Butterfly Girl

by Wayne Purdy

  I fidgeted in my seat. “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  I swallowed down the last of my Scotch, thinking of how much to tell him. I ended up telling him the whole story, beginning with Gracie. The telling took a couple more Scotches. “I need to do this. Gracie deserves to have some measure of justice. Sandra too. I need to know the truth too. I hate that I never closed it.”

  “Unfinished business.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I want to help you too.”

  “I don’t need any help. I’m doing fine.” I was surprised. I hadn’t realised that I was one of Regards’ charity cases. I didn’t know I was damaged.

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” The profanity shocked me. “You’re treading water, and barely staying afloat at that.”

  I didn’t have a response. He was right. I fell into this job because it was safe and easy, but lately, I found myself wanting more.

  “Why don’t you join the police. A man with your record-”

  “I can’t. My eye.” I tapped the patch, as if there was a chance that Regards had never noticed I only had one.

  “Not even a desk job? I know a guy, he’s a civilian, works for intelligence. I’m not sure what he does, but it has something to do with computers. There’s no way that he passed a physical. He’s a large man,” Regards said with an air of confidentiality.

  “I’m not that good with computers. I can do the basics, but not much beyond that. I did look into police work when I came home, but because of my dishonourable discharge, I’m largely unemployable. No police force wants to take on a problem child. I could get a job as a security guard, but I think that would kill me.”

  “There must be something. Your skills are being wasted here. You could do some good out there. Real good.” He slid a college pamphlet across his desk. It was red with bold yellow letters. Private Investigator Courses. Intrigued, I picked it up and skimmed it over.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just a thought,” Regards said.”

  I folded the pamphlet and slid it into my back pocket. I emptied the rest of my Scotch. There was no way I was going to leave even a drop of it behind and turned towards the opened door. “Thanks, Regards.”

  I met Hazel in the back alley where Macy was parked. She had changed into a pair of distressed jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She wore a pair of sneakers on her feet, more comfortable for canvassing witnesses than the stilettos she had been wearing only an hour ago. I tossed her my keys and she caught them reflexively.

  “I had a few drinks with Regards. I probably shouldn’t drive.”

  “Is it a stick?”

  “You’ve driven in it before. Did you not notice?”

  “Didn’t need to know then,” Hazel said.

  “It’s automatic.”

  She hopped into the driver’s seat and turned it on before adjusting the seat and mirrors. I was going to bark my shins on the wheel the next time I got in. I took my place in the passenger seat. She put it into drive and the car lurched forward. I held my tongue, not wanting to criticize her driving, but my body language betrayed me.

  “You think I’m a bad driver?” She asked

  “No, its fine.”

  “Is it because I’m a woman or Asian?” She asked, grinning. I wasn’t going to take the bait.

  “You’re just rusty. It’s like riding a bike.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good analogy. How many times do we get back on if we fall?”

  “Good point.” I tried to sound light-hearted but unconsciously gripped the doorframe a little tighter. I didn’t like to be driven around. I didn’t like giving up that much control to someone else.

  Mercifully, we arrived at the corner of Church and Bloor in fifteen minutes. Hazel nosed the truck into a parking spot, and we made our way towards the Gay Village. It was nearly three in the morning, and there wasn’t much going on. The bar patrons had gone home. There were some prostitutes, and that seemed as good a place as any to start. Hazel and I carried copies of the picture depicting the young trans girl being comforted by the older woman on the night that Sandra was murdered. We also had a picture of Sandra. I didn’t want to split up. It was a sketchy area, and I didn’t want to leave Hazel alone.

  “Have you seen these women?”

  I asked a trans girl working as a prostitute. She was short and thin and talked with an effeminate lisp. “You looking for a party, stud?” I showed the picture again.

  “I know them,” she said. “The tall lady is Ms. Katherine. The skank beside her is Tiff.”

  I paused, processing the information. “You don’t like Tiff?”

