Good Year For Murder (22 page)

Tretheway put the broken spike down and went immediately into November.

“And I don't have to remind you of the Wakeley killing. Boldness. They could've been discovered. Or shot. They didn't know poor old Wakeley would forget about his safety catch. And a Mauser's a German pistol. Our man may be a bad shot, but as the leader he had the biggest gun. And the ceremony. You can guess who said, ‘War is nothing …' “

“…'but a duel on an extensive scale,'” Jake finished. “Clausewitz.”

The two men sat quietly for a minute. Jake recklessly finished his beer. Tretheway drained his bottle. He looked at Jake questioningly. Jake nodded. Tretheway went to the ice-box and took out two more quarts.

“Let's take these downstairs and heat up some of Addie's rhubarb pie,” Tretheway suggested. He stood up.

“Right.” Jake rose unsteadily. “One thing first though. These people, hell, the enemy. Are they trying to take over the government? The Fort York government?”

“Disrupt,” Tretheway corrected. “Completely disrupt is a better way of putting it. Haven't you noticed things slowing down at City Hall? The Council's not running as smoothly as before. They're planning a by-election shortly, but there are five people missing right now. Six, counting Henry Plain.”

“So the killer's plan is working.”

“Let's just hope it's not going on in every Canadian city.”

“Do you know …” Jake stopped, then started again. “Do you know who it is?”

“I think so.” There was a trace of sadness in Tretheway's voice.

The forbidding evil visions and unanswered questions that whirled around Jake's head that night played second fiddle to the effects of the unaccustomed three quarts of beer. He slept well, or at least deeply. When Jake finally reached the breakfast table on Saturday morning, he learned that Tretheway had already left the house.

“Where'd he go, Addie?” Jake asked.

“He walked over to King Street. Christmas shopping, he said.”

For the rest of the day, Jake helped Addie around the house, stripping beds, picking up rooms and moving furniture out of her sweeper's way. It was a busy time of year for the boarding house. All the servicemen and students except O. Pitts would be gone by next weekend—the weekend before Christmas. Every night there were impromptu farewell parties with their tearful, if temporary, goodbyes. Addie remembered all her boarders with a knitted something—tea cosy, muffler, diamond socks—while they reciprocated mainly with potted plants.

During the following week, Jake had little time to ask Tretheway about the next holiday, what with his own Christmas shopping and the unavoidable turkey rolls and parties. And Tretheway had not encouraged any discussion. On the Monday before Christmas, the twenty-third, Jake finally broached the subject.

It was late evening. Jake was in the cellar watching Tretheway shovel coal into the furnace. The two of them and Addie had just returned from the Annual Police Christmas Concert. Tretheway sang every year with the police chorus and this Christmas his patriotic, rich baritone rendition of “Land of Hope and Glory” had knocked the audience, mostly policemen, out of their seats. Their applause demanded more. Tretheway encored with a tender, unaccompanied version of a contemporary favourite, “Love Walked In”. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.

Tretheway hummed the same song now as Jake watched him manhandle large shovelfuls of coal into the furnace's fiery opening like so many spoonfuls of sugar.

“Nice tune,” Jake said.

“Good melody,” Tretheway agreed.

“Should I be worried?”

“Eh?” Tretheway stopped shovelling.

“About the next holiday,” Jake said. “I'm sorry, but I've some questions.”

Tretheway flung one last shovelful of coal into the furnace then slammed the door. “Like what?”

“You don't have to tell me who the killer is.”

“Go on.”

“But when will it happen? Christmas is coming. Who's the victim? I think I should know.”

“You're right.” Tretheway put the shovel down. “I was going to tell you. Now's as good a time as any.”

Jake dusted off an old kitchen chair. He sat down and crossed his legs.

“Enjoy Christmas,” Tretheway said. “I'd say New Year's Eve. That's the time. And right here. That's the place.”

“Here? In the basement?”

“In the house, somewhere.”

“But we'll be here. And Wan Ho. And Zulp. And the whole bloody City Council …”

“ ‘Boldness is the stamp of a hero',” Tretheway quoted.

Jake was beginning to regret his questions. “What about the victim? Who do you think it'll be?”

“This is a biggie.”

