Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery (19 page)

“Oh my god, Roz, what just happened?” she said. “McBride…He didn't shoot McBride did he?”

I looked back through the now wide-open doorway in time to see McBride take a flying tackle, land on Spiegle and pull him to the floor.

“Nope,” I said. “He looks healthy to me.”

“I shouldn't have moved. I didn't think…I just had to get out of there.” She was trembling.

“It's okay Sophie, take it easy. God, you've been through so much. It's okay.”

I helped her up and we all peered in through the open door. By this time, Arbuckle and the two sergeants had disarmed Spiegle and hauled him to his feet. They put cuffs on him.

As the three of us stepped into the house, Arbuckle began to read him his rights. “Get him out of here,” he said to the officers when he was done. One of the officers immediately put in a call to the police van that was waiting around the corner on Robie.

Arbuckle looked at Spiegle and said, “Better get your lawyer on the phone. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”

“What are you charging me with?” Spiegle asked.

“For starters try kidnapping, holding someone against her will, and attempted murder. You're just lucky I didn't shoot you when you discharged that weapon.”

As he was being hauled out of the house, Spiegle looked back at McBride with pure venom.

McBride, who'd been leaning on the kitchen door frame getting his breath, looked at me. “That's two,” he said as Spiegle disappeared. “Oh gosh, that reminds me, don't go anywhere, Arbuckle.”

He walked over and opened the door to the water closet and lifted the lid off the toilet tank. Arbuckle looked bewildered as McBride was poking around in the tank.

“What's up?” I said to Sophie.

“Wait for it,” she answered with a mischievous grin.

Finally, McBride pulled out the silver skeleton key, came into the hall and handed it, still dripping, to Arbuckle.

“Whenever you're ready for him, he's right in the closet there. He's having a nap.”

“Matrix-man?” I asked.

“That's right.”

“Now there's a nasty piece of work,” I said.

“That's three,” McBride said.

“We'll take care of this. Go home and get some rest,” Arbuckle said.

We started out the door and I turned to Arbuckle. “When you were at the station was there any news about Aziz?”

“No change,” Arbuckle said. “Still not conscious.”

As we walked away from the house, we were silent. It felt good just to breathe and to know that we were all alive and well. The four of us got into Old Solid, and as I put the car in gear, Sophie let out a long audible sigh of relief.

“What time is it anyway?” she asked.

“I'm still on Vancouver time,” McBride replied.

“But, do I have rehearsal?”

“Don't worry. I told them we have the flu,” I reassured her.

“I'm starving,” Sophie said.

As we drove along Robie Street towards the North End, Harvie suggested we all go our separate ways for a little rest and meet up at his place in a couple of hours for a good meal.

“Perfect idea, ” I said, turning right at the Commons and heading down towards Agricola.

There was a loud noise from the back seat. McBride was snoring.

Later that afternoon,
Sophie and I got back into Old Solid and made our way up to Harvie's house on Black Street. I had brought her back to my place so she could have a shower and a decent nap and not have to face her ransacked apartment on an empty stomach. McBride had declined Harvie's dinner invitation, saying he was going to turn off his phone and sleep until he woke up.

“What a nice place,” I said as we climbed the stairs into Harvie's flat. Harvie let the lower apartment and lived on the second floor.

“And—it smells delicious!” Sophie said. “What are you up to out there in that kitchen, Harvie?”

“Sit down and you'll find out,” Harvie said, appearing at the top of the stairs in a dark brown “Guinness is good for you” apron and holding a bottle of Pinot grigio in his hand.

We sat down at the round table in his dining room as he opened the wine and poured us each a glass. We held our glasses out in a toast.

“Here's to McBride,” Sophie said. “I think he saved my life today. I wish he was here.”

We cheered him together and drank. The wine was superb.

“Yeah,” I said. “From the moment he appeared out of nowhere last night, just as I was about to unearth the file for Scarface, and then climbing that insane ladder, right through to tackling Carl Spiegle today, he was definitely scoring hero points.”

