Free There was an Old Woman by Howard Engel

control over her financial affairs. There was no mention in the actual verdict of Thurleigh Ramsden. I looked through the two columns and couldn’t find words that directly linked Ramsden to the cause of death. Was I wrong to think he should be? Maybe coroner’s courts aren’t empowered to be that subtle. Anyway that wasn’t any of my business, was it? I had a job, and if I was on it, I wouldn’t be sitting around on my butt speculating about something that concerned only Kogan, of all people. Kogan, who made my life a misery of running water and unemptied waste baskets.
    The other item in the paper concerned Clarence Temperley:
    Niagara Regional Police are increasing their efforts to contact the manager of the Upper Canadian Bank. Clarence Temperley, 49, of Lisgar Street, failed to appear as a witness in the just-concluded inquest into the death of Elizabeth Oldridge, 78, of Brogan Street. “While he hasn’t been missing long enough to be considered a ‘missing person,’” Detective-Sergeant Chris Savas told the Beacon, “his absence at this time is causing some anxiety and we are looking into it.” Temperley has been manager of the bank since 1969.
    The article went on to describe his wife and family of three boys who were joined by neighbours in searching the course of the Eleven Mile Creek above its junction with the Old Canal.
    When it was getting on towards one-thirty, I went around the back of the office to see if the Olds was up to a run back to Papertown. It was and when we got there, McStu’s car was still parked outside Cath Bracken’s house. In daylight, I could see that the place had the scale of a cottage from the last century. It reminded me of a picture I’d seen in the library of the house in St. Helena, where Napoleon spent his last days. It was compact, without the horizontal spread of suburban bungalows of the 1950s. There were no large picture windows to help me in my research. There were no lights or any signs of movement through the two windows facing the veranda.
    I pushed in the car lighter while I waited and sucked on a Halls cough drop. I did this a few times as though I really thought I was going to like cough drops better than cigarettes.
    After about forty-five minutes, I turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. What had I accomplished? I wondered as I pointed the Olds back to town. What does surveillance ever accomplish? It looks good in a report, but there is rarely much that tells you about the characters you are following. In the old days when I used to do a lot of divorce work, you weren’t interested in character as such, just the movements: from home of subject to the Black Duck Motel and back again.It was crude but it told enough for a judge to make up his mind.
    When I parked behind the office and came up the alley breathing heavily, Kogan was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I walked past him and unlocked the office door. He followed me in.
    â€œSo, Mr. Cooperman, what have you found out?”
    â€œI don’t usually report whenever a client drops in, Kogan. Besides, didn’t you tell me that you weren’t interested in my services?”
    â€œI only meant I can’t afford to pay you. I didn’t say I didn’t need your help,” he protested. Kogan grinned. Even he could see the funny side, and he was straight enough to let me see that he recognized hypocrisy as well as the next man.
    â€œHow far does that argument get you at the liquor store?”
    â€œThere’s a branch where I get credit.”
    â€œCredit! I don’t believe you. Booze is strictly cash and carry.”
    â€œExcept when I deal with Norton. Norton’s an old school friend. It’s a question of the old school tie. That’s what private schools are all about. It’s a brotherhood, really.” I’d heard that Kogan had attended Cranmer College on the other side of the