“Eh?” Jake definitely felt uneasy.

“This is the last one. The coup de grace. The end of the year. I think he'll go for the bundle.”

“The bundle?” Jake went white.

“The whole City Council. Or, at least, as many as possible.”

“But how?”

“That I don't know. How would you do it?”

“Eh?”

“How would you get rid of a bunch of people? In one place? At a New Year's Eve party?”

“I don't know.” Jake thought for a moment. “Food poisoning?”

“I never thought of that.” Tretheway looked troubled.

“Just a suggestion.”

“Tea's ready, Jake!” Addie shouted from the top of the cellar stairs. She knew there was no sense in asking Tretheway if he wanted tea after the sun had dipped under the yardarm. “And there's some fresh cake if you want it.”

“No cake, Addie,” Jake answered a little too fast. He smiled self-consciously at Tretheway. “I'm just not hungry.”

Christmas itself was a quiet time for the Tretheways. With the exception of O. Pitts, all of the boarders were absent. It was a period of recuperative calm compared with the regular frantic University semesters.

On Christmas Eve, Fred the Labrador's owners dropped in with
Fred for a quick drink and ended up carolling around the piano. Tretheway's voice was, of course, the strongest and led the group, while Jake's and Addie's blended pleasantly together in the background. The neighbours sang adequately because they were church people. O. Pitts' enthusiasm almost made up for his tone deafness.

Christmas morning, Tretheway rose early, as he did every year, and roused the others. Then he, Jake, Addie, and O. Pitts sat around the Christmas tree in the sunroom and exchanged presents before breakfast.

Tretheway gave Addie a giant gift package of Evening in Paris cosmetics, a large garish, glamour pin—that she'd probably store away in her drawer with the other heavy jewellery Tretheway favoured—and some cash. Addie gave Tretheway a maroon smoking jacket with black satin lapels that she said would be much more comfortable than his old sweat shirts. Jake and Addie exchanged cashmere sweaters. Tretheway thought they were too expensive and too personal, but he didn't say anything.

Other gifts between the four of them included playing cards, cigars, books, whiskey, ties, socks and handkerchiefs. A mystery package under the tree turned out to be a huge red dish for Fred the Labrador that Tretheway had bought and wrapped himself. O. Pitts gave Jake and Addie each a small Bible.

For some reason, he gave Tretheway a joke book.

The gift-giving and the sumptuous Christmas dinner that followed helped keep their thoughts away from the Holiday Killer. Besides, Addie said to herself, nothing bad ever happens on Christmas Day. But when Christmas passed and then the weekend, they all girded themselves mentally for the end of the year.

On Monday, the day before the New Year's Eve party, Jake noticed his boss carrying a number of books towards the stairs. He watched while Tretheway put them on the hall table and went into the parlour. Jake, ostensibly examining his features in the hall mirror, sneaked a look at the titles. Tretheway appeared suddenly with half a cigar he had retrieved from the parlour ashtray. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, eh Jake?” He snatched his books from the table and went upstairs to his room, but not before Jake had managed to see some titles:
The Dangerous Properties of Industrial Explosives, Poison Parade, Asphyxiating and Lethal Gases, The Microbe in Warfare,
and one entitled simply,
Massacres.

At eight o'clock on New Year's Eve, Addie finally sat down in
the parlour beside Jake. She wore a long formal dress but had casually covered her shoulders with her new cashmere cardigan. Jake's sweater was visible under his dark suit. Tretheway sat across the room resplendent in his new smoking jacket. O. Pitts could be heard moving glasses around in the kitchen.

“I think everything's done,” Addie sighed.

Tretheway and Jake had laboured for more than an hour before dinner. They had rolled up some of the rugs, moved the Christmas tree into a corner away from the open fireplace and shovelled snow from the verandah and front sidewalk. But Addie had worked hard all day. Small, dainty sandwiches were piled on numerous serving trays. Ice cubes, borrowed from neighbours, filled the icebox. Soft drinks, a case of soda siphons and forty-eight quarts of Molson Blue were cooling on the back porch. The floors gleamed where they showed around the scatter rugs, except in the sun-room where talcum powder had been spread for dancing. Paper hats, horns and other noisemakers were at the ready in the kitchen. A traditional ham warmed in the oven; fresh bread, cookies and heavy cakes filled the pantry.

