by Wayne Purdy
He rubbed his fingers together, pantomiming rubbing bills together. “What else? I want to get paid.”
“Fine. I’ll deposit some money into your account.” It was strictly forbidden to give anything to the inmates, even cash. Each prisoner had a prison account that money could be deposited into. They could use the cash to buy cigarettes, toiletries, snacks, and other small luxuries.
“I want a hundred bucks.”
“I’ll give you fifty,” I said in a tone that expressed finality. I wasn’t going to haggle with him.
He leaned back on his stool expectantly.
“What?”
“Go deposit the money and then we’ll talk.”
“It’s not going to work like that. You talk, and then I’ll add it on my way out.”
“How do I know if you’re going to put it in?”
“You’re just going to have to trust me.”
He inclined his head slightly and grunted his assent. “What do you want to know?”
“Why are you in here?”
“You read my file?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“Rape. I met this girl at a club. We were getting on nicely, and I thought she was down, you know, but then we get back to her place, she changes her mind. Says she wants to slow things down some. I can’t stop. I got me a raging hard-on, so I keep going. She put up a fight, raked my face with her nails, and kicked like a damn donkey, so I took the fight out of her some. A couple of smacks and she settled in. When I was done, I left. Figured I’d never see her again. You can imagine my surprise when I found out the bitch called the cops.”
“You always take what you want?” I asked, fighting the urge to throttle him. I read the report. It wasn’t a couple of smacks. He beat the tar out of her. She had a broken nose, a broken orbital bone, broken jaw, and several less teeth. When he penetrated her, he tore her so badly that she needed stitches to close her up. The judge in the trial called it one of the most violent sexual assaults he ever presided over. That woman will never be whole again. Certainly, her dreams will be haunted for a long, long time.
“I usually get my way.”
“What about Gracie Telford?”
“Gracie? Just because that fag put on a dress don’t make him a her. There are only two sexes. I don’t know why everyone wants to go out of their way to make more of them. Shit. All anyone has to do these days is say that they think they are something and the rest of us have to believe it. It’s all fucking bullshit. What happens if one of them trannys go into a bathroom with a kid?”
“What’s going to happen to them? They’re going to get raped? We both know that’s not true, don’t we? There are other monsters we need to worry about, aren’t there?”
He fell silent for several minutes. I’d gotten him angry. Good. I hoped that the emotion would open him up more, get him talking. Most people can’t stand silence and would try to fill it. Finally, it became too much, and he continued. “I didn’t kill Telford, but I did beat him. I beat him whenever I got the chance. The little pansy never put up a fight.”
“Why did you beat him?”
“He was a fag,” he said in a flat, even voice.
“That’s not why you did it though, is it?”
He screwed up his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you didn’t beat Telford up because he was gay. You had other reasons.” I watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.
His eyes widened slightly, but he recovered quickly, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were ordered to beat him. The orders came from above, but you executed them. You tried to get others to go along. A lot of them did.”
He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Seems like you already got your answers,” he said.
“Most of them, but I need more.”
“You’re going to get me that fifty bucks, right?”
“I said I would.”
“I got the order. Telford was a problem. He needed to be shown that the army wasn’t for him. We were supposed to make it hard for him. Very hard. I didn’t know him, but I knew of him. There was a rumour that he’d go to this spot behind the barracks and suck all the dicks he could get. That’s where I found him the first time. He thought I was one of his admirers, seemed excited to see me. I corrected him right away. He couldn’t take a punch for shit. Started blubbering like the little girl he was.”
“Who ordered it?”
He looked at me like I was stupid. “Who do you think? The old man did.”
“Cutler?”
“Yeah. Fucking Cutler. He called me into his office and told me the situation. Told me to kick the shit out of the faggot. So, I did.”
“What was the situation?” He looked at me with a blank expression. “You said that he told you the situation. What was it?”
His mouth drew into a hard line, and I could see that he was thinking. “Cutler wanted him out, no questions asked.”
“Did that seem like standard operating procedure to you?”
“What?”
“If a soldier isn’t made of the right stuff, there’s things they can do to get rid of them. Proper channels. Why not just discharge Gracie? Why go through all this?”
“I don’t know. Cutler was a tough CO. Maybe he wanted to make a example of Telford. Let all the fags and sissies know what happens when you step outta line. Plus, I got the impression that there was something else going on. Need-to-know and I didn’t need-to-know.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It was just something the old man said to me one time. He said, ‘show Telford what we do to traitors.’ He said it just like that. I remember because I thought it was strange. Sucking dick is one thing, but treason? I didn’t think Telford had the stomach for it.”
“Treason?”
“That’s what he said.”
“And you went along with it.”
“Yeah. I did as I was told.” He jerked his neck from one side to the other, eliciting a loud crack.
“Just following orders,” I said.
“You’re goddamn right,” he barked. “I was following orders from my commanding officer. He said he’d protect me from any fallout, and I believed him. Then you came after me-”
“Let’s back it up. No one else knew about the orders from Cutler?”