“So you did have the file?” Harvie said, scrutinizing me.

“I did, Harvie. I found it in Sophie's apartment, but I didn't want you to be compromised by knowing I had it.”

“I definitely would have told Arbuckle.”

“I know.” I smiled at him.

“Well, in any case Roz, you were no slouch yourself. You handled a vicious assault. You sussed out where Sophie was being kept, and later you figured out where they took her. Amazing, I think.”

“Stop it. I had lots of help,” I said, pointing at Harvie.

“To Roz,” Sophie said, holding up her glass.

“To all of us,” I said in response. We drained our glasses.

“And now for my heroic act,” Harvie said, giving us each a refill. “Getting the food to the people.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“What do you mean, climbing that insane ladder?” Sophie asked.

“Well, after you managed that clever manoeuvre of dropping your boot from the lift…”

“Oh yeah, that's when buddy walloped me.” She carefully touched the multi-coloured bruise on her cheek. “Ow.”

I described how McBride had climbed the sixty-foot ladder because the guard had locked off the elevator, how the tracker dog had led us to the frightening evidence in the security office, and how I then realized just who the guard was.

Harvie reappeared with a platter, then went back into the kitchen, returning immediately with a large china soup terrine.

He had prepared an astonishing Italian meal beginning with
Bruchetta con ruchetta
, or crusty Italian bread with arugula, accompanied by an excellent hearty soup,
Minestrone alla Genovese
. Sophie and I wasted no time filling our bowls. We could feel the soup healing us with every spoonful. The dinner had the feel of a joyous festival.

“You're definitely living in a different economic bracket from me,” Sophie teased Harvie as he produced another excellent wine to have with the main course. She was beginning to relax. I couldn't help tearing up when I looked at her.

“I'm sure it's just the guilt, Roz,” Sophie said.

“It is the guilt. I can't tell you how stupid I feel for dragging you into this whole thing.”

“Are you kidding? You tried hard to stop me from getting involved while McBride was away and you couldn't. I take full responsibility. Look, no guilt, okay?—just throw guilt right out the window and let's dig in to this fantastic main course.”

Harvie was setting down a platter loaded with salmon-stuffed pasta triangles in cream sauce.

“This is unbelievable,” Sophie said tasting it. “Maybe I did die.”

“Well we have the incomparable Giuliano Bugialli to thank for these recipes. Anyway Roz, I had to do something with that salmon I was about to cook for you when all this started yesterday,” he said as we effused over the pasta dish.

“Yesterday?” I said. “Was that just yesterday?”

“It's still the weekend as far as I know. Otherwise, I'm in big trouble, I'd be missing court.”

“So Harvie,” I said, picking up the cue, “we need to discuss the trial. Don't you think that as the new, hot Crown Prosecutor, you can use this situation to put the spotlight on issues that were extremely important to Peter King?

“First of all, I would have to be assigned to the case by the Chief Crown Attorney. I'll look into that in the morning—let's take one step at a time.”

“But you're perfect for this case,” I said, pressing further. “I mean, you were once a councillor so you know the ins and outs at the City. You're familiar with the World Trade Organization and the privatization issues around water, right?”

“Right Roz. But given my involvement in the events of the last couple of days, I could potentially be called as a witness—which would mean I couldn't lead the charge. However, I'll certainly try to be an investigating attorney on the case for the present. And what about you? Do you want to be a researcher for us? We could work on it together.”

“Are you serious, Harvie? I can't think of anything I'd rather do. This case runs deep for me.”

“Let's keep talking,” he said.

I smiled. “Excellent.”

“And speaking of serious and deep,” Harvie said, “I think it's time to bring out the
pièce de résistance
!”

“What! What is it?” Sophie asked.

“Time to unmask the Mascarpone Carnivale…my own invention…a triple cream extravaganza!”

Sophie and I shrieked and banged our feet and clinked our glasses in excitement, which made Harvie laugh.

In the midst of all this, the phone rang, and Harvie went out in the hall to answer it as Sophie and I snuck gooey sweet spoonfuls of Mascarpone Carnivale.

