That August was the warmest on the Island in years. People slept
uncovered in their front porches, or, like some, spent a few
hours on the benches in Victoria Park or on squares around Charlottetown.
“
It ain’t the heat, it’s the humidity,” Police
Chief Duke Jackson observed to city manager Charles Stewart Parnell
Fleming.
“
Words to live by, Duke,” said Charlie drily. “Shouldn’t
be this warm after midnight. I’m going home, try for a
few hours sleep.”
Charles Stewart Parnell Fleming was a big man as befitted his
name. At 35, he was in the prime of life. He stood six-two, and
topped the scales at a respectable 225 pounds. An abundant thatch
of black curly hair dangled sensuously over his forehead. The
beginning of an imbiber’s veined nose was offset by crinkly
sharp blue eyes and a rock-hard chin. No one ever took Charlie
Fleming for a fool.
Charlie dressed impeccably in good quality Tip Top Tailor three-piece
suits, dark pin stripe or gray, always with a white shirt, a
colorful tie, and highly-polished plain black shoes. People considered
Charlie a bit of a rogue, but always a man of his word.
Charlie ran the city. The Mayor, Henry W. Phillips, was a fine
man but a figurehead only, his wholesale business keeping him
fully occupied. He lent his presence to formal events, he chaired
council meetings, but these ran on Charlie’s agenda, and
the Mayor signed anything Charlie put before him.
Occasionally, a new councilor would suggest how he wanted things
done in his ward, but Charlie would call him in for a chat, and
soon the councilor would realize that Charlie was his new best
friend.
Charlie wrote all the mayor’s speeches, looked after all
the problems, shouldered any blame, but made sure that the mayor
and councilors basked in any glory that came along.
Now, he exited City Hall, climbed into his new Buick Special,
lit a Player’s, and tossed the wooden match out the window.
Charlie was not given to littering his own streets, but he knew
that what kept the city’s street cleaners in work was the
careless habits of its citizens.
He drove to his home, a bungalow on North River Road, undressed
quickly, and settled into his bachelor’s bed for what was
left of the night. A fan played over him. He fell asleep immediately.
When the phone rang, Charlie peeled back an eye and looked at
the bedside table clock.. Four-fifteen.. What the hell?
He stumbled out to the phone on the kitchen wall, “What!?”
“
Charlie, it’s Duke. You better get in here right away.”
Charlie knew that a call at this time of night would alert the
phone company operator who would be lolling away the night at
the switchboard. He also knew it must be trouble. “On my
way.”
“
Jimmy Brophy’s,” Duke said.
“
See you there.”
Charlie hustled into his clothes, reflecting that Brophy was
a well-known bootlegger, and whatever it was, it must be serious.
He pulled up behind the patrol wagon. Duke, Jimmy Brophy, and
two night shift uniforms, Blair Kelly and Tom MacLean, were standing
by a body on the sidewalk.
“
Okay,” Charlie said, taking in the situation. “Who’ve
we got?”
“
Shakes McGovern,” Duke said.
“
Oh hell,” said Charlie. “Not the Shaker?”
“
Afraid so, boss.”
“
Who called it in?”
“
I did, Charlie,” said Jimmy Brophy.
“
What happened, Jimmy?”
“
Don’t know. Shakes was the last to leave. After I cleaned
up I came out for a breath of air - and there he was.”
Duke said, “Looks like he tripped and fell down the steps.
Hit his head - broken neck.”
Charlie studied the body, looked at the steps up to Brophy’s
door, nodding, counting, ten. He looked back at Shakes whose
head was bent at an odd angle. Sympathy showed in Charlie’s
open features. Shakes was a well-known city employee, whose job,
established by Charlie, was to travel by bicycle around the city,
checking on the various jobs city employees were working on,
and report back to Charlie. It was a make-work job, but Shakes
did it with all the intensity he could muster. And, since he
was a gregarious sort and knew most everybody, over time Charlie
came to depend on him to keep track of what was going on in the
city. Charlie would miss him.
“
Okay,” Charlie said eventually. “Here’s what
we do. You, Jimmy, get back into your house. You didn’t
see Shakes tonight, okay? Warn your neighbours as well.”
“
Shakes?” Jimmy said. “Ain’t none of us around
here seen him for a week.” He left.
“
Blair and Tom” - he waved in the two young cops in the
background - “load Shakes in the wagon and dump him at
the bottom of the Basilica steps - the Sydney Street entrance.
Poor Shakes fell down the steps on his way to six-thirty Mass.
We’re just moving him to where he’ll be closer to
God. Then go back on patrol, and remember - not a word. Duke,
you and I’ll go home and wait for the call.”
***
The call to the police station came at six-ten from Basilica
caretaker Larry Hughes who was unlocking the door for Mass-goers
when he discovered the body. Duke was notified, and he called
Charlie at six-fifteen.
“
Guess what?” Duke said.
“
Okay,” Charlie said. “Get the coroner - the usual
routine. In case anyone asks, this is when you told me about
it. You tend to details there. I’ll go see the widow.”