“I think his secretary did. I heard them arguing about it. He was dead-set against it.”
“His secretary? You mean Captain Nowak?”
“Yeah. That’s him. That prissy son of a bitch. He and Cutler disagreed about it. Nowak, I bet he never even fired his gun, he sure as shit never went over the wire. He never got shot at by the fucking hajis. He never got his hands dirty. Kept saying that there were proper channels to go through. Fuck that! Telford was a fag. Nowak didn’t like it, but Cutler was the kind of man who could get shit done. I don’t know what happened, but eventually Nowak went along with it.”
“No one else knew?”
“Maybe your buddy, the Paki-”
“Zaki?”
“Yeah. Him. Zaki the Paki.”
“Why do you think he knew?”
“I don’t know if he knew or not. He was in Cutler’s office too. I seen all three of them.”
I massaged my temples. Zaki had never mentioned this to me. Bello was an unreliable witness, and there could be any number of reasons why Zaki Hosani was in that office. “What happened the night Gracie was on June 7, 2008, the night Gracie was murdered?”
“I was heading to the barracks when I saw Telford waiting there, in the dark. I figured he must be waiting to polish some knobs, so I made a beeline. I had him on the ground before he even saw me coming. It was over in a few minutes. I left him there, crying like a little bitch. He was alive though, I swear it.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
Bello hesitated. “Yeah. Before I got into the barracks, I saw Cutler. It was dark, but I know it was
him.”
“How can you be sure? You said it was dark.”
“Remember that dog he had? He was taking it for a walk. I saw him standing a few metres from me and Telford.”
This was new information and I added it to my notes. If Bello was telling the truth, James Cutler was maybe the last person to see Gracie alive. “What happened next?”
“I don’t know. I went to bed. When I woke up, I heard that Telford was dead. At first, I thought maybe I did it, but then I heard about someone cutting his cock off. I didn’t do that.”
I frowned. News spread around the base fast, but I had hoped to keep the details about Gracie’s murder quiet. Apparently, I failed. Everyone knew. I guess its true what they say, the fastest way to spread gossip is by keeping it secret. There was something else that I wanted to know. Something I’d wanted to know for over a decade but had never had the opportunity to ask.
“Why did you do it?”
“I just told you. I didn’t. He was alive-”
“Not that. Why did you run?”
He gave me one of his hard glares, but then it softened. “I never meant for what happened to happen,” he said.
That was the closest I’d ever get to an apology.
“Scuttlebutt had it that you were coming for me. I thought Cutler threw me under the bus. He said he’d protect me from trouble, but now here were the MPs coming to ask me about a murder I didn’t do. I got scared and made a run for it. It was stupid. I had nowhere to go. We were in the middle of the desert, surrounded by the fucking Taliban. I wasn’t thinking. I saw a jeep, pushed the driver out and floored it. I remember plowing through the security gates. I thought maybe I’d head for Pakistan, then maybe India. I remember thinking if I could just get to India, I can probably get anywhere else. It was crazy, I know. Then, I saw another jeep chasing me. You. I panicked and drove deeper into the desert. It was mined. I didn’t know that then, but I saw your jeep go up in an explosion. I kept going, thinking that that was just the distraction I needed.”
“They found me a few hours later. My jeep had run out of gas, and I had nowhere to go. The Paki-”
“Zaki,” I interrupted him. I didn’t want to pull Bello out of his story, but I felt the need to defend Zaki.
“Yeah. It was him that found me. He roughed me up a little. I was dehydrated, or I’d have mopped the floor with him. Anyway, he was pissed. He said that if you died, he’d make sure I paid for it. I think when he found out that you were going to be okay, he wanted to get me for something else, anything else. He tried to pin Telford on me. There were others who saw me in the barracks, so they couldn’t charge me.”
“Cutler was true to his word. He visited me in the stockade. If I didn’t run, he could have done more for me, but now there was a stolen jeep, a destroyed jeep, and an injured MP. I had to be responsible for that. If I agreed to go quietly, he’d make sure that I got an honourable discharge.”
I didn’t say anything. None of that was in any of the reports I read. Cutler did a good job of covering it up. If there was a cover-up, was Zaki a part of it? I was angry that Bello got an honourable discharge, and I got a dishonourable. Before the accident, Cutler told me to drop the investigation, but I wouldn’t. I needed the truth. Maybe Zaki was less discerning.
In the end, insubordination was a worse crime than grand theft. It took 11 years, but I finally got the truth. It didn’t bring me any closure. I didn’t know about Zaki either. All these years I thought he’d been sloppy. I thought that he didn’t have my back. I was wrong. I got up to leave. Bello was a bitter pill, and I couldn’t swallow it anymore.
“You’re going to pay me, right?” I didn’t answer. I gestured to the door and the guard opened it. I left without saying a word. I was in the parking lot before I changed my mind.
“Goddamn it.” I punched the steering wheel with the flat of my palm.
I went back inside and asked about putting money into Bello’s account. The guard working the desk directed me to another door down a long hall. Once there, I handed my Mastercard to the administrator. I hated the notion of paying Frank Bello for anything, but a deal was a deal.