Harvie appeared in the doorway saying into the phone, “I can't tell you how pleased we'd be to have you join us for dessert. We'll hold off until you get here. Hey! You two put those spoons down! Yeah that's right—just below Fuller Terrace.”

“The man of the hour,” Harvie said hanging up.

“Shit, you mean we have to share this?” Sophie said.

“Yeah, let's just eat it all now and give him a dry biscuit when he gets here.” Sophie and I dissolved into hysterics.

When McBride arrived he was on his own, explaining that the events of the last couple of days had worn Molly right out.

“And how are you? Did you get some rest?” I asked.

“A little spinny—but getting there. I thought some sugar might help.” He was eyeing the dessert.

“And can I pour you a glass?” Harvie asked.

“I'll pass, but a cup of tea would go down easy.”

“You bet, anyone else for tea?”

“Yes please—I'll finally get my cup of tea.” Sophie looked at McBride.

“That's right—those two weren't very accommodating, were they?” McBride said. “But actually, if Spiegle hadn't gone downstairs to look for tea for you…It's hard to know whether we would have had time to get that nuisance locked into the closet.”

“I can't wait to see that creep in court,” Sophie said.

“I heard Greta call him a cretin,” McBride said.

“That makes sense,” I said. “The word has a French-Swiss root.”

“Now Roz, how do you know that?”

“I don't know. It must have come up in a play I worked on at some point.” I proceeded to ask McBride about witnessing Greta at the house and what had transpired there. I explained that Daniel had left me a message saying his mother would be in town to sign papers at the bank. “He's going to be very upset about his mother's involvement in all this. It certainly sounds as though she's been having some kind of entanglement with Spiegle.”

“He's so gross,” Sophie shuddered.

“Like a mildewed ear?” I asked.

“That's it exactly,” she said.

Harvie brought out the teapot and set it on the sideboard. McBride quickly moved to pour Sophie her tea. He brought it over and set it down on the table in front of her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he leaned down, looking closely at her bruised face, “How are you doing anyway, Sophie?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, you know…a little banged up, that's all. But I'm pretty tough, eh. And I'm safe now—thanks to you.” She suddenly pulled him towards her and gave him a great big kiss that was ardently reciprocated.

Harvie, who had been watching this exchange with fascination, cleared his throat. “Well come on you guys. Serve yourselves. That mascarpone's not going to jump onto your plates by itself.”

That was all we needed to hear. Ten minutes later we were fighting over the last of it and scraping the bowl out with our fingers.

The phone rang and Harvie answered it in the hall. “Yes they are, they're all here actually. How are you, Donald…No rest for the wicked? Okay. Let me write that down. Got it—yeah good, thanks. Good night.”

Harvie reappeared in the dining room doorway and told us that Arbuckle had called to say that Aziz had come out of his coma and was apparently doing remarkably well. Arbuckle passed along the hospital room number since he'd probably be well enough to see visitors. “Oh boy, that's good news, eh?” Harvie said.

“Wow. That's fantastic news.” I looked at Sophie, who immediately burst into tears.

“Oh thank heavens,” she said. “I was so afraid he was going to die.”

As I made my way home from Harvie's
I wondered where Greta had gone after McBride watched her disappear in a taxi. I was almost numb from the day's roller-coaster ride of fear and exhilaration culminating in the arrest of Carl Spiegle. Harvie's wonderful repast and several glasses of wine had relaxed me to the point of wanting nothing more than to fall over into my bed, but I knew it was best to locate Greta sooner rather than later, so when I got in I called around to the local hotels. When this yielded no information I left a message for Daniel King in Ontario. He returned my call a short time later—but he had no idea where his mother was. He could only inform me she had an appointment to sign papers at the bank the following day. He said he would try to track her down for me.

I told him that a lot had happened and explained that his family residence had briefly become a kind of headquarters for the thugs who had assaulted McBride in the parking lot. I refrained from mentioning Spiegle's name or speculating on Greta's possible involvement with him. Nor did I let on that she had been observed at the house.