Murder at the Movies (12 page)

The parade continued south from city hall. Every possible vantage point held someone waving, shaking a flag, cheering or at least smiling. Children straddled the bronze lions at the foot of Queen Victoria's statue for a better view. Others hung from trees. Everywhere red, white and blue bunting decorated the buildings. Bands stationed every quarter mile filled the air with martial music. Veterans, militia,
auxiliary police and St. John's Ambulance members bordered the parade route in front of the applauding spectators, some into their fourth hour of waiting. Plain-clothesmen, including Wan Ho, infiltrated the crowds looking for pickpockets or potentially embarrassing characters (Crazy Mary or Drop-pants Harvey to mention two) to forestall any humiliating incidents. Wan Ho shared Tretheway's anxious thoughts about the Fan as his eyes skipped from face to face.

At the same time that the procession turned east on Main Street to begin its longest leg, the police detachment at city hall jumped into pre-arranged cars and buses and roared along back streets leapfrogging to the next stop, Scott Park. Minutes before that, Tretheway's group had boarded a pilot train and chugged through Fort York's north end on their way to Jockey Club Siding, the point of Royal departure.

When the cavalcade turned north onto Melrose Avenue toward Scott Park, it soon passed the home of Freeman Thake. The West End owner had graciously and democratically offered his spacious front verandah to his staff for an enviable view of the Royal Couple. He had also invited a few friends, among them Addie, Miles Terminus and Basil Horsborough. Addie waved at the motorcade every bit as graciously as the Queen. Terminus stood stiffly at attention while Horsborough, smiling quietly, arms fully extended, held a large, red and white cross-of-St.George flag he had borrowed from the museum, in front of his black suit. Neil Heavenly and Joshua Pike shook miniature Union Jacks. Lulu Ashcroft jumped up and down excitedly waving both arms and bouncing both breasts.
Violet Farrago shouted wildly. And Thake beamed continuously as though he had arranged the whole spectacle for another added attraction. Addie said afterward that the Queen looked right at her but then, everyone on the verandah said the same thing.

When the procession turned into Scott Park, the second loudest cheer of the day escaped the throats of thirty thousand waiting school children. Somewhere in the throng, Scouter Gum and his troop added to the din. Girl Guides and Brownies squealed. Bemedalled men wearing white ducks, blue blazers and dashing straw boaters led platoons of flag-bearing athletes around the quarter-mile cinder track past the reviewing stand. The King saluted, the Queen waved. Twelve hundred white-clad school children overflowed the infield and performed a well-rehearsed show of calisthenics. After a Royal aside (“Aren't the children splendid?”) the King proclaimed the next day a school holiday, thus eliciting the loudest cheer of the day.

By the time the cortege had left Scott Park, Tretheway and his men had already reinforced the contingent at the Jockey Club. Once again the process was repeated with a different cast; another presentation, more curtsies, cheering, handshakes and waving, an honour guard of thirty-two Rover Scouts and a final twenty-one-gun salute. The Royal Couple, unbelievably still smiling and waving, watched from the observation platform of the departing train as the colourful vista of Fort York receded. In a parting fillip, a group of urchins outflanked the Canadian National Railway Police and chased down the track after the puffing train waving flags and pennants until their breath ran out. The King and Queen were amused.

At that moment the city also ran out of breath, or so it seemed to Tretheway. Fort York began a short period of post-Royal Visit depression. Months of preparations had climaxed in a whirlwind hour and a half. And now everybody had to go back to ordinary life, back to routine, Tretheway included.

Parties were held that night to celebrate a job well done. But mostly, people turned in early. Except for school children and teachers, tomorrow was another workday. Tretheway spent the evening at home rehashing the events of the momentous day and comparing notes with drop-in friends. No one stayed late. Miles Terminus, Horsborough and Gum had left about ten. Addie went to bed shortly after that. Tretheway and Jake sat at the kitchen table sharing a beer. They had just closed the door behind Wan Ho. Addie's small radio played the music of Ted Weems. Tretheway thumbed through the special souvenir Royal Visit Edition of the
FY Expo
searching for news. Wedged between dozens of ads all headed “Welcome To Their Majesties,” he found a few headlines.

“Chamberlain Says Hitler Will Not Bring On War,” Tretheway read aloud. “Military Experts Confident Polish Cavalry Can Contain German Army. Berlin Practices Air Raid Drills.” He shook his head. “Very discouraging news.” He picked up another section and was halfway through a comic strip ad story of how, if one used Lifebuoy Soap to stop B.O., one could gain rapid promotion and enter a happy marriage, when Jake spoke.

“When all is considered then, the day went well?”

“Better than I expected.” Tretheway put the paper down.

“You expected something?”

“Not really.” Tretheway took a long pull of Molson Blue. His eyes widened as his upper body convulsed in a quiet belch. “But every time I looked at the crowd, I half expected our friend to do something silly.”

“I must say it crossed my mind,” Jake admitted.

“But I guess he hadn't seen the right movie,” Tretheway said.

“You really think that's why he didn't do anything?”

“Among other things.”

“Like?”

“Security. You must admit it was tight.”

Jake nodded.

“And it was too close to the last one,” Tretheway explained. “He seems to need a gestation period. A few weeks at least to choose a suitable movie. Prepare the events. Make necessary arrangements.” He drained his quart. “And then there's the most logical reason.”

“Which is?”

Tretheway put his empty on the kitchen table. “He wanted to see the King and Queen.”

“You're joking.”

“Not at all. He was probably waving a bloody flag. And cheering.”

“A fine King's subject.”

“A patriot.”

“So what do we do now?” Jake asked.

“Just what he's going to do.”

“Eh?”

“Go to the movies.”

Jake smiled. “Why not?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Tretheway smiled back.