“
Jenny,” Duke said.
“
Yeah. No love lost there.”
“
Don’t I know it. See you later, Charlie.”
Charlie grabbed a quick coffee, climbed into his Buick, drove
around Victoria Park on his way to Shakes’ little house
on Pownal Street. He sat for a few moments, then shook his head
and went to the door and rang the bell.
Jenny was a good-looking woman even at seven in the morning and
fresh from sleep. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Charlie
- what the hell? Come in, come in. I was just having a cup of
tea.”
Charlie entered the dark hall, put his hat on the rack holding
Jenny’s coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. He followed her into
the kitchen and sat at the table. Jenny poured him a cup of tea
without being asked, and slid the sugar bowl towards him.
“
Two spoonfuls, right?” she said.
“
You got it, Jenny.”
“
It’s gotta be Shakes,” she said. “Something
happen to him?”
“
Accident, Jenny. He fell---”
“
Probably drunk.”
“
--and broke his neck.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “Dead?”
Charlie nodded. “Sorry, Jenny.”
“
He’s been out all night,” she said. “Probably
so drunk he couldn’t walk.”
“
No,” Charlie lied. “I was talking to him last night
and he seemed okay. Probably spent the night on a bench on the
square and decided to get the day off to a good start by attending
early Mass. He was found at the foot of the Basilica steps on
Sydney Street.”
Jenny stared at Charlie and laughed. “You’re a great
one for the fairy tales, Charlie.”
“
You can’t argue with facts, Jenny. That’s where he
was found.”
He watched her face go from surprise, to doubt, to cunning, to
something that looked like triumph.
“
Free,” she said.
Charlie knew what she meant. Now she wouldn’t have to sneak
around for her liaisons.
She smiled at Charlie. “You and me, for instance, Charlie.
We could pick it up again.”
Charlie’s face remained impassive. “We put that to
rest years ago, Jen.”
Jesus, Charlie thought, poor old Shakes isn’t even in his
coffin let alone cold in the ground, and the widow was propositioning
him. He shook his head.
“
Looked like he was on his way to Mass,” he said.
“
Mass? Shakes hasn’t been inside a church since last Easter.”
“
Just the same, Jen, when they ask you, you’ll say he was
a regular churchgoer, and at least he died in the state of grace
- something like that.”
“
Hell, Charlie, how hypocritical can I be?”
“
As much as it takes. Don’t screw this up.” He took
a shot. “You’ll need the insurance money.”
“
Yeah, I know.” Good guess.
“
So get a grip now, and carry on,” Charlie said in his best
avuncular manner.
Jenny’s eyes welled up. “He wasn’t really a
bad man, Charlie.”
Charlie put an arm around her. “Now, don’t go all
weepy on me, Jen. I know Shakes wasn’t a bad guy, but we
both know what he was like.” He looked around, his gaze
stopping at each piece of worn furniture. Jenny nodded, but said
nothing.
Charlie got up to leave. He took his felt hat off the rack, creased
the crown with the edge of his hand, stroked the brim. Hand on
the doorknob, he said, “In case you wondered, Jen, there
was no sign of foul play.” He didn’t know this, but
thought it would reassure her.
She looked surprised. “Good God, Charlie, I never even
thought of that. Shakes couldn’t even beat me on the best
day he lived. He never went looking for trouble.”
Charlie nodded. “Sometimes, though, it finds you anyway.”
He left, drove to his office, and called Duke in. “Forgot
to ask, Duke, any sign of foul play?”
Duke sighed. ”It’s like this, boss,” he said. “I
went over the area after we moved Shakes. There’s nothing
on the steps themselves, but there was a brick nearby with blood
on it. Likely that’s what fractured his skull.”
“
He hit that when he tumbled down?”
“
Either that or someone clobbered him with it.”
Charley digested this in silence.
“
If anyone hit him,” he said, “you’d think they’d
have enough sense to get rid of the brick.”
“
That’s what I thought,” Duke said. “Even throw
it across the street or over the fence. But then, of course,
if we found it, we’d know for sure it had been moved, and
we’d have a case of murder on our hands. This way, it looks
like an accident.”
Charlie mulled this over. “So, you’re dealing with
someone very stupid or someone very smart - or else it was an
accident.”
“
Yeah. I’m betting accident.”
“
What’d you do with the brick, Duke?”
“
Took it over to the Basilica. Tossed it down with Shakes at the
foot of the steps.”
“
Good. An accident. Can you convince the coroner that’s
the way to go?”
“
I can do that. No evidence. Smudges on the brick, nothing we
can use. The brick was where he could have hit his head when
he fell.”
“
Sounds good.”
“
Little problem - Larry Hughes said he swept down the steps yesterday
and - no brick.”
“
Coulda been thrown there by some of the kids playing across the
street by the school. Hell, I’ll bet there was no dog shit,
either, but I’ll bet there was plenty this morning. Probably
what poor Shakes slipped in.”
“
You gotta do something about those goddam dogs, Charlie. They’re
crapping all over the city.”
