by R. D. Cain
“He’s a pro, nonetheless.”
Carscadden pointed to the screen. “What’s that on his neck?”
She moved toward the screen, and incidentally closer to Carscadden, peering in for a closer look. “Dunno, shadow?” Hopkins squinted as she traced the image with her finger and paused.
“Umm, a tattoo.” She turned to Carscadden.
Carscadden scoffed. “What kind of a winner has his neck tattooed?”
“Well, the Russian mafia and Mexican street gangs both used to, then they figured out it made them too easy to identify. This is English, though. T-R-O-”
“Well, it’s a place to start. I see it now, T-R-O, then it goes under his shirt. I bet a cop could run a tattoo search and find out if he has a record.” She pressed Print Screen on the keyboard, turned off the monitor and disconnected the small drive. They both leaned back a little and turned to face each other as the image came out of the printer in a glossy 8×10.
Their age difference didn’t stop him from noticing the ever so faint lines around her eyes, her full, strong lips.
Carscadden ran his fingers through his hair, then began tapping the table. “Listen, something happened at the apartment last night.”
Hopkins leaned back in the chair. “Was she pretty? You could have called me over.”
He shook his head, blushing. “Some guy came over — he and Nastos got into a fight. He was wearing a devil mask. I thought they were going to kill each other.”
“What brought that on?”
“Nastos said the guy was following his wife around and wanted to lure Nastos out of the apartment. If he’d been caught on video, he would have been breached and sent to jail.”
“Obviously that didn’t happen?”
“No, but the guy came to the door instead. Sounds like a psychopath.” He examined the picture that they had printed out. “Must be the same guy.”
“Well, don’t tell Nastos you have his picture — he’ll go crazy and do something like kill him on national tv.”
Carscadden nodded in agreement. “That he would. It has to be the guys at his work, they hate him.” He pushed away from the table, turning to face her. “What exactly do they have against the guy, anyway?”
“When you were in trial a few days ago I dropped by and got talking to one of the detectives who was at court for something else.”
Carscadden leaned in. “Oh, yeah?”
“He wasn’t my type, don’t worry.” She patted his hand in mock reassurance. “Apparently Nastos got kicked out of Homicide years ago and got himself a chip on his shoulder. No one wanted to work with Nastos; he was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Being anti-authoritarian doesn’t work well in a rank structure. If Nastos ever felt he was getting pushed around, he always pushed back. He obviously pissed off someone who holds grudges. One day, an opportunity came up to teach him a lesson.”
Carscadden got to his feet and turned off the tv. “That’s what buddy said?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe they also think he did it.”
“So, they think you might win and need to make sure that doesn’t happen? Is that it?” She handed the hard drive over to Carscadden. He noticed her fingers touch his.
“That’s all just speculation, but we can agree that there is another investigation going on here.”
“Want me to call the cops, have the room printed?”
“Not a chance. It’s just a break-in. It’d be twenty-four hours before they’d show up — waste of time. Besides, I wouldn’t trust them in here with the files, for Nastos or anyone else.”
Hopkins stood close to Carscadden, then leaned forward slightly to adjust her pants. “We could just take the files out.”
“We’ve seen the video; he used gloves. All we have is the picture, and I’d rather not involve the police when it’s fifty-fifty that it was one of them who did it. We can try to work with this ourselves, find the tattoo guy.”
Carscadden was a little startled when the front door chimed and they shared expressions of surprise when they heard someone walk into the lobby area. They both smiled, relieved when they heard a woman’s voice.
“Hello?”
Carscadden stood up, straightening his pants. Of all of the days to finally get walk-in business, it has to be right after the office gets trashed by a psycho. She’ll be walking out faster than she walked in. Carscadden took a quick scan around and saw it was hopeless to hide what had happened here. His desk was smashed in two and one of the chairs was missing.
Hopkins went out to greet the visitor. He heard her speaking and the other woman’s voice growing louder. His receptionist led the woman into his office. She was tall with blond hair, older than he was, maybe forty-five. Tall, thin, blond — she was pretty much every guy’s type.
“Mrs. Madeleine Nastos to see you, Mr. Carscadden.” Hopkins smiled at him, then shrugged to Mrs. Nastos, apologetically. “We had a break-in.” She mustn’t have felt that was adequate so she added, “On top of that, the maid quit, the masseuse is on holiday, the armoured car is late with our paycheques — really, I could go on.”
Madeleine Nastos replied, “I’m in real estate, if you’re thinking of a different neighbourhood?”
Carscadden moved a chair out his way, which caused a bookshelf to topple to the ground. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Nastos, but there is no way I’m giving up the excitement of living in the Garden District. Why don’t we go out to the lobby and chat there? There’s less splinters and busted glass.” Carscadden tried to make going to the lobby sound like it was something reserved for dignitaries. He offered his arm and she took it.
“Mr. Carscadden?” Hopkins began. “I’m going to Starbucks, can I get you two anything?”
“I’ll take whatever you’re getting. You, Mrs. Nastos?”
“No thanks, I’m good.”
