Renfrew.â
âNow? Are you crazy? The Crowns are waiting.â
âAfter the Crowns. Itâs the next logical step in the investigation.â
Sullivan picked up his sandwich wrapper, crunched it into a ball and lobbed it over the desk, hitting the basket dead centre. âForget it, Mike. Iâve got some statements to review, then Iâm going home. Home. Where all good family men should be around supper time.â
âHow about tomorrow?â
Sullivan removed his feet from the desk and stood up to leave. âTomorrowâs Saturday. My day off, remember? A day when all good family menâ¦you know the drill.â
Green followed him out, trying to quell his frustration. Sullivan was right; the meeting with the Crown attorneys would take all afternoon, and it was too late to set up a trip to Renfrew that day anyway. As for tomorrow, Sullivan was also right. Green couldnât run his life as if he were the only one in it. Walkerâs case would still be around Monday.
But Fate would not let the case slip from his mind for that long. No sooner had he returned to his office later that afternoon when his phone buzzed. Mr. Donald Reid was downstairs in the foyer, requesting to see him, the desk sergeant said.
Surprise, surprise.
Green ushered Don Reid into an empty interview room and took out his notebook expectantly. Don had clearly not relaxed one iota since Greenâs visit out to the house. He drummed his fingers on his thigh and shifted from one side of his chair to the other as he looked for a place to begin.
âYou have some information for me?â Green prompted.
âYeah. Look, Iâm not trying to badmouth Eugene, but if youâre thinking he may have been murderedâwell, thereâs a lot Ruth will never tell you. Sheâs so protective, and she can never see the other side of him.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, heâs a complex guy, and there are things that went on that Ruth didnât know anything about. I think he could have known people and done things that he kept secret.â
âLike what?â Green demanded, getting tired of the vagueness.
âLike talking with someone in his car the day he died. Ruth thinks he doesnât know anybody foreign, but the truth isâ before they moved to the country, every Saturday heâd go drinking at this bar in Renfrew. He had a whole life there that he never told Ruth about, and he must have met guys there. Twenty years ago, just as an example, he got in a fight. The police were involved. You guys probably have it on your computer, if you want to check.â
Greenâs ears perked up, but he kept his expression deadpan. Contrary to common belief, the police didnât have Joe Publicâs every little transgression on their national database, and each jurisdiction guarded its own cases jealously. âWhy donât you tell me about it? Save me the trouble of tracking it down.â
Don waved his hand as if to distance himself. âEugene beat somebody up. Bar fight. I donât know that much about it. Eugene never talked about it, and he never said why it happened.â
âDid he get in a lot of bar fights?â
âNo, thatâs the thing. When he drank he usually got morose and surly. Heâd say bitter, vicious things, but I never knew him to use his fists.â Donâs words began to flow faster, as if his pent-up thoughts had just been released. âIt was a surprise to me when Ruth called and said heâd been arrested for beating up a man in a bar.â
âSo tell me what you did learn.â
âWell, in those days he was a weekend drunk. The hardware store would close at six oâclock on Saturday, and Eugene would head for Paddyâs Bar and Grill on Raglan Street for a couple to unwind. That couple would stretch to seven or eight, and heâd usually roll into the house at two in the morning when the bar closed.