  “Nah. That bitch is a trap.”

  “What’s a trap?” Hazel asked, beating me to the punch.

  “A trap is someone who don’t tell their partners that they are trans. It can be a surprise if you’re not ready for it. Lots’a gals get beaten up because of it. Gives us all a bad name, like we all out here tryin’ to trick men.”

  “I see,” I said. “And Tiff does this often?”

  “Shit, that bitch is known for it. I don’t really care, except that it makes it more dangerous for all of us. She’ll get what she deserves because of it one day. I just hope no one else pays for it first.”

  “What about Sandra Mack? Did you know her? Was she a trap?”

  A look of sadness danced across the young prostitute’s face. “Sandra? No, she was all class. She was proud of who she was. She wouldn’t hide it from nobody. It was terrible what happened to her? But she wasn’t a working girl.”

  “Sandra Mack wasn’t a hooker?”

  “Nah., She had her shit together. She would walk the streets helping the other girls. Kinda like a safety net. Everyone knew, if they needed anything, they could go see Miss Katherine or Sandra. Funny how Sandra was the one who ended up needing help.”

  “Were you working that night?” Hazel asked. “Did you see anything suspicious?’

  The prostitute took a step back, assessing us both again. “You cops or something?”

  “We’re not cops. We’re privately investigating her murder. We want to find out what happened to her.” Hazel’s answer made me uncomfortable. It was illegal to identify yourself as a private investigator if you weren’t licensed. She hadn’t, but she did imply it.

  “I didn’t see nothing,” the prostitute said. “I was with a trick right around then. We were in his car in that parking lot.” She pointed towards a pay lot down the street.

  “Do you know where we can find Tiff or Miss Katherine?” I asked

  “Tiff usually works the corner at Yonge and Gerrard, trawling for johns. Ms. Katherine works at Rainbow Bridges.”

  “Rainbow Bridges?”

  “It’s an LBGTQ outreach program. Their office is at Church and Bloor, above the dentist’s office. She is a counsellor there. Most of us girls know her. She’s an angel.”

  We parted ways, but not before she propositioned me one more time.

  “What do you think?” I asked as we walked towards Tiff’s turf. The Gay Village wasn’t big. You could walk it quickly.

  “I don’t know. Tiff may have known Sandra. She was distraught in that photo. I think that Miss Katherine will be the key here.”

  “I agree. I doubt that we’ll find Miss Katherine walking the streets. We’ll have to see her during office hours.”

  There was a vendor selling sausages and I bought one for each of us. Hazel loaded hers up with all the condiments, which I felt must surely be a crime. I squirted a squiggle of yellow mustard and a spoonful of chopped onions. We ate as we walked. We found Tiff after about a half hour. She stepped out of the passenger side of a newer model sedan, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She blew a kiss at the driver as the car pulled away. It had a ‘baby on board’ sign on the rear window.

  “Tiff?” I asked, trying not to spook her.

  She looked at me and smiled. Then her eyes fell on Hazel and her smile
broadened. “Looking for a party? I do couples, but it costs more.”

  “We’re not looking to party,” I said. A pout formed along her face. “We need to ask you some questions.”

  “Time is money, honey,” she said. I tried not to sigh as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a twenty. She grabbed it from my hand with unexpected quickness. “Ask your questions.”

  “Did you know Sandra Mack?”

  If she was suspicious of us, she didn’t show it. “Yeah I knew her. It was terrible, what happened.”

  “Did you see anything suspicious? Maybe you saw someone skulking around.”

  “There’s always people skulking around here. Men looking for other men. Men looking for trans girls. Men looking for sex. Skulking is normal here.”

  “Sounds dangerous. Do you ever feel unsafe?”

  “All the time,” Tiff said. “This isn’t exactly government regulated. We don’t have any workplace safety programs.”

  “You ever been harmed or threatened?” Hazel asked.

