Goddam concussions, you never know when they’ll give you grief. I was dizzy and nauseated as I struggled to my feet. I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept. But if the Labatt’s wall clock could be believed, I had been out cold for six hours. That was more sleep than I’d had in two nights. I felt a bit better, until I inhaled. There was something important I was trying to remember, but it kept eluding me. What?
I slunk to the window and squinted down. The fire escape obscured my view. I looked around the apartment, which seemed to consist of one attic room, furnished in two-fours of Blue and Ottawa Senators flags. The window must have been propped open to minimize the essence of unwashed socks, sweat pants, overflowing ashtrays and a large selection of running shoes that had seen a lot of running. Nothing like Jasmine’s cosy little home. I sniffed something else in the air, a distinctive odour. Was it what I suspected? The question was answered when I located a healthy pot plant thriving under a gro-light in the storage space under the sink. The cops had missed that. Amazing. Probably they didn’t think I could fit under the sink.
I peered through the dusty front window. No sign of police. They wouldn’t likely hang around for six hours.
Seemed like the right time to make a couple of important calls.
Alvin sounded breathless when he answered his cellphone. “Lord thundering Jesus, Camilla. What are you trying to do?”
“Thank you, Alvin. That helps to calm me.”
“It’s not a good time to be calm. Every cop across the country is hunting for you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Hang on. Violet wants to talk to you.”
“Ms. MacPhee. Don’t mind Young Ferguson. He’s terribly worried. We’re been frantic. Why haven’t you been in communication?”
“Your cellphone ran out of juice. And I can’t recharge it.”
“Ah. Equipment failure. Still, it takes more than that to slow down this band of warriors. We have good news on the legal front.”
“What?”
“Sergeant Mombourquette asked us to inform you that he was successful in contacting your preferred legal counsel.”
“You mean Sheldon Romanek?”
“Indeed. I spoke to him myself. Mr. Romanek would be honoured to represent you. He is waiting to hear from you.”
“Did Romanek give you a private number I can use?”
“Yes. He says you can speak freely on that line.”
“Okay, I need the number.”
Of course, when someone gives you a number that is not listed anywhere, you want to write it down. That would require a writing implement and a piece of paper. I had neither. I glanced around the apartment. This guy didn’t spend a lot of time recording deep thoughts. I did find a chewed-up pencil and a pizza flyer and managed to write down Romanek’s number.
“What can we do to assist, Ms. MacPhee?”
“It’s risky for anyone caught helping me. I just put this nice girl, Jasmine, in a tough spot.”
“We do not abandon our comrades.”
“If the police learn you’ve helped me in any way, you’ll be charged, remember?”
“Of course, I remember. I am in full possession of all my faculties, Ms. MacPhee.”
“I wish I could say the same about me. The main thing is, you have to keep your distance. Jail is a bad place, Mrs. P. Even for a short time. I guarantee you will not like it. So thanks but no thanks.”
“Don’t underestimate what we can tolerate.”
“You’ll just add to my troubles. If they arrest you, that gives them something to manipulate me with.”
“You may be pinned down by enemy fire, but your platoon will be there for you. Do not give up the good fight.”
I wasn’t sure that being stuck in a World War II time warp was consistent with having full use of your faculties. “You may not be afraid of jail, but Alvin hates being arrested.”
“We don’t plan on being arrested. I am eighty years old. Consider the optics.”
“That reminds me, speaking of optics. Keep on top of the media reports. I’ll try and find a phone and check in every now and then.”
“Roger.”
“I’d like you to talk to my brother-in-law, Conn. He’ll know what’s going on. To ensure his personal survival at the hands of my sisters, he won’t want his colleagues to shoot me.”
“Ms. MacPhee, we can leave Young Ferguson’s cellphone for you at a designated spot. That way you will not find yourself at the mercy of payphones.”
“Thanks but no thanks. That’s aiding a fugitive. But there is something positive you can do. You and Alvin can get every piece of information possible about a group called the Settlers. You can search the computer. Alvin can head over to the library. They love him there.”
“The Settlers? You mean that paramilitary outfit? Twenty years back? Females mostly. Bank robberies and bombs. Bad combo. They got a lot of coverage in the media, then they fell off the radar.”
I should have known Mrs. P. would be in the loop. “See if you can find anything about their leader and also how they recruited their members. If any of them have been caught. Bundle the information together, and I’ll figure out later how to get my hands on it.”
“On the double.”
“Here’s the most important thing. You cannot trust Elaine Ekstein. If she contacts you, don’t tell her what you’re doing, and don’t believe a word she says.”
“You mean Ms. Ekstein is a turncoat?”
“I find it hard to believe, but it sure looks that way.”
“And she may have some connection with this thuggery? How shocking.”
“You’re telling me.”
Romanek picked up his private line. “Romanek.”
“This line okay?” I said without saying who I was.
“No problem.”
“Well, MacPhee. You do have a way of getting media attention. What are you trying to prove?”
“Good question. Originally, I wanted to prove Laura Brown was murdered. Now I’m trying to find out who killed her and who killed these other women before they kill anyone else. And before I get tossed in jail.”
“You don’t make it easy for a guy to build a credible defence.”
“Hold on . . .”
“This is not a caper movie with a happy ending. It’s for real, MacPhee.”
