AS EXPECTED, THE police arrested and dragged me into a holding area while they figured out what to do. On the one hand, they thought I might have tried to murder this guy. On the other, I had revived him and kept him stable until the ambulance was able to get him to the hospital.
Finally, they marched me over to an interrogation room. You’ve seen them before: thick metal door, glass two-way mirror on one side, table in the middle with a loop for cuffs. Typical. Anyone else might have been sat down at a detective’s desk and given a cup of coffee. Not me.
The interviewer was a Detective Gordon McDonald. A more Canadian name there was not. He was a big, burly guy with a thick, droopy cop mustache, and an ill-fitting tweed jacket. Looked like he didn’t want to be there any more than I did.
“Mister …” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “… Virtue?”
“No relation,” I said. It didn’t make any sense, and I wasn’t feeling smart, but I figured I had to say something a little snarky.
“You were a bouncer at the Blue Noodle jazz club?”
“Was.”
“And they fired you after an altercation with the victim, one Curtis (King) Potter?”
“Uh, huh.”
“And what was your purpose confronting him in his Toronto hotel room?”
I knew better than to talk to police. I knew full well my lawyer was on the way, and his advice on the matter was always the same, whether or not he was present. He hated it when I talked with the police … ever. And this happened much more often than he wanted. Still though, I’ve found that on the occasion where I wasn’t doing anything wrong, it was sometimes useful to give the police some context on my actions.
Also, I don’t think this detective really believed I had anything to do with King’s injuries. I had kept him alive, after all.
“I was there to return some sheet music to him. And apologize for hitting him the previous night. He hit me first.” I pointed to the gash on the bridge of my nose.
“Long way to go to apologize. Especially when you can just call someone.”
“I only knew the vic—King from the club. I didn’t have a phone number for him. It seems pretty impersonal and insincere to apologize over the phone, doesn’t it?”
“And then you barged into his room and?”
“And saved his life, I’m guessing.”
“Or maybe you tried to kill him, and when that didn’t work, pretended to save him.”
Easy, Virtue. Just wait for your lawyer.
“Sure, I was so mad at him for getting me fired from a temp job I tracked him to Toronto, stole a hotel key card, and gave him a drug overdose while the maid stood by and watched a third figure in black storm out of the room.”
Way to go, Virtue. That’ll show him.
McDonald wrote all this down in his book, and I rubbed my temples the best I could manage while still in handcuffs.
“Are you able to identify the other person who was in the hotel room?”
“No, I only saw a blur while I was performing CPR on King.”
McDonald put the pen down and closed the book. He gave me an inscrutable look from his neutral face. I think he was bored. Or angry. Probably bored.
“Mr. Virtue, thank you for coming in today. We’ll let you know if we have any more questions. I would advise you to keep yourself available for further questioning. We may call on you again.”
I held up the handcuffs and gave him a cynical look.
“Yeah, let me get those for you.” He reached across the table and unlocked the cuffs. He gathered them and they disappeared into his large hands. “Assuming you weren’t responsible for the victim’s condition, you did a good thing today.”
“Uh, huh.”
“What was the sheet music for?”
“I don’t know. Something he was working on. Looked like it might be important.”
“The housekeeper has confirmed that there was another person in the room, and that you at least looked like you were trying to help.”
“How nice of her.”
“There are a couple of things that just didn’t add up, so we wanted to get your perspective on it.”
“Yeah, fine. As far as interrogations go, this one’s pretty standard.”
McDonald stood up with a bit of a groan, ambled towards the door, and opened it for me.
“You’re free to go, Virtue. We’ve got your information and phone number. We’ll call you if we have further questions.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Now I have to call my lawyer and tell him to turn around. Every time I talk to him, it costs me money.”
“Maybe you should try staying out of trouble.”
“Trouble is my side business. It wouldn’t work.”
As I headed out the door, I stopped, trapping him in the doorway. His eyes were a good three inches above mine, but I locked eyes anyway.
“You said there were some things that didn’t add up. What were they?”
His dull look sharpened a little, and I could see the edges of discomfort around his face, revealing a trace of annoyance.
“Well, he overdosed on fentanyl-laced heroin, so there’s one thing.”
“Why is that a thing?” I asked.
“Track marks on his arms, so he was a user. But there were no drugs found in the hotel room. And you didn’t have any drugs on you.”
“How is he?”
“Don’t know. He was unconscious when I saw him. Probably still alive.”
“What was the other thing?”
“Huh?”
“You said a couple of things.”
“Oh yeah, his room key was gone.”