The Suspect - L R Wright (16 page)

Karl looked over at him thoughtfully.

"
When you plant a seed," said George, "it
almost always comes up, and turns into a plant, and gives you flowers
or something to eat. When you accidentally put a bulb in upside
down—a daffodil or a tulip, for instance—it comes up anyway, most
times, making a half-circle under the earth, heading for the sun it
can't see.

"
Gardens are magical places. Marigolds all
orange and gold bring exuberance and joy into your patch of earth,
but if you plant them in with the vegetables, they also keep away
the  carrot rust fly. Picking peas, eating them straight from
the pods—nothing in the world tastes as good.”

There was very little expression in his voice.
Cassandra felt that he was speaking by rote and yet had an urgent
need to say these things. She glanced at Alberg, who was looking out
to sea, his feet outstretched, hands linked behind his head.

"
You've got roses in your garden, Mr. Alberg,"
said George.

"
Look closely at them, sometimes. Touch the
softness of them, and smell the perfume, and see the shades of
color—you won't find that particular kind of beauty in anything but
roses.

"
Sometimes you get infestations of things;
you're in for a real battle, then. You can buy chemical sprays that
choke your throat when you use them. Don't use them, if you don't
have to. Wash the aphids away with soap and water."

Cassandra, watching him intently, saw that he never
looked directly at either of them. His white hair gleamed in the
dying sunlight; she saw only his profile as he looked away from them,
out toward his garden or the ocean.

"
As you said, Mr. Alberg, you've got a
responsibility for the plot of ground you occupy. You share it with
lots of other living things. Your responsibility is to keep a balance
out there, like nature does.

"
Maintenance, that's the thing to remember. Ten,
fifteen minutes a day, that's all it takes, once things are under
control. More in the planting season, of course. And you've also got
the spring and fall cleanups to do." His voice fell away for a
moment; they waited, wondering if he was finished.

"
I like that part of it, though,” said George,
heavily. "I like digging in compost, raking up the leaves,
ferreting out the stones. Because it's part of the tending of the
earth."

There were bees in his garden and birds in his
arbutus tree. For a few minutes, when he stopped speaking, Alberg
heard them clearly, above the swishing cadence of the sea.

"
It's hard to tell if your interest is genuine,"
said George, and now he was looking straight at Alberg. "It's
hard to tell if you're the kind of man likely to become a gardener."

Karl cleared his throat and nodded.

George blinked out at the sea, and at the sun, which
had almost disappeared. "It's going to be another hot one,
tomorrow.”

Alberg put two of the canvas chairs back in the
toolshed and closed the door firmly. It had no lock. He joined
Cassandra and George in the kitchen, where George was carefully
rinsing out the pitcher and Cassandra was putting the clean glasses
away.

"
What did you think of that lemonade, eh?"
said George. It was delicious, they told him.

"
Came out of a can. Frozen stuff. You add three
cans of water and mix it up.”

He walked them through the house to the front door;
it was getting too dark, he said, to stumble along the beach over all
those rocks. They paused before they left to thank him and say
goodbye.

Alberg turned to follow Cassandra out the door, then
turned back. He looked around the living room, puzzled.

"
What's the matter?” said George.

"
You've changed something.”

George followed his glance. "Nope,” he said.

"
There's something different," Alberg
insisted.

"
Nope," said George.

Still Alberg hesitated, looking around the room.

"You're imagining things,” said George
quietly. "I ought to know. I'm the one who lives here.”

Alberg turned back to him. He grasped George's hand;
it was gnarled and knotty, but his grip was firm and strong. "Your
garden's very beautiful," said Alberg. "It seems no give
you a lot of happiness."

"
It used to,” said George hoarsely, and pulled
his hand free. Alberg thought of his ex-wife, no longer his but at
least alive. He thought of his daughters, no longer near but still
his. He thought of the years he had to live before he would reach
George Wilcox's age.

"Where's your daughter?" he said. "Carol;
is that her name?”

"
She's in Vancouver. Lives near Stanley Park.”

"
Do you see her often?”

"Sometimes. She lives in an apartment. I'm not
fond of apartments." He was clutching his hands tightly in front
of  him. They seemed to be trembling.

Again Alberg hesitated. He wanted to say something
comforting, but this wouldn't have been appropriate. It was an
impulse with no genuine substance; he had known the old man for too
short a time, under circumstances which had not been friendly, and
suddenly realized now that he knew him not at all.

Finally he just thanked him for the lemonade and
left, hurrying along the walk to catch up with Cassandra, who waited
for him on the shoulder of the road.
 

CHAPTER 16

Alberg was feeling pretty good when he went to work
the next day. He'd been hungry when they left George's house, so they
went to a restaurant near Davis Bay. He had a meal and Cassandra had
oysters on the half shell and they shared a bottle of wine and talked
and found things to laugh about. By the time he took her home he knew
he wanted to go to bed with her, but she didn't want to do any more
than kiss him, sitting in the car. Her face was hot next to his, and
he felt her tremble (although this morning he hadn't been totally
certain about that). He was disappointed that she hadn't let it go
any further, but it was going to happen eventually, he was convinced
of it, and he had decided to try to be patient.

He liked her. That was the most important thing. It
was another bright, cloudless day and he was filled with optimism.

When he came into the office the parrot was shrieking
and squawking.

"I don't know what to do about him,” said
Isabella, worried. "He isn't happy, poor thing."

Alberg got down on his haunches next to the cage.
"Come on, bird," he said, "what the hell's the matter
with you?" He spoke soothingly and stretched out his finger,
thinking to stroke its feathers, show it some kindness.

The parrot lunged forward, snapped up a morsel of his
flesh, and hopped back onto its perch, letting out a piercing scream.

