Читать книгу Law and Disorder - Mary Jane Maffini - Страница 7
ОглавлениеWhy should you swerve to avoid hitting a lawyer on a bicycle? -Because that bicycle just might be yours.
After the excitement of the courthouse, I clomped off down Elgin Street, pondering life as I went. For one thing, why were Bunny Mayhew, P. J. Lynch and Leonard Mombourquette so present in my life when the one guy I really cared about wasn’t? Ray Deveau didn’t have Bunny’s movie star looks, or P. J.’s quick wit and drive, or even Mombourquette’s furry familiarity. He was an unflappable cop with a solid sense of humour, a good father, a companion, a shoulder to cry on and a friend. Best of all, unlike the rest of the world, he liked me just fine the way I was. And I liked him a lot more than anyone I could think of. Of course, he was inconveniently located in Sydney, bound by family and a twenty-year career with the Cape Breton Regional Police. That was the bothersome part. If I’d seen a garbage can, I would have kicked it in frustration just thinking about that.
But quite apart from the state of my personal life, the day had been just plain bad. The distressing part of having Rollie Thorsten die in his dramatic way was that it would derail the Brugel trial yet again. It was good news for bad guys. So good, in fact, that I stopped to wonder if Lloyd Brugel might not have had something to do with it. Stranger things have happened after all. Laurie Roulay’s death was a result of Brugel’s actions even if it had been by her own hand. As I said, there’s never a garbage can when you really need to kick one. If my sisters had been in town, they would have told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get a job. Luckily they were far far away on a three-week cruise.
There was no sign of Bunny anywhere. But with all this stuff on my mind, I didn’t give him another thought.
At two in the afternoon, I was back in Court, curious to see what the judge would make of all this. The jury was in place, the prisoner in his bulletproof box. Brugel turned to face the jury and even in profile, his usual alpha dog sneer was evident. I could only see the back of the Crown’s head, but his shoulders were slumped.
As everyone rose and I caught a glimpse of Madame Justice Lafontaine’s face, I knew I wouldn’t like the news. Or she might have just bitten into a bad clam.
The judge said, “As a result of the death of Mr. Brugel’s counsel, Mr. Thorsten, and the withdrawal from the case of Mr. Thorsten’s junior, Mr. Kilpatrick, the Court has no choice but to recess to allow Mr. Brugel time to find new legal representation in this case.”
Brugel smirked.
The judge fixed him with a warning look. She is known for having little time for alpha dogs and their packs. She does, however, adhere to the rules.
The judge swept from the room, robe flowing. As the door closed behind her, we began to trudge out of courtroom 23. Mombourquette hadn’t been there to witness this part. It would have ruined his day.
After all those months of doing the work while Rollie took the credit, young Jamie Kilpatrick had a chance to be in charge. This could have been the case that made his name, no matter what the outcome. So why the hell had he withdrawn?
“What difference does it make?” Alvin Ferguson, my ever-present former office assistant said after I’d stomped around the house for ten minutes, swearing. I’d topped off the stomping with a major rant. Alvin watched from the kitchen door, resplendent in the Cape Breton tartan apron that someone had given me years ago. He must have found that at the bottom of my kitchen drawer. As there is almost nothing in the house left unpainted, he has turned his hand to collecting and testing heritage recipes. Luckily he wasn’t testing any of them in this weather.
I said, “It makes a big difference.”
“This Brugel is still on trial anyway. They’ve got him, right?”
“They have him now. But if he keeps on finding ways to stall, the world can change, and they may not have him forever.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s fired lawyers before.” I leaned against the crumbling faux stone wall that Alvin had thoughtfully painted as part of his Tuscan decorating theme. The walls were somewhat at odds with the sleek stainless appliances in the modern kitchen, but congruity has never been Alvin’s strength.
“He has?”
“Sure. Why do you think this case has been dragging on for so long?”
“I really don’t know. Can you fire your lawyer?”
“Happens all the time.”
“But why does that hold up the case?”
“Because you are entitled to representation.”
“Yeah but…”
“And you are also entitled to be represented by someone you believe has your best interests at heart.”
