Deadly Legacy (A Carmedy & Garrett Mystery) Page 4

  Jake heaved a weary sigh.

  "Odd that Joseph didn't give that job to you."

  "He would have loved to—believe me! Eldridge wouldn't work with me. I stuck with the Moonlight case. To date, I haven't identified the arsonist, but I have eliminated the crooked bookkeeper and two of the employees and conditionally set aside a third. She's about to go on maternity leave and wasn't planning to return, in any case."

  Thorsen yawned and stretched. Joints and wood creaked ominously.

  "Interesting as this is, I don't see how it directly relates to Mr. Gage's death."

  "Me neither."

  "If anything occurs..."

  "Of course."

  Jake stood, stifling a yawn. "If you don't mind, I think I'll get going. It's been a long day."

  Thorsen nodded. "A very long day—and tomorrow will be longer."

  6

  Wednesday, November 21

  Morning found Kate Garrett snuggled in her father's bed. After leaving a message for Carmedy, Kate had taken the private stairway up to the fifth floor and Joe Garrett's apartment. It was an attic space, smaller than the lower floors because of the mansard roof and utility room, larger looking because it was mostly open-concept. The bathroom was segregated and the bedroom area was divided off from the rest of the apartment by a stained-glass wall which cast a kaleidoscope of colours on the bed when the light from the front window shone through. The window was huge and the only source of natural light in the apartment.

  Originally, Kate had only gone up to retrieve her father's file box. It was a fire-proof document safe, about the size of a standard briefcase. It contained copies of all her father's important documents, including his will. As executrix, she'd need all that stuff to take care of the business of his death.

  It was kept in the lower cabinet of the dining area hutch, along with a punch bowl, a samovar and a box of memorabilia. Before long Kate was sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the legs of the dinner table. Fanned out around her were photos and postcards, small knick-knacks and disintegrating crafts from Kate's childhood. She had no idea her father had kept such things.

  For a long time, Kate just sat there, picking up each item in turn, contemplating each while tear drops trickled down her face. Eventually, she put them carefully away. Her knees wobbled when she stood up and she almost fell back down again. It had been such a long day. Physically and emotionally spent, Kate dragged herself to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. An hour or so later, she got undressed and crawled under the covers. Memories swept over her, of creeping into her parents' bed as a child, being comforted by her father when she had a bad dream.

  Kate cried herself to sleep.

  Kate's eCom woke her with a phrase of classical music indicating her mother was calling her.

  "Hi, Mum. No, I'm okay. Hold on a sec."

  Kate slid open a small panel on the back of her eCom, pulled out a hands-free and pressed the strip along her left cheekbone.

  "Go ahead, Mum."

  Kate listened to her mother's outpouring of grief. It had been over a decade since she had asked Joe Garrett to leave, just under a decade since the divorce, shortly followed by her marriage to David Kessler. It didn't matter. The notion of separate lives only goes so far when you have a child to raise.

  While she listened, Kate had a shower, freshened her clothes and dressed. There was yogurt in the fridge and a beet juice cocktail that was supposed to cleanse the colon and boost the immune system. There was a time you would have only found beer, pickles and cold meat in Joe Garrett's fridge. Now, alcohol interfered with his heart medication. Cold meat was full of nitrates which exacerbated his arthritis and pickles gave him gas. Actually, the only thing giving him gas now was the putrefaction of his flesh.

  Sometimes, Kate thought ruefully, a person could know too much about death.

  "Mum, if you're going to meet me at the funeral parlour, you'd better get going." She smiled. "I love you, too."

  Breakfasting on yogurt, juice and a twelve-grain bagel, Kate went through her father's papers. She knew the contents of the will. A couple of years back he had gifted his sole regular employee, Jake Carmedy, with a thirty percent share in the business. At the same time he gifted Kate with thirty percent, making her a silent partner. Most of the profits went to salaries and expenses, so it didn't make a huge difference to the business. Kate's share rarely paid a dividend.

  The will split the remaining forty percent between Carmedy and Kate, making them equal partners. Apart from a few personal bequests, everything else went to Kate outright, including this apartment if she wanted it.

