Deadly Legacy (A Carmedy & Garrett Mystery) Page 2

  3

  Jake Carmedy's partner and best friend was dead. But his emotions had to be set aside while he dealt with the kind of shock that makes you want to strike your forehead, or possibly someone else's.

  "It's not a good idea to leave the scene of an accident, Mr. Eldridge," he said, tamping down his anger. "Apart from the fact you might have been able to help Joe, the police frown on such behaviour."

  "I was a pedestrian!"

  "Which means you might not be charged criminally."

  Jake let the ethical argument hang silently in the air between them.

  Another shock Jake endured was that Leon Eldridge would have come to him in the first place. Mr. Eldridge had employed the services of Garrett Investigations on behalf of his clients for years. He always dealt directly with Joe Garrett. Eldridge knew Carmedy's background and held the common prejudice that military and intelligence was a contradiction in terms.

  Jake's first career had been with the Military Police in the Canadian Armed Forces. When he first started doing the legwork for Joe, Jake looked like a soldier in muftis. Eldridge pegged him at their first meeting and politely insisted on only dealing with the boss, not the hired gun. He never wavered from the position, even when Jake was made a partner.

  Of course, with Joe Garrett dead, Eldridge didn't have much choice. That didn't stop him from looking down his nose at Jake, despite his inferior height. "As far as I knew, that HUV was going to come after me next. I thought my life was in danger. My life is in danger! Or have you forgotten the threats that brought me to you in the first place?"

  "Actually, you summoned Joe to your office, just as you summoned me." Jake gritted his teeth. "I am well aware of the threats and that the police investigated them, and found nothing suggesting they were anything more than a prank. Joe was run down by some poor sod not paying enough attention to where he was going. Fortunately he stayed around to call 911 because you—someone Joe called a friend—left him in the road, not dead but dying. Have I missed anything?"

  Eldridge huffed. "I take it I cannot expect any help from you."

  Jake sighed. What a piece of work!

  "Garrett investigations will complete the contract and bill you at the end of the month. Someone will be tailing you to and from work again tomorrow."

  "And today?"

  Jake grinned with real pleasure.

  "Today, I will escort you to the nearest police station so you can make your statement. I'm sure an officer will be happy to make sure you get home safely. Or your lawyer will."

  The sun was setting when Jake left the Regional Justice and Emergency Services Building. The neo-classic edifice housed the Ontario Centre for Forensic Sciences, Southwestern Region—Regional Headquarters for the Ontario Provincial Police—municipal administrative headquarters for Police, Fire and Emergency Medical Services—a satellite office of the RCMP—and the downtown police station.

  For the sake of the business, Jake stayed with Eldridge long enough to smooth things over with the investigating officer. Now, he wanted to shake off the lingering cloud of disgust the whole affair wrapped him in so, instead of heading straight to the office, Jake turned down the street that would take him to the Riverside.

  This was the new downtown. Office buildings with street level boutiques, restaurants and underground shopping concourses lined one side of the street. Opposite was a long stretch of parkland that was part of the Riverside Park and Trail system, heading north to Cascade Park and south to where the river met its branch and continued southwest. With the trees and flower beds acting as a buffer it was a peaceful oasis. Jake took the riverside path and lost himself, for a little while, watching the flowing black water and the Canada geese that were stopping by en route to warmer climes. Then he looped back through Old Downtown with its tree-lined avenue and old stone buildings, bisected by the square where old and new intermingled.

  One of Jake's first memories of Joe Garrett was sitting in the square feeding the sparrows. A friend of a friend had told Jake that this ex-cop had his own private investigation firm. Because of a heart problem he needed a leg man. Email contact was followed up by a lengthy audio conference during which Jake started having second thoughts about his new career.

  Joe set up a meeting in the square. Neutral territory, he said.

  That was a lie. There was no place in the city that was neutral to Joe Garrett. The city was his territory. Its people were his people. 'Protect and Serve' should have been tattooed on his forehead.

