The teenager squatted to hug Napoleon. The German shepherd butted her back toward the front door.
"Take him for a walk, Katt. Or take over in here."
"Coming, Mom?" she asked as Conine Baxter came into view.
"You go. My feet are killing me. New shoes," her mom explained.
DeClercq nodded knowingly.
"... the Afrikaner Resistance Movement, embracing Nazilike symbols and policies, has decreed, 'We are the rightful owners of this country. We are the ones who brought civilization to South Africa.' Afrikaners are boycotting the election because the government and ANC refuse to guarantee them a volkstaat— or white homeland — in the Orange Free State and Transvaal ..."
The front door closed behind Katt and Napoleon as Corrine said, "You look like a chef at the Ritz in that hat."
'Tuts me in the mood to sling hash," Robert joked. "Katt sewed the apron and embroidered the bib. The get-up's for her. I'm not that vain."
Stitched on front was an ornate cup swirling steam with a spoon on its saucer and tablets of Equal beside. Gargon de The ringed the needlework.
"Translation?" asked Corrine.
"Teaboy," said DeClercq. He showed her the "Ode to Teaboy" on the fridge.
Baxter read it and laughed.
With ash blond hair and deep cobalt eyes like Katt— mother and daughter, but for age, displayed the same
genes—Corrine Baxter was an artist in thought, dress, and fact. In Boston she bought old houses to redecorate as mansions, earning her living by reselling them at a profit. Instead of disrupting Katt by yanking her out of school (denying her the Dracula joy of vampirizing Kirk Mitchell), she'd bought a house in North Vancouver to transform. The powwow tonight was to discuss Katt's future.
"Wine?" Robert said, bottle in one hand, glass in the other.
"I nefer drink . . . vine," Corrine replied, mimicking Katt doing Bela Lugosi. "But for you"—she took the glass—"I'll make an exception."
"... South Africa is often seen in simplistic black and white: Black versus White, Good versus Bad, Oppressed versus Oppressors. But racial conflict isn't the only tension, for tribal, language, and class divisions also fan discord. A turf war between the ANC and Inkatha Freedom Party of Mangosuthu Buthelezi has killed 10,000 blacks over the past decade in Natal and the tribal homeland of KwaZulu it surrounds. Buthelezi's nephew is King Goodwill Zwelithini, Lion of the Zulu Nation and head of its Royal House. A bearded man who lives in a palace with five wives, Zwelithini was crowned eighth monarch of the Zulus in 1971 to guard the interests of his 8.5 million subjects. In practice he's the puppet of Buthelezi's Inkatha Party in its power struggle against the ANC. ..."
"So?" Robert said. "How goes the battle?"
"Bonding with Katt's like wrestling a wildcat hand to paw. She's . . . she's . . ."
"A live wire?" supplied DeClercq.
"That she is. What's your secret? She thinks the world of you."
"My friend Chartrand is commissioner of the Force. What I know about command I learned from him. He gives orders by advising you of his opinion and asking if you can help. No one likes to be told what to do, and he'd no more think of doing that than asking you to help where your help wasn't needed. The CO commands voluntary respect.
"Luna Darke was a practicing witch. We're lucky Katt's as stable as she is. The trick is to make her want
to prove she has everything under control. Which often she does.
"When Katt came here from Deadman's Island, we had a talk. I told her I was a loner who feared she'd cramp my life. Only if she was responsible, worked hard at school, and read every book in our library could she stay. Sneak that she is, the shelves are now stocked with what she wants to read. Katt thinks she pulled a fast one, but it got her reading/'
"Why such a good k dad' to her?'* asked Corrine.
"You don't know what you've got till you lose it, and I lost my first chance. As you said on the phone: Lonely, isn't it? I hunt mutants spawned by criminally negligent fathers. Guys too busy with themselves to center on their kids. Later they sit in back of a court wondering where things went wrong. As Plato said: Keep your dick in your pants if you're not up to the job. Katt's my salvation."
Corrine drained her wine. "You make this decision hard."
The front door opened.
"We're back," Katt announced.
"Why so soon?"
"It's raining Katts and dogs."