  She'd think about that later.

  Her father only drank decaf at home, which was a waste of good beans, in Kate's humble opinion. The desire for the real stuff drove her out, even though the funeral home was minutes away and she had almost an hour before the appointment. A quick check of the security cam showed Carmedy was already in the office, so she left via the back stairs. It was cowardly, she knew. Then, because she couldn't stand the thought she was being a wimp, she started back up the main stairway where she found Ike.

  "Miss Kate?"

  "Ike!" Her hands clenched unconsciously. "How long have you been waiting?"

  "Not too long. I wasn't sure you wanted me talking to Mr. Jake, so I waited 'til he went up."

  "Good move." She relaxed her hands. "Let's go have coffee. We shouldn't talk here."

  Eventually, she would have to suck it up and face Carmedy. No doubt, it would be worse for having put it off. Right now, she had an almost legitimate excuse for procrastination. Meanwhile, picking the right coffee shop was a sufficient challenge to distract Kate from self-recrimination.

  The Helios was out. Too close to home. The nearby Darkroom Café was too high brow for Ike to feel comfortable, which was too bad because they made a Redeye which was guaranteed to kick-start a somnambulist's morning. The café would be overflowing with office workers taking their midmorning break, getting away from their desktops only to hook into the Net via their ePads, I-Coms and other devices. Ditto the dozen or so other cafés, tearooms and coffeehouses in the downtown core.

  "Let's try the Station. It shouldn't be too busy."

  The Station wasn't the name of the restaurant. It described its location. Only Revenue and Customs Canada, and presumably its proprietor, knew the coffee shop's real name. Across the road from the train, bus and transit terminal, next door to a taxi company, the Station handled a lot of business during the commuting hours. Otherwise, it was mostly frequented by transit operators and taxi drivers taking a break or picking up something for the road.

  Kate ushered Ike through the door. "Have you had breakfast?"

  Ike shook his head.

  She ordered a bacon and egg croissant at the counter. The coffee was self-serve. Ike took the largest possible mug and half-filled it with cream before adding the coffee. Guessing he wasn't doing so well, despite his new job, Kate added a couple of fruit cups to their order. They were the pre-packaged type, so he could pocket them for later if he desired.

  Ike looked up from his habitual hunch and rewarded her with a grateful, if somewhat awkward, smile. He looked like the mix-breed terrier she had owned as a girl. He was a rescued dog who, despite good food and loving care, always looked half-starved and expected to be kicked.

  "So, what's up?" Kate asked, settling into the back booth.

  "Not much. I was contacted and told to follow Mr. Eldridge again this afternoon. Same routine as yesterday."

  Yesterday? Seems like a lifetime ago, thought Kate.

  Ike leaned forward and dropped his tone to a confidential whisper. "I said I wasn't sure about it, playing it nervous, you know."

  Kate smiled. Playing nervous wouldn't be a stretch for Ike.

  "'What if something else happens?' I asked him," Ike said. "I told him I wasn't expecting anyone to die. Eldridge said he wasn't expecting that, either. It was just a tragic accident. I suggested maybe it was time to stop. He said
it was almost over, one more day of my services would be enough."

  "Enough for what?"

  "He said he needed the police to take him seriously—to get protection."

  "And now he has to convince Carmedy."

  Ike nodded.

  "Interesting." Kate pondered on Ike's words for a minute. "Let's try to wrap this up before tomorrow night. There's a wake for my father at the Helios and you should be there. My father would have wanted that."

  Joe Garrett had hired Jake Carmedy for his expertise with security systems. After doing his time breaking up bar fights and making sure everyone entering or exiting the base had the appropriate paperwork, Carmedy trained to be a security systems specialist. That was a trade he could take to the real world and parlay into a lucrative career. The only fly in the ointment was his own developing interest in solving mysteries, particularly those involving criminal intent. The upshot, so far as Garrett Investigations was concerned, was it had an electronic surveillance system most small businesses could not afford.

