I was sitting in a bar knocking back my third Jack Daniels, when a drop-dead gorgeous blonde walked in. As she paused, surveying the room, I raised my glass in a complimentary salute. It was a ‘Hail Mary’ move, and I could hardly believe it when she came over and sat next to me. Suddenly I knew that everything was about to change! I had come here to drink away the pain of a recent divorce. But now? They say, when one door closes… another one opens. I just didn’t think it would happen this fast!
Chapter One
My name is Robert Wingate. People usually refer to me as Robbie or sometimes RW. When I met Sophia, I was 58 years of age and recently divorced. I thought of myself as a nice, fun-loving guy; although my ex-wife may have a different perspective. The night I met Sophia she was a youthful thirty something … and there was a large age-gap between us. But like a lot of men, I thought the younger the better. She was a beautiful woman, although maybe a little tightly wrapped. Still, there was a connection between us right from the start. It was classic yin-yang, where opposites attract. When the bar closed, we headed back to my place where Sophia stayed the night, and never left. She was a little vague about her background, but when she unveiled that curvaceous body, I was totally taken in. There was nothing in her past that could possibly be important. Right? WRONG! If I had been thinking with the right head, I might have avoided the horror that eventually ensued.
Sophia was impressed by the upscale bungalow in the Toronto suburbs where I lived. It had been relinquished to me as a share of the marital assets. The house was a nice place for sure, but it was mortgaged to the hilt. And my car – a 1969 Corvette – also nice, was strictly a summertime ride. I guess at first glance, I must have looked like a good catch… the house, the flashy sports car, and the way I threw money around in that up-scale bar. But financially I was on the rocks. In the current lousy business environment, my job as a real estate agent barely kept the wolf away from the door. I was living from paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. But like many people, I hid behind a false veneer of success. I sure fooled Sophia, who desperately needed someone to latch onto. Anyway, ours became the perfect symbiotic relationship. I provided a roof over her head, and she rocked my world.
After a few months together we were already talking about getting married. In truth, it was mostly Sophia’s idea. But by then, I was totally in thrall, and prepared to do anything to make her happy. Neither of us had any kids to complicate things. Sophia had a mother in a nearby city. My parents were both gone, and my only living relatives were two older brothers who I rarely spoke to. I called one of them, to get his take on the impending marriage. I was really just looking for some validation. He advised me to go slow. When I told him that I had already committed to a decision, he said I was nuts! The following weekend Sophia and I flew to Vegas. We opted for a simple ceremony in one of those small, marginally legitimate chapels. An Elvis impersonator conducted the service. When ‘the King’ asked, “Do you take this woman…?” I gulped and said, “I do.”
It wasn’t long after we returned from Vegas that a few cracks began to develop in our relationship. Sophia had increasingly become a nocturnal creature, who stayed up all hours of the night, while I was an early-to-bed type of guy. My usual routine was to rise around 6 a.m. and then head over to the gym for a morning workout. From there I would meet friends at a nearby coffee shop, and then continue my day according to any showings or appointments that were on the calendar. Meanwhile, Sophia had developed a habit of sleeping until noon, and would become miffed if I suggested that she go out and look for a job. Another problem had to do with our excessive drinking. My ex-wife had always accused me of being a man with a thirst. But with her around to constrain me, I had managed to keep the booze under control. Now it was a different story.
Over the next few years our situation spiraled, as Sophia acquired and then inexplicably lost three different jobs. In one instance there was some suggestion (never proved) of financial malfeasance. More recently, she had begun spending a lot of time visiting her mother in the next city, commuting in the leased car that I had obtained for her. When I questioned her frequent absences, she explained that she was helping her mother cope with early onset dementia. Meanwhile the drinking had taken a toll on my usual routines. I no longer went to the gym in the mornings, nor met my friends for coffee. To make matters worse, my boss informed me that my lack of production was unacceptable and I was let go. Desperate for cash, I once again remortgaged the bungalow. This kept us afloat temporarily, but I knew it wasn’t a long-term solution.
