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  Chapter II

  Piet

  There was very little about the body of Meika Keller to indicate anything other than drowning as a cause of death. There was swelling around her mouth and a cut on her lip, and there were some scrapes on her hands, but nothing close to a fatal injury. Something might come up in the autopsy later. Right now it was time to talk to the family. Piet and his partner drove to the city’s south end and turned into Emscote Drive. Ailsa Young eyed the large brick colonial house with white shutters and trim, and the other substantial-looking houses on the street, and as he parked, she said, “Doesn’t fit my image of a high-crime area.”

  Piet merely nodded and got out of the car. They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. They were met by a short, heavy woman with thick grey curls. She did not identify herself, but she led the two detectives into the living room. Despite the deep-red walls and dark furniture, the room was bright with winter light coming through the big south-facing front window. Piet stood in the archway and looked in at a tableau of a family in grief. They were not huddled together but spread throughout the room as if each person was grieving alone. The husband, Hubert Rendell, was a prosperous-looking man in his mid-fifties, but there was nothing confident in his appearance today; his face was grey, expressionless. He rose from a large brown tufted-leather armchair to greet the new arrivals. A young guy, presumably the son, sat glowering on the chesterfield, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. He was muscular and had light-brown hair cut with military precision. At the far end of the room, curled up in a cream-coloured armchair, was the daughter. She had the same colouring as the brother, and she had long wavy hair. Her face was wet and her eyes red from weeping.

  Ailsa Young stood a respectful distance away from Rendell and said, “Commodore Rendell, we are very sorry for the loss you and your family have suffered.” Her glance took in all those who were present. “We have a few questions. We won’t keep you long.”

  Rendell introduced the woman who had let them in as Mrs. Beasley, the family’s housekeeper. His daughter was Lauren and the son Curtis. “Meika of course was their stepmother.”

  Step. What happened to their mother?

  Rendell answered the unspoken question. “My first wife, Edwina, and I divorced in 1978.” That would have been when the son and daughter were just little, if Piet was correct in estimating their ages to be in the early twenties.

  “Mrs. Beasley was just on her way out.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Beasley,” Piet said. “Could we get your contact information in case there is anything you can offer about what happened to Ms. Keller?”

  “Oh, I don’t know anything. I wasn’t even here when the tragedy happened!”

  Nobody knew exactly when the tragedy happened or rather, Piet corrected himself, the police didn’t know. Yet. All he said to the housekeeper was “We understand. We’ll take your address and phone number just in case.” When he had the details, and she had left, Piet turned to the family once again.

  As tactfully as he could, Piet asked to speak with each member of the family individually. Hubert Rendell led them into a large, airy room that was a combination den and library on the side of the house facing the shoreline. He did not invite them to sit, so Piet and Ailsa stood before him, a few feet apart from one another.

  “Last evening, and the days leading up to it,” Piet asked the commodore, “did you notice anything unusual about Ms. Keller?”

  “I will give you two answers to that. If it had turned out to be a normal night, with us attending an event and waking up as usual the next morning, I would have remembered nothing about her mood or demeanour.”

  Piet wondered what it took for the woman’s husband, even though he was used to being in command, to stand there, ramrod straight, and answer questions about his wife’s last night on Earth, as if he were giving a briefing to a superior officer.

  “There was nothing so obvious that it would have stuck with me. But because of what happened, I looked back and thought, in retrospect, that she had been preoccupied about something. Yet it did not make a huge impression on me and, as I say, nothing about it would have been memorable.”

  “But, as things turned out, you recalled something. What can you tell us about that?”

  “She wasn’t snappish or anything; it was just that her mind was elsewhere at times. You know, there were a couple of speakers at the dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “A dinner and silent auction for the symphony; it was held at the Lord Nelson Hotel.”

  “Right.”

  “There was a bit of wit and humour in the speeches, and it seemed to go right over her head. Then she’d notice people laughing, and she’d laugh along. Playing catch-up, that sort of thing.”

  “Was she the kind of person who would have told you if something was bothering her?”

  “She was not a person to be yapping on and on about minor troubles. She figured people had very real, sometimes unbearable, trouble in their lives, and she was not going to be heard complaining.”

  “But what about something serious? She would confide in you?”

  “I would have thought so. I mean, we communicated fairly well during our marriage.” His voice faltered, and Piet saw the man’s lower lip tremble; he looked away from the detectives.

  They gave him a moment to recover, and then Piet asked, “Was there anything medical she might have been concerned about? Illness? A recent diagnosis or anything like that?”

  “Not that I know of. And she had not said anything in the last few days about any problems or concerns. In fact, the only thing I remember that bothered her in any way, and it was something very minor, was that her holiday pictures hadn’t turned out.”

  “Oh? Where did you go for your holiday?”

  “I didn’t go. She went by herself. A spur of the moment thing after she reconnected with the opera singer Fried Habler. You know who I mean?”

