Turning Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  The irises of Abby’s eyes seemed to darken and her fingers curled into fists. She took a moment to answer. “No. I only slept with him, and that was to get a break on my rent. I’m not a prostitute. I’m not.”

  “I’ll need to report what you’ve told me to my team,” Kala said. “Would you be okay with signing a statement with these facts?”

  “Will anybody else have to know?”

  “I’ll keep your name out of the media.”

  “Then I guess so.” Abby met her eyes again. “We didn’t do anything against the law. I’ve met other people with the same deal going on with their landlords. I’m moving out in a few days, anyhow, and I’ll never return to this apartment again. I could come to the station in the morning, if that’s okay. I’m meeting friends for supper. It’s my going-away party.”

  Kala wanted to tell her that Murray Simmons had definitely been taking advantage of her, but she didn’t. Abby already knew it; rationalizing herself as complicit in the arrangement let her live with herself. “I could have someone pick you up in the morning in an unmarked car, if that’s easier.”

  “Okay, how about nine?”

  “The car will be waiting outside.” Kala leaned closer and waited until she had Abby’s full attention. “You need to be careful around Murray Simmons, Abby. Don’t be alone with him. Keep the chain on your door and call 911 if you feel threatened at all. Here’s my card with my cell number if you need to talk at any time.”

  “Do you really think he killed this other girl?”

  “I don’t know but he could have. Until we have proof one way or the other, you should take precautions.”

  They got up and Abby followed Kala to the door. “Good luck moving forward, Abby. Don’t let this past year define you, even in moments of self-doubt.”

  Abby nodded but didn’t say anything. She was still standing in the doorway watching as Kala opened the fire exit door to take the stairs to the lobby.

  Fisher popped a couple of painkillers and slept a few hours more after Dawn had left for school. He awoke feeling slightly better than a man run over by a Mack truck. His ribs were healing and he could move without stabbing pain. He hobbled out of the woods and checked for any other people on the stretch of beach. Satisfied that he was alone, he made his way carefully to the water’s edge and scooped water into his hands to wash his face. He cursed himself for leaving the soap and his diminishing pack of cigs back with his gear.

  The daybreak’s morning mist was gone; the lake was a leaden grey bleeding into the horizon so that he couldn’t tell where the water ended and the sky began. Gulls swooped above his head, and the smell of rotting fish was strong. Fisher moved closer to the woods and sat down on a flat rock. He liked it here near the water, away from all the concrete. He wondered if Wilburn had alerted the police that he’d missed his appointment. Would they come after him in another province or let him be? He’d nearly finished with the court-mandated visits. Wilburn might decide that reporting him up the chain was more trouble than it was worth. Wilburn had nothing to gain by putting him back in the system. Before long, Fisher’s head swivelled to look toward the path up to Kala’s house. What I’d give for a hot shower, he thought, or to lie in a soft bed.

  He had nothing better to do than retrieve his knapsack and ease his way across the rocks to the path. He gritted his teeth with each step, but felt some of his old resolve return, the same bullheadedness that had gotten him through the years inside. The grass in the backyard stretched out to a deck large enough to hold four chairs and a table, where he imagined Kala and Dawn ate dinner in the summertime. A small garden plot roped off from the woods needed tilling and planting. He’d have liked to stick around to give them a hand.

  For a cop, Kala did little to secure the house while she was away. He quickly determined that there was no alarm system, no cameras. The doors were locked, but the kitchen window was open. He found a stepladder in the garden shed and dragged it to the house. He removed the screen, and with a bit of effort, he opened the window wide enough to crawl through. He almost blacked out from the pain but he bit down hard on his lip and kept going.

  Taiku was waiting for him by the kitchen door, the ruff of his fur standing on end, his low growl the most menacing sound Fisher had heard in some time. He spoke softly to the dog and called him by name while resting his aching body across the sink on the counter. The growling stopped and Taiku nuzzled his hand where he rested it over the side. “That’s a good dog,” said Fisher, grunting with the effort to right himself and slide onto the floor. After giving Taiku a good rubdown and himself time to recover, he got a glass from the cupboard and let the water run cold before gulping down two glasses full. Ambrosia.