I once overheard one of my brothers say, “Robbie isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Maybe he was right! Otherwise, how could I have failed to connect the dots? Sophia’s manner had become increasingly manic; she couldn’t sleep, had lost weight, and was now visiting her mother (she said) every day… sometimes not returning until late. One night she came in and her eyes were bugged out like a deer in the headlights. She was obviously on something heavy duty, and it wasn’t Jack Daniels bourbon. When I confronted Sophia, she became angry and stormed off into the bedroom. The issue was left unresolved until her mother called me a few days later. She sobbed as she explained that Sophia had drained her bank accounts, stolen her credit cards and left her penniless. I was shocked as I listened to the poor woman’s tale of woe! What in God’s name should I do?
Chapter two
‘The lights are on, but you’re not home… Your mind is not your own.’ These are lyrics from Robert Palmer’s song ADDICTED TO LOVE, which pretty much described my emotional dependency on Sophia. When Sophia explained that her mother was losing her faculties, and that any accusation of wrongdoing she made was baseless, I wanted to believe her. Then she seduced me with her intoxicating female charms. I was ‘addicted to love’ like a star struck teenager. We soon got past the claims made by her mother, and for a while her behavior seemed to change. Sophia knew that we were seriously pinched for cash, and she made an effort to try to find another job. Then I had to sell the Corvette to raise money to pay three years of back taxes, when the city threatened to slap a tax arrears lien on the bungalow.
The housing market had been flat to slightly higher for several years. As my bungalow slowly inched up in value, I had incrementally increased the second mortgage to generate cash to help pay the bills. I looked upon the house as my personal piggy bank. Over time though, my monthly payments increased to a point where they were becoming a burden. And as my personal income declined, I finally reached a tipping point. It was simple math really. Then at my darkest hour, the housing market entered a boom phase. I don’t know if this was due to low inflation and net-negative interest rates, immigration, demographics or some other unexplainable dynamic of market forces. Real-estate prices quite literally went through the roof – it was like a mania, where sellers were receiving multiple offers over their asking price. My bungalow in a desirable part of town soared in value!
While I was mentally processing my new found wealth, Sophia received word of her mother’s death. A week later we attended a church service, followed by a reception at a nearby restaurant. While Sophia was engaged in conversation with a relative, her sister (I didn’t even know she had one) approached me with fire in her eyes. She hissed, “We know that Sophia stole all of our mother’s money!” I guess I had a shocked look on my face, because she doubled down and continued, “What in the hell are you doing with that drugged out prostitute anyway?” I sputtered something unintelligible, totally at a loss for words. Then I turned and walked over to Sophia. I said, “Soph, we’re out of here.” I grabbed her elbow and steered her towards the door. As we left, the sister shouted, “You’ll be hearing from our lawyer!”
The atmosphere was tense on the drive home. Sophia burst into tears when I repeated what her sister had said to me. At first, she denied the accusations. Then she backtracked and confided that she had gone through some difficult times in the past. She choked up as she admitted to a series of bad relationships, drug use, and even worse. Finally, I stopped her and gently said, “Soph, I don’t need to hear all of this. I told her that I loved her, and that we should forget the past and focus on our future together. Later, I explained about the potential real estate windfall, and the plan that had begun to take root in my mind. I figured that if we sold the house, we’d net about $700,000 after the mortgages were paid. If we then moved to an area where the cost of living was not so high, we could buy a less expensive home and be mortgage free. Any money left over could be invested to provide an income.
A few days later I pounded a sign into the front lawn which read, ‘Home for Sale by Owner’. Perhaps we were getting a little ahead of ourselves, because as yet we had no alternative living situation in mind. I figured that selling the house would take some time, and we could now begin to seriously look around. It didn’t work out that way. Within a few days we had multiple offers over the asking price. The highest offer was so attractive, that we felt compelled to accept it. The only condition was a 30-day closing date. This certainly lit a fire under us! We began looking in earnest at real estate listings in smaller towns within a 150-kilometer radius. There was nothing that really jumped out at us. Then fortuitously, one of my former real estate colleagues suggested that we look at properties in New Brunswick. He said it was the land of the world’s highest tides and the largest lobsters… and the price of housing was dirt cheap!
