The K Handshape

by Maureen Jennings

She smiled. “I know and frankly I’d worry a lot more if you weren’t here.”

  Since I had seen her last, Marion must have dropped a good ten or more pounds. She’d always looked a lot younger than her age. Now she didn’t. Usually she wore lipstick, favouring bright colours and sparkly jewellery. Tonight she was wearing a loose-fitting grey cardigan over a pair of brown pants, no jewellery, no makeup. I recognized the sweater.

  “Hey, didn’t that belong to Al?”

  She fingered the sleeve and looked embarrassed. “I didn’t have anything warm enough.” She stopped. “Truth is, it makes me feel closer to him. I wear it all the time. You don’t think I’m going nutty, do you, Chris?”

  I got up and came around the table so I could put my arms around her. “Of course I do. And why not, even a bit nutty you’re the best woman in the world.”

  From upstairs, Chelsea yelled at me. “Auntie Chris. Are you still timing me? I’m getting my socks off. How much time have I got?”

  “Plenty,” I shouted back. “Keep going.” I straightened up, giving Marion a chance to wipe her eyes. “I’d better go and see what she’s up to.”

  “She’s been really good with me,” said Marion. “But I think she’s frightened. She told me that one of the children in her kindergarten had a mommy who went into hospital but now God has her in heaven. You know what she said, Chris? Where these children get these things I don’t know — she said, ‘I hope my mommy will come home first if she has to go to heaven and see God. And I hope he doesn’t keep her long.’”

  I laughed. “Ah, the daughter of a working mother.”

  But my mind flashed to little Joy Larsen and how the hell they were going to explain to her that her mommy wasn’t ever coming home.

  It was close to eleven when I finally left the house. Craig had still not returned. Chelsea had kept me a long time before she succumbed to sleep and then Marion and I had had a visit. It was she who chased me away.

  “You, young woman, are falling asleep standing up. Get off to your own bed. I’ll be here. I’m planning to stay until next week.”

  I wished Craig had come back to keep her company but I supposed it was a very important meeting he couldn’t snatch himself away from.

  When I reached my house, I was almost comatose with fatigue. Tory and Bertie were going to be mad that I hadn’t been around for such a long stretch but thank goodness for self-feeders and the fundamental indifference of cat nature. There were no lights showing downstairs, which was rather atypical. Both Gary and Ahmed were night owls.

  The two outside entrances to the apartments were side by side, mine on the left. Damn, the porch light was out and I’d replaced the bulb only last week it seemed to me. I gathered up the bits of mail from my box, unlocked the door, and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. There was another door at the top of the stairs and I opened it and switched on the light. The two cats were in their favourite spot on the windowsill and they blinked at me in the light. Then, realizing it was me, owner, dispenser of food, shelter, and warmth, they jumped down and ran over to me, meowing in short bursts to convey their disapproval of my absence. I added some fresh food to their dish and got out of my coat and shucked off my shoes. The message light was flashing on the telephone and I went to check it. Gary’s deep voice rolled out at me.

  “Hi, Chris. Ahmed and I have gone away for a spell to see if we can work things out. See you then.”

  I felt a pang of loneliness that I didn’t expect. Gary was good company.

  I’d dropped the mail on the table and I went to have a quick sort through before getting my own train moving towards bed. There were two bills, a flyer for the opening of a new store, and an unstamped handwritten letter.

  I recognized the handwriting immediately. Holding the envelope by the end, I used a knife to slit it open. A single piece of yellow paper.