  “Right. First things first,” he said. He lowered the window sash to where it had been, then unlocked the back door and went outside. He replaced the screen and put the stepladder in the shed where he’d found it. He knew from past experience that he might have to leave quickly and these signs of entry would not go unnoticed. He re-entered by the back door and cased the downstairs, going from room to room and looking for escape routes. Taiku followed him upstairs and flopped on the mat next to a single bed which Fisher could tell was Dawn’s. Her art was framed on the walls. He paused to study the watercolour paintings of the lake, some flowers, and Taiku. “Where did this talent come from?” he asked the dog, moved beyond words by what he was seeing. Her work could be in an art gallery.

  Kala’s room had a double bed and some of Dawn’s framed sketches above the headboard, pen and ink drawings of the house and the garden, one of Kala staring out at the lake in profile. The picture was haunting, her sadness palpable. Rose hadn’t shared much about their time on Birdtail rez, so he could only imagine how bad it had been. Rose had never outgrown the same hurt expression when he’d come up on her unawares. She and Kala had both been foster kids, he knew that. He sometimes wished he’d been one too. Growing up with his old man had been a fight for survival.

  Fisher looked through the chest of drawers and the closet, finding Kala’s stash of money in a box on the top shelf. He counted six hundred dollars before putting it back in its spot under the spare blankets. He sifted through her jewellery case — some of the turquoise pieces were of good quality. He left them in the case and went down the hall to the bathroom. His face in the mirror startled him. His right eye was blackened with shades of yellow and purple and an angry red bruise covered half his face. It was better than he’d looked when he left Toronto; a few more days would make him presentable enough to take a Greyhound bus east and maybe not stand out in the crowd. It had been tough enough hiding half his face on the way here, although he’d learned that most people avoided eye contact and didn’t look too closely.

  He’d be at his most vulnerable in the shower if someone came home but he was willing to chance it. He stripped and took out his spare T-shirt, underwear, and socks and used the liquid hand soap to scrub all his clothes down, rinsing them thoroughly before getting into the shower. He could have stood forever in the steaming water but he washed his hair and body quickly, not liking the idea of being caught naked. His ribs seemed to appreciate the heat and his back loosened from the stiffness of sleeping rough. Ugly bruises covered a good part of his torso but he found no trace of infection and the wounds appeared to be healing. He chanced using a towel from the cupboard, wrapping it around himself before gathering up his clothes and going downstairs where he’d seen a dryer in the mud room.

  While his clothes and the towel dried, he returned upstairs, naked, to remove all traces of his cleanup in the bathroom. Then he padded downstairs to wait for his clothes to finish drying. He thought about making an instant coffee or tea but didn’t want to chance leaving a hot kettle behind. The dryer was bad enough but wasn’t likely to be used at midday. He’d been in the house almost two hours and had no idea whether Kala made trips home during her workday to check on Taiku. So instead, he drank another tumbler of cold water before washing out the glass and placing it bac
k in the cupboard. He swiped a couple of candies from the bowl in the living room, certain that nobody would miss them.

  Clothes on and spares tucked away in his knapsack, he folded the towel and climbed the stairs one last time to put it back where he’d gotten it. He was bending down to straighten the towels when he heard a noise behind him. He spun around. Taiku was standing at the head of the stairs, his body in attack mode, his growl a low warning directed at the black car — visible through the hall window — that was sliding to a stop at the far end of the driveway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Fisher froze in place but his mind was working a mile a minute, assessing the best way to escape unnoticed. His first thought was that Kala had hired a cleaner and they’d soon be entering the house. Front door or back door? The back entrance appeared to be the main point of entry but the front was easier if they were carrying a vacuum and other cleaning supplies. He squatted down and spoke softly to Taiku, petting his head to calm him. They descended the stairs together, Taiku in the lead, not growling now, but very much on alert. Through the five-inch gap in the open living room window, Fisher heard two car doors slamming and footsteps crunching in the gravel. Taiku stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stood motionless, eyes fixed on the front door. Fisher skirted past him and walked to the window, keeping off to the side in the shadow of the curtain.

