girlfriend to your hotel room? Order in room service? You know, class the evening up a bit for her.”
“I didn’t want her in my hotel room.”
“Why ever not?”
“Might have been hard to get rid of her, if she was on my turf.”
Monty tried to imagine a gorgeous young blond in diaphanous apparel clinging to the squat form of Pike Podgis as he tried manfully to manoeuvre her out the door. The picture did not quite come into focus.
“You’re a cad and a bounder, Podgis.”
“Fuck off, Collins.”
“All right. Let’s get back to the car.”
It had to be a car, Monty figured. Podgis could hardly claim to have been at the woman’s apartment, then turn around and say he had no idea who she was beyond the sobriquet “April.” And he could not assert with a straight face that they had shared their love while lying in the grass somewhere in Halifax on the night of September 23 when the temperature was an unseasonably chilly four degrees Celsius. So he had little choice but to say they were in a car.
“Did you take note of the licence number by any chance?”
“I said I was porking her, not arresting her.”
“Not, perhaps, a love that will be immortalized by poets down through the ages.”
“You know why people get murdered, Collins?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know from experience. But I can sympathize with the motives. And one of those motives would be ‘This guy really, really pisses me off.’ Combine that with ‘Kill all the lawyers’ and you’ve got a lethal mix. Am I right?”
“I would advise you not to give voice to your motive theory if you take the stand in your own defence. Not that I would advise you to testify. God forbid. Now, let’s get back to your defence. What kind of car was it?”
A little shitbox , Monty predicted. He’d heard it all before.
“Some little shitbox. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know cars.”
“What colour was it?”
Dark.
“Dark. Black, grey, I don’t know. It was nighttime.”
“Time. Let’s talk about that. You were with a woman. You didn’t invite her to your place; she didn’t invite you to hers. She knows who you are; you don’t know who she is. You were bunched up together in her little car. It strikes me that this affair probably didn’t last too long. Not a lot of soul-baring conversation before or after. Am I right?”
No answer.
“What was the time frame? What time did you get together, and what time did you say au revoir ?”
“Eleven thirty or so. We were together for a couple of hours.”
“Long time, for the encounter you’ve described.”
If he lived to be a hundred and five, Monty would never put a client on the stand to tell a tale like this. He formed an image of Pike Podgis in the witness box spinning this yarn and then being cross-examined by the Crown prosecutor. What would he look like up there, trying to keep this tissue of lies together? Might as well find out now, and put paid to any illusions on his client’s part that he would be able to tough it out in a court of law.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Podgis.”
“What?”
“You’re going to walk me through the whole thing, starting with where you met the woman who would one day become your alibi witness.”
“I’ll try to ignore your bad attitude, Collins, but I may not be able to.”
“Try. Now give me your story.”
“I met her at the studio. I told you that.”
“Then where did you go?”
“I didn’t stick with her then. I made plans to meet up with her later.”
“Where did you go before then?”
“Went downtown for a while.”
“What for?”
“Nothing. Nothing to do with this. Just kil — whiling away the time till we could meet.”
“Why? What was she doing before then?”
“After the show, she had to put in some time with a group of girls she had promised to meet, fill them in about the program, eat some chicken wings, whatever.”
“Tell me where you went downtown.”
“Walked
“I didn’t want her in my hotel room.”
“Why ever not?”
“Might have been hard to get rid of her, if she was on my turf.”
Monty tried to imagine a gorgeous young blond in diaphanous apparel clinging to the squat form of Pike Podgis as he tried manfully to manoeuvre her out the door. The picture did not quite come into focus.
“You’re a cad and a bounder, Podgis.”
“Fuck off, Collins.”
“All right. Let’s get back to the car.”
It had to be a car, Monty figured. Podgis could hardly claim to have been at the woman’s apartment, then turn around and say he had no idea who she was beyond the sobriquet “April.” And he could not assert with a straight face that they had shared their love while lying in the grass somewhere in Halifax on the night of September 23 when the temperature was an unseasonably chilly four degrees Celsius. So he had little choice but to say they were in a car.
“Did you take note of the licence number by any chance?”
“I said I was porking her, not arresting her.”
“Not, perhaps, a love that will be immortalized by poets down through the ages.”
“You know why people get murdered, Collins?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know from experience. But I can sympathize with the motives. And one of those motives would be ‘This guy really, really pisses me off.’ Combine that with ‘Kill all the lawyers’ and you’ve got a lethal mix. Am I right?”
“I would advise you not to give voice to your motive theory if you take the stand in your own defence. Not that I would advise you to testify. God forbid. Now, let’s get back to your defence. What kind of car was it?”
A little shitbox , Monty predicted. He’d heard it all before.
“Some little shitbox. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know cars.”
“What colour was it?”
Dark.
“Dark. Black, grey, I don’t know. It was nighttime.”
“Time. Let’s talk about that. You were with a woman. You didn’t invite her to your place; she didn’t invite you to hers. She knows who you are; you don’t know who she is. You were bunched up together in her little car. It strikes me that this affair probably didn’t last too long. Not a lot of soul-baring conversation before or after. Am I right?”
No answer.
“What was the time frame? What time did you get together, and what time did you say au revoir ?”
“Eleven thirty or so. We were together for a couple of hours.”
“Long time, for the encounter you’ve described.”
If he lived to be a hundred and five, Monty would never put a client on the stand to tell a tale like this. He formed an image of Pike Podgis in the witness box spinning this yarn and then being cross-examined by the Crown prosecutor. What would he look like up there, trying to keep this tissue of lies together? Might as well find out now, and put paid to any illusions on his client’s part that he would be able to tough it out in a court of law.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Podgis.”
“What?”
“You’re going to walk me through the whole thing, starting with where you met the woman who would one day become your alibi witness.”
“I’ll try to ignore your bad attitude, Collins, but I may not be able to.”
“Try. Now give me your story.”
“I met her at the studio. I told you that.”
“Then where did you go?”
“I didn’t stick with her then. I made plans to meet up with her later.”
“Where did you go before then?”
“Went downtown for a while.”
“What for?”
“Nothing. Nothing to do with this. Just kil — whiling away the time till we could meet.”
“Why? What was she doing before then?”
“After the show, she had to put in some time with a group of girls she had promised to meet, fill them in about the program, eat some chicken wings, whatever.”
“Tell me where you went downtown.”
“Walked
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