Authors: LH Thomson
Before he could answer, the home’s front door swung open and a burly man in a blue blazer and tie scurried outside, quickly closing the distance to the parking lot. He strode over across the gravel and stood between them, getting close to Cobi, protecting his boss. His silver-grey buzz cut made him look ex-army. “You’re on private property, sir. Mrs. Featherstone, would you like me to call the police?”
“That won’t be necessary, Bobby, but if you could help Mr. Tate find his way back to the road, that would be appreciated.”
Cobi raised both palms. “No intent to offend, ma’am; just doing my job.” He backed up to his car. There was no percentage in starting anything with the security guard.
The guard walked over while Cobi started the car. The guard leaned on the door. Cobi lowered the window. The guard spoke softly. “The next time we catch you on the property, the police will be called,” he said. “But before that happens, I’ll deal with you personally. You get my drift?”
Cobi gave him a winning smile. “Looking forward to it, chief. Watch your toes.” He put the car in reverse and backed up quickly, the security man jumping out of the way to avoid it.
It was nearly six o’clock in the evening by the time Cobi got back into the city; he phoned Jessica Harper to fill her in.
“Are you on the road?” she asked before he could give her any details.
“Yeah, I’m on Fiftieth.” Traffic was heavy. Everyone moved at ten below the speed limit, the last stragglers heading home from work.
“Then hang up and meet me at the Starbucks at One-oh-nine
Street. I need caffeine, and you shouldn’t be talking while driving.”
Jessie was halfway through a gigantic cup of black coffee when Cobi arrived twenty minutes later. The cafe was small, busy, lots of bright white and black tables, a few booths with slate-grey cushions, a counter backed by two busy baristas and fronted by new pots of various blends and strengths. Cobi had never been a coffee drinker and he’d never understood why so many people wanted to hang out in places that didn’t serve food.
She offered to buy him a cup, but he turned it down. “I avoid caffeine or spirits,” he said. “Just a thing.”
He was still disciplined, a good sign.
I’m jealous, but it’s a good sign.
“So what did you learn from Mrs. Featherstone?”
He took a seat across from her. The café was busy, a dozen people hanging around small tables and sitting in armchairs. “First off, she doesn’t want to talk to us, period. But I managed to throw a couple of questions at her before she had me kicked off the property.”
“Eek.”
“Nah, it’s all good. A few tense words, is all. Hey… I’m still on the clock, right?”
Jessica wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t thought about overtime in the budget. But she wasn’t going to take advantage of him, to set a lousy precedent as his boss. “Sure. We’ll figure that out from now on, and maybe we talk about it before you put in after-hours time. But today’s no problem.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. So, Mrs. Featherstone…”
“Yeah. I asked her about the apartment and why her address was listed in town; she said her father bought it for when he was a politician and had to live in two different places. She figured her husband mostly used it on the nights that he worked late and didn’t want a long drive.”
“Okay, that’s something anyway.”
“I also asked her about her husband’s body being moved to where it was found and that surprised her.”
“She hadn’t heard that?”
“No, I mean the question surprised her. From her reaction, I think she’d already heard about it; but she was surprised that I knew.”
“Anything else?”
“That was pretty much it. I asked her if she loved him and she paused awkwardly and then things sort of came to a head after that, and I got on out of there.”
“So maybe she can confirm the police mishandled things. If she doesn’t lie on the stand.” She sipped her coffee. “Well, you got a lot done today. How did you feel about it? Did you enjoy it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s like a puzzle, defending someone, right? So we’ve got all these pieces and I get to try and make them fit.”
She studied him. He always seemed slightly on edge, like something was eating at him. “Are you happy here? I mean, in Edmonton. It’s a long way from home, right?”
Cobi thought on it. “I guess. I mean, if I’m honest, I don’t have much here. But my ex-wife and son are here, and she works here, and he’s everything―which means I’m staying if I want to see them.”
“You must have some other former players who are friends?”