“You think that’s a good thing?” Alvin magically produced a glass of ice tea. “There’s mint in this. Give it a try.”
“Some accused misuse this right. They fire perfectly competent counsel, just to stall.”
“But what does it get them?”
“It gets them a delay. In Brugel’s case, it has gotten him two delays before this latest setback.”
“Why would anybody want a delay? Don’t they want to get the whole thing over with?”
“Not if they know they’re guilty and they’re pretty sure they’re going to be convicted and be stuck behind bars for a damn long time. There are two solid reasons for delaying, Alvin. The first one is that if the person has been in custody during the trial, they might get two for one credit for that time served.”
“What does that mean anyway?”
“Two days taken off his sentence for every one served.”
“Really? Do you think that’s—”
“It’s the way it is in our system, Alvin. Although the current government is trying to change that. And the other point is, and this is much more important, the longer the trial drags on, the harder it will be for the Crown to control or even locate key witnesses.”
“What do you mean, control? You mean the Crown tries to control witnesses? That’s just plain wrong.”
“I mean they encourage them to stick to their stories. And remember them. They get them to show up. They get them to stay clean and sober if they can.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I guess.”
“And they don’t want them recanting their testimony either. It goes without saying.”
“They do that?”
“Sure. Often, in criminal cases, some of the witnesses are going to be criminals too. Or they’re going to be connected with the accused in some way—relatives, neighbours. But the most important thing is to keep them from leaving town or worse, disappearing.”
Alvin’s eyes bugged out. “Disappearing?”
“Sure. Some of them will just drift away. A couple will get arrested here or somewhere else. Some might be discredited. Others will die from disease or even lifestyle. And a few will take off in the hope that they won’t have to testify.”
“Why?”
“Lots of reasons, Alvin. But the main one is that they’re scared. A guy like Brugel needs time to make the kind of threats that can drive a witness away. The longer he waits, the more time his associates have to intimidate key witnesses. Or worse.”
“You don’t think they’d actually kill anyone, would they?”
I rolled my eyes. “Alvin! We’re discussing Lloyd Brugel. He’s on trial for murder. This is the first time they’ve actually had a chance at getting a conviction. And as far as killing someone, remember Laurie Roulay—she died because of the incredible stress she faced from this. She had threats from people. She knew they were watching her. It was bad enough that she’d lost her husband and one of her children, but she knew they could still get into her apartment. She knew they watched the schools where her remaining children went. She got notes too. That’s the kind of thing the notes hinted at.”
“That must have been a nightmare.”
I nodded. “No one should have to go through anything like that. Even behind bars, Brugel is very dangerous.”
“But didn’t this Rollie Thorsten have a chance of getting him off?”
“Rollie’s strategies were working well. Even so, I have to ask myself if Rollie wasn’t worth more dead than alive, in terms of delaying Brugel’s trial that little bit more.”
The blanket of humidity actually seemed to lift when the thunderstorm broke at around ten that evening. Lightning lit up the sky, rain slashed down in sheets, thunder boomed. I counted, one two three seconds. Not so very far away. It finally occurred to me that some of the booms were coming from the front door.
Gussie, the purely temporary dog in my household, lay snoring on the sofa. He managed to continue sleeping through thunderstorm and banging.
When I whipped open the door, preparing to snarl, Bunny Mayhew stood there, shivering. Tonight the golden burglar boy had lost his lustre. His sandy hair was dark and stringy.
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned those puppy dog eyes on me. “Aren’t you going to let me in, Camilla? It’s horrible out here.”
I stood back. “I thought you were going to wait for me outside the courthouse. How did you find out where I live?”
A look of hurt flickered across his movie star features. Even rivulets of rain and hair hanging in damp strands can’t take anything away from our Bunny. “I’m a burglar, not an idiot.”
“In that case, there’s no keeping you out, I suppose.” I gestured for him to follow me.
“It’s a terrible thing,” he said, as he stood and shook in the hallway. “I don’t know what to do. Or what to think. It’s like a nightmare.”
I rubbed my temple. “I’m beginning to get the nightmare part.”
“What do you mean?”
