“Okay. I’ll make the call. It doesn’t go outside this room, understood?”
“Yes, understood”, Kate said.
Shirley, uncomfortable with the tension, moved things along.
“A few early reports from the last nights door-to-door are in. A taxi pulled up in front of Catherine’s home, not once, but twice. One at 2:30pm, a woman who lived directly across the street glimpsed a tall person in a black coat get out of the cab and walk up to Catherine’s door. She couldn’t say if it was a man or a woman. The other cab arrived at 4:30pm; the description of that passenger fits Eleanor Sutton.”
“Supports the theory of one killer”, Gordon said. “Yes, Withers?”
“Has anyone told them to follow up with the taxi drivers to see if they can get a better description of the first passenger?”
“I would hope so but check up on it will you?”
Withers nodded and left the room.
“It’s the kind of neighbourhood where any suspicious comings and goings would be noticed. I grew up in the vicinity. I know.
“Memories of growing up and your neighbours turning you in, Kate?”
No one said a word; the last thing they wanted was Gordon’s attempt at humour. Only two reacted - Kate glared; Shirley smiled.
“Okay, I’ve asked Tom to do an in-depth check into Catherine’s background, there’s DNA under her fingernails, the sister will be interviewed by myself this afternoon, so let’s move on to the interviews you and Shirley had with the theatre troupe. Anything new?”
“Not really”, Kate said. “Henry didn’t contribute anything different, he was nervous, but he’s in a new position so maybe that accounts for it. I came at him from three different angles, but no dice. Ed has been fired. Apparently he’s a drinker, things missing from the set, that type of thing. Shirley’s going to meet with him at his home later day. Who knows, he might have something interesting to add now that’s he’s no longer employed by the company. Andrew, the Stage Manager, is hiding something he’s saw or heard but he wasn’t sharing it with me. I plan on bringing him in for a follow up, sweat him a little. Over to you, Shirley.”
“The Iron lady’s mask is starting to crack a bit, it was the first time I saw beads of sweat on Eleanor’s brow. She started getting nervous the harder I pushed about Jeffrey Stone, her relationship with him, her husband, daughter and Catherine. The vibe I was getting is that she was getting ready to talk so I gave her my card and encouraged her to call or drop by. I spoke with Brenda and learned she and her husband met with Jeffrey and Catherine Stone on a social basis, quite chummy in fact. She alluded to Jeffrey’s roving eye and how devastating it was to Catherine. Said the last time they got together, the tension was so thick between the two of them that she and her husband left early. Charlotte had nothing new to add, just the same old complaints about how Stone misunderstood her talent.
“Good, things are starting to shake a bit. You and Kate need to get back to them as soon as you can. Catherine was a sympathetic character; maybe they’ll open up even more. I understand you have a written report on your visit to G &M Manufacturing, Shirley. Can you have copies made and circulated to the entire team to read and we’ll meet and discuss it later.”
“Okay, folks, that’s it for now. Nose to the grindstones and we’ll get this s.o.b.”
Chapter 14
Roger took in a deep breath of the fresh air, headed for the nearest corner store and downed a bottle of carbonated water. Five minutes later, he was walking towards downtown belching in time with his feet, making a bee line for the downtown area where the homeless hang out. Kate had briefed him late last evening about Catherine’s murder and it shook him. Maybe there was substance to Kate’s theory after all. He decided to do some detecting of his own.
He pulled at the black eye patch, the damn elastic was too tight, but he shouldn’t complain, he didn’t lose his vision in his left eye but it was sensitive to the light, needed more time to heal.
It felt good to be in the neighbourhood where he first walked a beat. He was much younger, slimmer and keener in those days. Taking the time to peer into alleyways, smiling at passing pedestrians, continuously moving. He owed a lot to this neighbourhood. They have him his start and helped him grow into a cop.
He was sure the favourite haunts of the homeless hadn’t changed over the years. He scoured the small parks, library benches, and the busy intersections. No luck. Tired and feeling a bit wobbly, he was on his way to the cab stand when he spotted a woman sitting on a park bench who matched Kate’s description of Hazel.
She was throwing crumbs at a cluster of pigeons; he took at seat at the other end and hoped his clothes would pass the muster. He chose his torn, paint pants, the shirt that was in dire need of a wash, a thin, stretched sweater that hung low in front and high in back. He topped his ensemble off with his old fishing jacket. He didn’t own a pair of scuffed shoes. It broke his heart to take the wire brush to his suede hush puppies, finishing them off with a sprinkle of water and a roll in the dust.
“Strange creatures, aren’t they?”
The faded blue eyes looked into his. “Not as strange as people.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
“Cause, unlike people, they mind their own business. And they’re born entertainers.”
“How so?”
“They bob and wobble, take off and land as good as any stunt plane, and they crap on the public.