  Jake had a hard time picking his prospective employer out of the lunchtime crowd in the square. Three restaurants had patios and the downtown board provided fixed tables and seats, as well as benches for the brown-baggers and street-vendor customers. He didn't know what he was expecting, but a forty-something man in black and tan was not it.

  Generally, Jake was good at pegging people by their appearance. This guy was in marketing. That woman worked for a bank. Garrett looked like a nice guy in a suit, maybe an accountant or insurance agent. He especially did not look like someone looking for somebody. The sparrows seemed to consume all his attention. Then he spoke.

  "Sit down, Mr. Carmedy."

  Jake wasn't stupid.

  "Mr. Garrett, I presume?"

  Jake offered his hand. Garrett had a firm grip. Still, Jake noticed there was a cane on the bench and the older man didn't rise to greet him.

  "Joe."

  "Jake."

  "You were expecting Rockford or Magnum, weren't you?"

  "Of course not," Jake lied. He didn't think he had any expectations of what a real private investigator looked like. He had to admit to himself, if no one else, he was expecting a slightly more romantic-looking figure.

  "I love those old classics. Thomas Magnum was way too tall for a PI. At least the show suggested most of the work we do is monotonous, which it is. If I had Rockford's luck I would have quit years ago. My favourites were the Simon brothers. Their adventures were total fantasy, but they looked the part. The good-looking one was a generic sort of handsome and the older brother had the kind of face you could do anything with."

  "Like yours."

  Joe Garrett's face broke into a broad grin and Jake saw the man wasn't so ordinary looking, after all.

  "Why, thank you, Jake. You look like you'd prefer to be a Philip Marlowe type, but that would be a mistake. One of my bread and butter clients is City Police Services and Marlowe wannabes tend to get up the Chief's nose. You're a soldier, conservative, despite your romantic leanings. I'd think in terms of the new shows with consulting detectives working with the police. I like the one with the young kid who has half a dozen degrees and photographic memory. They do a good job of making him look dorky, even though he's every teen's fantasy. At least, that's what my daughter tells me."

  "You want me to be a dorky kid?"

  Joe gave a snort of laughter. "I want you to be yourself. While you're re-discovering who that is, the kid's not a bad role model. A lot of people underestimate him and it works to his advantage. He knows he's smarter than most, and knows enough not to point that out to people."

  That was the clincher. Jake suddenly found himself working for Joe. He even made a point of watching a few episodes of the referred show. It wasn't terrible, if you didn't mind the repetitive montages featuring the latest pop hit.

  He sighed. That would have been ten years ago next spring. Ten years in the Joe Garrett University.

  The offices of Garrett Investigations were situated in one of the historic buildings in Old Downtown. It was a curious-looking edifice. Tall, narrow, faced with false columns, it was capped with a stone mortar and pestle from the time when the building had been owned by a pharmacist with delusions of grandeur. Garrett Investigations occupied the fourth floor, the penultimate story. Because of strict zoning laws restricting the height of new buildings in the downtown area, the fourth floor windows had an unparalleled view of the city, from the residential areas southeast and westward to the commercial areas in the north.<
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  It was the kind of location that should have had rents out of reach of a private investigator. The other tenants reflected this. The third floor was home to the prestigious law firm, Singh, Singh and McTague. The second floor was occupied by a less prestigious, yet even wealthier financial planning company. On the ground floor was the same restaurant occupying the building before its gentrification.

  Jake paused outside. One finger unconsciously traced a pattern in the mosaic facade. He should tell the Filandros family about Joe. He couldn't face that yet, so he headed to the office entrance, even though it was approaching dinner time and Peter Filandros made a great burger.

  When the building was renovated, the neo-classical facade for the office entrance was restored. It was the kind of stonework one would associate with the banks that were as old as confederation. A long narrow corridor led to the back of the building where the elevator and stairwell were located. Jake took the stairs out of habit. Also out of habit, he paused periodically, listening for other people. All was quiet.