After a brief Google search, we identified a number of interesting real estate prospects. We found that the prices of homes in certain areas of New Brunswick, were absolutely crazy. Crazy low! They were in sharp contrast to the sky-high prices of houses like ours in the Beaches area of Toronto. We zeroed in on a particular house in Grande-Anse, a small village on Chaleur Bay… a large body of water that gives way to the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Atlantic Ocean. The population of the village was just 721, and it was a predominantly French speaking community; a demographic that didn’t register with us as being important at the time. The house itself was an attractive 2 story 20-year-old build with a wrap-around porch. It was situated on 2.1 acres, with extensive ocean frontage. We both agreed that it appeared perfect, and the price was right!
Chapter Three
A few days later we boarded an Air Canada flight from Toronto to Bathurst, New Brunswick. After picking up a rental car at Budget we proceeded east on Route 11 towards Grande-Anse. It was just a short 30-minute drive, which occasionally offered glimpses of the sparkling Chaleur Bay. Once out of Bathurst, we were almost immediately in the boons. The countryside was beautiful, but the sparse population and limited vehicle traffic gave it an eerie feeling of isolation. I think we both felt it; each of us with our own thoughts, occasionally punctuated with… “Hmm, look at that, or that’s awesome!” The GPS directed us to the correct address, and as we drew near, any apprehension that we felt was replaced with a sense of excitement at seeing the lone blue colored home on a bluff overlooking the ocean. For some strange reason I was reminded of the Bates Motel in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 film Psycho!
The real estate agent got out of her car as we pulled into the driveway. After introductions were made, she led us on a tour of the house. Sophia was interested in taking a closer look at the interior, while I slipped outside to examine the grounds. Right away I noticed that there were no trees nor gardens of any sort. The whole property was basically a sand dune, which supported a variety of wild grasses. It was austere in a way, but pristine and naturally beautiful. About 50 meters from the back door there was a steep embankment which had been carved out by the sea. A set of rickety wooden steps provided access to the beach below. It appeared that the tide was out, and seabirds were soaring along its expanse searching for food. I descended and found myself in an oceanic paradise, with the beach stretching for miles in both directions. For me, it was love at first sight!
This property had been on the market for over two years, even though it was reasonably priced and in excellent condition. Why? Anyone in the real estate business can tell you it’s all about - location – location – location! And nobody wanted to move to this isolated, impoverished part of New Brunswick. Except maybe us! The listing price had been reduced twice, and the home was currently offered at $324,900 - fully furnished. Apparently, it had been used as a weekend retreat by two doctors from Bathurst who had subsequently split-up. They had poured a lot of money into updating the kitchen and appliances, replacing the roof and adding extra insulation to the walls and ceiling. At this point, they were anxious to sell and move on. We offered $275,000. They countered at $315,000. We sent back a final offer of $285,000 and they accepted it.
Several weeks later we pulled up to our new house, towing a U-Haul cargo trailer behind a Lincoln SUV. The Lincoln was a couple of years old - it still cost a pretty penny - but Sophia thought it would create the ‘right’ impression with our new neighbors. It created an impression all right, but perhaps not a positive one. The majority of the locals we came into contract with spoke French, and conveniently forgot how to speak English when we tried to engage them. When I posed a question to the check-out clerk at the local Marche’ grocery, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Les Anglais!” Hey, I thought Canada was supposed to be a bilingual country. That seem to be a moot point in this part of New Brunswick. Most of these locals were descendants of Acadian settlers who had arrived from France in the early 1600s. Everywhere you looked Acadian (not Canadian) flags were flying.