  “I can’t pretend I know anything about opera. Fiddle music is more my style. Guess you could say I went native after my family arrived here from the Netherlands.”

  “Nothing wrong with fiddle music, Detective.”

  “But I’ve seen Habler’s name in the paper.”

  “Yes, well, he and Meika were in school together in Germany, and he is here for the university term, splitting his time between Dal and the University of Toronto, giving master classes. So, she saw him, and after that, nothing would do but she had to take a little opera-seeing trip to Europe.”

  “Where in Europe did she go?”

  “Milan and Vienna.”

  “When was that?”

  “She flew out on Friday, January twenty-sixth, and returned on the thirty-first. A short jaunt but enough time to squeeze in three or four nights at the opera.”

  “And when she returned, you say she was all right except for her pictures?”

  “Yes. I mean I noticed that something was bothering her or making her a bit edgy. Not that she didn’t enjoy the trip, the nights at the opera. She did. But she took her film in to be developed and they told her there was something wrong with it, and none of the photos turned out.”

  “All right. Now, you attended the symphony dinner last night. Then what?”

  “We were invited out for drinks after that with another one of the officers from Maritime Command, him and his wife, but Meika didn’t want to go. So, we made our excuses and came home. I had a nightcap and retired early. I was in bed before ten o’clock. I’d had a tiring few weeks at work. Meika had been teasing me about my inability lately to stay up at night. She called me Opa — Gramps. In an affectionate way, I hasten to add. She was going to stay downstairs for a while to read. Or so she led me to believe.” Rendell reached a hand out as if looking for support.

  “Take a moment now. There’s no rush.”

  “I just . . . I had no idea . . .”

&
nbsp; “When did you discover she was not at home?”

  “I awoke at half past six. She wasn’t here, but I didn’t think much about it. I’d slept right through the night. When you’ve slept in a submarine and a destroyer, or a sailboat in rough seas, you can sleep through anything. And there was nothing to disturb my rest that night because, of course, she never came in. When I woke up, I assumed she had gone in to work early, which she sometimes did. It was nearly eleven when I got the news.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. This is terrible for you, we know. But we have to ask these questions.”

  “I know that. I understand.”

  “Did Ms. Keller ever say anyone was bothering her? Had she felt threatened in any way?” Rendell shook his head. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Did she ever give you the impression that she was interested in, or involved with, someone else?”

  “Never.”

  “What do you think accounted for her death, sir?”

  “I have no earthly idea. All I know is that I will not have a moment’s peace until I find out what took her away from me.” He turned and walked out of the room.

  * * *

  Lauren Rendell could hardly speak, she was crying so hard. Piet and Ailsa waited her out. After a few minutes, she calmed down a bit, and Ailsa asked, “Now, Lauren, do you live here or out on your own?”

  “I still live here. I’m going to get my own place after I’ve worked a bit longer. Saved up some money of my own. I don’t want Dad to have to pay for a place for me. Even though he would. And Mum — Meika — always said she liked having another woman in the house.”

  “What can you tell us, Lauren? Have you any idea what might have led to her death?”

  “I don’t know! I can’t imagine her walking into the sea and drowning herself. She had a wonderful life here with Dad, with us. Everybody loved her at Saint Mary’s, and she was highly respected for all her fundraising and support for the symphony and other arts organizations. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “So, she never confided any troubles to you? Health problems maybe?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Anything personal that had her upset?”

  “No.”

  “Family disagreements or anything like that?”

  “Definitely not. We all got along great.”

  Ailsa was gentle as she ventured onto sensitive terrain. “Now, Ms. Keller came into your life when you were how old?”

  “Well, I was three when Dad and my mother divorced. And he started seeing Meika a year later, I think it was.”

  “A difficult situation for a little girl, her dad and mum splitting up.”

  “Yes, of course it was.”

  “Have you always lived with your father? Or did you divide your time . . . ?”

  “Always with Dad. My mother was more concerned with herself than with us. People think ‘big bad witch’ when they hear ‘stepmother,’ but, believe me, Meika was a godsend. She didn’t rush us, didn’t pressure us or get in our faces when Dad first starting seeing her. But we took to her right away and fell right in love with her! Same with my brother. She treated us as if we were her own. It’s unbearable that she’s dead!”

  “I’m so sorry, Lauren,” Ailsa said. Then, in a lighter tone, “Now, if your family is anything like mine, there may have been a few little clashes between mother and daughter, mother and son.”

  “Oh, yeah, just the usual. But even that was for our own good. You know, arguments about boyfriends, about our future plans.”

  “Right. Is there a boyfriend in your life these days?”

  If Lauren thought this was off-topic, she didn’t show it. But she didn’t offer anything beyond, “I’m kind of seeing somebody now. Nothing too serious.”

  “And about your future plans?”

  “Mum — Meika — thought I should be doing something more with my life than working in a wine bar. She thought I should be with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet.”

  “Oh, you’re a dancer?”