“Right.” Jake stood up. “I'm for the sack.”

Tretheway pointed to the ice box. “As long as you're up.”

Jake handed his boss a frosted bottle of ale.

T
retheway and Jake did return to the movies, the next night.

In honour of the Royal Visit, Freeman Thake had used his influence to procure the most kingly or queenly movies he could for that week. He ran the pair an unprecedented six consecutive days. So on Thursday Tretheway and Jake sat through
The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex,
a vivid technicolour costume drama of royal court intrigue, more fiction than history. It revolved around the love/hate relationship of Elizabeth I of England (Bette Davis) and the Earl of Essex (Errol Flynn) in their struggle for power. Essex eventually lost his head.

The second feature stuck closer to fact. A gory historical thriller,
The Tower of London,
follows the deformed, evil Richard III (Basil Rathbone) as he kills and tortures his way to the fifteenth-century English throne. Boris Karloff plays Mord, a club-footed, handy-with
the-axe executioner. The Duke of Clarence (Vincent Price) gives a satisfying, blood-curdling performance when he drowns horribly in a vat of Malmsey wine.
The Tower of London
appealed to Tretheway while Jake, a fan of Errol Flynn's since
Captain Blood,
preferred the first feature.

For the rest of June and into the first week of July, Tretheway and Jake, with assorted happenstance companions, viewed a varied slate of feature attractions. And with certain exceptions, they agreed any one of them could goad an unbalanced killer into another murderous scheme. Movies like
Last Warning, Street of Missing Men, Boy Slaves
(“seething story of wayward youth”),
Trapped in the Sky, Crime Takes a Holiday
or even
The Gracie Allen Murder Case
were all possible fodder for the creative but warped mind of the Fan. Addie accompanied Jake for the ostensibly harmless exceptions;
Romance of the Limberlost, Zenobia
and
Good Girls Go to Paris
. Tretheway skipped all of these as well as
Ice Follies of '39
.

“Sorry to bother you this late on a Sunday,” Wan Ho said.

“That's okay,” Jake answered. “We're still up.”

“I'm calling from Central.”

“Pull night duty again?”

“Zulp loves me.”

Tretheway came out of the parlour. “Who's that?”

“Wan Ho.”

Then Jake spoke into the mouthpiece. “We're both here.”

“Just got a call.” Wan Ho raised his voice so both Tretheway and Jake could hear. Jake held the receiver between them. “A Mrs D.W. Clarence, 53 Mayfair. That's not far from you. Reported a prowler.”

“I take it not your usual prowler,” Tretheway

“You tell me,” Wan Ho said. “She heard a noise in the backyard. Thought it was D.W., that's her husband, returning from walking the dogs. Switched on the back porch lights. Saw a man. She thinks a man. Close to the window. Wild unruly hair. Laughing. Jumping up and down. Drinking from a bottle. He appeared deformed. Crookback was her word.” He paused. “You still with me?”

“Go on,” Tretheway said.

“She screamed,” Wan Ho went on. “Now get this. He took another drink from the bottle. Then carefully put it down on the back porch. In no hurry. Sound familiar?”

“As though he wanted to be seen,” Tretheway said.

“Exactly,” Wan Ho said. “One more thing. He was wearing a crown.”

“A crown. A King's crown.”

“Definitely not your usual prowler,” Jake said.

“Sound nutsy enough to be our Movie Fan?” Wan Ho asked.

Tretheway and Jake exchanged nods.

“Did you see
The Tower of London
?” Tretheway spoke into the mouthpiece.

“No,” Wan Ho said.

“You'd better pick us up on your way,” Tretheway ordered. He took the receiver from Jake's hand and hung up.

Mayfair Crescent ran by the sprawling FY University campus, past its playing fields, sunken gardens and ivy-covered seats of learning, before it looped back on itself. Except for a few residents, the secluded loop was used in the daytime by young persons learning to drive and when night fell by more young persons, still in cars, learning the rituals of love making. “Sort of a vehicular Flirtation Walk,” Addie would say. In the enclosed elongated oval, several magnificent oaks stood above smaller scrub trees. At their foot, Queen Ann's lace, shimmering blue cornflowers, goldenrod and wild grasses grew tall between monthly cuttings by the FY Parks Department. On the side across from the University property were three houses. Each occupied a landscaped acre. The Clarences lived in the first one.

Old Cyrus Increase Clarence (D.W.'s grandfather) had started Clarence Potteries years ago when most of West End was farm land or pasture. In the small, dingy factory, shadowed by Fort York Mountain, he worked beside cheap immigrant labour seven days a week producing simple but classic ceramic plates, dishes, bowls, platters and pots for the Ontario market. Business flourished. The next Clarence, as industrious and tight-fisted as his father, expanded with even more success. There was hardly a house within a two-hundred-mile radius that didn't harbour a Clarence container of some sort. The day D.W. became president, he began spending the fruits of his frugal ancestors. For one thing, he built the Mayfair Crescent house.

Architecturally designed in the not-too-homey Regency style of the early 1900s, it was small as mansions go, but still a mansion; three floors, sixteen rooms,
five bathrooms, six fireplaces and a separate, heated, triple garage. The well-manicured front lawn, rock gardens, flagstone walk and wide red gravel driveway all sloped gracefully from house to street. Behind the building, the land dropped more steeply and unevenly until it merged with West Woods, a part of Coote's Paradise. At the edge of the trees stood a small greenhouse. A pool took up three quarters of its interior. It had no heater, filter or diving board and could only be used comfortably on warm clear days when sunlight filtered through the high Dutch elms and dodged the opaque bird droppings on the glass-walled structure. Nevertheless, in polite conversations with the Clarences, it constituted a bona fide, in-ground swimming pool. The remaining quarter of the greenhouse was partially closed in, ideal for homemade wine storage.