Good Year For Murder (18 page)

“Except for your theory,” Tretheway said.

“Eh?”

“The love triangle. It's worth investigating.”

“Yes. Of course.” Zulp coughed self-consciously. He checked his watch. “That's a good point to finish on. You two anything to
add?” He looked across the room at Jake and Gum. They both shook their heads.

“We should really release Morgan,” Wan Ho said.

“I suppose,” Zulp agreed. He jumped up. “That's it, then. Routine police work. Hop to it.”

“Ah …” Tretheway ventured. “There's one more thing.”

“What now?” Zulp said.

Everyone looked at Tretheway.

“What about this month?” He looked at Zulp. “Just in case your theory doesn't … work out. Then I think something will happen in November.”

“Wouldn't hurt to have a back-up plan,” Wan Ho said. “Just in case.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Zulp sighed and sat down again. He was beginning to feel like a yo-yo.

“Have you picked a holiday?” Wan Ho asked.

Now Tretheway sighed. It seemed that even the traffic outside had stopped moving to hear his answer.

“November 11.”

“What?” Zulp said. The traffic noise picked up.

“Armistice Day.”

Zulp jumped up and leaned across his desk. Tretheway felt obligated to do the same, except for leaning across the desk. Zulp was three inches short of rubbing eyeballs with Tretheway. “Do you know something I don't know? You know I don't like surprises. Or secrets.”

“Nothing really,” Tretheway said, not backing off. “It's another educated guess.”

Before he could help himself, Zulp sat down again. “Please explain.”

“Nothing to explain,” Tretheway started. “Armistice Day is one week from today. Monday. I'm not sure how it'll happen. Probably something warlike. Gun. Hand grenade. Bayonet. Something fitting the occasion. And probably at the eleventh hour.” Tretheway felt for a cigar, then remembered where he was. “You know, it would really be fitting, for the murderer, I mean, if it happened at the Cenotaph.”

“At eleven o'clock?” Zulp asked. “During the service?”

“There'll be hundreds of people there,” Wan Ho said.

“I know,” Tretheway answered. “But there's been a boldness to
all of the murders. And the other things. They've always taken a chance. An unnecessary one. Where they could've been caught.”

“You think it's part of their procedure? Or maybe for a thrill?” Wan Ho said.

“Or a philosophy of some sort,” Tretheway said.

“I still say it's too risky for the murderer,” Zulp said. “I mean, right downtown. All those witnesses.”

“You're probably right,” Tretheway agreed. “But for safety's sake …”

“All right. All right,” Zulp said. “Extra men. Flying Squads, all that. I suppose you know who.”

“Pardon?” Tretheway said.

“Who's going to be shot. Or blown up. Or whatever.”

“It should be someone associated with the military.” Tretheway looked around the room. “Any suggestions?”

“Morgan Morgan was in the first World War,” Jake said.

“The Mayor was a fireman,” Wan Ho offered.

Tretheway looked at Zulp. “Anybody else?” He fished for an answer he knew already. “Isn't there anyone on Council you consider more military than anyone else?”

“Not really,” Zulp said. “These days everyone has some …” He slammed his palm on the desk top. “Wakeley! Major-General F. McKnight Wakeley!”

“That's right,” Wan Ho said. “Always saluting. Spit and polish. Wears a uniform more than a regular.”

“He marches, never walks,” Jake added. “Perfect.”

“He'd be my choice,” Tretheway said.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” Zulp said. “We should be making plans. Maybe alert the army. They'll be here anyway.”

“It's still conjecture,” Tretheway warned.

“Can't take a chance,” Zulp said.

“I agree,” Tretheway went on. “But I think here, safety lies in discretion. In silence. No one outside this room should know about this.”

A conspiracy appealed to Zulp as much as a flamboyant, complicated plan. “That's true,” he said. “Mum's the word.” His eyes flitted from face to face, coming to rest finally on the only civilian. “You got that, Gum?”

Gum nodded hastily.

“I have a couple of key men that should be told,” Wan Ho said. “They can be trusted.”

“You know best,” Tretheway said.

“You don't think we should tell the Council members?” Zulp stood up. He hoped the meeting was over.