“For true? I was a real pain in the rear end when I was playing; I was so sure my brilliance wasn’t being seen, that I was getting a raw deal. Most of my teammates didn’t want nothing to do with me.”
“And?”
“Mostly, it was just ego. When you’re the king of the castle at your school, then at your college, you never expect to go pro afterwards and find out everyone’s just as good as you. Or better.”
“So who do you hang out with? You must have some other friends in the city…”
“Yeah… sort of, I guess. I mean, I know a few people and I’ve got some friends I used to spend more time with. Like I said, it’s complicated. I was in a serious relationship for a while; when that happens, you sort of stop hanging with the party guys, playing the fool.”
“Then it’s like you’re starting over.”
“Again and again, yeah. I mean… it ain’t been easy, but I’m still probably better off than I’d be back home.”
“In Detroit?”
“Yeah.” He waited for the inevitable onslaught of criticism. People never seemed to get tired of reminding Detroiters how tough life was.
“I think a lot of Canadians wonder how an American city that is right across the river from Windsor, Ontario, can have so many problems and so much crime. Up here, it’s all poverty-based as well, but it’s nothing like Detroit.”
“Folks there have gotten a few raw deals, you know. You ain’t all perfect. It’s sort of like the situation for Indians here.”
“First Nations,” Jess corrected, feeling slightly self-conscious for making the point. “Or native. Or aboriginal. “The
‘I’
word is like the
‘N’
word; we’d prefer it if other people didn’t use it. Some of us, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, maybe it’s stupid because most people don’t mean much by it But in this town, it wasn’t that many years ago that the word
‘Indian’
was always prefaced with the word ‘
dirty.’
It’s getting better. Do you think Americans ever look at our country and wonder why things are so different in our cities, why there’s so much less gun violence?”
He smiled at that. “I’ll tell you one thing I have learned: Canadians spend a lot of time wondering what Americans think.”
“We spend a lot of time wondering
if
Americans think,” she joked. “And then once we’re done insulting an entire nation, we debate our inferiority complex.”
“Uh huh. Weird. Tell you true, I don’t know too many Americans who think much about what’s going on anywhere but their own backyard. It’s big, and we’ve got our own problems, so it’s easier to ignore everything else, I guess. A lot of us just figure Canada is like another world, most of the time.”
He stopped abruptly. “The hearing on Friday…”
“The preliminary inquiry? Sure… what…?”
“I just thought of something. When I went by the house, Sidney’s car was in their car port.”
“Okay.”
“It was obviously being driven, free of snow and ice. But in the evidence shot you showed me earlier…”
Jessie retrieved her phone quickly from her purse and scrolled frantically through the series of pictures she’d sent him. “It’s in the driveway, covered in snow.”
“But if the police’s initial thought was correct and the body was moved, it makes you wonder how he managed to do that without clearing his car off. It hadn’t gone anywhere in at least a day, judging by that picture.”
He had a point. “If I can get the Crown to consider the possibility that the cops ignored evidence he was moved, maybe I can get them to drop this whole thing early.”
“You think that could really happen?”
“It’s possible, or at least knock it down to drug charges alone,” she said. “I’m not going to say it’s likely, because getting the Crown to stand down on anything is difficult, and we have all of the notes from the scene. The forensics guys, the beat constables, the detectives. There’s no mention of him being moved.” Jessie took a long sip off her hot coffee. A few tables away, a college student wore a red wool coat that looked amazing, she thought, and it kept distracting her. It was turning into a long day.
“Let me ask you something,” he said. “Why all this ‘the Crown’ stuff? What’s that all about?”
“Well, Canada’s still a constitutional monarchy; technically our head of state is the Queen.”
“The Queen of England?”
“And of Canada. A few other places, too. So when the government does something, like prosecute a person, it’s done in the name of ‘the Crown.’ ”
“Huh. That’s sort of messed up,” Cobi said.