  On the fourth floor landing Jake tried the door. It was locked, as it should be after seventeen hundred hours. He keyed in his access code, allowed his thumb to be scanned and the door unlatched. The stairs and elevator opened to a small lobby with a half dozen fixed chairs of the type used in nicer medical offices.

  In one of the seats—almost in two—was a behemoth in blue jeans, a t-shirt and an oilskin riding coat. He rose like a mountain. "Jacob—"

  "I heard about Joe, Chief."

  Thorsen nodded. "And I heard you brought a witness in."

  Jake turned to the office door. A tired but otherwise unremarkable face looked back at him from the mirrored surface of the one way, armoured glass. At about chin height, his reflection was broken up by the gilt-edged, Copperplate script proclaiming, 'Garrett Investigations.'

  Once he thumbed the biometric lock the door swung open automatically and the lights went on inside, revealing a spacious common office furnished in the nouvel ancien style, which was a fancy way of saying everything old was new again. With a jerk of his head he invited the Chief of Detectives in, and with a hand gesture in the general direction of the wet bar, he indicated refreshments could be forthcoming.

  Thorsen shook his head. "I'm good."

  Jake went to a cabinet that looked like an oak armoire and opened one of the lower doors. It was a mini fridge stocked with a variety of beers and soft drinks, all in returnable glass bottles. Joe had been very conscientious about that. His hand hovered near a bottle of ale, but he grabbed an energy drink instead. "Are you here to find out about Eldridge?"

  "No. I know all I want to about Mr. Eldridge. Later we'll sit down and talk about Joseph. Right now, I need to ask you about Mr. Delano Gage."

  "What about Gage?"

  "I understand you are doing some work for him."

  Jake raised a brow. "For Touchstone Insurance, not him personally."

  "Mrs. Gage thought you were reporting to him personally."

  Jake made a seesaw gesture with the hand that wasn't nursing his bottle of caffeine-enriched vitamin tonic.

  "Usually, with insurance cases, we get called in by the senior claims examiner. For Touchstone, that's Felix Proctor. In this case there is a potential conflict of interest. I was to report directly to the big boss."

  "What was the case?"

  Jake frowned.

  "No offence, Chief, but why do you ask?"

  "No offence taken. Delano Gage is dead."

  After taking a deep breath, as if that would help him absorb the information, Jake asked, "How?"

  "Heart attack. According to the coroner, the secondary cause of death is drug interaction—sildenafil and nitro-glycerine."

  "Sildenafil?"

  "A sexual function drug." The chief grinned. "Evidently, his appearance at the morgue was the object of some inappropriate humour among the interns."

  "Oh."

  Thorsen shrugged and took one of the comfortably upholstered and generously-sized chairs provided for clients. Then he pulled out his eCom, called up the relevant details and held it out for Carmedy. Jake scanned the report while half-sitting on his desk. It was a short job and he soon handed the device back.

  "There's nothing suggesting it wasn't an accident."

  "The coroner is inclined to agree with you. Mrs. Gage is not. She insists her husband was well aware of the dangers of drug interactions and adds he had not yet shown the need for sexual enhancement. On the other hand, she also insists no one would want to kill her husband."

  Jake snorted.

  "I can think of a few people without trying. His own wife might do it as a pre-emptive strike. She's trophy-wife number three, you know. Wife number one might want to see him dead. Although she has nothing to gain directly, her daughter would benefit. Then there's all the people he pissed off in business, including the folks I was asked investigate."

  "Which is why I am here."

  "I'll tell you what I can, but can we do it over dinner? I'm starved."

  "And that is the other reason I'm here." Thorsen pushed himself out of the chair. "When I told Maggie what happened, she made me promise I would bring you to dinner. She is currently preparing comfort food, or so she says. This may mean we're in for mac and cheese or she might be preparing a seven-course meal." He rolled his shoulders stiffly. "Either way, if you value our friendship, you will come home with me."

  "I guess I can't refuse."

