She nodded. “He certainly didn’t speak to me, but ask Doris. If anyone knows if he was here, she would.”
She glanced at her flashing message light.
“Just one more question and then I’ll go. Can you remember when Eric came looking for her?”
“I think it was only a week or so after the job interview. He thought she’d got a job and had come to see how things were working out. As I recall, he was quite surprised to discover she wasn’t here. I guess because he hadn’t heard from her, he assumed she’d got a job.”
Her phone started to ring. As she reached for it, I thanked her for her time and turned to leave.
As I headed out the door, I heard her answer the phone then the words, “Can you hold the line a minute, Paul?”
She called out, “Meg, go see George, the director of our Jobs Program. I sent Fleur to talk to him about possible job opportunities.”
It took George a few minutes to resurrect his memories, but when he did, he was able to provide me with the names of two businesses to which he’d sent Fleur. One was the Dreamcatcher Bistro, the restaurant where I’d been to meet Claire, and the other was a spa. And no, he hadn’t passed this information on to the police, because they’d never asked.
“Besides,” he said, “I was away on vacation and didn’t know Fleur was missing until I got back after Labour Day.”
I groaned in exasperation. If the damn police had gotten off their butts and taken the time to discover what I’d easily learned in the past hour, Fleur could very well be sitting safe at home by now. Instead we were fearing the worst, and I was trying my best to uncover what should’ve been found out weeks ago.
Feeling somewhat discouraged, I headed back downstairs to Doris and found an empty reception desk instead. After waiting several long minutes for her return, I finally gave up and headed outside to my truck. I figured she probably wouldn’t remember if Jeff had come to the Centre looking for his daughter. Besides, knowing whether he had or not wouldn’t help find Fleur.
I climbed into my truck intending to drive straight back to the Dreamcatcher Bistro in the hope that they had hired Fleur. As I started to back up, a tap on the passenger window made me stop. Paulette’s broad face peered through the pane.
“Good, I caught you,” she said as I rolled down the window. “I just remembered something. You should speak to Becky’s best friend Monique. If Fleur and Becky did become friends, she would know.”
Apparently Monique had also been a one-time client of the Centre, and like Becky, she’d stopped coming. Paulette referred to her as another of her lost souls. Unfortunately, she couldn’t provide me with an address. But she told me the most likely place to find Monique.
“She usually hangs out at the corner of Cumberland and Murray.” She paused. “You’d probably find her there any time after nine p.m. And if she’s not there, wait. She’ll be back after servicing one of her johns. You see, it’s her usual corner.” She pursed her lips grimly. “I tried so hard to help her. I just don’t understand why these girls prefer hooking to getting a decent job.”
Then shaking her head sadly, she said, “I know it’s the drugs, always the drugs.”
She wished me good luck and promised to call if she remembered anything else that might be useful.
Chapter
Twenty—Three
The minute I climbed into my truck, I flicked on the radio, hoping to catch news about the car crash. I didn’t have long to wait. “Car Plunges into Ottawa River” was the big story.
One eyewitness tearfully recounted seeing the car fly off the bridge and into the water with an enormous splash. Another was three cars away when she saw the green car climb the railing before tilting downward into the water. A third was convinced a transport trailer had crashed into the car, causing it to go over the bridge, while a fourth insisted that the car was already climbing the railing before the truck hit it.
Needless to say, the police weren’t saying anything, other than they would be conducting a thorough investigation, while a spokesman for Public Works insisted that the bridge railings met all safety standards.
The newscast ended with a last-minute update. Police divers were loading a body into their Zodiac. The reporter, however, was unable to confirm whether it was male or female.
But I knew it was female. The person was Claire. Since it wasn’t a direct route from the Welcome Centre, she would’ve been returning from visiting a client on the Gatineau side of the river. I did wonder, though, if alcohol had been a contributing factor, for it was obvious from the moment we met that the woman had a thirst for liquor.
When I stepped into the Dreamcatcher Bistro, the staff was abuzz with news of the accident while setting up the tables for the evening meal. The grapevine had been busy. Word had already reached them that the car belonged to Claire.
“She was one of our best clients,” the chef said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she strode out of the kitchen. She hadn’t noticed that she was already referring to Claire in the past tense.
“I was supposed to meet her here for lunch today,”
I added.
“That’s right, I remember you,” piped up the young waiter who’d sold me the wine. His face creased into a sad, lopsided smile. “I guess this explains why she didn’t arrive.”
I nodded, wondering if her meeting with me had put her in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Is the manager in? I’d like to speak to him.”
My nose twitched at the enticing smells drifting out from the kitchen, while to my embarrassment, my stomach let out a growl.
“Hungry, eh? You’ve come to the right place.” The chef laughed as she tried to shove a tendril of escaping black hair back under her checkered chef’s touque. Her white chef’s coat was splattered with samplings from the day’s menu.
“I’m the manager and owner,” she said. “What can I do for you? But if you’re looking for the assistant chef job, that’s already filled.”
“No, I’m looking for information about a possible employee, Fleur Lightbody. I’m not sure if she’s working here now or perhaps did during the summer.”
