Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Charlie finished taking pictures of the writing room, the desk and the bookcases around it on his phone.

Henry said, "Come on outside. I want to tell you about the history of the house."

Charlie followed Henry, who barely took a breath between sentences as he began what seemed to be a well-rehearsed patter.

"Construction of Hoodoo House, which was originally called the Coulee Hotel, began in 1918. It was built during the Alberta Prohibition as a secret drinking establishment and brothel. The owners knew that it might be raided by police so it was built with a secret emergency exit for those in the know.

"As you can see, the building is topped by an observation tower which allowed for lookouts to keep their eyes peeled for approaching lawmen. It was eventually closed down by the police for being a house of ill repute. In the nineteen-fifties, the hotel was purchased by Lazlo Spence, an eccentric artist and wannabe hotel owner, who constructed several haphazard additions, adding ten more rooms. He also created the twenty-foot-high sculpture at the front which is called ‘Spirit of the Hoodoo'. That's when the building became Hoodoo House. The hotel went bankrupt in the late nineteen-seventies and stood abandoned until the Heart's Shadow Foundation bought it on Miss Ellis' behalf."

Charlie said, "Where did you learn all of this?"

"Gramma Carol taught me. It's useful information for when I'm giving tours."

"You give tours? To who?" Charlie asked.

"To whom," Henry replied.

Mrs Cameron was obviously a good teacher.

"Well, they aren't official tours, but you see, Miss Ellis, who was the first writer in the house, has lots of fans. They come from all over the world to pay homage to her because she wrote a famous book called The Ragtag Crew, and she also has fans for The Heart's Shadow series.

"Last year I had a small bus come by with tourists from Japan. I took them on a tour around the outside of the house telling them everything I could remember about it. I even included a few things about when this was a place for gambling and was filled with women of ill-repute. That's the polite term for hookers. So anyway, I made up this story that this is where the Premier of Alberta was almost arrested when the police raided the place. And they believed it! They tipped me twice what I normally charge for a tour."

"Did you ever make up stories about Mr Tull, or Miss Ellis or their books?"

Henry's eyes widened. "No. It's important to honour Miss Ellis' legacy. After all, because of her, I have a place to live. At least that's what Gramma Carol says."

"So, people pay you for taking them through the house?"

"I'm not allowed to take them into the house. Mr Tull would have had a shit-fit if I'd done that. I just walk people around the outside. I let them peek in through the kitchen and puzzle room windows. Gramma Carol says as long as I don't take them inside or disturb the writer, I'm allowed to do it. And she lets me keep all the tip money from the tourists. I use it to buy comics and gifts for Gramma Carol on Christmas and her birthday. Now, it's time to show you one of Hoodoo House's first big secrets."

They went back into the house and ascended the stairs to the second floor. It was much brighter than the main level. The walls had all been given a coat of whitewash. Henry stopped at the first door he came to and opened it. It seemed to be an unimpressive broom closet.

"I think you'll like this," he said.

Henry pushed on a section of the wall near the back of the closet and it swung inward on hinges which groaned from disuse. Beyond the door was a square room less than four metres across. Bright light flooded down from above. Running along one side wall was a wooden staircase.

"Come on," Henry said. "It's a bit rickety, but it's safe."

Charlie stepped on the stairs. They creaked and shifted beneath his feet, and he reached for the handrail.

Henry smiled reassuringly. "I've been up it countless times and it hasn't collapsed yet."

"Great," Charlie said, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach.

The stairs wound their way up the walls of the tall room, the height of which became more apparent as they climbed. And the more they climbed, the more Charlie became aware of how unsafe the stairs felt. After the third flight, the stairs ended on a more solid catwalk that ran around the perimeter of the tower.

"Welcome to the lookout," Henry said, arms opened wide.

Most of the windows were cracked, and several panes were missing. From the debris on the floor far below, Charlie could tell that birds had obviously roosted here.

"You can almost see forever," Henry said, staring out into the distance. "Sometimes I pretend this is my secret lair. I keep my eyes peeled for villains that I might have to smite."

Charlie looked out on the vista below him. There were rolling fields alternating green and brown, and deep coulees which slashed their way through the terrain. As he stared out through the window, he saw a hawk circling.

Henry pointed to it. "That's a ferruginous hawk. It's one of the great soaring birds in the area. It rides the updrafts, keeping its eyes peeled for ground squirrels and gophers to pounce on and eat."

After a few seconds of silence, Henry turned to Charlie. "This is my favourite part of the house. It doesn't feel like it was designed to depress the living hell out of you."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Charlie said as he took a number of pictures, not because they would help the investigation, but because it was beautiful. He also carefully looked around the inside of the tower. This would be an interesting place to hide something, but there was no sign of a laptop anywhere.

Henry said, "Come on, I've got more to show you."

He led Charlie down the stairs, and back into the broom closet, then made his way to the hallway of the second floor. Doors opened on both sides. Most of the rooms were either empty or were furnished with an old dresser, a chair and an unmade bed. While some had old framed pictures on the walls, none of them looked like they had been occupied in years. The one thing they all had in common, other than the ubiquitous flat white-painted walls, was the fact that they were spotlessly clean. Charlie photographed each, making audio notes about the numbers of each room—even room number six where Henry said the young prostitute had died.

Henry continued the tour. "And this is where I stay." The room showed an attempt at being tidy without much success. Some clothes had been roughly folded and placed on the chair. On the dresser was a brush which held some brown hair, and on the mirror above the dresser was an old photograph of three women in their early twenties smiling at the camera. There were also drawings taped up on the dresser mirror.

Charlie said, "So where did Mr Tull stay?"

Henry said, "I can show you his bedroom. It's just down here."

He led the way to a large room with a view out of the back of the house overlooking the deep, snaking coulee. The room smelled stale, like the bedroom of a single man not too focused on his own hygiene who never opened a window.

"Would it be okay if I took a quick look around?" Charlie asked. "I promise that I won't take anything. I'm just trying to get a better sense of the man."

"Sure. The police have already gone through everything. I did too…just in case the police missed anything, but I didn't find the computer you're after."

Charlie said, "You're a young detective in the making."

He perused the room, and took a few pictures. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it except that the room lacked any personal touch.He wrapped up his cursory inspection. It was like Tull had been no more than an overnight guest.

"What's next?" Charlie asked.

"There's one more thing I want to show you. I've been saving it for the very end. But it's something I think we need the detective's help to figure out."