I figured out pretty quickly that we would be ostracized by the local populace, who considered us to be rich Protestant Anglais from Toronto. In hindsight, maybe we should have done a little more research before buying the house. It didn’t help that we were now several months into the Covid-19 epidemic, and everyone was masked up and being ultra cautious. I wasn’t losing any sleep over any of this, and spent my time setting up a gym in the basement and going for long walks on the beach. Sophia was delighted with the house and spent her time decorating and painting. It was early July, and we were enjoying the sunny summer weather. We weren’t thinking of the coming winter, when the snow and cold winds would isolate us even further. With some foresight though, I ordered several cords of wood that could be burned in the fireplace during the winter months.
Sophia and I were still hitting the booze pretty hard, and each afternoon we would sit on the veranda during the cocktail hour to enjoy our Jack Daniels, while I smoked a cigar and she indulged in her newly acquired habit of smoking cigarettes. We had been in our new digs for about two weeks when Sophia met a local girl named Madeline, while shopping in the village. You’ve heard the saying about ‘birds of a feather?’ Well, these two seemed to hit it off right from the beginning and soon became inseparable. When I first met Madeline, I was left with a mixed-impression. On the one hand she was a very pretty girl - around 30 - with an appealing French accent and a high energy personality. She was also gaunt, nervous, and had difficulty maintaining eye contact. A warning flag had fluttered briefly in the back of my mind. But, as with all things relating to Sophia, I chose to ignore it.
Chapter Four
The two men motored along Hwy 401 in a black Cadillac Escalade. They were traveling from Toronto to Ottawa, on the first leg of a 1,350-kilometer road trip to visit their younger brother in Grande-Anse, New Brunswick. Their names were Rick and Teddy Wingate, and both were retired military officers. Rick, the oldest brother chuckled and asked jokingly, “How did you ever talk me into this?” Teddy replied, “We’ll have a great time, and it’ll be good to see Robbie and his new house!” Rick responded, “Yes, but what about that wacko Sophia?” Both men were familiar with the woman’s indiscretions over the past several years. There was quite a list! They weren’t really that close to their brother, but they did take a fraternal interest in his well-being. And, they had the connections and resources to remain fully informed.
They both knew that Robbie had his own issues. For one thing, he drank too much. But that was a trait that ran in the family… and none of them were choirboys. They felt that RW’s real problem was PTSD, stemming from an incident which occurred in Cyprus during a United Nations peacekeeping mission. Robbie had been out on a high-rise balcony one night when one of his fellow junior officers, a real cowboy, was recording active gunfire with a handheld microphone. A Turkish sniper had mistakenly identified the man as a threat, and shot him in the head. Brain matter had splattered all over Robbie’s face, and the trauma from this incident had haunted him ever since. He had left the military shortly thereafter, and then engaged in a series of jobs and relationships which eventually led to his current situation. Now desperate to finally hang on to something tangible, he had chosen to overlook the obvious deficiencies in his wife’s character.
Rick Wingate was a retired brigade major who had specialized in intelligence work during his military career. He had established many valuable connections in the clandestine services, some of which he was still in touch with. One of these was Captain Charles Burton, formally the intelligence officer with the Canadian Airborne Regiment. Burton was now the principal of Burton Investigations, headquartered in Ottawa. A few months ago, Wingate had received a frantic call from his brother Robbie. Apparently, his wife Sophia had gone missing and he didn’t know what to do. Rick called his friend Burton, and asked him to look into the matter. A few days later, Burton recovered the errant wife from a crack house in Regent Park. She had been strung out, and having depleted her money, was offering sexual favors in exchange for hits on a crack pipe. After Burton had returned Sophia to her home, a concerned Rick Wingate engaged him to prepare a dossier on the woman’s background.
