A Green Place for Dying

by R. J. Harlick

  With Eric’s Jeep long since out of view, I reached the bridge into Ottawa in time to join the thick rush hour traffic. However, even though the pace was barely above a crawl, it did move, and within a short time I found myself searching for a parking spot close to the Black Orchid Spa. Fortunately, it was early for the ByWard Market’s evening action, so I easily found a place on the same block as the spa.

  Once again the elevator doors opened onto its sparkling white marble and glass lobby. Perched behind the glass counter on her chrome stool sat the same skinny, almost naked, receptionist under the stylized black orchid logo on the wall behind her. At the sight of me she wrinkled her nose, just as she’d done last time. Maybe Teht’aa should’ve come. This girl wouldn’t have wrinkled her nose at her.

  This time, however, I had much better luck in gaining access to the manager. A svelte yet big-breasted amazon was just breezing out of the elevator when I asked if I could speak with the manager. I knew when I saw the receptionist’s eyes flicker to this imposing woman sheathed, like the receptionist, all in white, that she was the person I sought, so I introduced myself and held out my hand.

  But rather than being cold and standoffish, as I had been led to expect, the woman was all apologies for not returning my call. Without hesitation she invited me into the inner sanctum. Though I was sorely tempted to stick out my tongue, I instead smiled broadly at the frowning receptionist as I floated through the glass doors.

  She led me into a spacious glass-walled office. It too followed the all-white motif with white leather furniture, including a desk with a glass tabletop, white broadloom, and of course the white orchids, except for one, which was such a dark purple, it was almost black. Clearly business was good.

  “Please, how can I help you?” She revealed a row of gleaming white teeth that had obviously been straightened, whitened, and polished to movie star effect.

  “As I said in my message, I am looking for a missing young native woman by the name of Fleur Lightbody. I believe she might have come here in search of a job.”

  She tucked herself into the white desk chair, elegantly arranging her legs beneath it, and motioning me to sit down on the sofa. I hesitated for fear of dirtying the soft, buttery white leather with my less than pristine jeans, but she insisted.

  “Yes, I remember her. Quite a pretty girl. She would’ve been an asset to my establishment, but I’d already hired a girl to fill the position.”

  “Can you remember when she came?”

  “I believe it was in early July. I don’t have the exact date, but I can look it up if you wish. I’ve already told all this to that man who came looking for her.”

  So Eric had been here too. “When did he come?”

  “Shortly after I sent her away. I was quite surprised when he asked about her. I hadn’t thought she was the type of girl who would associate with that sort of man.”

  “Sort? What do you mean by ‘that sort’?”

  “The kind who like it rough.”

  “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”

  “She was such a sweet thing, hardly the type to like the kind of brute that can be hard on women.”

  This was hardly a description one would ever give Eric. “Did he give you his name?”

  “No, but he looked as if he belonged to a motorcycle club. The Black Devils, I think. When I saw him, I was just as glad I hadn’t hired her. I can’t have my girls associating with men like that. It could harm the reputation of my establishment.”

  Was he the so-called boyfriend? “Did he give any indication as to his relationship with Fleur?”

  “I assumed he was her boyfriend. He thought she had gotten a job here and was surprised to find that

  she hadn’t.”

  I didn’t know how to interpret this. Had he really been her boyfriend, or was he checking her out as future merchandise? “Did anyone else come looking for the girl?”

  “Yes, a couple of weeks later, an Eric somebody. I think he said he was her band chief.”

  “Was this about mid-July?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Did you tell him about the biker?”

  “I can’t remember.” The woman paused. “Wait, I think I did.”

  This would’ve happened shortly before he disappeared. Had he gone in search of this Black Devil “boyfriend” and gone one step too far?

  “I remember now. He seemed quite upset when I mentioned the biker,” she said. “He asked me a number of questions about the man, but I couldn’t tell him anything more than I’ve already told you.”

  Thus far I felt the woman had been open and honest with me. I didn’t sense any underlying attempt to hide illicit activity. Nonetheless, I decided to show her the photos of the other missing women. “I am wondering if you have ever seen any of these women, either here at your spa or elsewhere in the Market. I’m helping the Anishinabeg Welcome Centre in trying to trace their last known steps, and the Market seems to be a common thread.”

  “The director must’ve sent you. Mary’s one of my oldest clients.”

  I mumbled something without committing myself one way or the other and placed the photos of all sixteen women on her desktop. I included Fleur’s to confirm she had actually met the girl.

  She picked out her photo right away. “Such a pretty girl. I hope you find her.”

  She was either a very good actress or indeed had nothing to do with the prostitution ring. She glossed over most of the photos but did home in on four of them. Two she thought had come to the spa as clients, and one, the woman who’d been missing for five years, she’d actually hired six years ago but had fired her for pouring scalding water over a client. The fourth woman she remembered seeing at a nearby native craft store. In fact, this woman had served her when she was buying a bear-claw necklace for her boyfriend. Unfortunately, this was Sandy, the woman whose body had just been found, but I kept it to myself.