“No,” Tretheway said. “Especially the Council members.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Wan Ho said.

“That's a two-edged sword,” Tretheway said.

“Cheaters never prosper,” Gum said.

Everyone stared at Gum.

During the next week only two pertinent events came to light. The first had to do with the young trick-or-treater who masqueraded as a Roman soldier. On investigation, his spear turned out to be an elaborate curtain rod since returned to its proper place in his mother's living room. It was intact.

The second discovery was due more to luck than good police work. It was mid-week, early morning. Tretheway and Jake were driving Alderman Gum to the City Hall on their way to Central. They were discussing the case in general.

“And to think I used to like holidays,” Gum groaned. “It's been a bad year, so far.”

“Except for January,” Jake said.

“Well … even then,” Gum said.

“Eh?” Tretheway started.

“Nothing special, really,” Gum said. “And it happened just to me.”

“On a holiday?” Tretheway asked.

“The first.”

“New Year's Day?” Tretheway's scalp went pins and needles. “You'd better tell me the whole thing. What happened? Where were you?”

“At your place,” Gum began.

“It happened there?” Tretheway asked.

“No, no. I was at your New Year's Eve party first. The one you always have. The whole Council was there. It was when I got home that it happened.”

Tretheway nodded. “Go on.”

“Well, by the time I got home and fell asleep,” Gum went on,
“it must've been two o'clock in the morning. Something woke me. Sounded like footsteps. Downstairs. I thought it was Mother at first. But then I heard more than one set. I jumped right out of bed and ran downstairs. I guess I made plenty of noise myself. Bumped into walls. Knocked a lamp over. I was half asleep. Anyway, when I got downstairs, no one was there. I think I heard footsteps again. Running. And a door close. But I can't be sure.”

“Why the hell didn't you call the police?” Tretheway said.

“Why? I never did see anything. Even outside. By the time I woke up completely, I thought maybe I'd dreamt the whole thing.”

“What about the door?” Tretheway asked.

“It was unlocked, but shut. No marks on it. I could've left it like that myself.”

“Then you think now that it was a dream?” Tretheway asked.

“There was one thing I couldn't figure.”

“What's that?”

“A lump of coal.”

“Eh?”

“Coal. A piece about as big as your fist. Just sitting on the table in the front hall.”

Tretheway stood up and walked around behind the chesterfield. “That rounds it out.” He clenched his hands behind his back as best he could. “I always wondered why it started in February.”

“What do you mean?” Gum asked. Jake, too, looked to Tretheway for an answer.

“What nationality are you?” Tretheway asked Gum.

“Pardon?”

“Where are you from? What country?”

“Canada.”

“And your parents?”

“The same.”

“Ever heard of first footing?” Tretheway asked.

Gum shook his head.

“Neither have I,” Jake said.

Tretheway shrugged his huge shoulders. “Colonists,” he muttered.

Near the end of the week, Tretheway thought it appropriate to check on the whereabouts and general well-being of Alderman
F. McKnight Wakeley. When contacted by phone, however, Wakeley's housekeeper told Tretheway that he was on manoeuvres with his Cadet Corps unit.

“Will he be back in time for the Armistice Day program?” Tretheway asked her.

“Oh, he'd rather die than miss that,” she said.

Tretheway winced at her choice of words.

On Sunday MacCulla arrived at the Tretheways' to participate in the weekly tramp through the woods. Before they left, Tretheway and Jake had a brief discussion of last minute details about the special preparations for Armistice Day. Fred, the Labrador, also went with them. O. Pitts decided to go at the last minute.

It was sunny, but bracing. The two inches of snow that had fallen earlier showed the busy, frantic tracks of small animals. Once in the woods, there was little conversation, except for O. Pitts. Tretheway, muffled against the fifteen-knot wind, ignored Pitts the several times he tried to bring up the murders. Jake remained polite but didn't encourage him. And MacCulla showed no interest at all.

Sunday's weather held through Monday. The sun sparkled shamelessly in the clear atmosphere and the snow crunched coldly under the feet of the many celebrants now gathered around the Cenotaph. Flags snapping noisily in the breeze provided the only colour against the sombre background of civilian mourning dress and wartime uniforms.