“Forget that. Just tell me what exactly the terrible thing is, and we can all get on with our lives.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re dripping wet and you’re shivering. Let me get you a cup of tea.” I always end up feeling sorry for Bunny, even though it took me a while to let him come in out of the pouring rain. “While I’m getting it, just tell me what the problem is. Succinctly.”
Alvin took that moment to stick his beaky nose around the corner. “What’s going on? Oh, hello, Bunny. Do you need a towel?”
“Hey, Alvin.” Bunny’s smile, the one that Elaine refers to as “the beatific burglar”, spread across his face.
Damn. I hoped they wouldn’t get into a long chinwag. Between Bunny and Alvin, the world could grind to a halt.
Alvin was already halfway up the stairs.. There was no point in hanging around waiting for him to come down. He could get distracted in an infinite number of ways. I headed toward the kitchen. Bunny followed, dripping water in small well-formed puddles.
“What is the terrible situation you need to talk about, Bunny?” I said as I reached for the kettle.
From the covered bird cage in the corner, Lester, or possibly Pierre, gave a disgruntled chirp.
“You know, the thing with Rollie Thorsten.”
Alvin called down the stairs, “Do you mind if I bring one of your towels, Camilla? They’re nice and they’re clean.”
As if it mattered what I said. I plugged in the kettle and kept cool. “Whatever.”
Bunny said, “He always seems very nice.”
I stopped and turned around. “Have a seat, Bunny. And don’t let yourself be fooled by Alvin. Stay on topic. What about the thing with Rollie Thorsten?”
Bunny settled damply at the smart little bistro set by the side wall of the kitchen, in front of an exuberant faux grapevine which curled around a couple of Corinthian columns. He was looking perplexed.
“He’s a bit young for you, though. And I’m not sure about the ponytail and the earrings. I would have thought you’d be more likely to go out with some kind of NDP speech writer or—”
“Earth to Bunny, Alvin is my office assistant.”
“But this is your home and it’s ten at night and he’s here.”
“He has accommodation issues. So Rollie Thorsten? What about him? Are you looking for details about his death? Because I don’t have any.”
Bunny’s voice went up an octave. “Of course, his death. What else would I… What’s that on your ceiling?”
“Grapes,” I said. “Doesn’t everyone have a grapevine painted on their ceiling? Don’t get sidetracked. What exactly about Rollie’s death brings you out to my house on a rainy evening, Bunny? Forget the murals.”
While I waited for Bunny to figure out my meaning, I got the tea from the cupboard. I decided on an extra bag for pain and anguish.
Bunny said, “It’s like the others. Don’t you think?”
“You lost me there. What is like what others?”
“I meant Rollie’s death. It’s weird.”
“People drown, Bunny. I heard he’d been drinking, and he wasn’t wearing a flotation device, and a high percentage of people who do drown fit into those categories too.” I didn’t bother to articulate my notion that Brugel might have orchestrated Rollie’s demise. Bunny was agitated enough as it was.
“These crumbling stone walls,” Bunny said, reaching out to run a hand along my kitchen wall. “Are they…?”
“Real?” I finished. “No. Alvin painted them while I was in Italy. Back to topic.” The kettle shrieked and I warmed the tea pot with the boiling water, drained it, and made the tea.
“It was a surprise for her,” Alvin said, appearing at the door with my favourite oversize bath towel. He handed it to Bunny and said, “I turned it into a villa.”
“Wow.”
Alvin lowered his eyes modestly and blushed. “Those wine bottles in the wine cellar there aren’t real either. Every inch of this main level has an Italian theme. Do you like the murals?”
Bunny turned his beautiful eyes on me. “Were you surprised?”
“What do you think?”
Silence. Finally Bunny said, “I think you probably were.”
“Right. The coliseum on the dining room wall really threw me. So now that pressing decorating discussion is out of the way, Bunny, what exactly is your point about Rollie Thorsten?”
Bunny opened his mouth.
I added, “In twenty-five words or less.”
“Boy, that’s harsh, Camilla. The guy’s dead.”
