry,” he said. “It measures the actual room temperature. The second is wrapped in a wet cloth. It calculates the temperature as the water evaporates, so that should be cooler. Now we take the two numbers …” He leaned over a numeric table in a textbook. “… then we do a calculation and
voilá
! We have the relative humidity of the atmosphere. In this room, it’s 22.3 percent.”

He looked up expectantly. “Are you impressed?”

“Of course,” Dan said. “Everything you do impresses me.”

“Cool. I can never tell from looking at your face. You don’t show much emotion.”

“Well, I am very impressed. And I wish you luck in the science fair.”

Ked looked at the flower. “I don’t know if this guy is going to be happy here. The card says orchids like a humidity level between 40 and 80 percent. We could get a humidifier, but at that level it might peel the paint off the walls. What we really need is a greenhouse.”

Dan thought of the moisture-laden atmosphere in Yuri Malevski’s lush, indoor garden. “I don’t know if one plant translates into a greenhouse, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Actually, I did a bit of research,” Ked continued. “If we put a few flowers together on a tray covered with pebbles and then pour water onto it, it produces a micro-climate that keeps the humidity levels higher. They sell orchids at Loblaw’s. I could get a few more.”

Dan gave his son a curious glance.

“You know, to make the house a bit greener.” Ked put a plate mounded with pancakes on the table. “To make it feel more homey. Or something.”

“Okay by me,” Dan said, reaching for a fork.

“Good?” Ked asked.

“You bet.”

Pancakes were a shared culinary passion dating from Ked’s childhood, when Dan made them as a Saturday-morning treat. Now he was getting them served to him in return. He wondered how far Ked would take the campaign to look out for his well-being. From making sure he didn’t spend the night alone, through negotiating the reckless passage of his romantic interests and seeing his nutrition was looked after, his son had Dan’s best interests at heart.

He checked his watch: he just had time for a second look at Lionel’s file before meeting Lydia Johnston. Coffee in the village appealed to him.

“I have to go soon. I’d like us both to leave together. I can drive you to school, if you like. That way I won’t have to worry about you while I’m out.”

Ked’s expression said he concurred. While his father’s face might not show much emotion, Ked’s did, and clearly this openness was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

“I’m ready any time you are.”

The Second Cup was dead, but that was just as well, as far as Dan was concerned. No noise was good noise. He sat in one of the stuffed armchairs in front of the gas fire, spreading his coffee and paperwork on the table before him.

He struggled with his fold-up reading glasses, the latest encumbrance in his fight against mortality. Untangled at last, he set them on his nose then went through the accounts methodically, stopping to note Lionel’s penciled
!!!
’s in the margins directing him to hidden errors, strange codes, and numbers made to look like something other than what they were. Wormholes where the dollars trickled away unseen by any but the most observant. Dan felt as if he were filching a corpse’s secrets, hauling Yuri Malevski and his dark secrets back from the grave.

Half an hour later, he scooped up the papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. He’d just stepped out into the sunlight, blinking away the brightness, when a half-familiar face passed by.

“Excuse me,” Dan called out.

“Yes?” came the throaty reply.

There was nothing pretty about it: heavy eyelids, coarse skin, the mouth downturned at the edges. Instead, there was a commanding gaze and black eyes set slightly too far apart, pitiless as a hawk alert for prey from a thousand feet up. All the features were over-pronounced, like a burlesque queen in full makeup, as though the proper distance for viewing this face would always be from a stage. The scent of frangipani at midnight was the only hint of femininity.

“Are you Jan?”

Dan wondered what life must be like on the street for a transgendered person. Being gay was hard enough when it came to dealing with the world at large, but this was a notch above.

“I think so. And you would be?”

“Dan Sharp. I’m a private investigator.”

Jan’s expression turned from surly disregard to one of interest.

“Really? A private dick. I didn’t think they existed outside of the movies.”

“I exist. Have you got a moment to talk?”

“About what?”

“Yuri Malevski.”

“Well, let’s see. Did you make an appointment? Hmm? I don’t believe so. I’m on my way to the Hassle-Free Clinic at the moment.” Jan paused and leaned against the wall with all the poise of a first-class hooker. “The sexual health centre? Apparently they want to counsel me not to go around spreading filthy diseases. Not that I would.”

“I was wondering what you could tell me about your relationship with Yuri.”

“I don’t have one. He’s dead.”

“But you used to know him.”

“That was a long time ago. Before he decided he didn’t need friends. Permanently.” Jan gave an impatient shrug. “Yuri was all right. He was just too temperamental for his own good. We got along for a while and then one day we didn’t. There’s nothing to tell.”

“What did you disagree about?”

“He thought I made a pass at his boyfriend.” Jan’s eyes rolled dismissively. “I didn’t, if you’re wondering.”

“Did you like Santiago?”

“Not by a long shot. But I don’t speak ill of the dead.”

“You heard then.”

Jan shrugged again. “What can I say? Word gets around.”

Two skateboarders in ragged jeans and T-shirts zoomed past, the pace of life on the street revving up.

“What about a kid named Ziggy? He was living at Yuri’s place and might have sold drugs out of the Saddle and Bridle.”

“Sure. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“So it’s true?”

“That Ziggy sold drugs or that he lived with Yuri?”

“Either. Both.”

“Then ‘yes’ to both, as far as I know. Though I don’t think Ziggy is what you’d call a big-time drug dealer. He sells the odd joint. He used to be a heroin user, but he quit last I heard.”

“Do you think drugs had anything to do with Yuri’s murder?”

Jan snorted. “There may have been drugs going through that home, but Yuri’s murder wasn’t about drugs.”

Dan watched the expressions flitting across Jan’s features, the face no doubt reshaped and rebuilt. How much would have been impossible to say. Charles had been right in saying it would be difficult to make a snap judgment about gender.