“
Yeah, yeah, one of these days we’ll pass a by-law and make
sure all the dogs get copies. Gotta go, Duke. Gotta put His Honour
in the picture.”
***
That evening after work, Charlie was sitting in his office with
Duke, each of them holding a drink. Duke was a big man in the
John Wayne mode, hence the nickname. He tapped his drink with
a finger like a sausage.
“
You sure Jenny’s okay, Charlie?”
“
She told the paper he was a regular churchgoer. There’s
no way she can back off that. Don’t worry, Jenny needs
the insurance. I’m going down there now to strengthen her
backbone.”
Jenny answered the bell immediately. She looked like she’d
just come from the beauty parlour. They stood inside the door.
“
You look great, Jen,” Charlie said.
“
You too, Charlie.” She smiled.
Charlie tossed his hat onto a peg on the hall stand. “See
you put your coat away,” he said.
“
Hardly need it in this weather.”
“
And your gloves and scarf.”
“
Same thing.”
They stood close in the narrow hallway. Charlie fingered the
material in her dress. She watched him closely, her eyes hooded.
“
You know, Jen, they’ll likely find some traces of brick
dust on those gloves.”
“
No, they won’t.”
“
You washed them?”
“
Burned them.”
“
Ah, Jenny, you’re a sly one.”
“
I do what I can. Come in, Charlie, have a cuppa.”
They went into the kitchen where the teapot was steaming on the
stove. She poured two cups, shoved the sugar at him. Charlie
stirred and sipped.
“
Good tea, Jen. Did Shakes know what you were up to?”
“
Never gave it a thought, poor fella.”
“
Anyone see you outside Brophy’s?”
“
Not a soul on the street. I waited a couple of doors down.”
“
And when he came out...?”
“
I clocked him behind the ear.”
“
A good shot, Jen.”
She lit a cigarette, passed it to Charlie, lit one for herself.
“
I was doing him a favour,” she said. “The doctor
told him he had about six months to live if he didn’t lay
off the booze - and he wasn’t going to do that.”
“
So you just speeded up the inevitable - assisted suicide, one
could say.”
“
One could say that.” She blew a cloud of smoke. “You
going to turn me in, Charlie?”
Charlie pursed his lips, shook his head.
“
I don’t think so, Jen. How much insurance?”
“
In the vicinity of $200,000.”
Charlie whistled. “That’s a nice vicinity.”
“
It’ll keep me in my old age.”
“
Why didn’t you just let nature take its course?”
“
Double indemnity, Charlie, for accidental death.”
Charlie laughed. “This gets better and better - $400,000?”
“
Yeah. And then I didn’t look forward to nursing poor old
Shakes as he went downhill.”
“
So you really were doing him a favour - as well as yourself.”
“
Like I said.”
There was a long pause.
“
So what do you say, Charlie?” she asked, stubbing out her
cigarette.
“
There’s only the two of us know this, Jen. It’ll
go down as an accident. I think my silence should be worth something.
Say... thirty thousand.”
“
You’d take the bite out of a widow’s mouth? Ten.”
“
Fifteen, and you got a deal.”
“
Okay, Charlie, fifteen.”
Charlie put down his teacup and heaved to his feet.
“
Nice doing business with you, Jen.”
“
You too, Charlie. Maybe you’ll be around more often.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “A rich widow? Nothing’s
impossible, Jen.”
“
I’ll miss him,” she said. “He was a great talker,
always kept me up on what was going on.”
“
I know what you mean, Jen. We’ll all miss him.”
“
How’d he get from Brophy’s to the church steps, Charlie?”
“
Ain’t that a mystery? You don’t suppose --? No!”
“
What?”
“
A miracle, Jen?”
“
Miracle? The only miracle Shakes was ever involved in was the
day he went without a drink.”
“
Maybe he crawled. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
“
Not after I hit him. I know a dead man when I see one.”
Charlie smiled. “Give the Shaker a decent funeral, Jen.
We’ll all be there to send him off in grand style. People
will say, ‘Too bad Shakes couldn’t see this, he’d
love it’.”
“
Yeah. He always liked a good wake, didn’t he?”
“
He surely did, Jen.”
“
I think I may cry.”
“
Save your tears for the wake, Jen. Then turn on the taps. It’ll
impress the insurance company.”
“
Ah, Charlie, you always say the sweetest things.”
They had walked to the front door.
“
There may be other rewards as well, Charlie,” she said.
“
Ah well, the mother always told me, never look a gift horse in
the mouth. Goodbye, Jen.”
“
Goodbye, Charlie - for now.”
She closed the door gently behind him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Hennessey has lived most of his life on Prince Edward Island.
He has published two non-fiction books, two collections of short stories,
and his novel, THE BETRAYER, was short-listed for the 2004 Atlantic
Publishers Award. Online magazines that have accepted his short stories
include BLUE MURDER, HANDHELDCRIME, MYSTERICAL-E, SHRED OF EVIDENCE,
and ORCHARD PRESS MYSTERIES.
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