Alberg in his astonishment sat down hard upon the
floor, clutching his injured hand.

Isabella quickly threw the red-and-white checked
cloth over the cage, and the bird's shrieks subsided to an ominous
chatter. She whipped from her desk drawer a first-aid kit and knelt 
beside Alberg.

"My, my, my, broke the skin and everything,”
she said, dabbing iodine upon the wound, which was in the fleshy part
of his hand. "Ignored the finger and went straight for the meaty
stuff." She slathered on another layer of iodine.

'
Jesus,” said Alberg, breathless, "haven't you
ever heard of  Mercurochrome?"

"We'd better call a vet," said Isabella.
"See if you can get rabies from a parrot." Deftly she
unwrapped a Band-Aid and smoothed it over his hand.

"Rabies,” said Alberg, faintly.

Sid Sokolowski came through the door, ushering before
him an elderly woman who, when she saw Alberg and Isabella upon the
floor, shrank back against the sergeant and then attempted quickly to
turn around. Sokolowski grabbed her by the shoulders, gently, and
propelled her inside, but he was looking disapprovingly at Alberg,
who scrambled clumsily to his feet.

"
Thank you, Isabella, that's fine. I appreciate
it."

Isabella gathered up her supplies, packed them back
into the first-aid box, and replaced it in her desk drawer. Alberg
had disappeared down the hall.

"That's his bird under there, isn't it?” said
the elderly woman. "A thoroughly unpleasant beast, that. He
likes a bit of cheese now and then. It seems to calm him.”

"
Would you have a seat for a minute, Mrs.
Harris?" said Sokolowski. He pointed to a long wooden bench
under the window. It was padded with green cushions. At either end
was an ashtray on a stand. "I'll be back in a minute."

He went to Alberg's office door. "What the hell
was all that about, you and Isabella rolling around on the floor?"

"It's that goddamn bird," said Alberg,
red-faced. "This is no place for a goddamn parrot. Force it on
Wilcox. Give it to a zoo. Turn it loose. I don't care what you do
with it, but do something. Get rid of it.”

"
Bit you, did it?"

"Yeah, it bit me. Get rid of it.”

"What did you do, stick your finger in its cage?
Okay," he said hastily. "Okay. Listen." He came into
the office and sat down. "That woman out there; she was Burke's
cleaning lady."

"Make her take the parrot."

"She gave the place a going-over once a week, on
Wednesdays. Come last Wednesday, the guy's dead. When I interviewed
her she said she couldn't believe it, such a fine man and all that,
it must have been robbery.

"
She called me up the next day to say it all
again. I told her according to the victim's lawyer nothing's missing,
and she said how could we be so sure, she knew the house and its
contents better than anybody's lawyer, there were a lot of valuable
things around the place. I said they're apparently all still there.
Anyway, the long and the short of it—”

"The short of it, please."

"—
is that I took her over there this morning.
She kept calling, you know? Kept bugging me. So I drove her over
there to take a look around." He hesitated. "She says she
reads a lot of crime books.”

Alberg groaned.

"I figured what she really wanted was to have a
gander at the scene of the crime, get a glimpse of the blood on the
rug that sort of thing. Something to tell her cronies about. Still I
said to myself, you never know."

"I don't want civilians at a crime scene,"
said Alberg furiously. "What is this, a circus? Jesus Christ,
Sergeant."

"Would I bring her here if it wasn't important?”
said Sokolowski, calmly. "We just got back from the house. I
want you to hear what she's got to say.”

"Jesus Christ." Alberg sighed. "All
right, bring her in."

He waited without moving, trying not to think, trying
to concentrate on the pain in his hand; but it was almost gone. It
would be too much to hope for, he thought, that she could have seen
anything significant ....

"
I thought I might be of some help,” said Mrs.
Harris. She was about sixty-five, not much more than five feet tall,
with curly gray hair. She wore glasses with extremely large, round
lenses. The frames were studded with rhinestones. "He didn't
have many visitors,” she said, "as far as I could tell. I told
your man that last week. Poor Mr. Burke, such an awful way to die. It
isn't natural, Inspector," she said, rather dramatically. "It
just isn't natural. That's what bothers me.”

"
Staff Sergeant, actually, Mrs. Harris,” said
Alberg.

She scrutinized him disapprovingly and glanced around
his small office. Clearly, she would like to have asked to see his
superior.

"
He's the boss here, like I told you, Mrs.
Harris,” said Sokolowski. "Go on. Tell him about when you went
into the house. Sit down, why don't you?”

She sat in the black chair. She was wearing brown
shoes with laces, and brown polyester slacks, and a brightly
embroidered white short-sleeved sweater. . "This gentleman
accompanied me,” she said, indicating Sokolowski. "and a good
thing, too. I'm not one of nervous spirit. But a man met death in
there, death by misadventure. There's no way you could have persuaded
me to enter that house alone, even though the sun was shining and it
looked as peaceful as ever.”

She took a deep breath. "The parrot was gone. I
noticed that. But then this gentleman informed me he'd been taken off
to police headquarters? She settled herself more comfortably in the
chair, adjusting her large handbag in her lap.

"
Was anything missing, Mrs. Harris?" said
Alberg.

"
At first everything looked exactly the same,
except for the rug." She shuddered.

"I walked through the whole house,” she said,
"concentrating, concentrating. Before I went. into a room I'd
stop outside the door and squeeze my eyes shut and picture it in my
mind, all the furniture and the doodads and the drapes and
what-have-you, then I'd march in there and have a look round and it
all looked just the same as always.”

Alberg glanced at Sokolowski, who was standing next
to Mrs. Harris, impassive.