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DEAR DETECTIVE WINSTON,
Who did the men know in common? Did they share any interests? And how did Mrs. Chase feel about her husband’s plans to leave his job? Did she support him pursuing his dream, especially after she picked up her life to move to Vancouver?
Sincerely,
Riley
Riley’s first question was a good one. Even if the men were strangers, given the size of the city—almost twenty-five thousand souls—they would share acquaintances, any of whom could be the key to their disappearances. To be certain, Winston needed Huntington’s address book. He would send Miller to fetch it while he spoke with Huntington’s partners at the law firm.
Riley’s second and third questions were useful and somewhat surprising in their consideration for Mrs. Chase’s feelings; Riley must be a sensitive man. If the woman knew her husband was planning a career change, perhaps his disappearance wasn’t as surprising as she’d suggested.
Winston tried to picture Huntington’s life. Were he in Huntington’s shoes, he might have felt trapped. He was fond of, perhaps even in love with, a woman beyond his mother’s approval, and unable to escape the pressure of his father’s reputation to create a name for himself. Winston sympathized; he had navigated similar disapproval and disappointment when leaving Toronto.
May 14 ’97
Dear Riley,
You asked about similarities between Huntington and Chase. Although she didn’t declare it, I sensed a difference in social classes between Chase and his wife. If so, their wishing to start their lives together in a new city is understandable and may well be the reason they moved to Vancouver, to escape the criticism of his family. As for Huntington, he cared for a housemaid, something his mother was reluctant to admit to me. I am unsure whether they had other common interests, but the question is worth exploring further.
With thanks,
Jack Winston
“Thomas, please go to Huntington’s and ask his mother for his address book. When you get back here, review it, and write out the names. See if you can sort them into categories, identifying which acquaintances are social, which are professional, and which fall into another category. We need to understand how this man spent his time.”
Miller’s eyes widened at the instructions. “Sir? How will I tell which is which?”
“See if he left notations. Do the same with Chase’s address book.” Winston pointed at a folder on his desk. “We will compare the two lists.”
“Right, sir.”
“Thank you. I am off to speak with Mr. Rupert, with whom Chase spent some time the evening he disappeared. Then I will stop in at Huntington’s law firm. I don’t expect to return this afternoon.”
WINSTON CLIMBED THE steps to the Vancouver Gentlemen’s Club. As he waited for the porter to inspect his warrant card, the scents of leather and lemon furniture polish reminded him of his father. How much time had he spent in establishments like this, social clubs for men of means?
After much scrutiny, the porter directed him to the reading room. Shelves stacked high with books lined the space. Clusters of men sat together and spoke in low tones. At the rear of the room a man sat alone, his face hidden behind a newspaper. Winston’s footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he approached. “Mr. Rupert?”
The man moved the paper to the side. “Can I help you?”
Winston explained who he was. Nearby conversations around him paused when he mentioned the constabulary. “I understand you were with Edmund Chase last night.”
Rupert folded the paper and gestured to the chair in front of him. “We were here, in fact, though I suspect you already know that.”
Leather crinkled as Winston lowered himself into the seat. “You’re aware he’s missing?”
Rupert nodded. “I’m troubled by the news.” The murmurs surrounding them resumed, though Winston had a sense the other members still attempted to listen to their conversation.
“I understand you left here together. Do you recall the time?”
Rupert edged forward and lowered his head conspiratorially. “I wasn’t as honest as I could have been when I spoke with his maid. Eddie and I were preparing to leave at nine o’clock. Just before then, he decided to stay on. I told the maid he’d left to avoid worrying Louella. Perhaps it was wrong of me?”
Winston fought a frown. “It would be best if you were honest with me, sir. What time did you leave?”
“It was nine. Definitely no later than half past. We had enjoyed our supper, a cigar, and a glass of port. Or two.” He coughed. “No more than two. Chase was eager to get back to his wife. He loves that woman.”
“But you said he stayed on. What changed his mind about leaving with you?”
“We bumped into some work colleagues. Spirits were high.”
“Who else was there, Mr. Rupert?”
“The usual crowd.” Rupert sat back. “I’m certain I saw Collins. And Cole. Sharp, Pierce, and Sawyer were also in, as I recall.” Rupert counted the names on his fingers as he spoke. “I don’t remember who else, though I’m sure the porter could tell you.”
“I’ll ask.” Winston wrote the names in his notebook. “Did Chase share his plans?”
“Oh, I think he had every intention of returning home. Only he left later than he’d intended.”
“Mrs. Chase mentioned that you and her husband are old friends. Did you meet in Toronto?”
“We attended school together as boys.” Rupert smiled. It seemed a genuine response prompted by a fond memory.
“When did you move here?”
“Spring of ’95, with my wife.”
Winston stood. “Are you worried for your friend?”
“He’s a capable man, if that’s what you’re asking. He can defend himself if need be. But he is committed to his wife. It would be unusual for him not to return to her.” Rupert bit his lip. “I’m not sure I should mention this, but he has been known to take a little time alone to think on something if it is troubling him. No more than a couple of days. I thought he stopped all that when he married Louella.”
Riley’s questions returned to Winston. He returned to his seat. “Are you aware Chase is considering a career change? Has he said anything to you? Might that have been something he needed to think about?”
