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We headed out.
"Called Quinn this morning," he said, squinting into the morning sun.
"Already? Thanks."
He motioned me to the dock, where we could talk and see anyone approaching.
"He'll work on it. Wants to come by. Talk."
"Talk?"
"About the case. Thinks it'd be easier. Safer. In person." A roll of his eyes as he sipped his coffee. "I mention he's crap at excuses?"
"So he doesn't really think it'd be better to chat here, he just wants to come over because..."
A look that said the answer should be obvious. "The company."
"Ah. Okay, so he wants an excuse to pop around before he heads home, and you told him no - "
"Nah."
"Fine, you told him 'nah.' "
Another look, this time accompanied by a soft sigh as he leaned back in the Muskoka chair. "I mean no. I didn't tell him no."
A sharp shake of my head. "Is it just me or is this conversation degenerating?"
"Just you. Told him fine. Come by. Might be easier. Cop shit? He's the pro. Could use him."
"So you told him it was okay to come by so the three of us could discuss the best way to build a case that can be handed over to the police."
"Said that, didn't I? He's stuck in Montreal for the weekend. Said that's fine. No rush. You've got guests, responsibilities. He'll be here Sunday night. Meantime, this - " He tapped his cast against the deck. " - is going."
"I thought you had another two weeks."
> "It's fixed."
"So now you're a doctor as well as a mechanic?"
He pushed the last chunk of cinnamon bun into his mouth, talking around it. "They say ten weeks? Probably half that. Covering their asses. Afraid of getting sued."
I thought of asking whether it hurt, and suggesting it might if the cast came off early, but Jack would no more take that into consideration than he'd admit he was in any pain now. "It's just two more weeks, and you're getting around pretty well - "
"Like last night? Hitman with a crutch? Clomping around on a cast? Fucking bad joke. And dangerous. It's coming off. You wanna help? Appreciate it. Otherwise? Point me to the hacksaw."
I managed to persuade him it could wait until Sunday. He grumbled, but agreed.
I will admit to pangs of panic at the thought that Jack expected me to shelve the case until Sunday. But, having only last night sworn I wanted nothing more to do with the investigation, I could hardly complain at a forty-eight-hour delay.
As we headed in for breakfast, though, Jack told me Quinn would be expecting my call at four. I wanted to start discussing the how and when of handing the case over to the police, and while it could have waited until Sunday, I appreciated the excuse to do it earlier. Just as I appreciated Jack's suggestion that I join him in the shop before the weekenders arrived. Mechanically, I'd be no help at all, but it gave me an excuse to hang out with him... with the shop radio tuned to the Kingston stations for news of last night's murder.
It was like sneaking chocolates to a dieter - feeding me little bits to keep my resolve up. I felt guilty about that, but it didn't keep me from accepting the tidbits, and being grateful for them.
The dead girl was sixteen-year-old Mina Jackson. And, far from being stumped by the murder of a teenage mother at an auto wreckers, the police - or at least the media - had no end of suspects and theories... none of them being "a hitman whacked her to steal her baby."
Mina had lived in that office, courtesy of her boyfriend, Nate Hellqvist, owner of Hell's Wreckers. Nate had rung up more than his share of enemies, all of whom might send a message by killing his girlfriend. There was the bookie he owed fifty grand to, the gang cohorts he ratted out in a plea bargain, and, of course, his wife, who was a little annoyed with the whole "teenage mistress and baby" arrangement... and whose doting father had "reputed mob ties." No wonder Fenniger picked Mina. People might notice she'd disappeared, but it wasn't likely that any of them would care. Even Hellqvist would probably presume she'd had enough and run off.
With the ever-growing list of motives and cast of suspects, all centering on Nate Hellqvist, Mina herself would be lost in the soap opera, mere collateral damage. As for the baby, Hellqvist apparently didn't want him, which, all things considered, was probably the best thing that could happen to the kid. If Mina had any family, the reports didn't mention it. Her four-month-old son was currently in the care of children's services, which would find a suitable foster family.
