what I had to say. Then he said I could go, and that was the end of it, haven’t heard from the police since. Tried phoning a couple of times, but I never catch him.”
“Did my brother ever tell you what he was working on?”
Cantona shrugged his huge rounded shoulders. “Talked about a lot of things, but not much about that. Usually when he was talking he was drunk, which meant I was drunk, too, so maybe he did talk about his work and I just didn’t take it in. I know it was to do with chemicals.”
“Chemicals?”
“There’s a company out here called CWC, stands for Co-World Chemicals. It was to do with them. I drove Jim out to talk to someone who used to work there, a scientist sort of guy. But he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t let Jim over the door. Second time we tried, the guy wasn’t at home. On vacation or something.”
“Where else did you take him?”
“Well, there was another scientist, only this one wasn’t retired. But he wasn’t talking either. Then I used to take him to the library downtown, that’s where he’d do his research. You know, take notes, all that.”
“He took notes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You saw his notebooks?”
Cantona shook his head. “Didn’t have anything like that. Had a little computer, used to fold open, with a little bitty screen and all. He’d put these disks in there, and he was all set.”
Reeve nodded. Now the cable made sense: it was to recharge the battery on the computer. But there was no computer, and no disks. He ordered another round and went to use the telephone next to the toilets.
“Detective McCluskey please.” His call was put through.
“McCluskey here.” The voice sounded like it was stifling a yawn.
“It’s Gordon Reeve. I’ve been talking with Eddie Cantona.”
“Oh, yeah, him.” There was a pause while the detective slurped coffee. “I meant to tell you about him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You want the truth? I didn’t know how you’d feel finding out your brother had spent his last few days on earth rattling around every seedy joint in San Diego with a bum at the steer-ing wheel.”
“I appreciate your candor.” A rustling noise now; a paper bag being opened. “And I apologize for disturbing your breakfast.”
“I had a late night; it’s no problem.”
“Mr. Cantona says my brother had a laptop computer and some disks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“The cable in his room was an adapter so he could charge the battery.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Am I boring you?”
McCluskey swallowed. “Sorry, no. It’s just, like, what do you want me to say? I know what that old bum thinks; he says your brother was killed. And now he’s got you listening to his story… and would I be right in thinking you’re calling from the pay phone in a bar?”
Reeve smiled. “Good detective work.”
“Easy detective work. And would I further be right in thinking you’ve already laid a few drinks on Mr. Cantona? See, Gordon, he’ll tell you any damned story he can come up with if it keeps a glass of hooch in front of him. He’ll tell you your brother met Elvis and they rode off together in a pink Cadillac.”
“You sound like you know something about that state of mind.”
“Maybe I do. I don’t mean any disrespect, but that’s how I see it. There’s no secret here; there’s no cover-up or conspiracy or whatever you want to call it. There’s just a guy who gets tired of it all one day, so he tidies up his life and gets himself a gun. And he does it in private, away from family and friends, and doesn’t leave a note. It’s a tidy way to go.”
“Unless you’re the hire company with a car that needs cleaning.”
“Yeah, agreed, but those fuckers can afford it.”
“All right, McCluskey. Thanks for listening.”
“Name’s Mike. Let’s talk again before you leave, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t go buying Mr. Cantona too many more drinks, not if he’s driving.”
Detective Mike McCluskey put down the receiver
“Did my brother ever tell you what he was working on?”
Cantona shrugged his huge rounded shoulders. “Talked about a lot of things, but not much about that. Usually when he was talking he was drunk, which meant I was drunk, too, so maybe he did talk about his work and I just didn’t take it in. I know it was to do with chemicals.”
“Chemicals?”
“There’s a company out here called CWC, stands for Co-World Chemicals. It was to do with them. I drove Jim out to talk to someone who used to work there, a scientist sort of guy. But he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t let Jim over the door. Second time we tried, the guy wasn’t at home. On vacation or something.”
“Where else did you take him?”
“Well, there was another scientist, only this one wasn’t retired. But he wasn’t talking either. Then I used to take him to the library downtown, that’s where he’d do his research. You know, take notes, all that.”
“He took notes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You saw his notebooks?”
Cantona shook his head. “Didn’t have anything like that. Had a little computer, used to fold open, with a little bitty screen and all. He’d put these disks in there, and he was all set.”
Reeve nodded. Now the cable made sense: it was to recharge the battery on the computer. But there was no computer, and no disks. He ordered another round and went to use the telephone next to the toilets.
“Detective McCluskey please.” His call was put through.
“McCluskey here.” The voice sounded like it was stifling a yawn.
“It’s Gordon Reeve. I’ve been talking with Eddie Cantona.”
“Oh, yeah, him.” There was a pause while the detective slurped coffee. “I meant to tell you about him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You want the truth? I didn’t know how you’d feel finding out your brother had spent his last few days on earth rattling around every seedy joint in San Diego with a bum at the steer-ing wheel.”
“I appreciate your candor.” A rustling noise now; a paper bag being opened. “And I apologize for disturbing your breakfast.”
“I had a late night; it’s no problem.”
“Mr. Cantona says my brother had a laptop computer and some disks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“The cable in his room was an adapter so he could charge the battery.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Am I boring you?”
McCluskey swallowed. “Sorry, no. It’s just, like, what do you want me to say? I know what that old bum thinks; he says your brother was killed. And now he’s got you listening to his story… and would I be right in thinking you’re calling from the pay phone in a bar?”
Reeve smiled. “Good detective work.”
“Easy detective work. And would I further be right in thinking you’ve already laid a few drinks on Mr. Cantona? See, Gordon, he’ll tell you any damned story he can come up with if it keeps a glass of hooch in front of him. He’ll tell you your brother met Elvis and they rode off together in a pink Cadillac.”
“You sound like you know something about that state of mind.”
“Maybe I do. I don’t mean any disrespect, but that’s how I see it. There’s no secret here; there’s no cover-up or conspiracy or whatever you want to call it. There’s just a guy who gets tired of it all one day, so he tidies up his life and gets himself a gun. And he does it in private, away from family and friends, and doesn’t leave a note. It’s a tidy way to go.”
“Unless you’re the hire company with a car that needs cleaning.”
“Yeah, agreed, but those fuckers can afford it.”
“All right, McCluskey. Thanks for listening.”
“Name’s Mike. Let’s talk again before you leave, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t go buying Mr. Cantona too many more drinks, not if he’s driving.”
Detective Mike McCluskey put down the receiver
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