“Oh, cry me a river. He was playing hardball trying to get Lloyd Brugel unleashed on society. It was a heinous crime, yet he took witnesses apart on the stands. One of them killed herself. He can’t be dead enough for me.”
Bunny said, “I’m never exactly sure what heinous means.”
Naturally, Alvin joined in the conversation. “You may have noticed that Camilla is not the most sentimental person in the universe. Or the most grateful I might add,” he sniffed. “I have turned my hand to cooking. I think that is a form of artistry in itself. Not that she appreciates any of it.”
Bunny turned to stare at him. It could have been the nine visible earrings, or the ponytail or even the beaky nose, but most likely it was the strange turn the conversation had taken. Whatever, it got Bunny off track.
I said, “Butt out, Alvin. This is business.”
Alvin said, beaky nose high. “Go ahead, Bunny.”
I said, “And make an effort not to drive me crazy.”
Bunny stood wrapped in my best bath sheet, shivering.
I tried for control again. “Bunny, go to the living room. Sit on the sofa. Move the dog out of the way. The cat too. Now. Alvin, since you’re the office assistant, you can pour the tea when it’s ready. Bunny takes his with three creams and three sugars.”
Alvin, hovered between the door and the living room. “Cream in tea? But that’s not—”
I shot him a warning glance. “Just this once: no arguments. Milk first in mine.”
Bunny said as he blotted himself off. “I got these notes.”
Alvin stopped and turned.
“Notes?” we said together.
Bunny flicked his glance from me to Alvin and back. “Yes. What?”
“What kind of notes?” I wasn’t sure why “notes” would have an ominous ring, but I felt a little throbbing in my temple. Why hadn’t I gone into dentistry instead of law?
“They were like jokes.”
“Jokes,” Alvin said.
“Yes.” Bunny’s teeth chattered.
I said, “What kind of jokes? You mean cartoons?”
“No, I mean jokes. Lawyer jokes.”
I said, “I hate goddam lawyer jokes. What about client jokes? Or accused jokes?”
Alvin said, “We got them too.”
I said, “We did?”
“I showed them to you, but maybe I didn’t mention that they came in the mail. I don’t always bore you with every detail.”
“Apparently not. So, now, Bunny, can you tell me what’s so important about these jokes?”
“Well, they died.”
“Who died?”
“People,” Bunny snuffled. “And now Rollie.”
“And the jokes are connected how?”
“I don’t know. But they are.”
Like many dealings with Bunny, this situation seemed baffling. I sighed and said gently, “Who do you think is sending these so-called jokes? Why would you have anything to do with lawyer jokes?”
“I have no idea, Camilla. I mean, it’s not like I’m that easy to find. No one knows where I live.”
I could feel the faint stirrings of a familiar headache. “Have you been hiding?”
“Well, sure. That’s my point. I got plenty of reason to hide. I want to keep my family away from, um, former colleagues and all that. I told you I was going straight, now that Tonya and I have Destiny to think about. It’s not that easy, but mostly I’m a stay-at-home dad. But I got a part-time job in a framing shop and everything. I’m doing my best to keep out of trouble.”
“That’s wonderful news, Bunny. I knew you had what it takes to go straight.”
“It takes a family, I guess. Problem is I moved to Barrhaven, and now I’m getting the jokes in my new place.”
“Change of address cards?” Alvin chimed in.
“No way. I try never to have an address.”
Alvin said, “You don’t have an address? Why not?”
“Bad idea for a couple of reasons.”
The cops would be one of those reasons. Bad companions probably another.
Bunny said, “I use a mail drop. I don’t get that much mail anyway. Tonya picks it up. I’m not taking a chance.”
“So the jokes are forwarded to your mail drop. But you know, Bunny, that really doesn’t seem too—”
Bunny twisted in agitation. “No! That’s not it. They’re in my mailbox.”
Alvin said, “Maybe everyone’s getting them. Because—”
Another interruption from Bunny. “I asked all my neighbours, and no one else was getting unsigned jokes in the mail.”
I tried to be the voice of sanity. “So, let’s see if I understand. You get these jokes and then someone dies?”
“Yeah. It sounds really dumb.”