Hopkins grabbed her purse and left the two of them to talk in privacy. She would return in about twenty minutes empty-handed, since neither she nor Carscadden drank coffee. Carscadden smiled to himself, thinking about how they were becoming quite the team. He flipped the lobby’s leather futon right side up and took a seat. Madeleine took a seat next to him and turned to face him.
“So, what can I help you with, Mrs. Nastos? How’s your daughter doing?”
“Poorly, Mr. Carscadden, she’s not doing very well.” Madeleine smiled her response, then blinked away the water that began to well up on the inside edge of her lower lids.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Josie’s in counselling, she’s having nightmares, she’s wetting the bed at seven years old.”
“I can’t even imagine . . .” Carscadden saw the hurt behind her green eyes, the gold and black flecks trapped in orbit around the infinity of her pupils. He realized that his outer thigh was touching hers on the small couch and moved away slightly. Her anguish could not have been more evident — her child hurting, her husband soon to be gone forever. It’s a loser case, Kevin, you’ve got to prepare her for what’s coming. This is going to get messy.
She spoke again, pulling him out of his digression. “Reporters are interfering with my life. I tried to show a house yesterday and the guy turned out to be a real creep. It was a little unnerving.”
Any delay in the legal forecast he had to give her was a good thing. “Really? What happened?”
“He wanted to know if Nastos told me in advance that he was going to kill Dr. Irons. Then he started asking personal questions, like if I was getting lonely.”
Carscadden’s face twisted up a little as he thought that one over. “That doesn’t sound like a reporter.”
“I don’t care who he was, I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, thin, grey hair. Like a creepy funeral director.”
Carscadden considered he
r description, then began nodding his head gravely. “The guy I have decorating the office here for me —” Carscadden got up went into the office, then returned holding out a photograph for her to see. “I don’t suppose . . .”
She studied the picture, the overhead shot which captured the man’s profile. There were dark shadows in his sunken cheeks, that creepy smile on his face. She waited to see if Carscadden was going to tell her more about the man’s identity but he didn’t. “Yes, that’s him.”
“You know, Mrs. Nastos, your husband can be very complex and difficult to read. I can’t help but think that if he was a little more open with me, I would be able to represent him better.”
She smirked and shook her head. “You know, when I first met Nastos I was dating another guy at the time. This guy was a project manager for the city. He made good money and was dependable. He seemed like an athlete, but the sports he played were things like racquetball and tennis. He wasn’t very decisive, always asking me what I wanted. He was nice to a fault. One night I was out with friends and some guy was coming on to me too strongly at a bar. Nastos came over and got right in his face. When the guy tried to push Nastos aside, he ended up with black eyes and a few loose teeth.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Well, I was brought up by a single mom. She dated a few abusive creeps and no one did anything about it. One day we got a new neighbour, Dave. Not too long after, one of Mom’s exes came over drunk and he and my mom got into it. There was a big fight over nothing, with this guy throwing stuff around and screaming his head off. Without saying a word, Dave walked right into the house, bounced the guy off every surface in the place, then busted his nose. He dragged him to the end of the driveway like it was garbage night.”
Carscadden winced. “Holy shit.”
“Tell me about it. The house became quiet. It felt like it was the first time it was ever quiet. I remember just watching that creep from my bedroom window, no longer a menace, completely silenced. Dave was a good man, handsome, hardworking, and he knew how to treat a woman. When he married my mom two years later, I cried because I was so happy. Dave and Mom were together from that night on. I’ll never forget what I learned that night.”
“What was that?”
Madeleine took a breath. “As a woman in this world, no matter how nice your man is, if he isn’t ready to fight to protect you and your family, he isn’t worth much. That project manager I was dating was no Dave. And he was no Nastos. That creep that hurt Josie will never hurt another child. It’ll never happen again. That’s why I know Nastos did it and that’s why he’ll go to jail. He knew it was a risk, but he figured it was worth it to make Josie feel safe.”
Carscadden took a moment to consider her words. It didn’t seem like the best timing to say what he felt he had to say. Instead, he thought he could play it another way. “Let’s fight the good fight and not give up yet.”
“You actually have hope?”
“I’m a Leafs fan — you can’t get the hope out of us. I’ve learned there’s nothing wrong with having hope, even when things are hopeless. In fact, that’s when you need it most.” He placed his hand on hers and gave her a squeeze. “Do you have a place you can go, a friend’s house?”
“No, Josie needs stability; we need to be home together. I won’t be caught off guard next time. Anyway, I’ve taken enough of your time.”
“Is this what you came here to tell me?”
“Actually, I brought a bag for Nastos — clothes, the book he was reading. When I saw your office in shambles with everything tossed upside down, in a weird way I think I just felt at home. I guess I just needed to talk. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Steve anything about that creep bothering me. He has enough to worry about.”