The teenager entered the kitchen and spied the bottle of wine. "This bilingual house adheres to French drinking laws?" She found a glass, held it out, then asked, "What shall we toast?"
"Half pints get half measures," Robert said.
The glass Katt held up had plenty of room left for the bouquet. She measured the distance between the rim and surface of the wine. "As Plato said: Here's the gap between adults and teens. To you this glass is half full. To me it's half empty."
Baxter eyed DeClercq.
"Plato said a lot of silly things," he replied.
Cozy in this kitchen with its savory aroma, Corrine said, "Boston's home, so that's where I want Katt to live."
Here it comes, Robert thought. The long good-bye.
"Katt tells me if she moves there her future can't be. Since she was born in Boston, she's American. Which means she has to live here to apply for citizenship. If not, she's barred from recruiting because she's Ameri-
can, and can't follow her dream of being a Mountie just like you."
Robert looked at Katt, who looked everywhere but at his eyes. You little schemer.
"I've got a great idea," said Katt enthusiastically. 4 The best way for Mom to see what we Mounties are all about is for you to take her to the Red Serge Ball."
"Let's eat," said DeClercq.
Unaware the warning tolled the bell for one of his men, he switched off the radio as the CBC continued: ". . . on Monday, Zulus armed with traditional spears, shields, and clubs stormed from a Soweto hostel to hear King Zwelithini demand an independent Zulu Nation in Natal. 'A Zulu king is not just another black leader who should be approachable by just anybody.' The speech meshed perfectly with Buthelezi's warning the Zulus are under siege and will fight to the finish against the ANC. As South Africa moves toward the postapartheid era, civil war may be only a shot away. ..."
HAIR OF THE DOG
Cloverdale
Last night was the fourth meeting of the Suicide Club, so Wayne Tarr woke up to a raging throbbing full-blown hangover. To quell the pain of nails being driven into his brain, he poured himself a tumbler of Scotch with a shaky hand. Nothing like a little hair o' the dog the morning after.
The drapes in the living room were drawn against the day. The Sports Network still flickered silently on the TV. JR Country played Conway Twitty wringing every tear out of "Lonely Blue Boy." When Tarr set the bottle of Scotch down it tipped and spilled, pouring the amber spirits across the divorce petition from The Bitch, and next to that a light blue card:
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293
The Commanding Officer and Members
of "E" Division
Royal Canadian Mounted Police
Request the pleasure of your company at the
Regimental Ball
Aboard the cruise ship Good Luck City
Canada Place Berth 2
Sailing Saturday, March 5, 1994, 6:15 P.M.
Docking Sunday, March 6, 1994, 11:00 A.M.
Dress: Formal
As he drank, Tarr aimed his thumb and index finger like a gun at the blue card. Gaboon!!" he said.
SACRED HEART
Vancouver
"Criminal lawyers are storytellers.*' DeClercq told Craven three weeks after Nick asked for his help. Snow fell outside the window of the Pretrial Center, and on the table between them lay witness reports. 'The lawyer who tells the best story wins the trial, so here's the story you offer Knight. . . ."
Ted and Dora Craven lived in Lethbridge, Alberta. where Ted was a Member with the Mounted detachment. Ted was the grandson of Lance-S
ergeant Rex Craven, and heir to a trophy box from Rorke's Drift. Among the relics in the box was a pouch of bones, a photo of which appeared in The Times on January 27,
1956. Nigel Hammond saw the photo and wrote to Ted as the London agent for Africans hoping to buy the bones. During a trip to Canada in the first week of March, he'd stop in Lethbridge to discuss the matter. Come that week, Ted was in the Arctic on a manhunt, so if Hammond dropped by as planned, only Dora was home.
"You think he fucked Mom?"
"Is that not possible?"
Nick flashed on the posters of Brando and Elvis on her attic wall.
"Possible," he said.
The winter of 1956 was Alberta's worst. Storm upon storm followed the Rockies down from the Arctic to lash the prairies to Kansas south of the line. Ted's younger sister Eleanor was a midwife in Medicine Hat. Pregnant with twins, Dora went to stay with her for the births. Ted joined them on his days off. The night all the snow in the Arctic was dumped on Medicine Hat, besieging the city to block streets and choke doors to the house, the twins were born. Both births were witnessed by Ted and Eleanor, then later that night, whiskey drunk, Ted shot himself.