“People die every day. I read the obits, but I don’t feel responsible for them,” I said sensibly.
“But it’s like I’m the messenger.”
I said, “You mean the Bunny of Death?”
Bunny’s chiseled jaw dropped. “What?”
“She’s just kidding,” Alvin said. “She enjoys incongruity.”
“Yeah, you know,” I said, “Angel of Death. Bunny of Death.”
Bunny jumped to his feet and started to pace. “That’s horrible, Camilla. Gives me shivers. And it’s not funny. The Bunny of Death? I have a hard enough time sleeping nights as it is.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought it was funny. I was making the point that you aren’t causing people to die. Hold that thought, Bunny. Alvin, get in there and pour the tea.”
If Bunny noticed the “hold-the-thought” instruction, he didn’t follow it. “But I’m connected somehow. When one of these lawyer jokes comes, I’m going to hear about someone dying the next day.”
Alvin said, “Lord thundering Jesus.”
Bunny said, “It’s making me crazy.”
Crazy for sure and also unbelievable. “Exactly how many jokes have you received, Bunny?”
“Three. Rollie was the third.”
Alvin ruined the moment. “Three?”
Bunny nodded.
I said, “And…?”
“And then the day after each one, someone died.”
“Well, like who, Bunny?”
“Like Roxanne Terrio.”
“Roxanne Terrio? I remember that. Didn’t she die in a bicycle accident in Gatineau Park last month? That’s what I read in the paper. Anyway, Roxanne Terrio wasn’t sleazy. Wasn’t she a real estate lawyer? She didn’t have the kind of clientele that Rollie had.”
Bunny said, “Maybe she wasn’t sleazy. But I got a joke the day before she died.”
I decided to take control. “Coincidence.”
“Then there was that judge, like federal court or something. Judge Cardarelle. I didn’t know him.”
“But he was a judge, not a lawyer. Change in pattern, Bunny. I think you’re—”
Bunny shot back, “Didn’t he have to be a lawyer first?”
“Point to Bunny,” Alvin said.
“Not so fast. I don’t even remember how he died. Oh hang on, yes, it was some kind of allergy. Anaphylactic shock. Just a tragic set of circumstances.”
Bunny said, “Maybe. But I got a note.”
“What precisely do you mean you got a note?” I asked.
“Well, the day after a joke comes, I get a note. Every time. With the dead person’s name on it. How else would I know that their deaths were connected to the jokes?”
Alvin gazed at Bunny in amazement. I can’t even imagine what kind of stunned expression I had on my face.
Alvin stopped staring at Bunny and started gawking at me. “I told you there was something weird about those freaking jokes that came in the mail, Camilla.”
I would have sat down at that point, but Alvin had the chair and Bunny, the dog and the cat filled the sofa. “I thought those jokes were aimed at me,” I said.
Bunny said, “Why would they be aimed at you?”
“Because I’m a lawyer. And they’re lawyer jokes. And lots of people hate lawyers. We’re easy to hate—until you need us.”
“But you’re not dead.”
“I realize that. But maybe I’m the Camilla of Death.”
Bunny frowned. “Sometimes you’re just creepy, Camilla.”
“Tell me about it,” Alvin said, shaking his head. “But that’s weird if we got the same jokes on the same day.”
That reminded me. “Was this why you were trying to talk to me today in the courthouse, Bunny?”
“I wanted to tell you about all this, about the notes with the names on them. I was upset because I got another joke yesterday, and I thought someone else would die. They did.”
Alvin said, “What did it say?”
Bunny glanced over, looking hopeful. “It was that old one about how do you stop a lawyer from drowning.”
Alvin chuckled, “You shoot him, right?”
“It wasn’t remotely funny the first thousand times I heard it, Alvin, and nothing’s changed. Get out of the chair and pour the tea before it gets cold.”
Alvin said to Bunny, “We got that one too.”
Bunny said, “And today, I got a piece of paper with the name Rollie Thorsten on it.”
I reached for the phone. “Who are you calling, Camilla?” Alvin and Bunny said in stereo.
“Confidential source. Just take care of the tea, Alvin. Bunny’s shivering.”
