After the Horses

by Jeffrey Round

  Dan went around the house banging on each window, but it was futile. He tossed a clump of earth against the porthole in Ziggy’s bedroom. It burst open and showered him with dirt. There was no response, no pale face at the glass.

  He went back to the front door and tried the code again, thinking he might have entered the numbers incorrectly. Still red. He pulled out his cell and dialled Lionel, but the call went straight to voicemail. He found the couple’s home number. Charles answered.

  “It’s Dan. Dan Sharp. I need the new code to Yuri Malevski’s house. It’s important.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “The entry code. It’s been changed. I think Ziggy might have done something to himself. He could be inside.”

  Charles hesitated. Dan felt his anger building.

  “Come on, Charles. What’s the code?”

  “Dan, I —”

  “The number, damn it! You must know the code.”

  Charles sounded dumbfounded. “I don’t have the code. I’ve never had it!”

  “He could be dying!”

  “Dan, I don’t know the code,” he insisted. “Let me ask Lionel.”

  Dan heard a terse conversation in the background. After a long wait, a groggy-sounding Lionel came on the line. More sleeping pills, Dan thought. Charles’s influence.

  “Hi, Dan. What’s the problem?”

  “I’m at Yuri Malevski’s. It may be nothing, but I’m worried that Ziggy might have tried to kill himself. I want to go in and check.”

  “You think he tried to kill himself? Why?”

  “Just something I read in his diary. The code’s been changed. If you have the new code, please tell me.”

  “No, I didn’t change it.”

  Dan pounded a fist against the door and heard it shudder within.

  “Do you have any idea who else might have done it?”

  “Maybe someone at the bar. I could make a call …”

  “It’ll be too late. I’ll call you back.”

  He glanced over at the fence dividing Yuri Malevski’s property from his neighbour’s. Now would be a good time for the P-Man to make one of his unwanted appearances, but there was no sign of him.

  He looked around. The greenhouse windows glinted ominously in the morning sun. He hung up and dialled Inspector Johnston’s number. She answered.

  “It’s Dan Sharp. I’m breaking into the Malevski mansion,” he spouted at her. “I can’t wait for emergency services.”

  “I assume you have a good reason,” she said calmly.

  “Damn good,” he said, picking up the end of a hose and smashing a pane of glass. “I think there’s a kid in there who may be trying to kill himself.”

  “I’ll send someone right over.”

  He was upstairs in Ziggy’s room when he heard the sirens. He got back down in time to let the emergency crew in as the first of three vehicles arrived. Dan looked at them sheepishly.

  “I was wrong,” he told them. “I thought there was a suicide in progress in here.”

  The faces staring back at him were curious, not judgmental.

  “Did you receive a call from someone in distress, sir?” an attendant asked.

  “No, I jumped to a wrong conclusion based on a … a disturbing diary entry. Someone changed the entry code and I thought it was to keep me out.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Lydia Johnston joined the gathering. Dan led her upstairs to the hidden room and the diary. It lay face-down on the pillow where Dan had last seen it.

  “Okay,” she said, after reading the passage where Ziggy stated his wish to die.

  “Okay?” Dan asked.

  “I understand your concern. I would have done the same.” She gave him a long, hard look. “What made you panic?”

  Dan shook his head. For a moment, he couldn’t remember.

  “There was a delivery guy here when I arrived. Yuri used to give out the code when he had plants coming, but it was changed. It triggered something in me.”

  “So who changed it?” Lydia asked.

  “I have no idea,” Dan said. “I called Lionel, but he didn’t know it had been changed, either.”

  They went back downstairs. Lydia busied herself with the EMS drivers. Dan went into the greenhouse. The air was humid, as it had been on his other visits. He thought of Ked’s sling psychrometer as he looked over the orchids. Only two appeared to be thriving. The rest had died. Odd, he thought. He reached up and pulled out a tag, jotting the Latin name in his notebook.

  Once a through search for Ziggy had been made in the house, Dan headed to Radio City. This time the concierge wouldn’t allow him in until he phoned up to be sure Dan was welcome, though “welcome” wasn’t exactly the word Dan would have used. Unexpected, certainly, but not welcome.

  Charles opened the door. “You have a lot of nerve coming here.”

  “I came to apologize,” Dan told him.

  “Apology accepted,” Charles said coldly. He paused. “How’s Ziggy?”

  “Good of you to ask. He wasn’t inside the house. I’m still not certain he’s okay. I wondered if you might have any idea where he is.”

  “No,” Charles said. “I wouldn’t worry. He’ll turn up. He always does.”

  Dan saw a pair of expensive-looking bags sitting at the end of the couch. Charles caught his glance.

  “We’re taking a short trip,” he said. “Up north for a few days to a wilderness retreat. We thought it easier than hiring someone to look after us here in the city.”

  Dan envisaged a smart little log cabin in Killarney, the park’s famous pink quartz throwing off a quiet glow in the sunset. He heard footsteps. The bedroom door opened. Lionel stood there, dishevelled, in a bathrobe. He caught Dan’s eye and quickly shook his head. Was it anger at his continued invasiveness in their lives that Dan saw there, or was it fear?