15
Hazel
Queen’s University was one of the top universities in the nation. Canada didn’t have ivy league schools, but Queen’s was the closest thing to it. It was old, prestigious, and expensive, which seemed to be the standard yardstick that these things were measured by. Hazel walked by Grant Hall, Queen’s most recognizable building, with its limestone clock tower.
She took a pamphlet from the display in the lobby. It had a rudimentary map on its back cover. She double-checked the classroom number on the directory and made her way to C331. It had been a long time since Hazel had stepped foot in a school, but she felt herself being energised by it, as if by being inside, it was charging her batteries. She felt a rush of excitement. She was a good student once. She was older now, more mature, and she felt herself missing it. Missing the opportunities stolen from her. Stolen by Brent Turner and Raj Patel, by drunken, careless touches and pilfered intimacy. A series of bad choices, culminating in disaster.
She passed some harried prospective freshmen touring the campus. They were unsure where the classroom was but were determined to help her find it anyway. The school wasn’t open for class yet, being summer break, but there were pockets of people scattered here and there. After a few wrong turns, she found the room she was looking for. It was locked. She opened the pamphlet and checked the map again. The faculty office was around the corner. She found it with a gold nameplate on the door with the name Dr. Julia Herron emblazoned across it. She cocked her head, trying to get a view inside. She saw a woman sitting at a desk typing on a laptop. Hazel knocked.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice called.
Hazel let herself in. The woman looked up from her work. She was a sturdy woman, with short black hair, shaved on one side. She wore black eyeglasses that stood out prominently on her pale face. Her brilliant red lipstick added a splash of colour to her otherwise black and white countenance. “Dr. Herron?”
“How can I help you?” She asked in a husky voice.
“My name is Hazel Abe,” Hazel said, offering her hand. The two women shook. “I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?”
“I’m very busy,” Herron replied. “What’s this about?”
Hazel had rehearsed what she had wanted to say. “I’m a journalism student. I’m working on a story about a murdered trans girl. I was hoping you could give me some insight into transgender people.
Dr. Herron raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “That’s a broad question. I don’t think I have the time.” She checked her watch as if trying to drive the point home.
“Anything you could share would be helpful,” Hazel offered.
“This murdered trans girl,” Dr. Herron said, “Is it the one in Toronto? From a couple weeks ago?”
“That’s right,” Hazel said.
“That was so terrible. I wept when I heard it. What do you know about it?”
Hazel paused. She knew she had to be careful here. She didn’t want to give away too much. It was still an open investigation, and Hack would be upset if she compromised it, but she had to give Dr. Herron enough to want to help. “Not much,” Hazel said. “My partner and I are still investigating it.” Hazel liked the sound of the word ‘partner’, it added a less complicated layer to their relationship. She did find it funny that neither of them was supposed to be investigating any murders. Heck wasn’t a detective, and hadn’t been for a long time, and she was an ex-con and aspiring journalist. She decided it was best to not disclose those credentials, or lack of them, to Dr. Herron.
“Do the police have any suspects?”
“I’m told that they do, but they aren’t sharing that information with me.”
“What exactly is it that you’re investigating then?”
“I’m looking at it from the perspective of the victim, a sex worker named Sandra Mac
k. I’m hoping to understand the psychology of trans people and maybe understand the pathology of the killer.”
“Alright. So, what do you want to know?” Dr, Herron closed her laptop and folded her hands together.”
“Mind if I sit?” Hazel asked and Herron indicated that she should. Hazel reached into her purse and pulled out a pad of legal paper and a pen. She had taken the liberty of writing down some questions leaving space below each one to jot down the answers. “Okay. Let’s start with a basic one. What is transgender?”
Dr. Herron smiled again, and Hazel could tell that she smiled easily and often. It was contagious because it put Hazel at ease, and she found herself smiling too. “That’s as good a place as any to begin,” Herron said. “To put it simply, transgender people have a gender identity that is different from their determined sex at birth. In very general terms, a person born a boy might feel like they were meant to be a girl instead, but there’s so much more to it. It’s a term that includes the many ways that people’s gender identities can be different from their assigned gender at birth. It’s not just about little boys and little girls.
Hazel wrote quickly, hoping to catch the salient points. “Right. Now what is the difference between that, transsexuals, and crossdressers?”
“Well, transgender people express their identities in different ways. Some use their dress, behaviour and mannerisms to live as the sex that feels right for them. Others take hormones and have surgery to change their body so that it matches their gender identity. Still some reject the notion that they are only males and females, and they identify as transgender, genderqueer, genderfluid, or something else.”
Hazel nodded her head in understanding. The truth was that she knew most of this, at least in broad strokes. “They are a diverse group,” Hazel acknowledged.
“They really are. They differ from their gender identities, the way they feel on the inside, their gender expressions, the way they dress and act, and their sexual orientation, the people they are sexually attracted to. There’s no one size fits all description for a trans person.”