~ ~ ~
What Burton discovered revealed a long history of indiscretions that had begun in Sophia’s teen years. She had been a runaway at age 16, and had entered into a bohemian life style in a seedy part of Toronto. She hooked up with an older man, a grifter, who introduced her to a licentious life of drugs and prostitution. Her first arrest occurred at the age of 17, when she was swept up in a police dragnet. By the age of 19, aided by her stunningly good looks, Sophia was a high-end escort operating out of the city’s premiere hotels. She was arrested twice more for solicitation, and once for illegal drug use. There was a record of a brief stay in a rehab facility, and of two previous marriages… the last one, possibly never officially terminated. More recently, a former employer had been in touch with police regarding missing funds; and a bank was investigating improprieties surrounding withdrawals from her mother’s accounts.
~ ~ ~
The two older Wingate brothers were impressed when they approached the blue house overlooking Chaleur Bay. They were greeted warmly on the porch by Robbie and Sophia, and then went inside for a welcome drink. They stowed their bags in their respective guest bedrooms, and then Robbie took them for a walk along the beach. When they returned, a young woman named Madeline was in the kitchen with Sophia; they were both sipping wine spritzers and smoking cigarettes. They were a little buzzed, and after a few minutes left to (supposedly) pick up something at the Marche’ grocery store. Robbie just shrugged and suggested that they prepare the steaks for the BBQ. When the girls returned, they were accompanied by a stylishly dressed fellow named Slim. After a while the two ex-military officers looked at each other knowingly, both having determined that this smooth-talking Frenchman was just a bullshit artist.
For the duration of their stay, Madeline and Slim were often in attendance. In appearance, they were like two flamboyant characters from central casting. Madeline was a pretty girl, covered in tattoos; she also sported a nose ring and had numerous pierced earrings in each ear. Slim (you gotta love the name) had a waxed mustache, a pointed goatee and wore alligator boots. The two weren’t a couple, but apparently belonged to a coterie of friends which now included Sophia. Robbie seemed oblivious to the implications of this, and just kept pouring the drinks. The two girls were constantly going outside to smoke, and had driven off for brief absences several times on one pretext or another. Sophia was constantly wired and couldn’t seem to sit still for even a few minutes. She babbled incessantly about the UFO’s she saw flying over the bay at night. When Rick and Teddy pulled away in the Caddy at the end of their visit, they both agreed that there was big trouble on the horizon!
Chapter Five
A year passed by since Teddy and his brother visited Robbie and Sophia in New Brunswick. Robbie had never been great about staying in touch, but Teddy had been trying to reach him for weeks without success. He had emailed, texted, and telephoned repeatedly. The phone calls simply went to message, and the voice mailbox was full. Teddy didn’t know what to do, so he called Rick to get his thoughts on the matter. Rick said, “It was timely that you called.” Captain Burton had been in touch with him just a few days earlier with an update on Sophia’s dossier. Apparently one of the threads of the investigation had finally born fruit. He had located one of Sophia’s former husbands, and the man had quite a story to tell. He claimed that soon after they were married, Sophia had told him that she was about to inherit half a million dollars. The only catch was that she had to attend the lawyer’s office in Boston to sign a document before receiving a cheque.
Her husband had kicked up his heals with excitement, thinking they were rich. It was as if they had won the lottery! He used all of his available funds to buy two first class airline tickets, and with his credit card in hand they flew to Boston. After checking into a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel, he took Sophia on a shopping spree to buy new clothing. That night they dined at the prestigious Boston Sail Loft. In the morning Sophia called the lawyer and they had a lengthy conversation; her very attentive husband listening to one end of the exchange. When Sophia hung up, she explained that there was some legal glitch and everything was on hold. Her husband later found out that the inheritance was all a fantasy, and Sophia had been speaking into a dead phone to a non-existent lawyer.
Rick said, “That bloody woman is obviously a drug addled sociopath, and it doesn’t bode well for Robbie.” They decided that Teddy would call the local RCMP detachment near Grande-Anse and ask them to do a wellness check.
~ ~ ~
I had been terribly sick for months, probably with Covid-19, but I was suspicious that Sophia had been trying to poison me. I became so weak that I could barely crawl back and forth to the bathroom. Things had started to turn bad shortly after my brothers visited the previous year. It all began when the Lincoln was stolen one night from the driveway. We reported the theft to the police, but the vehicle was never recovered. In hindsight, I am certain that Sophia and her friends were responsible, and that the Lincoln was delivered to a chop-shop in exchange for cash to buy drugs.
