Thompson Bay

Chapter 5

Ada asked if he was having lunch as he passed her in the lobby up to his room and he said no, eliciting a grunt. With the book open on his bed he wrote in the few new facts he'd learned from the O'Hares, including a couple of lines on Stella's apparent proclivities. Roger received a comment on his potential for being a dangerous person.

The rental was through an ad in the city paper placed by Stella. The lessee was a young man at his niece's university named Oliver Atturra. He had arranged the deal with Stella, paid the deposit and signed a faxed copy of the lease. The provincial police had confirmed all of that. He was unable to supply any other information to them about Adelaide's death because he said that he and his girlfriend didn't attend the beach party.

According to his statement they used the cottage—personally—while they had the opportunity. The police had scribbled a comment on the edge about Oliver's definition of personal.

Ray looked at his notes again. There were eleven people staying in the cottage, including Adelaide. Their names and copies of their statements were all in plastic sleeves in his binder, read and re-read a hundred times. He knew it all by heart. Six girls. Five boys. He now knew that Oliver had failed to mention how many would be staying there because of Stella's remark.

The other interesting note was that the local police had come by twice during the evening to check on the party, mainly because of the campfire but Stella's inference about Theo Hersch gave him some food for thought. He would be interested to see if the locals made any notes in their own incident log.

Ray stared out the window at the bay. He needed a crack somewhere. A place he could get his hands into and pry open. Maybe a neighbour that might know something about that weekend that nobody asked about. First, he decided, he'd visit the police station and speak to Williams. Since he found out that Williams was a buddy of Roger's it wouldn't do to have him find out second hand that somebody was nosing around without his knowledge. He scooped up his material and put it in the dresser then used the bathroom.

Downstairs at the counter, Walter was chatting with a man in a canvass hat and Detroit Tiger windbreaker. He gave Ray a chin wave and asked if the room was okay.

"Room's fine. I want to visit the police station, can you tell me where it is?"

"Something wrong?"

"Just business."

"Two blocks west and one block south." The other man said, anxious to get back to his own conversation.

"Thanks." Ray left, hearing the wag of tongues in his wake.

******

Garth Williams was a florid-faced, overweight, soft looking man too tall for his carriage. He stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands spread on the counter, listening to Ray. Faded blue eyes that watered, criss-crossed Rays face as he spoke and there was a nervous tic at the side of his mouth.

"You some kinda reporter or book writer?"

"No, I'm Adelaide Balfour's uncle. I'm making these enquiries because I don't think a thorough investigation was given to her killing."

"Talk to the provincials, they took over the case."

"I have but I'm still not satisfied."

"Waited kind long didn't you?"

"I wasn't in the country when it happened." Ray glanced behind the policeman at his untidy office and made a silent bet that his records would match.