“You know me, Sheldon. Do you seriously think I’m killing women?”
“The stuff you’ve been pulling off, the original charge could be jaywalking, and they could still put you away in a federal institution.”
“So you’re glad to represent me.”
“I can’t counsel you to stay on the run. I have to do what’s in your best interests.”
“I’m your client, you should follow my wishes.”
“Where did you go to law school? Within the confines of the law, I can follow your wishes. You want me on your case, start taking advice.”
“Any hope of a defence?”
“Diminished responsibility. We’d go for that first.”
“That means thirty days for psychiatric assessment right off the bat. And then more time for the hearing.”
“Count yourself lucky.”
“I’d be locked in the ROH.”
“What difference does it make where you’re locked up?”
“Good point.”
“Deal? What do I have to deal with?”
“This is Sheldon Romanek representing you, remember?”
“How could I forget. No strip search. Under any circumstances.”
“Your tame cop, Mombourquette, was clear about that. I’ll put it on the table.”
“Not negotiable. It’s like a phobia.”
“What’s that old line, MacPhee? Can’t do the time, don’t do the crime?”
“Okay, I haven’t committed these crimes. This whole thing is a conspiracy.”
“Conspiracy. Great. Crazy talk like that will help our argument. It fits with the head injury, which is the best we got so far.”
“Sarcasm is beneath your stature as the city’s most effective prosecution-buster. I’ll get back to you with details on the conspiracy thing. It has to do with a seventies-style urban terrorist plot.”
“We’ll reserve your whacko ideas for when we really need them. In the meantime, I’ll call a press conference. Give them your demand. I’m calling it a basic human rights issue. Might get national attention. But you’ll have to surrender if they agree.”
“You get some kind of guarantee we can trust, and I’ll consider it.”
“Not consider. Do.”
“I’ll call you.”
“MacPhee? Don’t hang up.”
“Wow, Camilla!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Me and Tonya are rooting for you.”
“Appreciated. Look, I’m sorry about your ladder. I hope it didn’t have your fingerprints all over it.”
“Please. I am a pro. Hypothetically.”
“I already owe you one, and now I need you to do me a favour.”
“Anything.”
“I need a book I left at my sister Donalda’s place. Just go and say you’re a concerned friend or something. Whatever.”
“I’ll say I’m a grateful client. What’s the name of the book?”
“One Man’s Justice by Thomas R. Berger, and I left it in the rec room, perhaps even under the sofa. She probably doesn’t know it’s there. The book is mine, so you are not committing a crime by picking it up.”
“Anyway, I don’t even know you’re a fugitive.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to rely on that in court.”
“Tonya says the same thing. She says it’s nothing against you personally, but I have to think about us now.”
“Smart girl, Tonya.”
“Even so, I told her that if it weren’t for you, I would have served federal time, and what kind of future would that have meant for our kids. That’s true, so she didn’t kick up too much of a fuss.”
“Interesting reasoning, Bunny.”
“Hang on. Tonya’s asking why don’t I just buy you a copy of the book?”
“It has to be that particular copy. Tell Tonya I think she’s right about you staying out of trouble, and I’ll find another way to get it.”
“That book is going to be by the dumpster in the side alley by Tonya’s hair salon, The Cutting Remarque.”
“Don’t get caught.”
“It’s a deal. How can I reach you?”
“You can’t. My last borrowed cellphone died.”
“Bummer. Anything else you need?”
“Not unless you can get me a new identity or an answer to who is killing all these people.”
I gave Bunny Donalda’s address and crossed my fingers for both of us.
I needed to eat something. I had nothing in my stomach, and I thought that might be contributing to my lightheadedness. Somehow the place didn’t do much for my appetite. Might have been the sweat socks. I settled for a large bag of cheesies which had not previously been opened and a can of root beer. Add a few more crimes to my rap sheet.
I selected a new wardrobe while I was at it: a Sens baseball cap, a Sens T-shirt, baggy jeans, pretty much the only clean clothes in the place. I passed on the footwear. There are limits to desperation. I was about to face the street again, when the door opened.
A young man with a bad brush cut and a sleeveless sweatshirt said, “Hey.”
“Just leaving,” I said.
He raised his fists. “What are you doing here?”
“Home inspection,” I said. “Landlord sent me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sorry, my mistake.”
He rammed one fist into the other. “You’re right there.”
“Let’s all stay calm,” I said.
“Hey, I know who you are. You’re that whack job that killed those women. You’re worth a lot of money. Cops will be grateful.”
“They’ll also be impressed with your green thumb.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I can get rid of that.”
“I don’t know. Sufficient quantity to consider you a grow-op.”
He wrinkled his brow. This thinking stuff was obviously not as easy as it looked.
I said, “Tell you what. Don’t bother calling the cops, because you’ll only get arrested, and I will forget about what’s in your kitchen. Because if you get that cash, you won’t be eligible for legal aid, and you’ll have to waste it all paying your lawyer.”
The furrows deepened.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Go get something to eat. When you come back, I’ll be gone and your secret will be safe with me.”
I waited until he was out of sight but not long enough for him to figure out how to get the reward without jeopardizing the crop. I slipped into my new Sens gear, put on my trusty sunglasses and tried not to fall down the fire escape.