  Two men were talking in hushed voices not far from the front step. Fisher crawled under the window to get a sight angle but could only see the back of one of them. He was wearing a black jacket and jeans and had longish black hair. Fisher couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked toward the car. A black Audi with tinted windows. He squinted until he could read the licence plate. He’d always had good long-distance vision and a memory for numbers. This one was easy: BRAG 213. The 2 and 1 added up to 3 and the letters formed a word. He tucked the information away in the “possibly useful” folder in his brain.

  The handle of the front door rattled and Taiku stepped farther into the foyer, his low growl a dangerous warning. Fisher scooted backwards across the polished hardwood floor and down the hall into the kitchen. If they came in the front, he’d go out the back. The rattling of the front door handle stopped and Fisher froze near the doorway to the mud room. He listened but couldn’t hear the two men and waited motionless, not sure which way he should move. Taiku’s paws clicked down the hallway at a trot and Fisher stepped aside to let the dog take up his watch in front of the back door. Footsteps climbed the deck. This time, Fisher could hear one of them speaking through the kitchen window.

  “This door’s locked too. Whaddaya wanna do?”

  The other guy must have said to leave because their footsteps clumped off the deck. Still, Fisher waited. He could make it to the front door or the back if they tried to get in. He wondered if they’d noticed the partially opened kitchen window as he had. Time was suspended while he tuned his ear to the sounds outdoors. A crow cawed at the back of the property and then was silent. A hornet bumped against the kitchen window screen before flying away.

  As the minutes ticked by, Taiku seemed to sense the danger was over and lay down, resting his head on his front paws. Fisher moved directly in front of the kitchen window and pulled himself up onto the counter to get a better look. He scanned the far end of the property and both sides of the deck. The backyard was empty except for the crow hopping across the grass. He jumped onto the floor and darted toward the front of the house, just making it in time to see the Audi backing onto the road. He watched it stop, then glide forward and disappear behind the trees. Taiku didn’t stir from his place near the door.

  Fisher made one final check of the house to make certain nobody would know he’d been inside and left through the back entrance. He was tired and his body was aching. His ribs were paying the price for the trip through the kitchen window. He cursed the final distance and the rocks that stood between him and his hiding spot. Once he reached the woods, he stretched out on top of the sleeping bag and slept away the afternoon. He awoke disoriented in the dying hour, the shadows in the woods long, gloomy fingers stretching onto the beach. The lake was calm as a pond and dark grey, almost black in the fading light. He’d missed Dawn’s visit but a bag of food and new bottle of water were sitting a few feet from his sleeping bag. The gift was enough that the sadness didn’t overwhelm him. He’d wanted to talk to her, to find out if she knew the two men in the black car, but that would have to wait. He didn’t dare return to the house to find her and she wouldn’t come down to the beach tonight if Kala was home.

  On Wednesday morning, Kala lingered over a second cup of coffee while she waited for Dawn to get ready for school. “I feel like we haven’t seen much of each other since this investigation started,” she said. “I’ll drive you in today.” Dawn protested but Kala wouldn’t be deterred. “It’s the least I can do in case I have to work late again tonight.”

  Kala took Taiku for a walk around the property, expecting Dawn would be ready by the time she got back. She was surprised to find Dawn still in her room getting dressed. Kala drained the last of the coffee when she finally heard Dawn’s feet on the stairs.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked when Dawn entered the kitchen. She studied Dawn’s face for signs of illness.

  “I’m okay. Just tired.” Dawn’s shoulders slumped and she had her head down as she crossed to the counter.