  4

  The wait staff of The Helios had been slinging burgers, all-day breakfasts and souvlaki for three generations of the Filandros family. Kate Garrett knew members of all three generations. She had been meeting her father there for Saturday morning breakfast since her mother asked him to move out. The Helios became their home base. The owners and staff, mostly one and the same set of people, were her second family.

  Oma Filandros leaned across the table and patted Kate's hand. Her son Peter was beside her. Tears filled his eyes and he kept shaking his head as if the news could be denied. The matriarch was composed, not the type to start weeping in public. Yet, grief had made her seem older and she indulged in a moment of sentimental reflection.

  "I remember the first time Joe brought you here."

  "Not my greatest moment, I seem to remember," Kate said with a weak chuckle.

  "You were perfect. You were just a few months old. Joe was such a proud father. You probably don't remember."

  "I remember the first breakfast when I met Dad here. I was such a brat and you were still nice to me."

  Even though it was her mother who instigated the separation, Kate was angry at her father for leaving. If he had been around more in the first place, her mother wouldn't have started seeing someone else. If he hadn't gotten shot, he wouldn't have put such strain on the marriage. If he hadn't come out of medical retirement to become a private investigator, her mother might have stayed with him.

  Of course, Kate was angry at her mother as well. Sustaining rage 24/7 was much harder than maintaining a grudge a couple hours a week. Easier still was indulging in preteen angst and self-loathing to blame herself for her parents' break-up.

  "You were a princess," Peter said through his tears.

  Oma gave Kate a calculating look, then signalled one of her many grandchildren to refill their coffee cups. Unlike most restaurants, the Helios' wait staff still wandered around with fresh pots of coffee, refilling their patrons' cups.

  "Did you know my husband and your father were business partners?"

  Kate gave a hesitant nod. She only had a rough idea of the relationship.

  "They bought this building together," Oma said. "Back when the city was considering tearing it down."

  Kate was speechless.

  "They raised the money to fix and upscale it," Oma said. "Very smart move. It was done just as the city decided to pour some money back into Old Downtown. We had no trouble leasing the middle floors. The area was becoming trendy, the place to be."

  "I remember the ren
ovations," Kate admitted. "You let me work here so I could raise money for a class trip. At the time I noticed Dad was in the thick of things. I thought it was just because he had his office in the building."

  "My Cosmo and your father were great friends. They used to sit here," Oma tapped the table, "over a pitcher of beer and talk about what the downtown needed to do to revitalize. Finally, they were able to do something about it and they did. They were very proud of that, but Joe was happy being the silent partner. When Cosmo died, your father gifted a portion of his share so Peter and Nicola would each hold thirty-three percent of the ownership. Now, unless I am much mistaken, you are our new partner."

  "I suppose so."

  Peter reached across the table and patted her hand. Then he grabbed a paper serviette and blew his nose loudly. This was followed by several gulps of coffee. Thus fortified he said, "Joe wanted a wake. Did he tell you that?"

  She nodded.

  "Kate, I know a pub is the proper place for an Irish wake—"

  Kate held up a hand. "Dad would prefer here to any pub I can think of." She wasn't sure her father went to pubs anymore—except on business.

  "We'll have food and singing." Peter smiled, looking as though he might burst into tears at any moment. "The whole schmeel."

  Kate took Peter's hand and held it. "He would have liked that. I'm going to the funeral home tomorrow morning. I should know the details by the afternoon, not that we need to have the wake immediately."

  Peter shook his head and squeezed her hand. "Whenever it is, wherever it is, we'll cater the service. The wake will be Thursday night. We'll close early and start at around seven."

  A hint of panic crossed Kate's face. "That's only two days."

  "Don't worry, Princess. You just get yourself and your mother's family here. We'll take care of the rest."

  Kate left The Helios bemused and somewhat overwhelmed. In the short period, since Thorsen had broken the news of her father's death, she had called her mother, the lawyer and the funeral director. She had gone to the hospital to sign papers and pick up her father's personal effects.