  “A trip would be smart,” Dan said, though in the back of his mind there was something vaguely unsettling about the idea of Lionel being alone in the wilderness with Charles. He envisaged a canoe tipping in white-water rapids, news reports of an accidental drowning. Maybe a fall from the steep cliffs of Manitoulin. No one to hear, no one to see.

  Charles checked his watch. “You’ll excuse us. We’ve got a plane to catch in a few hours. Neither of us expects to see you again.”

  “No, I …”

  “Goodbye.”

  Twenty-Eight

  What Remains

  Dan had a funeral to attend. Passing the Saddle and Bridle on the way, he wasn’t surprised to see a For Sale sign in its windows. The world was rapidly moving on, while he dawdled and wasted time on a matter his rational mind had told him was better left to the police in the first place.

  The afternoon was sombre, with precisely the sort of weather befitting a funeral. As if knowing that, April showers began beading down against the thump of his wipers, dragging long lines across the windshield like some slow, sinister form of water torture. He barely made it to the church on time.

  If Dan ever chose to attend a religious institution, it would be the progressive Metropolitan Community Church in leafy Riverdale. It had been on the front lines in the fight against AIDS discrimination and later hosted the world’s first legal same-sex marriage. He approved of the church’s activities, if not of religion’s many wars of flesh and spirit.

  The MCC was also known for its musical performances, hosting an outstanding choir and guest artists. They were said to throw a rocking good party, too. It was no surprise Domingo had chosen it for her service. The service would be less an oration than a celebration of her life and loves.

  As Dan entered, he saw two urns placed near the altar. One for Domingo, he presumed, and the other Lonnie’s. The teddy bear from the hospital sat between them.

  Domingo’s brothers and sisters were there, as well as a few young nieces and nephews. They seemed oddly subdued, as though in the presence of God they’d submitted to a higher power. Domingo had told Dan how her fellow islanders embraced religion with a
fervour that often included a strong dose of homophobia. When gays were dying by the bucketful during the AIDS crisis, the righteous wound themselves into a frenzy proclaiming that God had avenged himself on the sinners. But no one ever said God had avenged himself on the money-launderers when 9-11 happened, Dan thought. He recalled Irma’s pamphlets, her declaration that God’s love could be hard. Yes, he thought. God’s love is hard as hell, but better not to point fingers till after you’re dead.

  On the far side of the church, seated in uneasy proximity, were the other righteous, a handful of hard-core lesbians seemingly willing to fight over the remains. They kept to themselves for the most part, shooting occasional watchful glances over at Domingo’s family. For the moment, there appeared to be a détente between the warring factions.

  Dan made his way to Adele to extend his condolences. “She loved you very much,” he said simply. “Right to the very end.”

  “Not enough to let me have my way.” Her expression was stony. She nodded to where Domingo’s family were clustered. “Look at them. They despise us. I can’t believe they came.”

  “They’re behaving,” Dan said. “I doubt they would make a scene in a church.”

  Adele sighed. “They’re only here because Domingo made me promise to let them come.”

  “Of course. She was a peacemaker. That’s why she asked you to let them come to the funeral. Who knows? Maybe there’s one small girl here today who will see you and think that her auntie’s friend was a nice lady, and maybe grow up less afraid of being a lesbian because of what she witnesses here today.”

  Adele’s mouth was down-turned. “That’s a bit optimistic, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t change people overnight,” Dan said. “We can wish it were otherwise, but it isn’t so.”

  She stared at him, struggling with her feelings. Dan wondered if his words had angered her. Instead, her expression softened.

  “You’re right,” she said. “That’s what Domingo would have said. Thanks.”

  Dan took a seat in the middle ground, among what he thought of as the non-religious and non-politically motivated. From the corner of his eye, he saw Donny and Prabin enter, holding hands as they passed down the aisle and sat behind the lesbians. A few of Domingo’s relatives took note of this pairing of black and brown seating themselves on the wrong side. What were they thinking? Dan wondered. The Bible had prohibitions on almost everything, including the intermarrying of races. Something to frown on for every occasion. No joy left unpunished.

  At that moment, the minister began. This man was also a peacemaker, Dan knew, though he had a reputation for being a firebrand when necessary. You don’t get to conduct the world’s first same-sex marriage without a fight.

  “Death is a profound force that can divide people,” he began solemnly, looking from one side of the church to the other. He smiled. “Or it can bring them together.”

  Dan glanced around at the two minorities, both facing discrimination from the world at large. They should have had much in common, but they fought one another instead. If Domingo had been there, she’d be offering an ironic commentary on the combative elements brought together by this service in her honour. Perhaps death really was the only common meeting ground.

