Murder at the Movies (11 page)

On Wednesday, the last day of May, the clement weather continued into the night. Fleecy clouds vainly chased the bright moon. Stars glittered. Moonlight reflected brokenly on the rippley waters of Fort York Harbour. The clear conditions made it easy for the three man crew of the
Judge Millander
to spot the fireboat. The same breeze that pushed the clouds across the sky easily carried the crackling of flames over the open water.

“What the hell's that?” the Skipper shouted. He spun the wheel of the small tug-cum-police-boat toward the burning vessel.

“A boat on fire,” the second crew member answered.

“Looks like a sailboat,” the third said.

As they closed in, the dry cotton sail of the flaming boat exploded in a fireball that for an instant lit up the whole of Fort York Harbour. But it seemed to expend the fire's strength. By the time the
Judge Millander's
steel hull nudged the wooden sailboat, the fire appeared manageable. Buckets of sand and water from the tug, along with more water from a primitive but effective stirrup pump, turned the remaining flames into heavy smoke.

With the two boats roughly grappled together, the Skipper ran the beam of the tug's high-powered
spot-light up and down the length of the smouldering craft. Crewman number three jumped aboard. He prodded a turning bulge with a boat hook.

“Gawd.”

“What is it?” the Skipper shouted.

“Looks like a body.”

“What?”

“With his arms crossed. Like he was laid out.”

The Skipper swung the spotlight to where the crewman pointed. A partially scorched cadaver stood out starkly in the harsh light. The crewman stumbled backward over another, smaller lump at its feet.

“Gawd,” he said again.

“Now what?”

“I think it's a dog.”

The beam of light swung away.

“Don't touch anything,” the Skipper ordered. “Rig up a tow and come aboard. Quickly.” He picked up the ship-to-shore that connected the police boat to Central.

The
Judge Millander
chugged shoreward, its smoking funeral pyre in tow.

June first fell on a Thursday. Chief Zulp's head throbbed. His skin appeared more leathery, more creased and, despite a nine o'clock bath, he looked unkempt. Strands of unruly grey hair stood on end and pointed in different directions. A smudge marred his celluloid collar. He had been awake most of the night heading up the murder investigation.

“Well, Tretheway?” Zulp's deep tone approached plaintive. His net had brought in nothing. Never backward about jumping on the appropriate bandwagon, he had called Tretheway in to pursue the movie theory. “What do you make of it?”

Tretheway adjusted his bulk in the confining wooden armchair. He and Basil Horsborough were both fresh from a good night's sleep. Horsborough had been called downtown to identify the remnants of the stolen French tricolour and the charred but salvageable Mark One Lee-Enfield rifle with bayonet, both found on the burned sailboat. They sat directly in front of Zulp's formidable desk. A heavy-lidded Wan Ho shared the slippery leather sofa with a bright-eyed Jake. Zulp and Wan Ho had briefed everyone on the night's events. It was now mid-morning.

Tretheway looked at Jake. “I don't think there's any doubt.”

Jake nodded. “There's only one movie that fits.”

“
Beau Geste
,” Tretheway said.

“Bo what?” Zulp said.

“Geste,” Tretheway said. “A family name. There were three brothers. Beau, a nickname for Michael, Digby and John. They ran away from England, a question of family honour, to join the Foreign Legion. A beau geste. Or beautiful gesture. Double entendre.”

“You see,” Jake began, “one of them stole a rare sapphire from Lady Brandon …”

“What has all this got to do with a burning boat in the middle of Fort York Harbour?” Zulp interrupted.

“We're coming to it,” Tretheway said. He decided to skip over the opening sequence of dead defenders.
“There's a flashback that shows the Geste brothers as children. They give Beau a pretend Viking's funeral. A toy sailboat. A tin soldier stands in for Beau. A tiny Union Jack to cover him up. Toy weapons. And also in keeping with Viking tradition, a pet. In this case a china dog. They set the whole thing on fire and push the boat out into the pond. Beau makes them promise to give him the same send-off when he grows up. When he really dies. Kids would promise something like that.” Tretheway looked around. He noticed that although Zulp showed a slight impatience, so far his eyes had not turned to glass. “So, near the end of the movie,” he continued, “after Beau is killed at Fort Zinderneuf, his brothers once again give him a Viking's funeral. Of course there's no boat. They put him in his bunk. With his weapons. Cover him with the French flag, the only one available, and start the fire.”

“Don't forget the dog,” Jake said.

Tretheway smiled. “That was a nice touch. No dog. So they laid Sergeant Markoff at his feet.”

“Sergeant Markoff was the villain,” Jake explained.

“Is that relevant?” Zulp asked.

“Not really,” Jake said.

“Then get on with it.” Zulp rubbed his temples.

“Our Fan tried to duplicate the movie,” Tretheway said. “As best he could. The burning boat, I'm sure stolen. The dog, probably a stray. The rifle and flag from the museum.” He looked at Wan Ho. “And you say the murdered man was a vagrant.”

“That's right,” Wan Ho said. “Looks like an arbitrary choice. Target of opportunity.”