The insurance company was dragging its feet on the settlement for the stolen vehicle, although in the interim they agreed to cover the cost of a car rental. It was soon after this, that I fell sick and was unable to leave my room. Sophia would bring me food on occasion, but she always seemed to be stoned and wasn’t very communicative. I didn’t know where she was getting the drugs, or how she was able to pay for them. In this weakened state I overheard snatches of conversation that filtered up the stairwell. Slim was around constantly, and I strongly suspected that he and Sophia were having an affair. It sounded as if Madeline was jealous of this relationship, and harsh words were exchanged between the two women. It was during an argument that Madeline had a fall (or was pushed) down the steps to the basement. I heard the sounds of an ambulance arriving, and then urgent footfalls… before I drifted off.
Some weeks later I woke up one morning, surprisingly clear headed. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and made my way to the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror, a bearded hollow-eyed stranger stared back at me. My usual robust physique had atrophied, and I appeared to have aged considerably. Sighing, I put on a robe and carefully descended the staircase to the kitchen. There was nobody around and the house was eerily silent. I put the kettle on to boil, and noted that my phone was on the counter. The battery was dead, so I plugged it into the charger. I was sipping tea when the front door opened and Slim walked in. The man seemed surprised to see me. He said, “Oh, you’re up!” We exchanged cautious greetings, and then Slim gave me the bad news. Sophia had been in a terrible car accident two nights prior, and remained in critical condition at the Chaleur Regional Hospital.
I called the hospital and spoke to the attending physician. He told me that Sophia was in stable condition, but had suffered multiple injuries. The most worrisome was a severe concussion, and she was currently in a medically induced coma to minimize any possible brain damage. Other injuries included a broken shoulder, cracked ribs and two severely broken legs. He said that once the patient regained consciousness, she would be immobilized by her leg injuries for a considerable length of time. He asked me if I was aware of Sophia’s drug use. Apparently, bloodwork had identified a very high level of stimulants in her system, and this might necessitate special treatment to control withdrawal symptoms during recovery. He concluded by saying that after leaving hospital, Sophia would require a great deal of supportive care.
Chapter Six
I watched from the window as Slim backed out of the driveway in a Mercedes-Benz sports coupe and burned rubber as he raced up the road. I wondered, where did he get that car? The last time he had visited he had arrived in an Uber. I shrugged in puzzlement, and then returned to the kitchen to check the voicemail messages on my phone. There were several calls from my brother Teddy, each message increasingly more urgent in tone. As well, the bank manager had called to say there was a serious overdraft in our chequing account. She urged, “Please call me as soon as possible!” Finally, the N.B. Power Corp had left a robotic message warning that all service would be terminated at the end of the month due to arrears. I began to panic and wondered… What the hell’s going on? They want to shut the power off? What date is it anyway? I better pull myself together fast!
My next call was to the bank manager who informed me that we had exceeded our $35,000 overdraft limit, and as a consequence a number of automatic monthly debits had been declined. One of those was N.B. Power Corp. I insisted that the chequing account had a large credit balance the last time I looked, and we had never used the overdraft privilege… there must be a mistake! She checked the activity and confirmed there had been a series of withdrawals which had depleted the funds in the account and activated the credit line. She also mentioned that my Platinum Credit Card had been maxed out, and with the accumulated interest was now seriously in arrears. Are you kidding? I lost my cool and shouted, “I didn’t authorize any of this!”