  Joe used to call it his other employee. From their desktops, either Joe or Jake could monitor the front lobby, stairs, elevator and the lobbies on each floor via digital cameras. Motion detectors automatically initialized video recorders. Audio pickups were also in the front lobby and the lobby of Garrett Investigations. Thus, Carmedy was aware when Kate Garrett left the building. He was also able to go back over past data seeing her enter, so he knew she had spent the night. He was damned sure she knew the security system well enough to check out the office from her father's apartment. He was neither surprised nor upset she was avoiding him. All things considered, it was to be expected.

  It disturbed him that Ike managed to enter undetected. Ike was one of Joe's informants and he wondered if Joe had shown him the blind spots, or if Ike had worked them out himself. Jake was also a little curious about why Ike was contacting Joe's daughter. The furtive street weasel never struck Jake as the sentimental sort. A mystery. Perhaps this would be a good time to return Miss Garrett's call.

  Kate was saved by the bell. Leon Eldridge called to remind Jake he was taking over Joe's surveillance duties today. The man fussed over details for almost twenty minutes, glaring at Jake via the screen the whole time. He might have continued for another twenty minutes if Jake hadn't seen he had an incoming call from Chief Thorsen.

  Eldridge was visibly irritated by the interruption. Jake tried not to seem grateful. He switched callers and addressed Thorsen's profile. "What's up, Chief?"

  Thorsen turned toward his desk, waving someone away off-camera. He had the harried look of a man with too much on his plate. "If you want in, I've okayed consulting status to Garrett Investigations on the Gage case, with the usual contract. The coroner has determined." He looked down at the bottom of the screen. "'Although the drugs that contributed to Gage's death were similar to those prescribed, the amounts in his system are in excess of what would reasonably be considered accidental overdoses.'"

  "Sound's vague," Jake commented.

  "Sounds like a suspicious death. I originally assigned Vincent and Xavier Lim to the case. I've moved Xavier over to work with Mercy Rudra while Kathleen's on compassionate leave." There was one of those awkward pauses that happens when a difficult topic is about to be raised. "Has Kathleen contacted you?"

  Jake's face screwed up with something between distaste and guilt. "She tried. She left a message. I was about to return it when you called."

  "I won't hold you up, then."

  "Thanks awfully." Jake grinned to show he was joking.

  Thorsen wasn't buying it and shot him a severe frown. "Be nice, Jacob. We lost a friend. She lost a friend and a father."

  For the umpteenth time, Jake wanted to remind the man his parents hadn't christened him Jacob. Instead, he just nodded contritely and said, "I'll call right away."

  He did call. He wasn't very disappointed when Kate's voice mail reported she was unavailable and to please leave a detailed message at the sound of the tone.

  Kate checked the message log on her eCom the moment she left Ike. Her mother had called and left a text message that she was 'RUN'G L8 MT @ FH.'

  Kate smile. Her mother was so old-school sometimes.

  There were two voice messages on the system. One was from an old friend of her father's and the other was from Carmedy. Neither one required her immediate attention. Instead, while she walked over to Forestell and Family Memorial Services, she downloaded references to Eldridge.

  There were quite a few messages from her father, pulled from her own message archive, mentioning Eldridge. He was one of those clients, whose foibles are the topic of professional gossip. He had a website and was member of several networks. There were half a dozen articles by local business writers published over the last six years, maybe twice that in news briefs. Just before walking up the curved driveway leading to the Georgian style funeral home, she had the newly created archive arrange itself into chronological order.

  Kate was familiar with Forestell's. The Forestell family had been taking care of police officers and their families for five generations. Kate had attended her first service when she was six years old. That's when her grandmother's old partner died. Five years later, it was her grandmother's funeral which brought her up this drive. Though she had returned regularly, this was the first time since her grandmother's death she crossed the threshold as a family member.

