“You think it’s easy for me?”
“Not really. But you just seem so sure of yourself. It’s part of your charm. I’m just not sure you realize that others don’t find the choices in life so easy to make.”
Dan shrugged. “Anyway, I just wish he could decide.”
“He will. Just be patient. Otherwise, if you rush it, you will regret it, thinking you never gave him the time to figure things out for himself.”
“But what will he decide?”
“You don’t need me to tell you.” She smiled. “You already know how it will go.”
“I guess I’ll have to wait and see then.” Dan wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I wanted to tell you that you were right about what you said the other night. The case, I mean. It isn’t over yet and I am getting involved. Exactly as you said I would.”
“So are you a believer now?”
Dan shrugged, not ready to commit to one side or the other. “I’m not sure. I’m trying to be open-minded. I already did some investigating into this in the past.”
“Really? You surprise me. You were so against it when I lived beside you.”
“It’s not that I doubted you. It’s just that I’ve never heard of a crime being stopped by a psychic premonition.”
“Oh, Dan.” She looked sadly at him. “I thought you understood. It’s not about stopping things. Sometimes you can gain insight, but you can’t change the course of events. Not if it’s meant to be. What you can change is your reaction to what is to come. Be a better person, that sort of thing. Don’t worry, though, you don’t need improving. I think your positives are all in the right place. For a non-believer.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe, it’s that I don’t understand. And that makes me a tad suspicious of any claims.”
“I don’t like claims either. Just take what comes and be the best person you can. That way there are no regrets, no matter what happens.”
She smiled and took another drink through the plastic curlicue protruding from her glass.
“Oh, by the way. I have a new client,” he said.
“Who is it?”
“Well, before I tell you, I was kind of hoping you might take a look and tell me what you come up with.”
She smiled. “Really? You’re actually asking me to look into something for you on the other side?”
“Not something. Someone. I’m just curious to know what you see.”
She smiled. “Well, you have changed.”
“Are you up to it?”
“I’m always up to it, baby.”
She put down her fork, took a big sip from her glass then closed her eyes.
“I see a bright light. It’s like a star or something. Your client must be very important, whoever it is.”
Dan let out a whoop. “Domingo, I now believe in you forever.”
She opened her eyes. “Did I say something right?”
“Bang on. Can you tell me if he’s a good person?”
She looked quizzically at him. “Good?”
“Trustworthy, I guess I mean.”
She closed her eyes and got silent again for a moment. “Well, he’s complex, that’s for sure. The only thing is, the light goes out if I watch it too long.”
“As in?”
“Extinction.”
Dan studied her face. “That doesn’t sound good. What’s the source of the extinction?”
There was a long pause. “It comes from the self. It’s some sort of auto-extinction.”
Dan frowned. “As in suicide?”
Her eyes were still closed. Domingo seemed to be concentrating harder. “I don’t think so. It seems to be some form of indulgence, I want to call it.”
Dan thought of Jags’ tendency to drink till he passed out. “Like drugs or alcohol?”
There was a pause while she consulted some inner realm. “I don’t know. It seems to come and go. It’s there then it’s out then it’s there again. The light, I mean.”
She opened her eyes.
Dan was staring at her. “Any idea what that means?”
“None at all. Except that your client needs to take care it doesn’t become permanent.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“So who is this client? I’m curious.”
“Jags Rohmer.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Domingo, you know me well enough by now to know that I never kid.”
She laughed. “True enough. What’s he like?”
“He doesn’t have a clue what reality is. He says he just wants a normal life.”
Domingo almost choked. “Well, here’s to rock star clients.” She took another drink then looked over at Dan. “Shall we have a more mundane conversation now?”
Dan smiled. “Sure, and thanks for the input.”
“No problem.” She paused. “I’m worried about Donny. Or, more precisely, I’m worried about how Donny is reacting to Lester’s departure. Is there anything we can do, do you think?”
Dan looked across the road at a cyclist weaving in and out among the cars, a handful of pedestrians talking on cellphones, gesticulating and looking as though they had no idea where they were.
His gaze returned to Domingo’s face. “I’m concerned about Donny and Lester too. As you know, I introduced them. I thought I was doing Lester a favour at the time, but I soon learned it was just as big a deal to Donny, which was why he agreed to keep the boy. Who knew he saw himself as a father?”
She smiled. “I knew.”
“The kid spent time on the streets. He had it worse than some, but not as bad as others. He told me a story of being raped by an older man he lived with, though he has since tested HIV-negative. He was on the streets for a relatively short time and I think he’s been thoroughly rehabilitated, to use the clinical term, largely due to Donny’s influence and care.”
“Amen to that,” Domingo interjected.
“He’s very protective of the boy and also strict with him, in a good way. The difference between what Donny does and what Lester’s mother does is that Donny does it for Lester’s own good. My guess is that his mother is just trying to mould him for her own ends.”
“She sounds like a rotten parent.”
Dan set down his fork. “They both are. I was his caseworker and I met with them just once.”
