“Sorry. She’s on holiday.”
“I imagine you gave that information to my colleagues when they called earlier anyway.”
“Well, no. I take all the phone calls here, and this is the first I’ve heard of it. Perhaps they just left a message. Here, let me check Connie’s voice-mails for you.”
I sat on the line listening to rustling sounds until she came back.
“There’s a few here from Ottawa. A Sgt. Mombourquette. Would that be it?”
“Right on.”
“Well, I’ll certainly get Connie to contact you the minute she shows up. And, Officer, good luck with the case.”
“Thanks, but don’t tell her to call me. I’m on the road quite a bit. I’ll contact her. Thank you.”
There was a breathless good-bye from Ms. Prim as she rushed to get off the phone and spread the news.
Not much information, but it told me Mombourquette had quit after leaving one piddling message. But then, his money had always been on Robin.
I picked up the phone. At least the defense had Connie Dietz in its back pocket.
“Merv,” I said, when the call connected me to my favourite tame Mountie, “you’ve gotta help me. Robin’s in real hot water.”
“Who is this?“ Merv asked, “Not Camilla, is it?”
“Of course it’s Camilla.”
“High time you called me back.”
“What do you mean, it’s high time I called you back?”
“What the hell do you think I mean?”
“Sorry, Merv. Are you saying you left messages for me?”
“Yes, I’m saying I left messages for you.”
It wasn’t necessary for him to mimic my expression with such enthusiasm.
“Oh,” I said, deciding to overlook the mimicking, “well, I didn’t get any messages.” I made a little note on the desk pad —Kick Alvin’s Butt.
“Yeah, well, who’s the guy who answers your phone? He needs some kind of lessons in something.”
“Yes, Merv, he does.”
“Right.” Still sulking.
“Anyway, Merv, I’m calling you because Robin’s in big trouble and…”
“Well, I know Robin’s in big trouble. Anyone in the country who’s read the headlines or listened to the news knows. Being found in the room with Mitzi Brochu’s body is big, big news. Why the hell did you think that I was calling and leaving all those messages?”
“Okay, so you know. Of course, I guess I just have been too busy tearing around to pay attention to the media. The police are focusing on her, and I’ve been scrounging for alternatives.”
“Jesus. Those guys are such peckerheads. You met this Mombourquette?”
“Yup. He’s got it in for Robin.” So far so good. Merv was getting steamed. He’d always had a soft spot in his heart for Robin, ever since we were teenagers and he was the young Mountie living across the street.
“I don’t know how anyone could even think for one minute she could hurt anybody. Does he look like a wharf rat or what?”
“Probably has a tail under his cheap suit,” I said.
“Jeez, somebody’s got to do something. Have you been over to that loony bin lately?”
“You mean the Findlay place?”
“I went over. Her mother’s stuck in front of the television having orgasms over the soaps and her father’s baking all the time, except when they’re both fussing over that useless bitch of a sister. And here’s Robin practically in a coma. Have you seen her?”
“I have, Merv. And I am doing something. And this is how you can help.”
“Shoot.”
“One of the guys I want to know about is Sammy Dash.
Can you check out the computer for his license plate and get me the guy’s address? And listen, you can tell if someone’s got a record from that file, right? I need that too, and if he’s got a history, I want to know for what.”
“You know I’m not supposed to give you stuff like that. I can’t even get into the files without giving a reason. I’m a year from retirement, and you want me to be breaking security.”
“Right. I’m sure you’ll think of a good official reason to check him out.”
“You just make sure you keep an eye on Robin. She needs you.”
“Sure will. Oh and Merv, that’s S-A-M-M-Y D-A-S-H.”
* * *
Alexa was sitting in my living room when I got home that night, much too tall, blonde and elegant for the surroundings. She tapped her long, patent leather toes on the leg of my table. After five minutes, I finally had to ask her what was wrong.
“Why are you doing that?”
She fixed me with a long, dirty look. “He doesn’t have a wife.”
“Who?”
“I think you know.”
“Oh, well, how was I to know he didn’t have a wife?”
“Well, now you know.”
“So he called, did he?”
“No, he didn’t, but I asked around. I have sources.”
“And no wife.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t think he’s gay, do you?”
Her voice went up just a smidgen. “No, I don’t think he’s gay.”
“Just wondering, a man of that age. Not married…”
“He’s divorced.” She snapped it, sounding like a rifle report.
“Divorced! Does Dad know?”
“What does Dad have to do with it?”
“Well, I mean, here’s you, nice Catholic lady, widowed, entitled to see other nice Catholic widowed people and here’s him, D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D. You’ll be the talk of your Parish.”
Alexa sat up very straight.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
Nine
I drove over to Elmvale Acres Saturday morning. Robin looked even worse. She must have lost twenty pounds since finding Mitzi.
“She was just pretending to eat a bit before, and now she’s not even pretending. We’re so worried.” Mr. Findlay stood by the door with a pan of lemon loaf held in his oven mitts.
Mrs. F. nodded her head from the sofa, which was something, I guess, acknowledging that the situation was serious. Even though her mind was on a taped episode of The Young and the Restless.
Mr. F. was glum. Rejection of his food struck at his self-image, I’m sure.
I still wasn’t prepared for the sight of her, shrunken and grey. It was hard to believe that anyone whose colour was that bad had blood in their veins. The skin on her face was loose.
“Robin,” I whispered when we were alone, “you better start eating or old Dr. Beaver’s going to stick a tube through your nose, down your throat and force feed you. Nibbling on your Dad’s fresh