“Maybe,” Tretheway said. “But he was a tramp. A knight of the open road.”

“What are you getting at?” Wan Ho asked.

“A hobo,” Tretheway said. “Sometimes shortened to Bo.”

Wan Ho whistled.

“I never thought of that,” Jake said. “How was he killed?”

“Doc Nooner's still working on it,” Wan Ho said.

“It doesn't matter,” Tretheway said. “Our Fan simply needed a body.”

After a short silence, Zulp spoke. “Is that it?”

“Except for the sailboat,” Tretheway said.

“Eh?”

“The central theme of
Beau Geste
was a stolen gem. All events revolved around a sapphire. It gave meaning to the title.”

“So?” Zulp said.

“It was called the Blue Water.”

“The name of the sailboat,” Wan Ho said.

Tretheway nodded. So did Jake.

“So the boat wasn't a random choice?” Wan Ho asked.

“No,” Tretheway said. “It was calculated. We're dealing with a planner.”

Everyone sat with his thoughts for a moment.

Horsborough broke the quiet. “When can I have my rifle and bayonet back?”

Zulp ignored him. “I have to admit it's a strong case. Plausiple,” he admitted. “But where are we going? Still no motive.” He looked at Tretheway. “What now?”

Tretheway shrugged. “It's hard to predict.”

Jake and Wan Ho shook their heads.

Zulp leaned back in his high, throne-like chair. He stared at the ceiling. Everyone ogled the quivering
folds of his neck as he did his lip thing. “
Birth of a Nation
,” he said.

“Pardon?” Tretheway said.

“Last movie I saw. Couldn't get into it. No sound. No colour.” Zulp dropped his gaze. He stood up abruptly, shooting his wheeled chair into the wall behind. “Back to business,” he said, signalling the end of the meeting.

That evening Zulp attended his first movie in over twenty years.

Back to business for Wan Ho and the detectives meant running down the few precious leads of the previous night. They traced the owner of the
Blue Water
easily enough, but he hadn't used the boat for a week. It had been moored across the bay with a fleet of small boats loosely connected under the name, Wellington Square Yacht Club; no dues, no clubhouse, only seven moorings, and at that time of night, deserted.

The victim was officially declared a John Doe, killed by a blow to the head before the burning, and the dog a stray. A positive note was the recovery of one Lee-Enfield rifle with bayonet. Basil Horsborough accepted the weapon gratefully but did little to hide his disappointment about the irreplaceable French tricolour.

Leads fizzled. The investigation bogged down until it was expediently pushed aside for other matters. The seemingly senseless killing of a vagrant and a stray dog paled beside the imminent, once-in-a-life-time Royal Visit.

Which is what back to business meant to Tretheway. He and Jake spent all their time up to the 2:45 Wednesday afternoon arrival of the Sovereigns checking and re-checking the parade route, traffic control, barricades, dress codes, protocol and the logistics of moving men and vehicles during the procession. These worrisome details kept them busy and away from other activities, even the movies.

Although the King's and Queen's stay was to end at 4:09 the same afternoon, it was the longest and most carefully organized hour and a half in the history of Fort York. Except for a skeleton staff manning the police stations, all one hundred and sixty of FY's finest drew street duty. As well, eighty-five Toronto policemen (including ten motorcyclists), fifty FY firemen sworn in as Special Constables, an RCMP Detachment and CN Railway Police fleshed out the FYPD ranks to control the expected three hundred thousand spectators.

On the auspicious day, even the weather fell into line. As though by proclamation a royal golden sun shone in a royal blue sky. This did little however to soothe Tretheway's impatience as he awaited the Royal Couple. He headed up a group of ten FY policemen, twenty more from Toronto and ten RCMP Redcoats, all fidgety, at the CN station. When the King and Queen stepped down from the train on time, organized chaos broke loose. The RFYLI Brass Band struck up “God Save The King.” An army officer unfurled the Royal Standard. The RFYLI honour guard presented arms. All senior police officers saluted. Puffs of smoke blossomed on the mountain brow as a twenty-one-gun salute rumbled from the 11th Battery, Royal Canadian
Artillery. Cheers rose from the reserved bleachers.

On the dias, Prime Minister Mackenzie King took minutes to present the reception party. Tretheway, not a member of the official party, still managed to edge close enough to the Royal Pair just in case. He scanned the crowd while saluting. Surely, he thought, even someone as bold as the Fan wouldn't dare….

Spontaneous cheers from citizens lining the route engulfed the motorcade as it headed south on James Street. Chief Zulp rode in the first car with, and in awe of, the Chief Constable of Scotland Yard Metropolitan Police. The King and Queen smiled incessantly and waved to their subjects from an open, four-door maroon convertible driven by a Mountie and flying another Royal Standard. Four more cars carrying local diginitaries and members of the Royal party followed. Doc Nooner travelled in the sixth car with the Royal physician and an equerry-in-waiting.

A similar reception took place at the city hall with more salutes, more militia and another honour guard. But this time the Mayor and City Council met the Royal Pair. And the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders' Brass Band played the national anthem. The crowd sang. Everyone cheered.