Mombourquette picked up at home on the fourth ring. “Sorry, I’m not Elaine,” I said.
“That’s good, because then there would be two of you,” he said. “And I’d have to choose the other one. By any chance, do you own a watch?”
“I know it’s late, but I need to find out what killed Rollie Thorsten.”
“Why? You got an office pool going? With what’s-his- name, the world’s most dangerous assistant?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Can you help me out here? I’m really hoping Thorsten wasn’t shot first so he wouldn’t have drowned.”
“What? Are you...?”
“Just check that out, will you, Leonard and get back to me.”
After I hung up, I turned to Bunny. He was sunk in a melancholy slump. Gussie the temporary dog had his head in Bunny’s lap. Alvin had at long last produced the tea in his grandmother’s tea set and added a plate of homemade shortbread to the tray. Bunny picked up his flowered cup and saucer with one hand and absentmindedly stroked Gussie with the other.
Alvin said, “Those shortbread cookies are the traditional recipe, except that I’ve added—”
I said, “Watch out, Bunny, Gussie’s trying to get into your pocket. He likes to chew paper. I hope you don’t have any valuable documents in there. Car registration, anything like that. I speak from sad experience.”
“He chewed your car registration?”
Alvin interrupted. “It was an accident. You really should learn to let things go, Camilla.”
Have I mentioned that Gussie started out as the Ferguson family’s dog? But no point in harping. “So, Bunny, you didn’t keep any of these so-called jokes?”
“Well, why would I? Did you keep yours?” Bunny’s voice rose into a squeak. Alvin blurted, “It’s not my fault. Gussie eats every piece of paper around here the minute it hits the floor.”
Gussie gave a soft belch to reinforce Alvin’s point. I didn’t bother to inquire about why pieces of paper would be on the floor. “Be quiet, Alvin. Okay, Bunny, at what point did you start to realize there was something going on?”
Bunny shrugged. “After the second one, I guess. I thought it was kind of funny that each of those names arrived the day after a joke, but before that person’s death became public. I mean when these people died, it made the papers.”
I nodded. Bunny was right. People talked about it. People wrote about it. Cyclists had written furious letters to the editor after Roxanne Terrio’s death. People had waxed eloquent about the dangers of nut allergies after Judge Cardarelle’s demise. Everyone would be buzzing over Rollie’s bizarre end.
“So, you don’t still have any of the jokes?”
“Nah. Tonya is crazy clean. She hates any kind of paper around. She threw them out probably even faster than your dog could eat them. But when I got Rollie Thorsten’s name today and I knew from the news that he was defending in Brugel’s trial, I had to get over there to warn him if he was still alive. I heard there was a suspicious death today, but they didn’t give the name on the news. I knew it would be Rollie Thorsten, because that’s the name I got. I was too late.”
“We didn’t get that name,” Alvin said. “I know because I open the mail and I would have—”
“Hold that thought, Alvin. So, Bunny, why did you come to me?”
“I thought maybe I could talk to you and explain about the jokes and the names and figure out what to do. I called your cell, and someone said you were in court today.”
“That was me,” Alvin said. “She forgot her phone at home.”
“Then that Sgt. Mombourquette gave me the brush off. Do you think he’s good enough for Elaine? She’s really special and she deserves—”
“Bunny!”
“Sorry, so I came here tonight hoping you wouldn’t think I was nuts.”
“Not exactly nuts,” I said.
“Maybe peculiar,” Alvin said.
Bunny pouted. “You made fun of me. The Bunny of Death? Like I’m going to forget that anytime soon?”
“I think I said I was sorry.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well, I am saying it now.” Bunny has always been a sensitive flower. He said nothing, just kept stroking Gussie. Alvin seemed to have joined the conspiracy of silence.
“Fine,” I said. “Alvin? Anything to add?”
“How was I to know that those names were connected to the jokes?”
My voice rose. “You mean to tell me we did get them?”
Bunny said, “What can we do about it?”
“In the end, I think you’ll find that a lot of people probably got those jokes, and they’re not really connected to us.”
Bunny pulled his towel closer. “I sure hope you’re right.”