  “All the time,” Tiff said again.

  “What do you do for safety?”

  “We try and stay together. Keep to lighted areas. If I’m going in someone’s car, I’ll let one of the other girls know. That sort of thing.”

  “Were you friends with Sandra?”

  “We didn’t travel in the same circles. She looked down her nose at me, because I want to stay in the lifestyle. She strutted around like she was a princess.” Tiff reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of garish orange lipstick. She applied it lewdly.

  “You didn’t like her?”

  “I liked her just fine. Whoever killed her should be strung up by his balls. We just weren’t going to be besties.”

  “What about Miss Katherine?”

  “Miss Katherine? If Sandra was a princess, then Miss Katherine is the queen, but not in a bad way. Everyone looks up to her. She is like a goddamn superhero. No one hurts her girls. Not if she has anything to say about it.”

  “What do you mean?” Hazel asked. Her back stiffened.

  “One time, a john got aggressive with me. Started pulling me towards his car, telling me I was gonna choke on his cock. That he was gonna fuck me in half. That sort of thing.”

  “He gave me the willies. It was in broad daylight and he tried to force me into his car. Miss Katherine saw and came running over, knocking people over like she was a linebacker. She got right in his face, yelling at him. ‘Leave her alone. She don’t want to go with you,’ Miss Katherine says. Everyone looks at him and you can see he’s embarrassed and pissed off. ‘Mind your fucking business,’ he says. ‘We’re working something out.’ She says, ‘she don’t want to go with you,’ and she’s right. Gave me the willies.”

  “He doesn’t back down. Miss Katherine reaches into her purse and pulls out a knife. It was big, like a fucking machete. He puts his arms up. He’s scared now. ‘You crazy bitch,’ he says. He grabs me by the elbow and leads me towards his car. ‘I’ll cut your balls off,’ she says. He decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation and left. She saved me from some bad shit that day.”

  “Did you ever see the man again?”

  “He wasn’t a regular. I’ve seen his type before. Probably married. Wife and kids are away, or maybe he was on a business trip, and he had a chance to try something different. Those guys are opportunists.”

  “Do you think he could have killed Sandra?”

  She waved her hand like she could move the thought away with a gesture. “He was a pussy. As soon as things went against him, he went home. I’d be surprised if he actually had the guts to kill anyone.”

  “But he gave you the willies,” Hazel said.

  “Just because he couldn’t kill anyone doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “You didn’t see that man the night Sandra was killed?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you paying attention? I never saw him again.” She put her hands on her hips. She was losing interest in us.

  “I’m going to give you my number,” I told her. “I want you to call me if you see that man again, or if you think of anything else that might help.”

  She programmed it into her cell. “I can think of other reasons to call you,” she licked her lips.

  “Emergencies only,” I said.

  She pouted.

  “Okay,” I said, changing tack. “Did you see Sandra.”

  “I didn’t see her with anyone. Didn’t have to. She’s got the same date every Friday.”

  “Are you saying you know who she was with the night she was killed?” Hazel asked, unable to hide her surprise.”

  “Of course. She’s got a standing date every Friday.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Not from her, that’s for sure. She keeps her secrets,” Tiff paused for a moment, catching her mistake, “kept her secrets. I know because he’s one of my regulars. Always going on about how much he loves her, but how it could never be, like they’re Romeo and fucking Juliet. He couldn’t have done it. He’s a big ol’ teddy bear.”

  “Who is he?” I asked, notebook in hand.

  She started talking, but then stopped. “Information is money too.”

  This time my sigh came out audibly. I held out another twenty, but her face made it obvious that it wasn’t going to be enough. I pulled out my last twenty and she took them both, tucking them into her bra. “His name is Jarrod Hunter.”