Her brown eyes lit up with recognition. “Sure, I remember Fleur. I would’ve loved to have hired her, but I’m afraid the job was already taken when she came to us. She would’ve made a great maître’d too. A lot better than the one I hired. In fact, if you see her, tell her the job’s hers. I had to let the other gal go.”
“She didn’t happen to mention where she was staying, did she?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you want to know about Fleur, anyway? You sure ain’t a relation.” Her gaze shifted to my red hair as if to emphasize the point.
After I’d explained my relationship and the reason for asking, the woman shook her head. “Too many of us missing. I’m so sorry to hear this. Wish I could help, but she never said where she lived, and I didn’t ask.” She paused. “You know, you aren’t the first to come by asking for her.”
“Who was that?” I asked, wondering if it had been her father. But if he hadn’t gone to the Welcome Centre first, he wouldn’t have known to check here.
“It was her chief, Eric Odjik. You might know him.”
I nodded. “Can you remember when he came around?”
“I think it wasn’t long after she’d been here, either the first or second week in July.”
He would’ve come after discovering she wasn’t working at the Welcome Centre. Was he worried about her even before she was declared missing? Or was he just doing his chiefly duty and ensuring a member of his band was getting along okay in the big city?
“What was his reaction when he discovered she wasn’t here? Did he seem concerned?”
“Sorry, I don’t remember. But I do remember him asking if I knew where else she might’ve gone for a job. I’m afraid I couldn’t help him.”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Sorry, but give me your phone number. I’ll ask around, and
if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Did anyone else come by looking for her, like her father or the police?”
“Nope, Eric was the only one.”
After thanking her, I headed out the door.
As I tripped down the stairs to the sidewalk, the young waiter called to me from the open door. “You’re talking about Fleur Lightbody, eh?”
When I nodded, he said, “I used to see her at a pub I go to.”
“When was this?” I asked, praying it was after Becky was killed.
“It was the beginning of the summer.” He scratched his head. “Actually I can be more precise. It was the first couple of weeks in July when I was still playing soccer, before I wrecked my knee. I would go there with the guys after the games.”
I let my breath out slowly. Nope, the timing was before Becky was killed, which was supposed to have been sometime during the third week in July.
“But not recently?”
He shook his head.
“How do you know it was her?”
“That’s the name she gave me.”
I showed him her poster just to make sure.
“Yeah, that’s her. Great kid. She reminded me of my little sister. I bought her a beer a couple of times.” He must’ve been older than his boyish looks reflected, for he didn’t seem old enough to liken an eighteen-year-old to a kid sister.
“Was she alone or with somebody?”
“A girlfriend, except for the last time.”
“Did you know her friend?”
He shook his head.
“Or even a name?”
Another shake of the head. “She wasn’t native. Had frizzy blonde hair.”
“Have you seen her since?”
“Nope. Last time I saw Fleur, she was with some guy. He didn’t like her talking to me.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Yeah, he comes to the pub every once in a while, usually with some babe, but it isn’t always the same one.”
“Which pub?”
“O’Flaherty’s up on Rideau.”
I knew the place on the edge of the dead zone of Rideau Street. On some of my early trips to Ottawa, I had sometimes dropped in for a drink or two to get myself into the proper frame of mind for the long drive back to Three Deer Point. Although it was a good couple of years since my last visit, there might be a few familiar faces I could ask about Fleur. Or better yet. “What time do you get off work tonight?”
“I’m usually finished around ten thirty, eleven, depending on how long the last people stay.”
“Do you mind going to the pub with me? Maybe the guy she was with might be there, or at least you could ask around to try to find out his name.”
He ran his hand through his short curly brown hair. “Well, I was going to meet my girlfriend at another pub, but I guess I can change it. Fleur was a good kid. I’d like to help if I can.”
So Sean agreed to meet me at O’Flaherty’s at eleven, which would give me more than enough time to try to find Monique. However, since I hadn’t planned on staying so late in Ottawa, I hadn’t made any arrangements for Sergei. With a couple of quick phone calls from the restaurant — the chef was more than accommodating — I arranged for Teht’aa to pick up the dog, feed him, then take him over to Jid’s aunt’s place, where he would spend the night under the good care of his buddy. Although I didn’t want to spend the night here, if I had to I could, knowing he would be in good hands.
My next stop was Fleur’s other job possibility, the Black Orchid spa located on the other side of ByWard Market. I decided to leave my truck at the city parking lot and walk the four or five blocks through the Market to Rideau Street. People clogged the sidewalks. Some were trying to make last-minute purchases from the fruit, vegetable, and flower vendors who were more intent on packing up for the night than selling. Others were headed to the many restaurants and cafes lining the streets. And of course, there were the usual tourists, easily identified by their cameras and ambling gait. I tossed a couple of toonies into the case of a violinist serenading passersby with a fiery rendition of the “Flight of the Bumblebee.”