Rupert frowned. “A change? He made a rather successful start here at the railway. I helped him get his current appointment.” He crossed his ankles. “Eddie never mentioned anything to me. But he did ask if I might invest in a project he was considering pursuing. Perhaps it had something to do with that.”
“What can you tell me of the project?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. We didn’t get into any specifics. I declined, of course. I’ve learned not to mix money and friendships.”
“And yet you work with a man you describe as a good friend?”
“Chase is like a brother. We look out for each other. Though there is a difference between offering him a position and loaning him money.” Rupert’s mouth worked itself into a smirk. “You know, Detective, I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed.”
“I’m surprised you think a police detective is worth knowing.”
“Who decides who’s worth knowing?” Rupert cupped his elbow with one hand and pointed at Winston with the other. “But you’re more than a police detective, aren’t you?”
Winston didn’t answer. He stood, feeling the colour rise to his cheeks. Of course this man knew his father. But how had he connected them, with Winston using his mother’s name?
“If you want to speak to the lads, come by the offices tomorrow. Everyone is in by nine o’clock.” Rupert crossed his legs. Glints of something reflective in the mud on the sole of his shoe caught Winston’s eye.
Winston left Rupert to his paper. Before leaving, he checked with the porter about the names Rupert had offered. He confirmed that all had been at the club the night Chase disappeared. But he could not recall seeing Chase leave, as he’d had to attend to a dispute, one member accusing another of cheating at a card game. Winston and Miller would need to check with each man Rupert had mentioned to see if they had left with Chase.
On the street Winston turned his collar against the wind that had picked up while he had been inside. As he walked, he wondered again how far his father’s influence reached and how Rupert had connected them.
CLARENCE BRIGHT GREETED Winston with a grim smile. Walter Huntington’s partner sat behind his desk in the firm’s offices. “I’m sorry to see you again, Detective. I had rather hoped Walter would turn up alive. We miss him around here.” He motioned for Winston to take a seat.
“I’ve come with the hope you’ll be able to provide me a little more detail about his life, especially in the weeks before he disappeared. Forgive the repetition, but grief—” Winston swallowed. “With grief we may remember something new.” He pulled his notebook from his pocket. “Was Walter happy?”
Bright sat back in his chair. “I believe so. As you know, he hadn’t been a partner here long, but he seemed to be settling in. He had a good legal mind.”
Winston glanced at the shelves and cabinets lining the office’s walls. “What will happen now to the firm?”
“With Walter dead, I need to find a new partner. Or run the firm on my own.” Bright ran his hand through his hair. “No matter what, I’ll ensure that Mrs. Huntington is looked after.”
“Were you close with Walter?”
Bright chewed his lip. “We were business partners, but it wasn’t a long partnership. I knew his father much better, though I’m closer in age to Walter.” He scratched his neck. “His father spoke of him often.”
“Was there tension between you?”
Bright shook his head. “We were really just finding our way.”
Winston flipped back in his notebook. “Did Walter mention anything about wanting to pursue another line of work? You said he had a good legal mind, but did he enjoy practising law?”
Looking down at his desk as if weighing the question, Bright inhaled deeply. “I don’t want to criticize a dead man. Whatever he was planning hardly matters now.”
“Go on.” Winston encouraged Bright with a wave of the pencil in his hand.
“He didn’t seem particularly interested in building a practice. He tried to serve his father’s clients, but they preferred dealing with someone older, more experienced. Walter didn’t seek any of his own clients.”
“Was it affecting business?”
“Not yet. I was giving him some time to figure it out. There wasn’t an immediate need to speak to him about it.”
“Were you concerned?”
“Harry, his father, knew that his son did not want to work here. I had never seen him prouder than when he told me Walter was studying law.” Bright’s eyes had a wistful expression. He gave his head a slight shake and continued. “When Harry died, Walter came to me. His father’s death helped him realize he’d made a mistake and needed to pursue his dreams. I understood he meant he was leaving law. But the next day, Mrs. Huntington came to see me, said Walter wanted to work here. I had no choice but to make him partner. I do not think this was the dream Walter had spoken of, but I have no idea what passed between him and his mother. We never discussed it.”
“Any ideas what Walter’s dream was?”
Bright drummed his fingers on the desk. “He asked me once what would happen if he left the firm.”
“And what was your answer?”
“The same I gave you earlier. Ownership reverts to me, and I decide whether I want to take on a new partner.”
“What of Mrs. Huntington? It’s her husband’s name on the door, not yours.”
“I agreed to take on Walter out of respect for Harry. If I change the firm’s name, it’s no longer any business of hers.” Bright coloured. “That was uncharitable of me. She has just lost her son. But you’ve met the woman. She is—” Bright opened his mouth and closed it, the words evading him. “She is determined to have things her way. After Harry died, she focused all her attention on Walter.”
Winston stood. “Thank you, Mr. Bright. If you should happen to recall anything more about Huntington, please send word to the station.” He started for the door, then turned on his heel. “One more thing, if you don’t mind. How late did Walter typically stay at work in the evenings?”
“Not late at all, Detective. He was often the first to leave. I thought he might have a love interest he was sneaking off to meet before returning home to his mother.” He held up a finger. “You know, I don’t know where this fits in the whole picture, but I caught him sketching something a few weeks ago. It looked like it might be a dress, or a long jacket. Seemed an odd thing to sketch. When he realized I’d seen him, he crumpled the paper. I’d dismissed it until now.”