Jan caught the look.

“You’re wondering whether I am or not? Well, don’t get yourself all bothered about pronouns and such. I am a full-blooded woman. You wanna feel my boobies to make sure?”

The question was followed by the same throaty cackle Dan had heard the first time he saw Jan on the street.

“It’s all right. I’ll take your word for it. So it wasn’t about drugs. What was it about then?”

“You better look closer to home, baby. That’s all I can tell you.”

“The Lockie House, I assume you mean. You used to work there, didn’t you?”

“A lot of people worked there. I was one of them.”

“Do you know the security code for the house?”

“I used to, but not lately. Not for a long time before Yuri was killed, if that’s what you’re implying. I couldn’t remember it now to save my life.”

“Do you know who else had it?”

Jan sighed. “As I said, look closer to home.”

Something occurred to Dan. “Do you know a guy called the P-Man?”

“You mean Pig?”

“So you know him?”

“I
knew
him. Sure. He’s quite the piece of work for a straight guy. He was a regular at the Lockie House, once upon a time.”

“Really? I got the distinct impression he didn’t like Yuri Malevski.”

“He did and then he didn’t. Just like me.”

“Why?”

Jan smiled. “It could have something to do with the night a bunch of drag queens got him so drunk he passed out. When he woke up, he wasn’t wearing anything except a lot of lipstick kisses all over his body. And I mean
all
over. He never spoke to Yuri after that.”

“Is he what you meant when you said to look closer to home?”

Jan shrugged. “Oh, baby — you look pretty smart, for a dick. You’ll figure it out.”

Dan felt a flash of annoyance. “If you know anything relevant, you should go to the police before they come to you. Otherwise, you can be charged with withholding information.”

Jan brushed a length of hair over a shoulder. “Do you think I should turn myself into the police? I could do with a new set of head shots.”

“You should tell them whatever you know.”

“I don’t
know
anything. It’s all street talk. I’m just telling you — look closer to home. I think I heard that in a movie.”

“What movie?”

“The one with the bell tower and the bridge. Somebody jumps. I can’t remember the name of it.”

Dan felt a jolt at the mention of jumping. “Who jumps?”

“Some blond chick.”

“And what would I find if I looked closer to home?”

Jan shrugged. “I surely don’t know, baby. You should watch that movie and you might figure it out. You know somebody had to clean up that mess.”

Jan turned and sashayed down the sidewalk, hips sawing back and forth with as much conviction as Mae West exiting on a famous one-liner.

Twenty-Three

Post-Op

Inside police headquarters, Dan had barely waited a minute before he was ushered into Inspector Johnston’s office. She was friendly but businesslike as she offered him a seat.

“Thanks for coming in. It’s been busy since you were gone. As you no doubt know, I met one of your ex-clients, quite by coincidence as it turns out.”

“Yes, I heard. You asked Lionel to identify a body.”

She flashed him one of her rare smiles. “His business card was discovered on the body. When I heard his name, I recognized it thanks to you. The chief already knew it from the investigation.” She paused. “We think the suicide could be an admission of guilt on the ex-boyfriend’s part. If he killed Malevski, whether it was accidental or premeditated, then the grief may have hit him harder than he expected.”

“Then you’re convinced his death was suicide?”

“Young man jumps off a bridge in the dead of night with no witnesses?” Only her raised eyebrows said she might leave room for skepticism. “Until we have reason to believe otherwise.”

“So the fall was what killed him? No traces of Rohypnol or anything suggesting he might have been drugged and pushed over?”

“The fall definitely killed him. Rohypnol doesn’t stay in the body long, but toxicology reports for both Rohypnol and alcohol were negative.”

They stared one another down for a second.

“I find it suspicious that a suspect in the case dies before he can be found and questioned,” Dan said. “Particularly since Santiago was the one in charge of handing protection money over to corrupt cops.”

She sighed. “Me, too. But for now, I don’t have a lot to go on. Is there anything you can tell me?”

“I don’t have much to add, but I just had an encounter with a transwoman named Jan — sort of a fixture in the gay village. I don’t have any contact info. Jan knew Yuri and suggested I should look closer to home if I want to know who killed him.”

“Any idea what that means?”

Dan shook his head. “None, though I had a strange encounter with a next-door neighbour who calls himself Pig.”

“Charming. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

“Apparently it could have something to do with a movie about a bridge and a bell tower.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Tell me about Quebec again.”

Dan outlined briefly what occurred, how he’d been pursued by two men waiting outside his hotel, had grabbed one of them, then tackled a third before changing hotels.

“Did you report the incident to the police there?”

“No. I saw no point. As far as I can tell, it had nothing to do with why I went to Quebec. These guys were professionals.”

She gave him a wry look. “Not so professional you couldn’t outfight them.”

“True. Was there anything to report from your security detail on my home last night?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I had a patrol in place not long after midnight. There was nothing suspicious from then until the time you left in the morning. I have someone on your house now and we’ll keep him there for the time being. You’ll get ample warning should we decide to curtail the operation, in case you want to hire someone privately.”

“Thanks for that. I appreciated your getting there on such quick notice.”

She considered this for a moment. “The reason we were able to move so quickly on assigning you protection was that we had already considered it a possibility. In fact, we thought there was a chance you might be a target …”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up.

“… so we granted you emergency clearance.”

He managed a rueful smile. “Nice, but I could have done with a little security in Quebec.”

“You did have. We had a man tailing you there.”

Dan’s smile faded.

Lydia nodded. “Nothing official, of course. We don’t interfere in Quebec police operations. This was a private request from the chief, completely off the books.” She gave him a knowing look. “As he told me, you did him one hell of a favour once.”