Almost dismissively, Carscadden said, “Well, I appreciate your company, and I won’t say anything to Steve.” He saw the Kalmakov file folder sprawled out on the floor, then heard a voice in his head — one that spoke with a Russian accent. He added, “And I might have a plan for that friend of yours. I’m going to have someone talk to him.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“Oh, the more I think of it, the more I think it’s going to be a great idea. You know, you can drop by my place. Steve can’t leave but I can go out to a movie or come to the office to do some work. Maybe you two need to spend some time together.” Carscadden surveyed the damage in the room. “I suppose I could even tidy up a little.”
“I’m working extra to stay above water and I need to focus on Josie. Steve knows that, she’s all that’s important. She’s what this drama’s all about. You don’t need me to chat anyways, you must get all the company you need from your secretary. She’s very pretty.”
“I’m too young for her, she probably sees working here as babysitting,” he said, shaking his head.
“She doesn’t think that.” Madeleine smiled.
“What?”
“Why are the good-looking men always complete idiots?”
18
AS DOORBELLS CHIMED ON MADELEINE’S departure from the office, Carscadden rummaged through debris searching for the telephone that used to reside on Hopkins’ desk. He found the base easily enough since the phone cord was still plugged in, but the cordless handset was awol. He pushed the Page button on the base unit and heard the phone beeping its mayday message from under a heap of files.
When he took the cell phone from out of his pocket to retrieve the number he needed, he began to shake his head at how stupid he had been for even bothering to look for the office phone when he had his cell safe and sound. It’s not like it’s a sign of psychosis, he told himself. There are mistakes surgeons make and people die. Accountants make mistakes and people get audited. Lawyers whose offices have been burglarized and client’s wives harassed get a little confused. No biggie.
He scrolled through the address book on his BlackBerry and dialled the number. Kalmakov answered on the second ring. By the din of voices, it sounded like a busy time at the restaurant.
“Mr. Carscadden, how are you, sir?”
“Good, thanks, Viktor. I need a favour.” Carscadden winced to himself after he said the words. No going back now.
“I’ll tell you now the answer is yes.”
“You remember that cop who killed the child molester?”
“Yes, my kind of man.”
“Well, I think what’s happened is related to that — some guy broke into my office and smashed everything to pieces.”
“Tell you what; I’ll kill this fucking piece of shit.”
“Jesus Christ!” Carscadden cringed, half-expecting the cops to bust the missing door down and take him down.
Viktor laughed. “You need a sense of humour, Mr. Carscadden, you’re turning into a stress case.”
“Viktor, can you just get this guy’s name and make him back off?”
“Did he take anything of, umm, ours?”
“It’s too early to tell — looks like a bomb went off in here.”
“Do you think there’s a chance that this was about me?”
Carscadden had never even considered that, but then realized that there was no way it could be true. “No, no, it can’t be about you, because on top of trashing my place, this guy I’m defending, his wife, she is being bothered by the same guy. Came right up to her being a creep. I caught him on video. She said it was the same guy. Can you make sure he doesn’t bother her anymore, either?”
“I’ll deal with it, sir. Email me her address and this guy’s picture. I’ll have one of my friends manage him as discreetly as possible. How’s that?”
“Thanks, Viktor,” Carscadden said.
“Don’t worry about it, helping the —” Viktor might have been about to say cop, but chose his words in relation to the company he had. He instead finished, “ — helping this client of yours, it’s basically community
service.”
NASTOS SAT ON CARSCADDEN’S OUTSIDE patio, leaning back into the chair with his feet up on the railing. The second beer was going down better than the first, but he was going to have to stop there for what he had in mind. He took out his pay-as-you-go phone and dialled the number to his work, the Sexual Assault office. When the voicemail came on, he pressed his partner Jacques’ extension.
“Sexual Assault Unit.”
He sucked in a breath. “Jacques, it’s Nastos.”
There wasn’t the slightest pause. “Mom? I can barely hear you.”
Nastos smiled. “I need a favour.”
“Listen, Ma, your cordless phone’s horrible. Give me a sec, I’ll move somewhere quieter.” The phone clicked. He’d been put on hold. Soon enough, Jacques came back. “Hey bud, nice to hear from you. What do you need?”
“I need a name. Some asshole’s been bothering Madeleine.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
Nastos took a gulp of beer. “Try a local search for tattoos, on his neck.”
“Of what?” Jacques asked.
“It’s a word, on the side of his neck. Starts T-R-O. Is that enough?”
He heard Jacques typing. “One sec. I don’t do this search parameter too often. I got to find where to put the text. How’s the trial going?”
“Bad.”
“Just say the word, and you can hide out at my mom’s in Quebec — she declared sovereignty years ago and there’s no extradition treaty.” Nastos was going to smile, but Jacques became serious. “How old is he?”
Nastos dropped his feet, sitting up straight. “Maybe fortyish.”
“Hair colour?”
He tried to recall. “Dunno.”
“Height?”
“Five-ten? I’m guessing.” Jacques would be scrolling through dozens of nearly identical faces. This is a waste of time.
“Holy shit, that’s James North.”
“Who?” Nastos asked.
“He used to be a cop, he got busted in that drug unit thing. The one Koche managed to avoid.”