  17

  Hector

  The effects of the Scotch had long since faded, eroded away by time and adrenaline. I dropped Hazel off at her place and made my way home. It was after four and the sun had begun its ascent. Birds chirruped their noisy cacophonous chorus, but I barely paid them any mind. I now had a tangible thread to pull, a thread that could unravel the mystery. I liked to think that I wasn’t so focused on Cutler as the killer that I wouldn’t entertain anyone else. According to Tiff, Jarrod Hunter was the last person known to see Sandra alive. That was the strongest lead I’d gotten so far. I was tempted to go to his apartment, rouse him from bed, and ask some questions but thought better of it.

  I was greeted by a very excited puppy. He’d had an accident in the corner, but I had no one to blame. I left him alone for too long. His little tail was wagging so vigorously that it was little more than a blur. I slipped on his leash and lead him slowly down the fire escape. He took each metal step slowly and only with a lot of encouragement. I considered picking him up and carrying him down, but it was best that he got used to doing it on his own. He was going to have to make this climb several times a day, at least until he was adopted. Maybe he’d end up in a bungalow with a good-sized back yard. He’d like that. He did his business and then I brought him inside. I fell into bed and Puppy hopped up beside me.

  I awoke to my phone buzzing. “Hello.”

  “Heck, did I wake you?”

  “Hazel? What time is it?”

  “It’s eleven thirty. We were supposed to meet at Rainbow Bridges.” She sounded testy.

  “I slept late. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Don’t bother. I was already there.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed. “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got tired of waiting for you, so I went upstairs. They open at ten. There were quite a few people milling around, mostly young people, kids kicked out of the house for being gay, that kind of thing. I asked a man who was in charge and he directed me to Mrs. Abernathy’s office. Mrs. Abernathy started Rainbow Bridges as an outreach program for at risk LGBTQ kids. They offer counselling, sex ed. They do really good work, Heck.”

  “Okay, but what does it have to do with Sandra?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t give me any information about Sandra. Confidentiality. She confirmed that Sandra was a regular face at Rainbow Bridges, as both a patient and as a mentor. A lot of the younger trans girls looked up to her.”

  “Everyone seems to agree that Sandra ha
d a good head on her shoulders. That she was a good person. What happened that led to her murder?” I asked.

  “Good question. That’s what we have to find out.”

  “Her boss, Mrs. Abernathy, what does she think?”

  Hazel considered the question. “The same as everyone else. She says it’s a damn shame. I got the impression that Sandra’s murder upset her. Mrs. Abernathy started Rainbow Bridges about fifteen years ago, after the murder of her son. He was killed because he was gay. The killer, some redneck from up north, beat him to death. He was sodomised with a broomstick. The incident changed Mrs. Abernathy’s worldview. Until that moment, she saw her son’s sexuality as a choice, and she didn’t approve. His murder led her to believe that no one would actively choose something that could potentially kill them. She sold her home and moved to the city. At first, she operated Rainbow Bridges from her apartment, but it got too big for that. She hasn’t had any murders under her watch, not until Sandra.”

  “What does all that have to do with Sandra’s murder?” I repeated myself. Hazel wasn’t the only one who could be testy.

  “I’m getting to it. You’ll just have to be patient. You could have gone to the meeting. I wouldn’t have bothered if I knew you were just going to get mad at me.”

  She paused, clearly waiting for an apology. I relented. I knew from personal experience that Hazel could be stubborn, and she was an Olympic level champion when it came to holding a grudge. “I’m sorry, Hazel. You’re right. I should have been there.”

  “No problem, Heck. It’s just background information anyway. She’s an interesting woman.”

  “What about the woman in the picture. Miss Katherine?”

  I could feel her smile through the phone. “Katherine Chosuk. She’s another interesting woman. Katherine immigrated here from Thailand in the mid nineties. The girls around see her as a mother figure. She has literally seen everything. Mrs. Abernathy didn’t say much about her past. She fled some violence in Thailand and moved here. She volunteered almost as soon as her plane landed. She is a fierce advocate for all her girls.”