I took a deep breath and asked, “Do your records show who made those withdrawals?” The banker paused briefly to tap a few keys on the computer… she said, “All of the withdrawals in the joint chequing account were made by Mrs. Wingate.” My head began to spin! Then in a trembling voice I pleaded, “Please tell me that the Treasury Bills are secure.” The woman hesitantly explained that Mrs. Wingate had withdrawn the full $324,000, claiming that she and Robbie were investing in an income property. I screamed, “How is that even possible? It’s an account that requires both of our signatures!” The now flustered banker explained that Sophia had provided a Power of Attorney which authorized her to act on Robbie’s behalf. I responded angrily, “That bloody document was a forgery! We’ve got a real problem here!”
I terminated the call with the bank manager, after agreeing to meet with her the following day. Back in the kitchen I opened the refrigerator door, and was assaulted by the rank smell of rotting food. Just then, there was a sharp knock on the door. Swinging it open, I found myself facing a stern looking RCMP officer. He looked at me, and kind of pursed his lips. Hey, I knew that I looked like shit! He told me that he had come by at the request of my brother, who had been unable to reach me for several days. I told the officer that I had been sick, but was feeling better and planned to contact my brother today. I thanked him for coming by, and asked him if he knew anything about Sophia’s accident the other night. He said that she had apparently veered off the road and struck a telephone pole. The accident was still under investigation.
When I closed the door, I noticed a large accumulation of mail that had been carelessly discarded on the floor. My curiosity aroused, I gathered it up and carried it to the kitchen table. Most of the stuff was just flyers and junk mail. But there were also several envelopes from the bank, credit card company, and one stamped FINAL NOTICE from the N.B Power Corp. Hidden amongst these was an envelope from the Co-operators Insurance Company. I tore it open and found a cheque inside for $32,589. It was the settlement for the stolen Lincoln. I gazed wide-eyed at the cheque, feeling like a drowning man who had just been thrown a lifeline. Then I thought, how do I cash this? If I deposit it to my account at the bank, it will be gobbled up to cover interest and to reduce the overdraft. Besides, my confidence in that institution was at a new low!
I sat there and tried to make sense of my situation. I had no cash, my credit card was maxed out (the card was missing in any case), I was out in the boons with no transportation, the power was about to be shut off, and finally my wife was in a coma and I was at odds with my bank over the fraudulent withdrawal of my money! After a while I picked up my phone and punched Teddy’s number. He answered, and I told him everything. When I finished there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Teddy said, “I’ll call the power company today and settle your outstanding bill. There will be a car there to pick you up at 9 a.m. tomorrow. The driver will give you an envelope with cash to cover your immediate expenses. He’ll take you to Bathurst where you should open a new account at a different bank. Deposit the insurance cheque, and then arrange to rent a car.” He asked me if I was clear on what I was to do. I said that I was. Then he asked, “What about Sophia?”
Chapter Seven
A final thread in Captain Burton’s investigation bore fruit when he located another of Sophia’s former husbands. The man said that she had disappeared one day (after emptying their bank account), and that they were still legally married. Burton assisted further in investigating the circumstances surrounding the fraudulent withdrawal of Robbie’s deposits at the bank. He determined that Sophia and the bank manager had developed a friendly relationship; they had dined together on a number of occasions, and Sophia had even provided the other woman with drugs. The banker had been negligent and overly receptive when presented with the forged Power of Attorney. Detective Burton also uncovered the money trail, which led to a local drug dealer. The bank’s compliance department was investigating, and Robbie’s lawyer was hopeful for a full recovery of his funds. He was also pursuing an annulment to dissolve Robbie and Sophia’s unlawful marriage.
Robbie ignored Sophia’s attempts to reach him on his cell, and he never visited her at the hospital. When the hospital administrator called, Robbie told him he and his wife were separated. She was on her own.
~ ~ ~
A few months later, a group of seniors were meeting over coffee at the Grande-Anse Café. As usual they talked about the weather and the lobster harvest. Finally, one of them said, “I haven’t seen that Slim character around lately. Another man huffed, “Everyone wondered where he got the money for that fancy car.” The conversation inevitably turned to baseball. Then a late arrival rushed in breathless. He gasped excitedly, “The fishermen have just pulled up a body with the lobster traps!”
By Michael Barlett