GABE SETTLED INTO HIS FAVOURITE CHAIR with a mug of tea and a signed, first edition of Robertson Davies’ The Cunning Man. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep right away. All the way home he had thought about Joan and even now couldn’t keep the grin off his face. She was the one who didn’t live here anymore, yet he felt as though he’d come home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an easy conversation with anyone. At work there was always a hint of formality. The other cops liked him fine, but there was always a distance, possibly because of his time in the city. He had a solid relationship with his son, but never completely revealed himself. And Betty — well she’d be happy if she never had to speak to him again. Tomorrow he would let Joan know how happy he was to have a real friend back in his life. He was about to put his book away when the phone rang.
“Gabe, it’s Des.” The corporal sounded shaken. “There’s been a homicide.”
Joan looked at her watch. It was two-fifteen in the morning. As soon as the RCMP car pulled into the motel parking lot, Marlena ran up and screamed at the husky young officer as he climbed out. “I saw them making out in the hallway,” she screamed. She pointed at Joan. “Her! Her and Roger!”
If Joan had swilled four G and Ts, Marlena had soaked in a bathtub of rye. Would anyone believe her accusations?
Through the rain she saw Marlena’s husband, Ray. He’d joined the growing circle of onlookers, but didn’t do anything to stop his wife’s ranting, nor did he offer her any sort of comfort.
Gabe’s SUV pulled up, splashing through the pitted gravel. He climbed out, nodded in Joan’s direction but didn’t stop, didn’t smile, and went directly to have a word with the young cop.
Marlena immediately draped herself over him like a sodden rag. “It was awful, Gabe. I walked in, there was blood all over the place. All over the bed.”
“I gotta take a look around, Marlena. We’ll take your statement in a bit.” He gently peeled her from his arm, handed her back to Corporal Des Cardinal, then headed to the cabins. The door to number 23 was hanging open. As with all the motel units, there were signs of forced entry from years of drunken parties. Bikers, rig workers, and high school kids, they’d all left their mark: old damage, painted over, but not completely erased. The clientele of the rejuvenated Pine Tree Resort was more upscale: convention delegates coming for the upgraded facility, families enjoying the close proximity to the lake, faculty visiting Lakeview College that had been established in Madden the previous year. Inside each one-room cabin were a bed and dresser, a kitchenette area with a microwave and small fridge, a table and a sofa. Entrances faced the parking lot, but each unit also had a sliding patio door leading to a picnic area by the woods.
Gabe braced himself before crossing the threshold. The smell of new murder blasted him as he entered the room. He was accustomed to the iron scent of blood. Although homicides were not all that common in Lakeview County, death came regularly by way of accidents and suicides. This, however, was different. He had never investigated the murder of someone he’d known since childhood. That their relationship had been such an emotional one made it even stranger. Roger lay slack-jawed, with his head hanging over the end of the bed. A butcher knife protruded from his chest. Forensics would identify the exact number of wounds, but Gabe instantly knew that someone had savagely stabbed Roger multiple times. All he had on was a worn pair of boxers decorated with cartoon reindeer. Pale and skeletal, the rocker looked impossibly old. His famous curls appeared more white than blond in this light, at least the locks not soaked crimson did, and his outstretched arms were etched with the road map of drug abuse that had spanned his adult life. The amount of blood sprayed on the wall above the headboard and over the bedside lamp was startling, even to a seasoned cop. Somebody had been angry with Roger, angry enough to kill him over and over again. Or afraid, wanting to make certain that he wouldn’t get up again. It didn’t look as though he had struggled. Whoever it was had surprised the rock star. But he’d been awake when the knife went in the first time.
Marlena was slightly more sober a half hour later when Gabe questioned her in the lobby of the resort. Her statement would have to be weighed against her inebriation and her tendency to exaggerate.
“It was open when I got there,” she said.
“Open, as in ‘wide open’?”
“No. Open as in it sort of opened when I knocked, like it wasn’t closed tight.”
“And what did you do next?”
“I called, quiet, you know, like: ‘Roooger’. Like that.”
“And?”
“I went in.” She shuddered. “And saw him there on the bed.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Marlena shook her head.
“Or see anybody?”
Her eyes snapped toward him. “Of course I did. Don’t try to get her off the hook, Gabe. I may not have seen her in his room, but I know bloody well that Joan did it. I saw Roger come out of her room. And I saw them making out in the hall by the bathrooms when the band took a break.”
Gabe talked to Joan next. She stood looking out of the large lobby windows. But there was little to see in the darkness. More likely, she’d been watching his mirrored reflection as he questioned Marlena. He handed her a coffee.
“She says you and Roger were . . . ” She was watching him as he groped for the most delicate words. “Being intimate in the hallway by the johns.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That you had your hands all over each another. Listen Joan, I’ll end up questioning dozens of people. Roger had a lot of friends and even more enemies. Could you just tell me what happened?”
“When I went to the washroom, Roger followed me. He came on to me in the hallway and he wouldn’t back off. I left through the emergency door. That’s what set the alarm off last night.”
Gabe remembered that she’d done the same thing when they had gone to a Led Zeppelin concert in Vancouver. They had tried to be cool but couldn’t stand the crowds and smoke. Escaping through the exit door, the blaring alarm had exposed them. They’d been seventeen years old. This time the escape had been more serious.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re his friend and it was nothing. He’d been drinking and I’d handled it. At least I thought I had. Just after 1:00 am. he knocked on my door.”
“Why?” he asked.
“He was drunk, he didn’t need a reason although he said it was to apologize.”
“That possibly makes you the last one to see him alive.” They were both silent.
She looked at the Styrofoam cup in her hand. “I better not finish this. I doubt that the reunion dinner will happen now.
I’ll need a nap before I head for home.”
“Peg Chalmers is head of the organizing committee. She won’t let a little homicide mess up her plans.” His effort to make it less awkward landed badly. “Besides . . . ” He felt the line between them shift. “It would be better if you didn’t leave town just yet. We can’t officially ask you to stay.”
“You mean I’m a suspect?”
“Hell, Joannie, we’re all candidates. Someone killed Roger.” He took the cup from her hand. “You better get some rest. Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”
When they reached her door, Gabe simply put a hand on her shoulder, gave her a sad, lopsided smile, then walked away. She bolted the door and added the chain latch for extra measure. She checked the patio door to make sure it was locked then looked in the bathroom and under the bed. She changed into her yoga pants and a sweatshirt in case she had to make another instant appearance. As she was crawling under the covers she noticed the message light on her phone blinking. Had it been on when she got in last night? She followed the recorded instructions for retrieving voicemail.
“Hey, babe.” It was Mort. “Checking in on my favourite gin tanker. I tried your cell. Hope you’re not too bored out there in the boonies.”
“Bored,” thought Joan. As she closed her eyes the early morning sun was already cutting a razor of light across the ceiling.