“Yeah… well, political traditions are strong here. Some, anyway.” Jessie broke off from the conversation, concerned.
“What’s the matter?”
She looked out the café’s front windows. “I’m just going to be a second,” she said. She rose to leave the table, but before she could, a man walked through the front doors. He was tall, maybe six-feet-five, fit and muscular, with neatly combed short brown hair. He made his way over.
“Jessie.”
“David.”
She seemed tense.
“Everything okay?” Cobi asked. Then he offered the man his hand to shake. “Cobi Tate.”
The man ignored it. “You on a date or something?”
“David, this isn’t appropriate,” Jessie warned. “I’ve told you enough times now that I don’t want to see you anymore…”
“Yeah… I was just passing by and saw you through the window, that’s all.”
“I have coffee here all the time. You know that,” she tried to keep her voice diplomatically low. “Look, David… you’re a police officer. You have to be better than this. I know this has been hard for you but it’s done; we’re over. I don’t love you.”
The off-duty policeman frowned at that then stared at his shoes. His face betrayed hurt. “If you were to just give me a chance…”
“No,” Jessie asserted. “We’re done. Don’t make me…”
“What? Don’t make you what?” His tone changed, aggression seeping out. “You going to call my staff sergeant, file a complaint? Just because I’m being nice to you?”
Cobi had heard enough. He stood up. “The lady said she wants you to leave…”
“Sit down, Mr. Tate,” Jessica said sternly.
The tone did its job.
She turned back to David. “If you don’t leave, right now, and stop harassing me, I will not only call your boss, I’ll also call the Police Complaints Commission, the newspapers, and everyone else I can find a number for.”
He looked almost angry, producing a stubborn scowl. “You don’t have the right to treat me like this.”
“You need professional help,” Jessie stated. Then her face softened. It hadn’t been that long, after all, since they’d been serious. “Please leave, David,” she said more quietly, “before this gets out of hand.”
She took out her phone but paused before dialing. Cobi kept both eyes on their frustrated guest, expecting something desperate, something that might require him to jump in.
But if David planned on pushing the issue further, he decided against it, backing away with an anguished look. “This isn’t done yet,” he said, before pushing open the café door and walking out.
“That was…” Cobi started to say.
“Awkward?” Jessie offered. She barely even looked bothered. “My apologies for dragging you into it.” She looked around anxiously, aware that the scene had drawn attention.
“It’s all good. We’ve all had difficult relationships at one time or another. You worried about him?”
“Not really. It’s annoying, but I can’t see David Nygaard as the harmful type. I’m thirty years old; he’s hardly the first guy to get all obsessive.” Cobi’s eyebrows shot up and she must have read the expression. “No, seriously. But I think he’d hurt himself before he hurt me.”
“So he was never violent with you?”
“Not to me. If there was another cop within fifty feet, he turned into a chauvinistic asshole, but that was about it.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah… he’s just an emotionally immature man, that’s all.”
“If you’re worried that he might be dangerous…”
Jessie shook her head. “Like I said, let me handle it. The chivalry is nice, but I’m a big girl. You don’t understand how much of this crap women have to put up with, obviously.”
“Okay. Does it annoy you that he’s a cop?”
It was a fair question. “It’s annoying because my mother thinks I should marry him and have lots of little Nygaards. It’s complicated. I knew him when I was a kid, and then we were together for two years, until he started cheating on me. Look, I should get out of here; my friend Lisa’s expecting me to call her and fill her in on any and all David sightings.” She got up and put her phone in her purse, then put her coat on, inwardly embarrassed that her new employee witnessed her take care of personal business. “But you did really well today, Mr. Tate. It was a really great start.”
Cobi smacked himself lightly on the forehead.“I almost forgot: I have to call my old boss and quit. He probably wondered where I was today.”
“That’s probably a good idea, yes. And tomorrow, maybe you can find out whether Brian Featherstone’s partner had a reason to want him dead.”