Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

They’re athletes as well.  They can fly over 500 miles in a day.  They’ve carried messages since time began.  The so-called Biblical scholars got it wrong.  Common sense says it had to be a pigeon, not a dove, carrying the twig to the Ark.”

“Not very hygienic are they?  Not like some bird species.”

“I’ve stayed in shelters dirtier than them.”

Seeing the look on her face, he decided to cut to the chase.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I don’t know what you’re looking for Mr. Polizeeman but a cup of coffee doesn’t buy you much.”

Damn, ruined them shoes for nothing.

 

“True, how about I pass you a menu as we sip our coffee?”

“Well now, that’s the best bench offer I’ve had in a long time.  Why not?”

The two strolled out of the park and onto the busy sidewalk.

“Look lad, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you?”

Roger stopped short of entering the restaurant.

“Why not?”

“They don’t care for me much in there.  I know a spot where I’m welcome.”

They walked three more blocks.  Hazel opened the door into the drop-in centre.  Roger scanned the room.  There were only a handful of people scattered among the tables, drinking coffee out of paper cups.

Hazel led him to a corner table.  Roger reached into the paper bag and took out the two sandwiches he had bought at a takeout deli.  Eyes in the room watched his hands pulling the food out of the bag.

“Not to worry.  Their bellies are still full from breakfast.  Most of them will be half unconscious with wine by early afternoon.  So, what do you have for me?”

“BLT on whole wheat.”

“Sounds good”, Hazel said reaching for the sandwich.

They tucked into their sandwiches and not a word was said until they had finished eating.

“I take it you’re looking for information on the woman looking for the hit man.”

“Yes.  How did you know?”

“Wasn’t hard to figure.

“So what did this person look like?”

“Couldn’t say except for the red hair, there was something about the voice though, neutral, could have been a man’s or a woman’s, but it cultured like, you know what I mean – high brow.  Tall, thin.  I’m not so good on ages - anywhere between 30 and fifty.  The bright, red hair was a wig for sure.  Not even God himself would come up with a colour like that.”

“What kind of clothes?”

“Dressed down, something like you, long black coat, one of them black hats pulled down over the forehead – the kind of hats detectives wore in those old black and white movies.”

“Did the person say who the target was?”

“Nope, a black man, that’s all.  You can check with Old Crow, he might know more than me.”

“Old Crow?”

“He hangs out in the park, two benches down from where we sat.  He wasn’t there this morning or I would have invited him along. He told me all about it.”

“Do you think it was the same person who approached you?”

“Yes, for sure it was, could tell by the clothes and the hair.  He said some names of young thugs he knew, figured it was a hoax.”

“Do you know those thugs?”

“Of course I do.  They’re conceited snot heads who swagger around the neighbourhood putting the scare to ten years old.  They must have tackled someone bigger though.  They’ve been holed up at Taylor Jackson’s home over on Queen for the last week.”

“Excuse me, Hazel, I’ll be right back.”  He headed for the washroom, pulled out his cell and gave Withers the scoop.  He swore he could hear the sirens as he made his way back to the table.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“No.  I can’t think of anything more.”

“I’d like to speak with Old Crow.  Do you think you could put in a good word for me?”

“I might be able to do that, he’d probably ask for more than a meal though.”

“I can manage it.  When do you think we can meet again?”

“Tomorrow morning.  The same place and time.”

“Appreciate your forthrightness Hazel.  You know, if people were as cooperative and helpful as you are, the crime rate would be sure to fall.”

“Never mind the flattery, I don’t need it.  I was raised by good parents. I know right from wrong.”

“Understood.”  He passed her his card wrapped in a $50 bill. “For phone calls if you hear any rumours or spot this dark clad person again,” he said.

Exhausted, Roger hailed the first empty cab and went home to bed.

***

“Good news, Shirley”, Kate said, “We’ve got a break.  I just got a call from a concerned citizen.”

“And?”

“It was a very informative dialogue I had with Mrs. Rogers.  She’s a senior citizen who had left the province to visit her daughter and granddaughter in Toronto.  She returned home a little more than a week ago.  Took her time reading through her stack of newspapers, came across the story on Jeffrey Stone’s murder an hour ago, says said he has a cabin a mile up the road from her.”

“Where does she live?”

“About two kilometres past Peggy’s Cove, on a dirt road, only two dwellings, hers and down the road a piece, a cabin.”

“Why would Jeffrey Stone buy a rundown shack? Surely he could afford something better.”

“Because he was hiding something. Mrs. Rogers gave me the civic address; I’ll start the paper work for a search warrant.  Once it’s ready, we’ll head out to interview to her; Withers and a couple of men from the incident team can follow us in the van and search the cabin.  I better inform Gordon.”

Two hours later, Kate and Shirley sat across from Mrs. Roger at her red and white Formica table eating peanut butter cookies and sipping tea.  The woman was obviously pleased to find herself in the middle of