The largest contingent, by far, was the RFYLI. As well as full battalion of regular foot soldiers, they supplied a reserve unit, a platoon of WWI veterans, a colour party and a section of duty buglers. The Navy and Air Force were also well represented. Cadets from all three services, each affiliated with an active unit, had marched in the parade with the men they might one day replace. And the ever-present Scouts, Cubs and Girl Guides made up the youngest group.

All these troops, or apprentice soldiers, were lined up where the parade had snaked to a halt around the wide boulevard in the heart of downtown Fort York. They surrounded the Cenotaph. In the very centre of the grass strip, circling the monument itself, stood the City Council and other dignitaries. A generous sprinkling
of policemen, both uniformed and plainclothed, moved unobtrusively through the crowd. And, of course, there were many spectators.

Tretheway and Jake had stationed themselves close to F. McKnight Wakeley. Neither had a chance to talk at length to the Alderman but both commented on how unconcerned he appeared. But then, Tretheway thought, Wakeley never seems too concerned about anything.

The crowd grew quiet in anticipation of the eleventh hour. Tretheway scanned faces. At a sudden command from a leather-lunged Sergeant-Major, the parade jumped to attention. Even the city fathers stopped shuffling.

Fifty yards away, in the shadow of Sir John A. McDonald's statue, a young Sub-Lieutenant growled the order, “Fire!” One of two naval cannons, surrounded by kneeling Sea Cadets, leaped backwards with a roar that marked eleven o'clock exactly. Its echoes rebounded from building to building as the City Hall clock chimed the hour. The wind dispersed the cannon's smoke immediately. Flags dipped. All eyes, except policemen's, respectfully faced the ground. The silence seemed much longer than two minutes. Wind rattled the flag halliards. A street car bell clanged in the distance. Pigeons cooed. A young Cub Scout sneezed. Tretheway was aware of other policemen scanning the crowd.

A roar from the second cannon, marking the end of two minutes' silence, startled Tretheway. Five duty buglers brought five sterling silver ceremonial bugles to their lips. The Bugle-Major barked the order, “Sound!” The sad notes of the Last Post filled the frosty air. Officers saluted through the call and the following lonely piper's lament, dropping their arms only when the buglers began the Rouse.

Tretheway noticed a group of about thirty young spectators edging towards the Cenotaph. He grabbed Jake by the arm.

“Who the hell are they?”

“I don't know,” Jake said.

At an unseen signal, the boys lined up quickly in orderly ranks of three and dramatically threw their coats off to reveal spanking white cassocks over vibrant, electric blue gowns. They began singing, “O Valiant Hearts”.

“Jezuz!” Tretheway gasped.

“A choir,” Jake said unnecessarily.

This was a signal for the wreath-laying to begin. The Lieutenant Governor of the Province laid the first. He was followed by the Mayor, several WWI veterans, a Silver Cross woman and other distinguished guests of the city. The choir finished their hymn, sang another and, when the ceremony was over, broke into “God Save the King”.

When the RFYLI Chaplain came forward to give the Benediction, everyone knew the Armistice Day program was almost over.

Jake looked inquisitively at Tretheway.

Tretheway looked puzzled. “I don't think anything's going to happen.”

“Nothing?” Jake said.

“It would've happened by now.” Tretheway noticed Zulp through the crowd. He was craning his neck as though looking for something, or someone. His face seemed redder than usual. Jake saw him, too.

“I think the Chief …”

“I see him,” Tretheway interrupted.

When the November murder did take place a week later, and the furore it caused had settled down a little, Jake tried, unsuccessfully, to console his boss.

“You said it would be Wakeley.”

Tretheway nodded.

“And you said at the Cenotaph.”

“I know.”

“You were just a week early.”

“You're batting .666.”

“What's that mean?”

“You got two out of three.”

“Then why didn't you say that?”

“Just baseball talk.”

Tretheway didn't pursue the subject.

Following the Armistice ceremony, Tretheway had a terse onesided discussion with Zulp while they were still at the Cenotaph.