"Dad committed suicide because we weren't his?"
"If Hammond went to bed with your mom, is that not possible?"
Nick matched the dates. "Possible," he said.
"What went on in the house that night we may never know. The inquest into Ted's death wasn't transcribed. There is, however, a note in the file that Dora's face was bruised. Eleanor swore that was caused by thrashing during the births. Or did Ted beat her from rage caused by paternity?"
Something else about the two births was wrong. The cuckolding might explain her husband's suicide, but not why Dora kept one twin and rejected the other. Why was the birth not recorded to her, and what would motivate Eleanor, despite her brother's death, to place the twin through Sacred Heart, with a vow of secrecy from Sister Superior? Was the twin defective in a way that affected both women?
Whatever the reasons, a lifetime passed. Then last November, the "defective" twin came searching for Dora,
having somehow learned it was "placed" by Sacred Heart. Refusing to breach her vow of silence, Sister Superior was threatened. The nun told Eleanor, who then wrote to Dora, shortly before she fell down stairs in the house where the twins were born.
"No Sacred Heart in Canada has a record of placing your twin. But the one that taught your aunt as a child suffered a break-in last November in which files were stolen. Its Sister Superior died that same night in an unsolved hit and run. The next day, your aunt fell down the stairs."
"You think my twin found Eleanor through his file, then went to Medicine Hat and forced her to expose his morn?"
"His or her mom," clarified DeClercq.
In early December, Dora received the letter found in the drawer:
Mother—
It's taken my lifetime to uncover your whitewashed secret. Discussing it face to face on my birthday seems fitting. Til call on the 7th.
On the 7th, as Nick was driving to the Regimental Dinner from his birthday party at Dora's, the twin came along the path from Port Coquitlam to knock on the back door. Face to face with her unknown child for the first time since 1956, Dora cut the birthday pie to eat with him or her, then tried to explain why she did what she did in Alberta. When she related the trophy box was how she met Hammond, the twin asked to see the African link to its dad. So Dora went up to the attic and brought it down.
"We're dealing with a psychotic. Of that I'm quite sure," said DeClercq. "Wherever Sacred Heart placed the twin, it was abused. Stripped of mumbo jumbo, psychosis works like this. A child escapes mentally from abuse by repressing thoughts, which it locks away in the dungeon of its subconscious. To return to consciousness, jailed thoughts trick the jailor by disguising their origin in breaks with reality. Hallucinations, delusions, and obsessions are classic breaks. A psycho sees visions that don't exist, or hears phantom voices. A psycho becomes
the zombielike puppet of supernatural forces. A psycho fixates on a fetish or symbol with links to the abuse. The perfect example is the Son of Sam. David Berkowitz shot people in New York because the dog of his neighbor housed the spirit of a six thousand-year-old demon that ordered him to kill. 'It wasn't me,' the psycho confessed after his arrest. Tt was Sam working through me . . . Sam used me as a tool.' "
"So what's my twin's psychosis?"
"Your sibling's the zombie of the African bones in the box. . . ."
Her back to the twin, Dora stood washing dishes at the sink. The twin sat at the kitchen table, mesmerized by the bones. The evil eye carved on each bone's a link to the realm of the shades. Rex Craven described their juju power in notes the twin found in the box. It was a moment ripe for psychosis to emerge and crush the cause of the placement abuse. The shades linked to the bones compelled the twin to smash Dora's skull in with the club.
Through the window above the sink, the twin looked down as police cars converged on Colony Farm. Within a minute, dogs fanned out to search for Schreck. The twin climbed to the attic where Dora got the box, and at the urging of the shades emptied Ted's trunk. Returning to the kitchen to wipe away prints, the twin donned Nick's tea-stained coat to hide Dora's blood, then closing the door which locked behind, ran up the path away from the Schreck manhunt.