Dan recalled a mohair sweater, fuchsia pink fingernails filed down to a point and tapping incessantly on his desktop as she demanded he find her son. Lester’s stepfather was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of having a gay son in the house and wanted nothing to do with the boy.
“I found him and dragged him out of the gutter. At the time he was involved in making porn videos and selling himself on the street. It didn’t take me long to realize he didn’t want to be there, either. He just didn’t want to be sent home to a manipulative mother and an abusive stepfather. I guess those memories must have faded a bit, if he thought he would be okay to go home. Nevertheless, he made his choice.”
“Everyone is allowed a change of mind.”
“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly. What I don’t agree with is the idea that Donny might become implicated in separating a minor from his family, however horrible they may be. So, to return to your original question, yes, I do think something can be done. I just haven’t had the time to figure out what.”
“Who was the man who raped him? Was he caught?”
“No. And he’s resurfaced, making matters worse. It’s one of the reasons Lester wanted to leave the city. Lester told me they lived together for a short while. He provided for the kid. Everyone thought they were father and son. They even went to church together, apparently.”
“So, a fairly normal looking and acting individual outwardly?”
“So it would seem.”
Domingo smiled ruefully.
“What is it?”
“You’d think a child molester would be a hideous looking person, someone you would instinctively be repelled by.”
“No. Often th
ey’re quite ordinary looking. Normal.
Not a monster at all. It’s why they can get so close to children, disarm their families into thinking they can be trusted.”
“Our kids make us vulnerable,” she said. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand and turned her head. Her own son had been on a missing persons list for more than seven years, Dan knew. He’d disappeared without a word one summer morning. Dan had searched but found no trace of him.
“I’m …” Dan began.
“No, don’t say anything. It was stupid of me. Please forget I brought it up.”
After a moment she looked up, eyes misty but her smile in place.
The rest of the meal passed quietly, as though there was little left to be said. Domingo pushed aside her plate and looked at her watch, declaring an imminent appointment.
“I’ll get the cheque,” Dan told her. “You can get the next one, as long as it’s in this calendar year.”
She smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “You’re sweet, thanks. I’ll hold you to the next date.”
Dan’s gaze followed her down the street and around the corner to the rest of her life. A missing child, a bout of chemotherapy. But here they both were, as Donny had said. Life certainly held its surprises.
Dan was in no rush. He finished his meal and sat there watching the clean, safe city with its unworldly citizens going by.
Thirteen
Little Jack Horny
Dan left the pub and made his way back to his car.
The headline in a newspaper box stopped him dead:
Child Victim or Cunning Killer? There on the front page of the Star was a photograph of Gaetan Bélanger. Dan’s mind was running in circles. So much for keeping
the info quiet “for reasons of discretion.” He wondered what the chief of police was thinking right at that moment.
He fished in his pockets for change and cursed his luck at having emptied them back at the pub for a tip. He watched as a woman came up and tipped in two quarters, opened the door, and removed a copy of the paper. He was considering how to distract her to keep the door from slamming when she looked over, extracted a second paper, and handed it to him.
“Two-for-one day,” she said gleefully before walking away, her heels clicking against the sidewalk like knitting needles.
He went around the corner and sat on a bench beneath a locust tree. The article outlined the discovery of a third victim, whose death was being blamed on the Quebec teenager now hiding out in Toronto.
Police are seeking a child abuse survivor in what they now suspect may be a serial killing spree. Gaetan Bélanger, 16, of Lévis, QC, is sought in connection with the murder of Donald Perry, 42, of Scarborough.
Perry was third to die in what is believed to be a co-ordinated series of attacks on sex offenders whose names were released on the Internet last year.
Guillaume Thierry, a former-priest convicted of abusing Bélanger and nearly a dozen other boys at several churches he was associated with in Montreal, was found dead on May 23.
Darryl Hillary of Etobicoke was murdered on August 11. Neither Perry nor Hillary had any known connection with Bélanger.
An unnamed source in the police force said the names appear to have been taken at random from the leaked registry that left the identities of several hundred convicted sex offenders on public view for more than a week.
Photos of Thierry, Hillary, and Perry were inset below. A sidebar mentioned severe mutilation to all three victims, but gave no further details. Dan wondered what constituted “severe.” Had Thierry and Perry been left in worse shape than Hillary? Perhaps Dan’s unexpected arrival at the slaughterhouse had prevented Bélanger from inflicting more grievous physical harm on Darryl. If so, there was that to be thankful for at least.
His cellphone buzzed: Unknown Number showed on the display. He flipped open the phone and put it to his ear.
“Sharp.”
A shrill treble sounded in his ear. “Greetings, Dan. Constable Pfeiffer here.”
The cop’s timing was uncanny. Dan looked around, scanning the street where a sea of sunglasses stared out from neighbourhood patios. He was half-convinced that Pfeiffer was sitting watching him from some nearby café.
“Not sure if you heard the news, Dan.”
Dan snapped the paper open and held it out to full view. “If you’re referring to the exposé in the Star, then yes. I have it in hand.”