  Mr. Grant Forestell the younger met Kate at the door. Mr. Grant Forestell the elder was older than Elvis and rarely came to work anymore. His son was sixty-something and semi-retired himself. His daughter, Ms. Greer Forestell, was the managing director and generally let her two younger brothers and Cousin Alicia take care of the live clients. Yet, by the time she was shown to the office, all the Forestells, including Uncle Cary who evidently never came out of the embalming room, had introduced themselves to Kate and expressed their condolences. They then did it all over again when Kate's mother arrived.

  Emma Kessler knew how to dress for the occasion. Today, she was in a charcoal-grey pinstripe suit, with a pencil skirt and a black silk blouse clinging to her figure in a way that made it hard to believe she was a woman on the high end of fifty-something. With practised grace, she shook hands with everyone and thanked them for their kind words. Only later, when she was alone with her daughter, did Emma admit she hadn't a clue who she was talking to or what she had said to them.

  "It doesn't matter. You handled it perfectly and I don't think I could have done it without you."

  Emma gave a gracious nod. "Any time, sweetheart. Thank heaven Joe had the forethought to make arrangements ahead of time. I don't want to think of how terrible this would be if he had left the organization to you."

  Kate made a sour face.

  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Emma added hastily. "I never approved of your father saddling you with all this. My executor—or trix, as the case may be—will be from the family's law firm."

  "Mom, please. One funeral at a time."

  "Sorry, honey. It's just—" She paused. "Well, at least Joe made arrangements. It's all pretty awful, but it could be much worse."

  Kate wasn't sure it could be worse. She was damned sure she didn't want to think about it. Grant the younger returned with more papers to sign, saving her from more uncomfortable remarks from her mother.

  After they were done, her mother took Kate out to lunch. They reminisced a bit about Joe. Then, no doubt with the best intentions, her mother let Kate know she and David had also made their arrangement through Forestell's, though their plans included promession.

  Kate stared at her mother. "Promession?"

  "Yes, dear. We will be reduced to freeze-dried particles, deposited in biodegradable boxes and buried in a memorial garden."

  "I know what promession is. I thought Grandma bought you a space in the family plot."

  "Grandma Garrett did. Your father and I had it reassigned to you. We thought it was more appropriate after the divorce."

 
Kate stared down at her half empty cup. She didn't like the idea of freeze-drying coffee, let alone her mother. "Thanks. I think."

  It got worse. Next, her mother asked Kate how she was doing and about her plans. Kate didn't have a good answer for either question.

  "When you're ready, David and I will round up a posse to help you go through Joe's things. A little redecorating and that could be a nice home for you. The savings on rent and the income from the property will make a big difference to your finances. I'll bet the Filandros family would be willing to buy you out. You could take some time off and travel, or go back to school. I'm sure your professor would still recommend you for the Master's program in psychology. Instead of a common detective, you could become a forensic psychologist or a criminal profiler."

  "Mother, I like being a detective."

  She ignored Kate and continued painting a mother's dream life for her child. When her mother finally left, Kate heaved a sigh of relief and ordered another carafe of coffee. She pulled out her eCom and called up the first item on her list—her email transcripts.

  Being in the same profession, father and daughter often talked shop. She scanned through the email messages with the name Eldridge in the body. They weren't terribly helpful. Leon Eldridge was a risk consultant. He worked from reports and raw data. Sometimes, when the reports didn't jibe or the data was insufficient, he would hire Garrett Investigations to fill the gaps. Joe might mention he was working for Eldridge, and even the type of case it was, but he wouldn't share confidential information. Mostly, he vented about Eldridge's habit of micro-managing and how irritating it was.

  Next, she read the police report and Eldridge's statement when he complained he had received death threats. There were a couple of cut-and-paste notes with vague dangers. The lab had run them through every test possible. The paper was generic, white, ten pound paper—the kind available in any office or copy shop. The cut-out letters had been taken from one of the real estate flimsies distributed free in every mall, bank or department store. Gloves had been worn during every phase of the operation. There were no epithelial traces, no saliva, no stray hairs or anything else indicating who sent the notes. There were no demands, either. Nothing indicated why they were sent. Nor had the detectives, Valerio and Lim, turned up anyone who had seen the notes delivered or knew of anyone who might want to scare Eldridge.