"You see the logic in the madness?" said DeClercq. "The psychotic use of symbols for revenge? The Rorke's Drift trophy box symbolizes the tragedy of the rejected twin. The Redcoat relics represent Rex, Ted, Dora, and you. The Zulu relics represent Hammond and his rejected child. Both father and offspring want revenge for their rejection. The shades want revenge for Redcoat conquest in the Zulu War. To advance the latter means advancing the former, so the twin becomes the zombie of African hallucinations. What other explanation fits events that followed?"
"Jack?" said Nick.
"The psychotic link to Rorke's Drift turns florid. Hallucination, delusion, and obsession control, so Jack is
EVIL EYE 297
clubbed with the knobkerrie and disemboweled with the bayonet. He's a Redcoat stand-in for Rex. Ted, Dora, and you. Unfortunately, the zigzag imprint shredded when he was dragged."
"But Mom wasn't gutted?"
"Training on the job. The twin didn't finish Rex's notes until after it left Dora's house. That's when the psycho learned about the umnyama curse, leading to the mortuary break-in to finish the job."
"You think it'll kill again?"
"When the pressure of psychosis builds."
"Another Member?"
"Yes," answered DeClercq. "The twin's obsession is fixated on Red Serge. Our uniform stands for everything your double hates."
"Including me."
"Including you. Who reaped the mother love denied to it? You standing trial for Mom's death is the ultimate revenge."
"How do we find my double?"
"First we find Nigel Hammond. Why were the relics not returned that March? Did he contact your mom after Ted died? Was there mention of him in the Sacred Heart file, prompting your twin to contact him recently as a result? The address Alex recalls on Hammond's letter in fifty-six was a block of London flats leveled in the sixties. Nigel Hammond is a common name in Britain. Unless something breaks here, we wait and see what Scotland Yard turns up."
TWINS
Robert walked into his office to find Katt sitting in his chair, feet up on his horseshoe desk and wearing his forage cap backward with the peak behind her head. Her toque with the lucky moth hole was stuck on the hat rack. "Getting the feel of the place. Bob, for when I'm promoted."
"Why aren't you at school?"
"Professional day/' she said. And echoing Luna: "I do believe teachers get lazier each year."
"What brings you here?"
"Public transport, Bob." Katt grinned. "Oh, do you mean motive-wise?"
"How'd you clear Security?"
"Sweet talk, Bob. Not everyone suspects I'm going to steal your stapler." She flicked the visi
tor's pass clipped to her chest.
"So, 'motive-wise,' to what do I owe your visit?"
"This," replied Katt, waving a book so he couldn't see the title. "Since I'm going to be a cop, I figure I should help you with the Craven case. Remember how you told me an investigation is like a book? You take it page by page, and as you finish one page, that leads to another page, and you just keep turning pages until you come to the end of the story. Correct me if I'm wrong, Bob, but what we're stalking here is your classic evil twin?"
"I see our walls have ears?"
"Or you have a booming voice."
"I'll recommend you be assigned to Special I. Mind if I sit down?"
"At ease. Fall out, Bob."
He sat in one of the minion chairs as Katt cracked the book to read. Above the title Twins and the Double protruded several bookmarks scrawled with notes written by her. "Interesting stuff, twins. Listen to this," she said:
"Consider what happens each time we look into a mirror. There we behold our 'twin,' the mirror-image of ourselves, seemingly a perfect likeness; yet this visual replica remains oddly, elusively different. The face in the mirror resembles our own in having identical features, but we hardly notice how these are crisscrossed, the left side of the actual face appearing on the right-hand side of the mirror-face and vice versa. In one stroke, the Twin reveals itself and tricks us, right before our eyes. We may go through our whole life without realizing that the face we see in the mirror is not the one that others see when they look directly at us.
"To see how our face actually looks, we have to place
two square mirrors together, at right angles to each other, and look directly at the seam ..."
"A photograph of our mirror-face will not overlap our actual face," said DeClercq.
Katt read on: "Certainly we are struck by the visual alikeness of human twins, but this impression is misleading and belies rather than exemplifies the innate structure of twinning. In a room of a hundred people it would not take long to pick out the identical twin sisters, but the remaining ninety-eight people could be forty-nine sets of nonidentical twins and you would not be able to detect them. "
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