  The minister’s words buzzed overhead as he described Domingo’s upbringing in her native Caribbean. Despite having shunned her, her family seemed pleased by this recognition that she’d been one of theirs. He then went on to say how she’d found a new home and family in a community reviled by many. The rainbow, he said, symbolized God’s love for all creatures, while declaring that the persecution faced by the LGBT community today was no different from that of early Christians. Dan heard a murmur among the family, whether in dissent or recognition of the truth of his words wasn’t clear. The pastor continued, captivating them with his voice and sermon. If all religious leaders were so engaging and inclusive, Dan thought, they might be worth listening to now and again.

  A buzz alerted him to an incoming text. He pulled out his cell. While some were being buried, life was quietly going on outside the church’s walls. Lydia had texted to say Yuri’s phone had been found in a pawn shop. Fingerprints check out as Suárez’s, she added. Dan experienced a brief curiosity as to what messages had been left on it, then forgot again as the service continued.

  The minister raised his arms and Dan stood with the others. For a moment, he felt something like pride: pride in his city, pride in his community, pride in his country. All these disparate tribes coming together to celebrate the life of a woman born in a land and culture so different from his own. Yet here they were, in an openly gay church, commemorating their faith together in a place that represented every nation, even to the point of allowing all who came there to reshape and colour the fabric of the land.

  “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me,” intoned the minister.

  Dan glanced at the heads bowed in prayer. He envied the untroubled faith of this man who extolled such brave words and the believers who calmly accepted them, even if he could not.

  “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.”

  A fervent Amen! rang out. Dan considered Yuri Malevski’s mansion. It too had been a place for all, even the outcasts: drug users, immigrants, transsexuals. It was a dream Malevski had believed in to the point of helping even those who sometimes despised him. He thought of Irma, who thought his life an abomination, even while he paid her bills and calmly accepted her censure. So too with Yuri’s young lover, also from another culture, whom he accepted under his roof where they once planned a future together.

  “I go to prepare a place for you …”

  And then there was the odd boy, Ziggy, who also relied on Yuri’s hospitality. Yuri had ministered to each of them, in his own way. He opened his doors and welcomed them all.

  “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”

  The minister’s sleeves billowed as his words echoed around the sanctuary: “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again …”

  Dan was on his feet even before he fully understood. Heads turned in curiosity as he made his way down the aisle and along the creaky wooden floors, banging knees, and trying desperately not to run until he was finally outside and bolting down the stairs to the street.

  He had his cell in his hand and heard the line ringing.

  I will come again …

  She answered. Dan listened to her impatiently, waiting for her to finish.

  Look closer to home, baby.

  “We found it. It took a lot of looking, but you were right, Dan.”

  “Good, good!” He told her what he knew.

  What movie has a bridge and a bell tower?

  She listened carefully. “So you’re saying Santiago was there, too? In the house?”

  The first death was faked …

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying! But earlier.”

  “I don’t understand. Who brought the phone to the pawn shop? Santiago’s fingerprints were all over it.”

  “And nobody else’s?”

  “No, not even …” She was already with him. “… Yuri Malevski’s!”

  Dan’s words fell out in a jumble, describing his encounter with the illegal immigrant who cleaned houses, of her passion for Christ, her intense dislike of Yuri Malevski. She had been there.

  “Those weren’t Santiago’s fingerprints.”

  “Then whose were they? Are you saying the cleaner stole the phone?”

  “No, listen. I think we’re missing the boat here.”

  He told her his theory. A missing phone, a missing candelabra, a missing immigrant. Even the missing fingerprints. Not what was there, but what wasn’t. She was harder to convince this time after his blunder at the mansion that morning, but she was willing to consider it.

  “Can you prove it?” she asked.

 
“Give me half an hour.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Orchids

  She started at the sound of his voice. “Please, no! I cannot!”

  “Irma, you must help. What would Jesus have done?” Dan blurted out before she could hang up. “Would he have turned his back on the sinner?”

  He knew she wouldn’t turn him down.

  “I’ll come to you.”

  He scribbled her address on a napkin and dashed to his car before she could change her mind. She’d been there, Dan realized. She was a witness to something, even if she didn’t know it. He himself didn’t know precisely what he was looking for, just that beneath the surface of a very clean house lay a clue that would help him unravel the mystery.

  When he’d checked the weather, he saw it had snowed the previous evening and well into the night. The month had been terrifically cold, the temperature hitting a low of minus eighteen-point-three. Nothing unusual for February, but he thought the snow was the telling detail.

  Yes, she said, watching him nervously. No one had been in or out of the house when she arrived that morning. No footsteps trod through the snow from either the back or front door. The drive hadn’t been shovelled. Anyone coming or going would have left a trail. It was impossible to cover the tracks. Ziggy hadn’t lied when he said he hadn’t been in the house before she got there. Donny had told him Ziggy stayed on his couch that week, even if he was a little cloudy on the precise dates. It didn’t matter, really, because no one could pinpoint exactly when Yuri had died. Still, that wasn’t it.

  No. What he was seeking lay elsewhere.

  Dan glanced around the minuscule apartment. It was neat and clean, pretty much as he’d expected. It was also barren. A poverty house with crosses adorning the walls in every room. The only true decorations were a couple of framed prints and several orchids just opening into bloom.