I finally found the spa on the second floor of an office building, which seemed an odd location. But when the elevator doors opened onto its white marble lobby and strategically placed orchids, also white but for the black stylized orchid inscribed on the wall, there was no mistaking the cloying scent of perfume nor the heavily made-up, perfectly coiffed, stringbean-thin receptionist perched on a chrome stool behind the glass counter. She too was attired all in white, at least the part of her that was covered. The part which wasn’t covered, which was considerable, was a rich chocolate brown.
Her nose wrinkled in disdain as I approached. I guess my expanding waistline didn’t exactly conform to the dimensions of their usual clientele. Or maybe it was my clothes, country casual, although I had worn my best blue jeans and the beaded deerskin jacket Eric had given me.
She seemed relieved when I said I wasn’t there for a spa service, but when I asked to speak to the manager, she quickly informed me of the need for an appointment. Nor did she relent when I explained the situation. In fact, she seemed to become more determined to keep me from placing one millimetre of the dusty tread of my trail shoes on the pristine white floor of the inner sanctum.
When she buzzed the door open for a returning staff member, I realized I couldn’t exactly storm the ramparts, so to speak, without doing damage to myself and the glass door. The only way I could get in was following immediately behind the next person who entered the spa. She must’ve realized my intention, for she finally admitted that the manager had already left for the day and wouldn’t be back until next Monday. She’d gone to New York to attend the annual spa convention.
She did grudgingly provide me with the manager’s name and a phone number. I could probably learn what I needed to know over the phone anyway.
She seemed to hesitate when I showed her Fleur’s picture but admitted that the woman she was thinking of was much older and a specialist in hot stone therapy with many years of experience. Besides, she said, she didn’t know everyone, she’d only been working there for a couple of weeks.
Chapter
Twenty—Four
I had several hours to kill before I could go in search of Monique. Although my stomach seemed to have resigned itself to its empty state, I figured I might as well fill it up. So I returned to the Market, to the Tex-Mex restaurant I’d passed on my way to the spa. I had a hankering for some chicken fajitas and maybe a margarita or two.
I tried to put sense to what I’d learned about Fleur’s movements. I had leads that had led to other leads and hopefully would pan out tonight. But so far no one had seen the pretty girl after the beginning of July. At least I knew that she had endeavoured to get a job shortly after her arrival. And that Eric had been looking out for her. Likely her father had let him know that she’d gone to Ottawa. However, knowing how adverse Jeff was to revealing private family matters, he probably hadn’t told Eric the real reason behind her leaving home.
I also wondered if Eric had passed on what he’d discovered to the Ottawa police, when it was finally established she was missing. I would expect so. But if that were the case, why hadn’t they followed up with the people he’d talked to? The only ones they seemed to have bothered with were the executive director of the Welcome Centre and Claire. Although why they would seek out Claire and not Paulette, the head of the Youth Program, wasn’t readily apparent, unless Claire had overheard them asking about Fleur and had volunteered the information. Regardless, whatever Claire knew about Fleur had died with her.
Little wonder Marie-Claude was so upset with them. If the cops had done their job when Fleur was first reported missing, she would in all probability be safe in Montreal enjoying the start of her nursing course.
I was also confused about something else I’d learned. Both Marie-Claude and Jeff had told me that he’d come to Ottawa several times to try to find their dau
ghter. If so, why hadn’t he talked to the people I’d so easily found? Unless Eric had told him the results of his effort, prompting Jeff to decide there was nothing more to learn from these people.
And I couldn’t forget Eric’s sacred stone found in the Gatineau Park parking lot. Was it in any way connected to Fleur? Had something he’d learned about the missing girl here in Ottawa led him across the river to that dark, lonely place? And, more importantly, when had he dropped it? Before Becky was murdered or afterward? I didn’t want to consider the possibility of it being lost while she was being killed.
The two margaritas had gone down very smoothly, as had the fajitas. Although it had been many years since I’d had the tangy lime and tequila drink, my taste for it hadn’t diminished. Another would do me very nicely. I couldn’t think of a better way to kill the remaining hour I had before Monique was supposed to be at her corner. And since my stomach wasn’t completely sated, I added a plate of all-dressed nachos.
A couple of hours later, I stumbled out of the restaurant, feeling somewhat woozy. I sure couldn’t drink like I used to. A rather good-looking chap sitting at the bar — one of those tall, dark, handsome types — had offered me another margarita, and not wanting me to drink on my own, he had joined me. It had been more years than I cared to count since anyone had tried to pick me up, so I was feeling quite thrilled by the compliment, particularly since he appeared to be younger than me. I became so engrossed in our conversation and his admiring glances that I totally lost track of the time. It was ten past ten and another margarita before I glanced at my watch and realized with a sickening jolt where I was supposed to be. While I scrambled to pay my bill, I apologized profusely and hastened out of there, but not before exchanging email addresses. Who knew, maybe next time I was in Ottawa …
Once outside, it took me a few minutes to get oriented. I’d forgotten exactly where I was and where I had to go. But the crisp, cold night air managed to clear my confusion, while a passerby set me in the direction of Cumberland and Murray, which turned out to be only a few blocks away. Hopefully, Monique would still be standing on her corner waiting for a client, and if she wasn’t, I would do as Paulette had suggested and wait until she returned.
A Green Place for Dying Page 12