  “I took ballet for years. I was pretty good at it. But, well, I didn’t want to leave . . . didn’t want to leave my friends here in Halifax. And I started making really good money at the bar, and, well, I guess I’m not very ambitious. Meika thought I could be doing more. And I know she was right. If only I could tell her I was wrong!”

  * * *

  Curtis wasted no time on preliminaries. “There is no way in the world my stepmother killed herself. No way. She was the most level-headed person I know. Wouldn’t happen. And whenever you catch who did this, you’d better have him in protective custody, because I can’t promise I’ll be able to control myself.”

  “I understand how you feel, Curtis. I’m sure we’d all feel the same way,” Piet said. “Now, do you live here or out on your own?”

  “I’ve got a place on Tobin Street.”

  “So, from what you say, sounds as if you were not aware of any concern Ms. Keller had, anything bothering her?”

  “No.”

  “Are you aware of anybody she might have been worried about? Anybody who might have wished her harm?”

  “Nobody I’m aware of, except of course . . .”

  “Except?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “It can hardly be nothing, Curtis. That was a spontaneous, heartfelt reaction there.”

  “I just meant, you know, the divorce. But that was what? Eighteen years ago.”

  “The divorce would have been your father’s doing, not your mother’s?”

  “As they say, it takes two.”

  “But?”

  “But it was a long time ago. And my mother isn’t even here. She’s in Toronto. She has her own life. There’s nothing in all that ancient history that has anything to do with this.”

  “What about family quarrels here in Halifax? Every family has disagreements.”

  “If you mean Meika and Dad, forget it. They got along great. And me and Lauren got along great with her, too. Meika was protective of us for sure, so sometimes she’d tell us if she thought we were going down the wrong path.”

  “Can you give us an instance of that?”

  “Nothing too exciting. She thought that I should be making more of my life than being an able seaman. I should be pushing for promotion. Same with my sister. Well, not promotion, but she should be joining one of the big dance companies. Ballet and all that. But at least Meika had nothing to worry about with me in the romance department. She loves — loved — Jesus, it feels disloyal saying it that way. She loved my girlfriend, Anita. We’re getting married next year.”

  “Congratulations. So, Ms. Keller was happy with your choice of a mate. Was she happy with your sister’s choices?”

  Curtis shrugged and said, “Mother-daughter stuff? I don’t know.”

  “You never know what little detail, however insignificant it might seem, will help us get to the bottom of this.”

  “I have no information at all that would explain this.”

  “Well, if anything comes to mind, Curtis, anything at all, get in touch with us, will you?”

  “You can bet on it. And you can be sure I’ll be trying to find out what the hell happened. If I come across anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Detectives Young and Van den Brink thanked the Rendell family, offered their condolences again, and left Emscote Drive for the residence of Mrs. Beasley in the Harrietsfield suburb. You never knew what a housekeeper might have seen or heard in the family home. Piet tried to shoo away the phrase “What the butler saw,” as he waited with his partner on the front step of the modest, vinyl-clad bungalow.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Beasley was clearly taken aback by the arrival of the police on her doorstep. “I’m sure there’s nothing I can tell you that will help you solve the killing.”

  “Perhaps not, Mrs. Beasley,
and we won’t keep you for long. Could we come in for a few minutes?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. You’ll have to excuse the look of the place. It’s, well, it’s not south-end Halifax!”

  “I don’t live in south-end Halifax myself,” Piet said.

  She led them in to a living room where brightly coloured quilts were draped over the worn dark-brown chesterfield and armchairs, and she offered them tea or coffee. “No, thanks, Mrs. Beasley,” Ailsa said, “but it’s kind of you to offer. Now, when we first arrived, you said ‘the killing.’ Is there something that makes you think this might be more than a drowning? Apart from the fact that it is winter, of course.”

  The woman was protesting with outstretched hands before Ailsa completed her question. “No, no! I just, you know, the unexpected death, and the police coming . . .”

  “I understand.”

  They sat down, Mrs. Beasley on the edge of her seat. “I can’t imagine that anyone would want to hurt her. But to think of her doing . . . well, taking her own life, that’s just as unbelievable.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Ailsa agreed. “Can you think of anything odd or out of place in the family’s life recently?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Phone calls or visitors that seemed to disturb Ms. Keller?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Now I’m sure you are loyal to the Rendell family, Mrs. Beasley.”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “But if you noticed anything distressing lately between members of the family, any arguments or strain, you needn’t feel as if you are telling tales out of school. It may be something like that which can lead us to an explanation of Ms. Keller’s death.”

  “Everybody got along great, though. I never heard him and her so much as raise their voices to one another. And the kids — well, Lauren and Curtis aren’t kids anymore, both of them grown up now — but they loved their stepmum. And she doted on them. She was certainly a protective kind of mother, especially with Lauren. You know, worried when she’d stay out late, warning her not to get into a car with somebody who was drinking. That kind of thing. I think she figured Curtis could take care of himself. Maybe because he was the boy, and in the Navy.”