  TOO BAD ABOUT THE DUMMY. GOD’S JUDGEMENT IS MIGHTY. WATCH OUT YOU SINFUL DAUGHTER OF EVE. IF HE SAYS SO YOU ARE NEXT. YOU CANNOT AVOID IT, DON’T EVEN TRY.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  That woke me up in a hurry as adrenaline blasted through my blood. There was no frank or stamp on the envelope. Somebody had hand delivered it. Somebody knew where I lived and that same somebody had written hate mail to Deidre. Suddenly I was dreadfully aware that I was alone in the house. I stood still for a moment, antennae quivering. The house was quiet except for the sound of one of the cats scratching in the litter box. The curtains were open and the black windows were mirrors. I could not see out but I could be seen. I took my key chain out of my purse. I’d got into the habit years ago of carrying a small dispenser of pepper spray on the chain. I’d only had to use it once in the last three years and that was to discourage a crack cocaine addict trying to get at his girlfriend who was hiding behind me. The spray, in case you don’t know, is actually highly concentrated cayenne pepper and you aim for the face not the enchiladas. The eyes swell shut and breathing is restricted for about twenty to thirty minutes. It will buy you time in nasty situations.

  Dispenser in hand, I switched off the light and pressed my back to the wall, waiting until my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Something brushed against my legs and my heart thumped.

  “Meow.”

  Thanks a lot, Bertie. You just about gave me a heart attack. The layout of my flat is fairly standard. I was in the living room, the dining area was adjoined to a small kitchen, the door of which was closed. A fire escape led from the kitchen window down to the side yard. To my right from where I was now, a hallway led to the bathroom and the two rear bedrooms. Along the front of the living/dining room was a long porch. When I got the house, I was pleased that we were at the end of a cul de sac. I liked the privacy and the quiet. Now I wished I’d bought something on the highway.

  I made myself breath deeply and I started to calm down. I couldn’t hear anything, inside or out, but I was damned if I was going to stand here pinned against the wall by some bully boy. I was hot with anger, but I’m glad to say my head was cool as ice, a quality I had acquired somewhere along the way and for which I was grateful. Both the downstairs door and my entrance door had been locked, and although I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, I was pretty sure they hadn’t been tampered with. If anybody had broken into my flat, they would most likely have come up the fire escape. The front porch was only accessible if you had a ladder. Not out of the question, but again I didn’t see any sign that the French doors were broken. When I’d moved in I’d recarpeted the living room with a sturdy practical beige flecked carpet. At the moment, it wasn’t showing any trace of footprints or mud, which, given the rain, I would expect if somebody had walked across. I’d left my shoes at the door.

  Also in my purse was a set of handcuffs. I often complained about how heavy they were but they were pretty much required even if you were off duty. Cautiously, I slid my hand into the bag and pulled them out, slipping the catch so that they were open.

  I held my breath and listened. Nothing. If there was somebody in the flat he was keeping awfully still.

  The kitchen was the likely place to start. At least I could determine if anybody had entered via the fire escape. Dispenser held at shoulder height, in front of me, I stepped softly over to the door and pushed it open slowly. No matter what you’ve seen on television or in the movies, sometimes opening a door slowly is a better move as it doesn’t make a noise and startle your antagonist into acting dangerously. Nothing stirred. Now I did move quickly. I stepped inside and flicked on the light, at the same time moving away from the doorway. The kitchen was empty except for Bertie, who stared at me from the countertop. From here the fire escape window looked intact but I walked over to make sure. It was fine. No muddy marks anywhere. Nobody had come in that way. I let out my breath.

  One by one, I examined the bathroom, my bedroom, and the spare room. My adrenaline level was dropping with its resultant slight shakiness. I yawned like a nervous dog. However, I was still livid. It was after midnight but I knew I’d be stupid not to repo
rt what had happened. I phoned Ed Chaffey. He answered on the second ring.

  “Ed. Christine Morris here. Sorry it’s late but I just got in and I’ve had a love letter from our anon. Same author as Deidre’s, I believe.”

  “Threatening?”

  “Yes. It’s not stamped so he must have come by my house sometime today to deliver it.”

  “Jesus. Read it to me.”

  I did so.

  He cussed again. “I don’t like that one bit. Can you stay somewhere else for the night?”

  “I could but I’m not going to. He’s not in here, I can tell you that, and there hasn’t been a break-in.”

  “Damn it, Chris, let’s not take any chances. We might be dealing with a psycho.”

  That thought had crossed my mind. “Can you spare a car?”

  “Of course. I’ll send one over right away.”

  “Thanks, Ed.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes, I live with two attack cats.”

