“Hokay, hokay. I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not much. I t’ink I feel better after anyhow.” He took a cigarette from the top pocket of his shirt and lit it after rolling it in his fingers like it was a fine old cigar. I tried not to lean forward in my seat. I sipped the wine and waited. “A couple weeks ago; no, more; beginning of the mont’, Larry comes to me in Sid’s yard and gives me twenty bucks. He says he wants to leave a suitcase under the boards in the shack, where I used to leave my beer. Larry, he knew about dat place. I guess everybody knew. Maybe dey laugh at me. You t’ink?” I shook my head and he went on. “Anyway, I get him a key. I don’t know when he puts in dis suitcase, but I see it in dere. Den, a week later the suitcase is gone, and I forget all about it, excep’ he leaves me another twenty in dere, the hidin’ place I’m talkin’ about.” He took a new drag on the cigarette and continued slowly. “Den, one night I was checking dis place an’ see dat ole feller Wally Moore hangin’ around. He always been hangin’ around, but dis night he’s liquored up good and asks if I see not’in’ funny about dis footing. I have a look, like I t’ink he fine some hairlines, cracks, bad t’ing like dat. But no. I look around, see not’in’. Den he show me. He show me the finger wit’ da ring on it. He says dere’s a man inside. He nods his head and shows me clear where da ring show t’rough. He tell me not to tell anybody, cause den we all have hell to pay, hokay? So, I don’t say not’in’. Da next t’ing I hear in da yard is dat Sid’s brother, Mr. Larry’s gone missing. Mr. Sid looks bad, and I feel bad because I don’ say not’in’. Maybe I should, but I keep still. I figure it’s smarter to keep eyes open and mout’ close. I get me some beer and keep quiet wit’ da beer in da shed. Cover ring wit’ new cement. Dat way nobody fin’ hout not’in’.”
“I told you that Wally Moore’s dead, didn’t I?”
“I t’ink ’bout dat las’ night. I know I’m goin’ to t’ink about it again tonight. That Wally was goin’ to make a buck out of dat business, you bettcha. He say we keep quiet, but Wally, I bet he tell wrong person. Get killed.”
“What could Wally know besides all this?”
“Wally, one smart feller in a dumb way. What he t’ink he is? Structural engineer? Make me laugh. He no see hairlines or ring or finger in footing wit’out seeing Mr. Larry go into da cement. In t’ousand years you not see da ring. No, Wally see Mr. Larry go into cement. And dat’s for sure.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I drove by the site of the new fire hall where Niagara and Geneva come together at Queenston Road. If I counted one cop cruiser, I counted a half dozen. When I found a place to park, I could see the lights they’d wired up down below. I didn’t want to get too close, because I figured that now that the cops were investigating a bona fide murder and not just a disappearance, they might want to have a further chat with me at Niagara Regional, just to fill in the time between digging Larry out of his cocoon and getting the official word from the forensic people.
The night was cool and a mist crowded low-lying areas. It seemed to overflow the valley of the canal and spill into the dark empty streets. I could see shadows moving down below with a fancy piece of machinery. Other figures were watching like sidewalk supervisors from the upper level near the shed. I recognized Chris Savas with his hands deep in his raincoat pockets. There were other cops running around the way they do when something like this happens. If it had been earlier, there would have been a crowd they could manage, but as it was I couldn’t see anyone watching who wasn’t directly involved. Sid was there, of course, and so was Glenn Bagot. They were standing on the upper level, Sid close enough to Savas to be within earshot. Glenn was farther off and not getting more involved than he had to by the look of him. Sid looked grim, like he’d already been up all night and had been drinking cold coffee from styrofoam cups for the past two days. Bagot looked like he’d been pulled out of a party. Under a light raincoat I could see what looked like evening clothes. Tonight he was getting mud on his patent leather shoes.
I watched Savas lean over to speak to one of the uniformed men, who nodded then came away from the site, crossed the street and approached a parked car a few yards up from mine on the other side of Geneva. A window was rolled down and through it I thought I saw one or other of the Kaufman sisters. I couldn’t tell whether it was Ruth or Debbie in the rising mist. The officer made an attempt at a cross between a salute and a tip of his hat and returned to Savas. The window went up again and the car just sat there waiting. Even with the windows of my car closed, the smell of the paper-mills was in the air. There was sulphur in it and other stuff. Stuff I’d been smelling on nights like this since I was a kid.
I was certain that there was no news beyond what I already knew to be expected. But it was like a stage set that’s just aching to be played on. This scene, for all of the dramatic equipment and the fancy cast, would never be played. The real drama would come on a slip of paper from the Forensic Centre in Toronto. If that was drama, I’ll stick to Shakespeare in Montecello Park.
A cigarette was lit in the car across the street. I could see two heads. I had an idea that I wanted to say something to them. I don’t exactly know what, but I had this urge that something had to be said. I opened the door of my car and began moving my bulk past the steering wheel, when I felt a hand on my arm assisting me, if that’s the word. I came out looking into the smiling face of Gordon. Geoff and Len stood behind him.
“Well, Mr. Cooperman! Small world, right?” I was standing now by the closed back door of the Olds. Gordon slammed the front door, so I wouldn’t attempt to re-enter the car unassisted.
“Hell, Mr. Cooperman,” said Geoff. “We been looking all over for you. Where you been?”
“Now, look, you guys. There are two dozen cops over there.” I tried to make a snatch this close to trouble sound ridiculous. The boys laughed away the suggestion that this was a snatch.
“We just want conversation, that’s all.” I didn’t want to encourage their kind of conversation. I hoped that I wasn’t going to come down with a sudden case of broken kneecaps.
“We want to talk to you, Mr. Cooperman. You come easy and there’ll be no trouble.” Len moved in behind me as Gordon pulled me away from the dubious redoubt offered by the Olds. By now I could see a large black Lincoln parked across the street. Even in the mist I could see it was one of the kind with the windows darkened. But I had the feeling it wasn’t empty. There was someone in there watching what was going on and waiting.
Gordon had shifted his grip on my arm but he found a better one higher up. From the rear, Len offered encouragement. I was sure that as soon as we were across the street, I was going to feel another sap on the back of my head where I was still getting over the clout they’d given me at our last meeting. I moved as slowly as I could. The boys were going to have to earn their pay. I didn’t want to wake up in the trunk of another car even if it was a Lincoln. Again I could smell the exhaust from the first car I’d tried out. I was glad I’d fixed their spare tire with my Swiss Army Knife. That, I thought, might be my very last unrecorded thought. I could see the light at the end of a cigar through the dark window of the car.
“Step lively,” Geoff said. “Move along.” He sounded like a London bobby in a movie directing traffic in front of Harrods.
“You wouldn’t have a match, would you, Benny?” It was Pete Staziak. He was standing there on the sidewalk partly masked by the Lincoln. He’d been watching the building site from there.
“Good evening, Sergeant Staziak,” I said, feeling Gordon’s grip on my upper arm loosen. “A foggy night for honest people to be out.” I thought I was sounding a little Irish in my relief at seeing Pete.
“Cool night for this time of year,” Pete said.
“If these gentlemen can spare me, I’d like a word or two with you, Sergeant. You are finished with me, aren’t you?” Gordon had stopped in his tracks and Geoff had bumped into him like boxcars in a shunting yard. Len managed to find his voice: