The Icing on the Corpse. Mary Jane Maffini
contact her at all. That's why.”
Alvin's hand paused on the zipper.
I said, “So, if she does call, keep her calm, find out what happened and call me on my cellphone.”
Alvin removed the jacket and slumped back in his seat.
“Okay,” he said.
I busied myself with my parka and gloves. I was still wearing the hat, socks and long silk underwear. Alvin busied himself staring at the phone. Jimmy Buffett busied himself singing “Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season”.
I snatched the cellphone. “And turn the music off and put the radio on CBC. This is not a holiday camp.”
Alvin plunked his feet on the desk and watched me slantily. “Aloha,” he called as I headed for the parking garage.
I'd been parked long enough for my recently acquired, pre-enjoyed Honda Civic to chill. The engine turned over on the third try. By that time, the vinyl seats had frozen my behind. Despite the red socks, my feet felt ready for amputation. I sat shivering and prayed the car would warm up before the engine flooded or the battery died. It wouldn't help Lindsay Grace if I joined the long list of people praying to be rescued by the CAA. A one-hour wait on sub-zero vinyl.
Therefore, I wasn't going anywhere until the heat gauge crept from the red into the black zone. The air in the garage was full of exhaust fumes. I gobbled some mints to get the taste out of my mouth. Winter in the nation's capital. No end to the fun.
I kept trying Lindsay's line, but the phone rang on and on. I was about to dial for the tenth time, when my own phone rang. “Hello, Alvin. Did Lindsay call back?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why are you tying up the line?”
“Don't you have your radio on?”
“No, I'm warming the car, and I don't want to drain the battery. I also don't want to chat. Hang up.”
“It's on the radio. It's confirmed. Benning's escaped.”
“What? I can't believe it!”
“Believe it. He was supposed to have had a dental emergency, and when they were moving him somewhere, he overpowered his guard somehow and disappeared.”
“Not even possible.”
“Possible, and that's not all. The guard who was escorting him? Benning bit off his nose.”
“What?”
“Bit the guards nose off.” Alvin s voice rose.
“Oh, how could that happen? He had only one guard?”
“I don't know how many, but they reported Benning was armed.”
“How could he be armed? He was in jail!”
“You tell me.”
My heart thundered against my ribs. Lindsay.
Alvin said, “And there's an unconfirmed report an officer was shot.”
“When?”
“As far as I can figure out, it must have happened about an hour ago. Explains all those sirens.”
“Where are their brains? They might have figured out a lunatic like Benning would need a back-up guard. A guy facing an indefinite sentence might be willing to take a real big chance. But how the hell could he have a weapon?”
“Wait a minute. There's an update. Wow, shot at least one officer during his escape.”
I was thinking fast.
Alvin squeaked, “He must have called Lindsay. No wonder she was so upset.”
“No, her phone's unlisted. Only a couple of people have it. He wouldn't know it.”
“Oh, right.”
“Maybe she caught the news report and called us right away.”
“Maybe.”
“Has to be,” I said.
“You better shift your butt, Camilla.”
I let it slide, just that once.
Ralph Benning had nothing to lose going after Lindsay.
“I'm on my way, but we have to get the police there fast without alerting Benning to the location.”
“But you said…Okay, so how do we let them know?”
I fished out my phone book. “You track down Elaine Ekstein. Here's her cell number. She always picks up. Explain what's happened. She'll fix it. She makes a lot of noise as Executive Director of WAVE. She'll tell them to hustle enough officers over to Lindsay's and do it on the QT.”
“But Elaine's a civilian. What if they don't listen to her?”
“Trust me. They'll listen. Every cop in this town's scared shitless of Elaine.”
My father spent twenty years as a high school principal. The legacy is a nice pension and a collection of useful clichés. His favourite saying has always been when the going gets tough, the tough get going. My sisters prefer to say when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. In my case, when the going gets tough, the tough get stupid. Which means that I wasn't giving proper respect to Benning's cunning abilities as I eased off the ramp and onto the street.
January's gift to the residents of Ottawa had been snow. Most of it was still piled on the edges of the side streets. That reduced the streets to one car width in many cases. Under the snow was ice. I didn't want to slide off the road, because I already knew I wouldn't find a tow truck in any big hurry.
Well, what did I have to bitch about? Icy vinyl seats? Small potatoes compared to knowing that a man who would slam a wounded woman with a baseball bat was on your trail. Benning would still have the taste of the guard's blood in his mouth. But Lindsay. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to sit alone and wait for Ralph Benning.
I used the time at red lights to place calls that might yield a bit of new information on the Benning situation. First, I phoned my brother-in-law-to-be in Major Crimes. We didn't see eye to eye on much, but he would be steaming over this. Conn McCracken takes a dim view of domestic assault, to begin with. He'd done the groundwork on Benning's last arrest. He'd seen Rina Benning's broken body in the hospital. He'd know what it meant to have Benning loose. He'd understand what Lindsay Grace was up against.
I left a message after the beep.
You'll never catch me complaining about voice mail. I love it. What's not to love about a technology where no one can avoid your opinions and instructions any time of the day or night?
Next I punched in P. J. Lynch's cell number. That's the best part about having a reporter friend. He'd know what was happening. If I were lucky, he'd fill me in. Speculation and all. He must have been on the line. I left my detailed message after the beep.
Twenty minutes later, six blocks from Lindsay's townhouse, my brain engaged. Benning was smart. I still got chills remembering his cocky smirk when I'd accompanied Lindsay to testify at his trial. He knew I was her legal support. He knew I was connected and in touch. As soon as the word reached her or me, he'd bet I'd head out to protect her.
He would have done his homework, would have had some confederate research all of Lindsay's contacts. He probably had my home address. He'd know where I worked. All he'd have to do was sit and watch my office during the day until I headed out. Then he could follow me. He'd have no trouble waiting. Plenty of practice in Kingston.
I had failed Lindsay once, and I was about to fail her again. I pulled over and sat nudged up against four feet of solid packed