  “Don’t do anything until you see the dispatch car.”

  We hung up. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “don’t do anything” but in spite of a certain amount of bravado on my part, I was glad to know that the men in blue would be outside. I went back into the kitchen and wedged one of the kitchen chairs underneath the door knob. Then I saw the flashing lights of the police cruiser coming down the road. They stopped in front of the house and an officer got out. I stood at the window and waved. He waved back.

  All barricaded in, I finally went to bed, totally exhausted now. I put my pepper spray beside the bed, wedged the chair against the door, and got under the covers. Even the fatigue couldn’t keep me completely asleep and I found myself waking up abruptly, all senses on the alert. I was glad when my radio alarm went off. It was now getting light, which felt better. I put on my dressing gown and went through to the living room, followed by two sleepy cats, Tory yowling at me, I presumed in greeting. The cruiser was still outside. I’m sure it had been a very boring shift but I was grateful they were there. I went to make a large Thermos of coffee. At least I could do that for them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was nine o’clock. Me, Leo, Jessica, an OPP constable named Lachlan, and the manager of the casino, Mr. Torvill, were huddled around the screen as eager as if we were all about to tune in to the latest episode of 24. No, that’s not true. Leo and I were eager. Jessica looked apprehensive; Mr. Torvill looked anxious but I think that was habitual. I had chosen not to tell Leo about my love note. One thing at a time. I’d picked up Jessica and met him at the casino. Ben Snake wasn’t around but Mr. Torvill gave us his full attention. Jessica was quiet and looked as if she hadn’t slept well, which was I’m sure how I looked. We got everybody settled, told her what we wanted, and cued the tape to the place where Sigmund joined Deidre at the table. I switched on the tape recorder I had brought with me.

  “He says, ‘Hello Dee. How’s it going? Sorry I’m late.’” Jessica began.

  Already there was a discrepancy with what Sigmund had told us about just dropping in spontaneously to the casino to see her. You don’t apologize for being late unless you have a prior appointment.

  “She says, ‘I didn’t think you’d show up.’ He says, ‘I thought I was a bit …’ Sorry, I didn’t get what he said. He ducks his chin; it’s hard to read.”

  “Play it back,” said Leo.

  The manager did a quick rewind and played the brief scene again. Jessica hesitated. “I’m not sure … something like, ‘ungenerous or ingenuous’ … It’s hard to say.”

  “Go on.”

  “She says, ‘Yes, I was offering you something, not asking to get something.”

  That fitted with what Sigmund had said about Deidre wanting to be reconnected.

  Jessica leaned forward. “He says, ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ She asks him, ‘Have you changed your mind then?’ He says, ‘Well not exactly but I thought we could go on talking.’” This was the part on the tape where Deidre clearly got pissed off.

  “Enough said. No more talk. You’re in or you’re out.”

  Sigmund turned away again and Jessica couldn’t get the next sentence. “He turned back. ‘I told you it wasn’t an easy choice.’ She replies, ‘Yes, it is.’”

  The beckoning gesture was next. “He says, ‘Would you like to come over to the bar and discuss it further?’”

  It was obvious what Deidre’s response was.

  Jessica gave a rather grim chuckle. “She says, ‘No. Go home to your mother.’”

  That was it. Sigmund slunk off. The rest we had seen.

  I switched off my tape recorder.

  “Thank you, Jessica.”

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  Leo looked at her, intent on reading any signals. “Don’t you recognize him?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “His name is Sigmund. Did Deidre ever mention his name?”

  Jessica hesitated. “It’s not her brother, is it? She did say once she had a half-brother and I remember he had a funny name. Is that him?”

  “It is. And you’re positive Deidre never said she was meeting him or anything like that?”

  “No, she didn’t. I always had the impression she didn’t like him, or they weren’t allowed to talk to each other or some such thing.” She had pulled out a tissue and she wiped at her eyes as if she could rub away the images. “It is painful to watch Deedee alive. She loved to play poker.”

  It had been hard on Leo too. “Thank you. I’m glad to know she had such good friends.”

