Birds of a Feather. Don Easton

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      “My client does not know the reason,” said Jenkins. “Anything he would have to say on the matter would be sheer speculation. From what I understand, their investigation revealed there was no wrong-doing on the part of Mr. Slater.”

      “I’m not opposed to speculation at this point,” said Wilson.

      “Well, I am,” replied Jenkins tersely. “It can lead to all sorts of conjecture and false —”

      “It’s okay, Jenkins,” interrupted Slater smugly, before looking at Wilson. “My guess is some of the people I had casually met at various nightclubs may have been involved in some illegal activity. The RCMP, being rather overzealous, and likely poorly equipped on a cerebral level, jumped to the wrong conclusion and thought I was involved.”

      “What illegal activities are we talking about?”

      “I swear, I have no idea. You would have to ask them.”

      Wilson’s face remained impassive. He had been lied to by hundreds of suspects over the years. He knew he had just been lied to again. “Well, the reason I asked you to come here was to help us. We understood Earl Porter was your friend. I presume you would want to help us catch who killed your friend?”

      “My friend?” replied Slater, while touching his fingers to his chest and glancing open-mouthed at Jenkins for effect.

      The theatrics were not lost on Wilson, but his face showed no sign he knew he was being misled.

      “I would hardly say that man was my friend,” continued Slater. “He was simply more of an associate than a friend. He was someone I bumped into occasionally on the nightclub circuit.”

      “I see. Do you know if he had any enemies?”

      “Obviously he must have had one, don’t you think so, Detective?” replied Slater with a smirk. “Under the circumstances, I would hardly think it was a random robbery.”

      “Any idea who this enemy could be?”

      “If I knew, don’t you think I would have come forward immediately without being summoned? I mean, why would I have waited until now?”

      Wilson stared silently at Slater. He is fishing for information. He wants to know what we know. Wilson flipped through a couple of pages in the file as if looking for something. He read silently for a moment and nodded his head slowly. It gave an ambiguous impression.

      Slater saw the nod and wondered, Is he agreeing that I wouldn’t have waited … or is he nodding because he knows why I didn’t come in immediately?

      Wilson caught the nervous glance Slater gave Jenkins before continuing. “Can you think of a reason why someone would kill him?”

      “Who knows why? Life can be a crapshoot. Shit happens. Maybe he rolled the dice one too many times,” replied Slater with a shrug.

      “Watch it,” cautioned Jenkins, putting his hand on Slater’s arm. “Do not speculate beyond the questions put to you.”

      “Speculate on what?” asked Wilson. Slater’s comment may have been innocuous, but Jenkins’s reaction says there is more to it …

      “Nothing. Simply an expression,” said Slater. “I know he hung around with a lot of different groups of people. Do you have any clues that could help me make a more informed hypothesis?”

      “Nothing I can share at this time,” replied Wilson.

      “I see,” said Slater, glancing at his watch. “Are we done, then? Tuesdays and Saturdays I have squash lessons to go to down at The Racquet Club. I’m billed for the time … so if I miss it, will you compensate me?”

      “Uh, no,” said Wilson.

      “I thought not,” replied Slater, smiling.

      “I am almost finished,” said Wilson. “I want to ask you about a young woman by the name of Lily Rae.”

      Slater hesitated. “Am I supposed to know her?”

      “Oh?” replied Wilson, looking surprised as he searched through some more papers in the file in front of him. “You say you don’t?” he added as he paused to skim a report before looking up to await Slater’s reply.

      “Oh, hang on,” said Slater. “Is that one of his girlfriends? Maybe I did meet her. I can’t remember for sure. He goes through girls like candy.”

      “When was the last time you saw her?”

      “I don’t remember. Must have been weeks ago, maybe longer,” said Slater, who was sharply aware that Wilson looked at the report again, only this time he used his index finger to point something out to himself. “She might have been someone he brought to my place once,” Slater hastened to add. “I swear, I really don’t know anything about her. Sorry.”

      “Yes, over to your place,” said Wilson as though he was already aware of it. “You knew Porter more than from just bumping into him at nightclubs. Isn’t that right?”

      “Hang on,” said Jenkins. “Just because someone invites someone home from a nightclub hardly means they’re good friends. What evidence do you have to make you think they were good friends? Or that my client could reasonably be expected to even remember Miss Rae?”

      “I’m sorry, but I am only asking questions as a matter of routine to try and find out everyone the victim associated with,” replied Wilson.

      “We hardly have the time to sit here all day while you randomly cast your net in the water for information,” said Jenkins. “My client has been more than co-operative and I would suggest that unless you have something more concrete to ask, you should consider this interview over.”

      “If I could please ask you to wait another couple of minutes,” said Wilson. “I would like to confer with someone.”

      “You have already wasted enough of our time,” said Jenkins, getting to his feet.

      “It’s in regard to Mr. Slater’s comment about whether I could share some of our findings to see if he could make a more informed hypothesis. I see no reason not to share it with him, but I wouldn’t want to do it without permission from my boss.”

      Slater anxiously leaned forward in his chair and grabbed Jenkins by the sleeve of his suit jacket. “We’ve got time,” he said, before looking at Wilson. “If I’m a few minutes late for the squash lesson, it’ll be okay.”

      Jack received a call from Connie, who got right to the point. “I’m still at VPD. Slater showed up with a lawyer and Wilson just stepped out of the interview room to talk to me. Slater is lying and definitely knows something about the murder. He’s like a textbook example of a liar. Psychologically distancing himself from Porter, using fake body language … everything.”

      “What about Lily Rae?”

      “Wilson touched on her just enough to know Slater is lying about her, too. He definitely knows something.”

      “The bastard. Any idea if she is still alive?”

      “Can’t СКАЧАТЬ