“I can't do anything else, anyway,” Addie said. “It's too late.”

The doorbell rang. Tretheway and Jake stood up while Addie left the parlour to answer the door.

“Hello, Sergeant,” they heard her say. “Gentlemen. Step in out of the cold.”

“Addie,” Wan Ho acknowledged. “Are we the first?”

“Somebody has to be.”

Tretheway and Jake went to the front door to greet Wan Ho and the three plainclothesmen who were there, if anybody asked, to mix and serve drinks. During the hellos and discarding of coats, the doorbell ran again.

“Jake,” Tretheway suggested, “why don't you show the boys where everything is? Liquor, glasses, ice cubes.” He lowered his voice. “Doors, windows, general layout.” His voice returned to normal. “I'll get the door.”

“Right.” Jake led the first four arrivals to the kitchen.

When Tretheway opened the front door, his shadow fell across the smiling face of Bartholomew Gum and what he first thought were four RCMP officers on the verandah behind the Alderman.

“Bartholomew?” Tretheway questioned.

“Evening, Inspector.” Gum turned to the group behind him.
“Boys, this is Inspector Tretheway.” They gave Tretheway a smart Scout salute.

“Isn't that nice,” Addie said from behind Tretheway. “Ask them in, Albert.”

Tretheway stepped out of the way and looked a question at Addie.

“Bartholomew thought it'd be nice if the boys could serve sandwiches and things. And so did I. His mother couldn't come,” she explained.

“We certainly have enough help now,” Tretheway said, still smiling. He missed the look that passed over Addie's face. “This way, boys.”

Emmett O'Dell arrived next. A Scout, who appeared suddenly at his side, peeled the Alderman's coat from his back to reveal a new, bright green blazer that he had given himself for Christmas.

“What a pretty coat,” Addie said.

“Thank you.” Emmett O'Dell smiled. “It was a present.”

For the next fifteen minutes, there was a steady stream of guests.

The most conspicuous entrance was made by Joseph Pennylegion, or really, the Pennylegion party. From out of the two long sleek black sedans parked at the foot of the Tretheways' sidewalk, Controller Pennylegion led his group up the verandah steps and through the door.

“Miss Tretheway.” He bowed and doffed his white beaver hat. His dark grey coat, trimmed with Persian lamb and lined with shimmering scarlet satin, was draped over his shoulders like a cape.

“Controller Pennylegion.” Addie looked over his head at the others.

The present Mrs Pennylegion (his second) was right behind her husband (her first). She was much younger then he with hair the same flaming red as his. Her too-tight fuschia evening gown made walking difficult. The four others—aides, bodyguards, or as Tretheway called them, the tasters—nodded silently at Addie as they passed. They wore tuxedos, while Controller Pennylegion sported a fashionable white dinner jacket.

“Thought maybe they could change records or something,” Pennylegion said.

“Oh, dear,” Addie said, but she smiled.

Morgan Morgan and Gertrude Valentini arrived at the same
time, although not together. With his regimental tie and the miniature medals that he was entitled to wear on formal occasions, Morgan looked every bit the successful military campaigner, even in mufti.

Mrs Valentini wore a long dress she had cut and sewn herself in which she still looked motherly, but festive. It was red, white and green with ruffles. She carried a bulky matching purse.

“Don't you look Christmasy,” Addie remarked.

Tretheway thought she also resembled the Italian flag. He left the hall area to ease the congestion and, at the same time, to check on the party. Soon after, Mac arrived with his four Sea Scouts.

Tretheway knew about Wan Ho's extra men and Gum's Scouts. The Pennylegion helpers were a surprise. And Addie had simply forgotten to tell her brother about accepting Mac's kind offer of extra help.

“Here we are, Addie.” Mac led his patrol in. “Where do you want the boys?”

“Oh, dear,” Addie said again, but she didn't smile.

Tretheway pushed his way back through the new arrivals. He motioned Addie over. “Who are they?” he asked.

“They're Mac's Scouts,” Addie explained. “They're going to help.”

“Addie, we've got more helpers than guests.”