  Jessica muttered something about using the washroom and virtually ran from the room. Mr. Torvill followed her, presumably to show her the way and make sure she didn’t discover some hidden weakness in their security system to be used against them later. Constable Lachlan withdrew to a position near the door.

  Leo slumped in his chair. “What’s he covering up, Chris? I don’t understand. That wasn’t such a big deal conversation that he couldn’t have told us.”

  I didn’t have any easy words for him. It was strange all right.

  “We’ll have to re-interview him. I’ll get this to Ed and he can organize it… You said you wanted to see Joy, but are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “Yes, we should get that over with as soon as possible.” He frowned. “I am a bit leery about using Jessica. It might be too much for her. Nora communicates well enough. Let’s ask her to do it.”

  “Good idea. And what about you? You’re looking done in yourself. We could wait a bit longer.”

  He looked as if he were aging before my eyes. “No. You know we can’t do that, Chris. The sooner we can fill in the pieces of puzzle the better it will be.” He gave me a wry smile. “To tell the truth, the thing I’m not looking forward to is seeing Loretta. I’m glad you’ll be there. She is what you might call a formidable woman. God knows why I got talked into marrying her. She scares me shitless.”

  Jessica came back into the room followed by Mr. Torvill.

  “Do you want to continue?” the manager asked.

  Leo shook his head. Deidre hadn’t spoken to anybody else until she’d left. Now we had to get back to Sigmund and see if we could winkle out some more of the truth. Leo wasn’t looking forward to seeing his ex. I wasn’t looking forward to questioning a deaf child about whether or not she could point the finger at her mother’s murderer.

  Nora came to the door. She looked as if she hadn’t combed her hair in two days and had slept in her clothes. As soon as she saw who it was, she started ranting, not even stepping out of the doorway to let us in.

  “I didn’t expect any of this. It isn’t my thing, den mother and all that. I’ve got a low tolerance for kids and I’ve never pretended otherwise.” Even three feet away, the beer fumes from her breath were a knockout. “And frankly I’ve got an even lower tolerance for control freaks. Dee wasn’t like that and we lived just fine, thank you. I’d appreciate it if you’d get her off my back.”

>   “By ‘her,’ do you mean Loretta?” Leo asked.

  “That’s the one. She’s hardly seen the kid since she was born and she swoops in like a fucking Mary Poppins with fangs. She’s making things worse, if you ask me, but of course nobody is asking me. I’m just the dyke who got on the payroll because people felt sorry for her. The charity case who’s about to lose her job.”

  “Nora, you’ve been drinking,” said Leo.

  “Now that is very perceptive of you, Doctor Shrink. But you know what? Even a bit totted up, I’m better for that kid than her fucking so-called grandma. She can’t communicate with her for piss and she won’t let me do it…”

  We hadn’t even advanced as far as the foyer and Nora would probably have continued her tirade but the door to the kitchen opened and a tall, grey-haired woman came out. Leo had described his ex as formidable and I understood why. She was big-boned, with a tanned complexion that accentuated her keen blue eyes. Her short straight hair and no-nonsense shirt and jeans were all declarations of her politics. Down with Western vanity, up with “tune in to the earth” philosophy, the kind of woman you could easily imagine leading a revolution. But I thought she had a nice face, open and intelligent. Nora stepped back without being asked and Loretta came over to us, taking Leo by the shoulders to give him a peck on the cheek. She was a good eight inches taller and he had to tilt his head so she could reach him. They were stiff and awkward with each other.

  She let him go and thrust out her hand to me. “Hello, I’m Loretta Larsen, you are…?”

  “Christine Morris. I’m a colleague of Leo’s.”

  We shook hands, hers firm as to be expected.

  “Come in. I’m in the kitchen with Joy.”

  She didn’t look at Nora, didn’t acknowledge her existence, and the girl was left to trail after us.

  Joy was at the kitchen table crayoning on a piece of paper. She had her back to us and didn’t move. Loretta went to the light switch and flicked it up and down. Joy turned around. She didn’t react for a moment, then she smiled, grunted, and made a sign, then held up her drawing.