Howard Engel - The Cooperman Variation

“No! Certainly not. We just have a few questions.”

“I see. Then, fire away. Oh, do you mind if Mr. Cooperman stays? He’s as close to an attorney as I have handy. Besides, as you know, he has been giving this case a good deal of attention. He might help us all.”

“Yes, we know all about Benny. And I have no objection to his staying. What about you, Chuck?”

Pepper shrugged. “No objection from me. I reckon Benny’s been more of a help than a hindrance since he got here.” With that settled, we stalled around until the coffee arrived. Sally caught my eye, and I tried to reassure her with a look that we weren’t all about to be taken downtown in handcuffs.

“Well, then, let’s get started. We don’t want to waste any more of your time than necessary. First of all, Ms. Moss, why was Renata Sartori staying in your house on the night of the murder?”

“You may remember that I told you that. It’s in my statement, the one I made when I came back to town from Muskoka.”

“I have a copy here. You said that she had been using your house while you were up north. She had an apartment of her own, I believe?” said Sykes.

“Please don’t patronize me, Sergeant! You know she had an apartment; you’ve probably searched every inch of it. I know the address too. I’ve been there twice. The first time, when my husband and I began having difficulties, Renata offered me her spare room. The second time I stayed with her was when my house was being decorated. When Renata’s apartment was being redone, she came to my place. I was simply returning the favour. Oh, I should say that she’d stayed with me once before. It was just after Dermot Keogh drowned. She was in bad shape and somebody had to take her in. She was with me over a week, until we started getting on each other’s nerves. A good sign that she was on the mend.”

“It was just redecorating? She wasn’t having trouble with the current boyfriend?”

“She may have been. And I’ve heard that story. Perhaps both are true. I know we never had time to discuss it. I was off to Muskoka when she arrived. I had a bag full of pilot scripts, and I had to get out of Toronto.”

“Did you visit anyone while you were up north?”

“I saw the man at the marina where I keep my boat. Is that what you mean? I didn’t have any appointments. I was alone the whole time, except when I was foraging for food, visiting the bookstore in Port Carling or stopping in Bracebridge just to look around. I took my canoe out at least once a day.”

“So you didn’t see anyone connected to NTC?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m only trying to get things clear.”

“May I ask a question?” I said to Sykes. He nodded sharply. I guessed it allowed me one short question. “Besides yourself and Evans at the marina, who else has keys to Ed Patel’s cottage?”

“Who?” Boyd glanced at Sykes, as though he’d slept through act two of a three-act play.

“Local lawyer, not far from the marina.”

“I don’t know of any other keys. Maybe Alma. Alma had keys to everything.”

“Benny, what’s going on here? We’ve never heard of either of these people.”

“Patel’s in the Bracebridge hospital, dying, I think. Alma Orchard was his secretary until she died about four weeks ago in an accident.”

“Accident?”

“She took a radio into the bathtub with her.”

“That’ll do it all right. How is she mixed up in all this?”

“She had been watching over Ed Patel’s affairs since he went into hospital.”

“And? Come on, Benny, don’t ration it!”

“There’s not much more to tell. Patel knows Vanessa, and knew both Renata and Dermot Keogh. He also knows those NTC executives who have places on Lake Muskoka. There are more of them than you might expect, because a bunch of properties came up for sale or rental a few years ago. Called the Bradings Trust. People like Philip Rankin and Ken Trebitsch. Now don’t go asking me whether that’s important or not. I don’t know.”

Jack Sykes looked at me a full ten seconds and then moved his eyes to Vanessa. “Are you planning to leave the city during the next week, Ms. Moss?”

“I have no plans to do anything but ride this desk. I’ve been away and there’s catching up to do.”

“Good. Are you moving back into your house?”

“No. I’ll stay where I am, and when I decide to go home, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s the answer I was expecting.” Sykes got to his feet, and with a moment’s delay, Boyd and Pepper followed suit. “Thank you for your co-operation, Ms. Moss. I hope that we will get to the bottom of this quickly and that you’ll be able to return to your normal life without the fears of the last couple of weeks.”

“Thank you for that wish. I hope you’re right.” The police officers and I left the office and headed for the elevator. Vanessa followed us as far as Sally’s desk, where she found that she had a stack of telephone messages to answer. I caught her miming a monosyllable under her breath as she winnowed them into two piles. I was about to return to my own desk, when Jack called out to me.

“Benny, can I borrow you for ten minutes?”

“I’m on the job, Jack. I’m trying to see to it that Ms. Moss is alive at the end of the day.”

“Well, lock her in her office for fifteen minutes. I won’t keep you.”

Vanessa, who had heard this, came to my aid. “Gentlemen, take him by all means, but please return him so that he may be blamed for any more attempts to marginalize me with malice aforethought.” She said it as a joke, but just touched with a bite of gallows humour. The cops made way for me and we disappeared into the elevator.

“Benny, I-”

“We don’t talk in elevators, Jack. Unless you want to send Commander Dunkery a greeting from 52 Division. His eyes and ears are everywhere.” Pepper looked at me, up at the ceiling of the car and then at Sykes and Boyd. He shrugged as we made our way down twenty floors to a still largely unbugged Mother Earth.

We were back in the Second Cup across from the police station on Dundas Street. We had coffee and biscotti in front of us and nobody was talking. The café was nearly full of people coming from or going to a show at the art gallery across the street. They looked bright and motivated, which was more than I was feeling. Jack, Jim and Chuck sat looking at me to see if I dared chew a biscotti under their gaze without talking first. I chanced it and they all pounced at once.

“Benny, you’ve got to-”

“Cooperman, we know what you’re up to-”

“Damn it, Benny, what the hell are you messing about in?”

I shrugged to show my complete ignorance of what they were talking about and picked up my coffee. “Wherever I go in this town, somebody’s always leaning on me. What’s the matter with you guys? I’ve just agreed to do three things that may get me killed and all you want is for me to spill my guts out.”

“Who’s going to kill you? Outside this room, I mean?”

“Ken Trebitsch, head of News at NTC, one swell suspect, has just invited me to have a friendly beer with him.

Philip Rankin wants to show me around Dermot Keogh’s old studio down on Clarence Square. He says he has something ‘most particular’ he wants to discuss with me. And to top it off, Ray Devlin, the legal whiz, has just invited me for a sail aboard his yacht tomorrow.”

“How are these invitations dangerous?” Boyd wanted to know.

“All of these invitations are out of character; that makes them highly suspicious. Devlin doesn’t go sailing with sharpies from Grantham, not when they fail to make one hundred and sixty thousand a year. I’m not in his social group. Rankin has no reason to be nice to me. And Trebitsch even admits that the meeting is just another way to get from me what he’s wanted all along.”