  Kala hadn’t heard Dawn get up in the night but she must have done. Kala had been so exhausted when her head hit the pillow that fireworks could have gone off outside her window and she wouldn’t have woken up. She didn’t really have a choice but to work the long hours, but that didn’t stop her feeling guilty about leaving Dawn on her own so much. “I packed you a lunch. Grab some fruit and a granola bar to eat in the truck. We’re running late.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry that work is getting in the way of our time together. I’m going to do my best to be home for supper tonight.”

  “I’m doing fine, Aunt Kala. Really. You don’t need to change your schedule for me.”

  “I do need to, for both of us.”

  After she’d dropped Dawn off in front of the school, Kala crossed the city and arrived at headquarters as the morning meeting was due to get underway. She hurried into the office and tried to slip unnoticed into the cozy gathering area. Gundersund was speaking at the front of the room; he nodded to her but kept on with his update. She tried to thank him with her eyes for not making a big deal of her tardiness but he’d already turned his attention to Morrison, asking her to fill them in on her follow-up of the phone tip.

  “The potential witness who called from Coppers Pub might have seen Nadia the day she went missing — or he might have seen her a few days before. Time apparently means nothing when you spend every night in your cups. He —” Morrison paused to check her notes “— that is, Otis Halton, identified Nadia from a photo.”

  “Did Halton say whether she was alone?” asked Rouleau.

  “He said that she was with a man but couldn’t recall anything about him. They were at the bar, the girl sitting and the man standing in front of her. Halton only remembered her because she tossed her drink at the guy’s chest before slapping him across the face. The man had his back to Halton and stormed out without looking around. Nadia, if it was her, got up from the stool and ran after him.”

  Kala raised her hand. “Where’s this pub located?”

  Tanya half turned in her seat to face Kala. “Brock Street, near the waterfront. About three blocks south and then a couple of blocks west of the Leon Centre, which is still known as the K-Rock Centre by the locals.” She turned back around. “I talked with the bartender and staff but they didn’t remember any incident. I’m going back tonight to speak with the alternate staff.”

  “Great. Let’s hope someone has a better memory of what went on,” said Gundersund. His gaze fell on Kala. “Have you any update, Stonechild?”

  Now was the moment. She c
ould wait to tell Gundersund in private what she’d found out from Abby Green or let everyone know and suffer Woodhouse’s ire. Delaying the inevitable backlash would not be helpful so she opted for openness. “Information came in late yesterday that a woman in Murray Simmons’s other apartment building was also receiving a significant cut on her rent. I dropped by the building on my way home on the off chance she was there and got lucky. Abby Green told me that Simmons was having sex with her in exchange for low rent. She described it as a mutually agreed-upon business arrangement.”

  “The man is slime,” breathed Morrison, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Agreed,” said Kala, “but the question is whether or not he’s a killer too. Abby said she never felt threatened by him and he never asked her to have sex with anybody else. They both had their reputations to lose if word got out so he wasn’t worried about her talking. I imagine it would have been the same case with Nadia. His motivation to kill her is slim.”

  “Except that Simmons has a wife and kids and these two women are single. He had a family to lose. That’s a big fucking difference, Stonechild.” Woodhouse glared at her.

  Kala knew she had to give him his moment of anger at her subterfuge, but she said anyway, “Granted, but Abby sure didn’t want her arrangement getting out. I doubt Nadia did either since she was trying to straighten up for her child.”

  “Nadia was already whoring around in Ottawa so she had everything to gain by blackmailing Simmons,” Woodhouse said. “She could gamble that he’d pay up because her reputation was in the toilet, anyhow. Simmons needed to keep her quiet.” Woodhouse’s face was turning a shade of plum and Kala stopped responding.

  Rouleau cut in before Woodhouse could escalate further. “He lied about giving another woman a cut in rent. Bring him in again, Woodhouse. Keep the heat on.”

  Woodhouse took this as confirmation that he was right. A smile replaced the glare. The colour in his face diffused. “I’ll be happy to handle this for the team. We should have the slime behind bars by suppertime.”