“So our Little Jack Horny has struck again.”
“Excuse me?” Dan said, thinking he had heard wrong.
“Little Jack Horny. It’s our unofficial nickname for the case down at HQ.”
“Classy. But I thought you guys were keeping this under wraps for now.”
“Yeah. Funny that. Wonder how it happened.” Pfeiffer’s voice went from mocking to accusatory. “A shame about that third death,” he said. “Especially when you could have prevented it.”
Dan was momentarily stunned. “You really believe that? I know even less about the whereabouts of Gaetan Bélanger than you do.”
“I’d like to believe that, Dan, but your movements tell me otherwise.”
Dan shook his head. “What are you saying?”
“I know you’ve got Jags Rohmer for a client. Shouldn’t you be trying to find Bélanger before he gets him too?”
Ice went down Dan’s spine. “What’s Rohmer got to do with any of this?”
He heard Pfeiffer laugh. “You better ask him, I guess.”
“Ask him what?”
“Just ask him, Dan.”
The call ended. Dan pocketed the phone and finished the article. By the time he was done, he wished he’d never heard of Darryl Hillary or Jags Rohmer.
Yorkville was three blocks away. He hoofed it over. Once the preserve of beatniks, hippies, and soon-to-be famous musicians like Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot, and Neil Young, the neighbourhood had upped its ante in the ensuing decades and was now the private preserve of the financial elite, ensconced in a few square blocks where bidding wars for condos reached into the millions.
Dan remembered Jags’ warning that the building’s security was formidable. He entered, gave them a cursory glance and turned aside before he could register on their radar. They looked like the sort of team you might see in a James Bond film, where the hero has to use all of his wits and a beautiful, scantily clad woman to get past them. Using a key was easier.
Upstairs, he stepped out of the elevator and quickly found the door. Jags answered wearing only a dressing gown. He looked surprised to see Dan but nodded at him to come in.
“Oh, right. I gave you the key, didn’t I?”
The room was cluttered. Art on the walls, statues on the side tables. Shelves crammed with books, records, CDs. Expensive-looking rugs on the floors. Dan tossed the Star on the coffee table. Jags gave him a quizzical look.
“A review of my book?”
“Hardly,” Dan said. “Look at the headline.”
Jags glanced at the paper then back at Dan. “So?”
“You don’t know what this is about?”
Jags shook his head. “Enlighten me, good sir.”
“I’d prefer if you would enlighten me. Constable Pfeiffer suggested I ask you about your involvement.”
“My involvement?” Now Jags looked uneasy. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”
“Why did you hire me as a bodyguard? The real reason, please. And don’t give me a load of crap about needing protection from someone you’ve libelled in your book, because those people are all dead from drug overdoses or such has-beens that they would probably be thrilled to have the publicity.”
“Nice way to talk about former stars.”
Dan felt himself losing it. “I don’t give a fuck about former anything. What connection do you have with this murder?”
Jags sat on the couch and gestured for Dan to do the same. When he didn’t, Jags looked up at him.
&nbs
p; “Sit,” he said, and indicated the chair opposite.
Dan sat slowly, keeping his eyes on Jags. “You led me to believe I was recommended to you by my former boss, Ed Burch. I called Ed. He knew nothing about it. He doesn’t even know who you are.”
“How unkind.” Jags wiped his brow with a kerchief then looked at Dan. “I went to the police because I thought I might have a problem. What I told you was true, however. There are people from my past who were upset thinking I might expose something incriminating about them. I’ve got too much good sense — not to mention legal counsel — to do that, but until they read the book they won’t know for sure.”
Dan was getting impatient. “As I said, there’s nothing in your book that anyone would get upset over or take exception to. Does the world not know that Keith Richards was a junkie or that John Lennon was a first-class jackass behind his Saint of the Peace Movement routine?”
Dan waited.
Jags shrugged. “You’re right. It’s old news. On the other hand, I could have said that John Lennon once had a boyfriend named Stuart Sutcliffe …”
He watched Dan’s face for a reaction, but found none.
“… and that poor Stuart died of a brain haemorrhage two months after John kicked the shit out of him. This was back in Hamburg in the days before the Beatles went viral. And afterward, of course, John would only ever talk about Stuart when he was in his cups. No charges were ever laid, but that would have been news.”
Jags eyed him. Dan’s face was impassive.
“Why do you really need a bodyguard?”
Jags sighed. “Okay.”
He stood and went over to a desk. He fished around in a small silver bowl on a bookshelf and brought out an antique key. It fit neatly into the desk’s lock. The drawer slid open. He retrieved a slim envelope and passed it to Dan.
Dan lifted the flap and a Polaroid dovetailed into his hand. At first glance he couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. It appeared to be a close-up of a dried, curled leaf lying on a dirt background. Then the colours jumped out at him. He was looking at a severed human ear. He fought the nausea.
Jags’ voice was soft, almost taunting. “Takes a while, but it kind of gets to you once you figure it out, doesn’t it?”
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