  When we’d finished, she said, “You might want to check out Auntie’s Place. I see a lot of aboriginal women going there. I might even have seen some of these women. Several of their faces do look familiar, but I’m not sure from where.”

  No one had mentioned this place. “Is it a cafe?”

  “I believe it’s a drop-in centre, a place for aboriginals living in Ottawa to hang out.” She raised herself from her desk and began to walk towards the door. “I’m afraid I have an appointment. I hope I’ve been of some help to you.”

  “You have. Thanks for your time.” I followed her out the door. “Do you know if this Auntie’s Place is it associated with the Anishinabeg Welcome Centre?”

  “I don’t know. I believe a local minister runs it. An article appeared in the paper not long ago and mentioned that he started this drop-in centre to serve as a gathering place for natives who were having a difficult time dealing with urban living. I believe they also have a job placement program.”

  “Where is it?”

  “A few doors down the street from me.”

  As she escorted me to the reception area, she said, “I remember seeing Fleur coming out of it not long after she came to see me.”

  As the elevator doors started to close between us, she added, “In fact, I believe I mentioned this to Eric when he asked me about other places in the Market that Fleur might’ve approached about a job.”

  Chapter

  Forty—Three

  With an hour to spare before I had to meet Teht’aa, I felt I had enough time to check out the drop-in centre. Auntie’s Place was three doors down from the entrance to the spa. Even if I hadn’t known it was a gathering place for aboriginals, I would’ve recognized it by the symbol above the name. The sign outside the Migiskan Recreation Centre used these same concentric circles with radiating straight lines to designate it as a meeting place for the community’s teenagers.

  I pushed my way through a group of smokers congregated at the entrance and headed up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. The stairwell’s scuffed walls and worn steps fore
shadowed the equally downtrodden room at the top. If it hadn’t been for the vibrantly coloured native art on the dull grey walls, the dreary atmosphere of the room would’ve been enough to turn anyone’s optimistic hopes into gloomy dejection. Several people lounged on mismatched chairs and sagging sofas that were haphazardly arranged along the walls. Some flipped through magazines while others chatted amongst themselves. In the corner stood a coffee machine, a cooler containing cans of pop, and a large box of picked-over donuts. I noticed a billboard on a nearby wall crammed with various announcements, much like the one I’d seen at the Welcome Centre. I even recognized several of the ads, including the flashy one offering a chance-of-a-lifetime modeling opportunity for young aboriginal women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-six.

  Only a few people paid attention to me as I scanned the room for someone to speak to. Finally a young woman with an acne-scarred face and greasy hair pointed to an open door at the beginning of a hallway.

  You could imagine my surprise when I encountered Doris, the receptionist from the Welcome Centre, her dreamcatcher earrings fluttering, sitting at a desk sorting mail. She was equally startled to see me, and I thought, none too happy.

  “Is this place connected to the Welcome Centre?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m a volunteer. What are you doing here?” Gone was the friendly smile with which she’d greeted me at the Centre. With the muddy sallowness of her complexion and her limp, straggly hair, she appeared even plainer under the harsh office light than I remembered from the Welcome Centre.

  “I’d like to speak with the minister that runs this place.”

  “No can do. He’s not here.” She stared back at me as if challenging me to accuse her of lying.

  “Then I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge tonight.”

  “If it’s about that girl, Fleur, I can tell you she never came here.”

  “That’s not what I heard. I have a witness who saw her coming out of here.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d just as soon not say.”

  Although Doris was the only one in this room, I could hear voices coming from another room at the end of the hall, along with a faint smell of burning sweetgrass. I headed towards it.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there,” Doris shouted from behind me.

  I ignored her and walked through the open doorway only to realize that I’d interrupted a ceremony. A number of people were sitting cross-legged on the floor in a circle. All stared back at me.

  Before I had a chance to excuse myself, a man sitting at the far end spoke up. “Please, you are very welcome to join us. Janice here was just telling us about her sister. Perhaps you have a story you can share.” In front of him rested a smudge bowl. The spiralling smoke tickled my nostrils.

  This sounded more like a counselling session than a ceremony.

  “No, I’m good.” Despite his casual hippie demeanour, he had an air of authority. “I’m wondering if I could speak to you when you’re finished.”

  “I’d be happy to. We’ll be taking a break shortly. You can wait for me out front.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  On my way back to the front, I noticed the sign for the ladies washroom, so I decided to take advantage of it. Settling into one of the cubicles, I could hear murmuring coming from the cubicle next to me. Although the woman was speaking in a very low voice, I easily recognized Doris’s droning tone. It sounded as if she was talking on her phone. I placed my ear against the metal wall.

  “I tell you she’s here,” she whispered.

  Three guesses who she was, and the first two didn’t count.

  “I don’t know if she suspects anything, but I can’t keep the girl any longer. We’ve gotta move her tonight.”

  A long pause while the other person spoke. I rustled the toilet paper to convince her I wasn’t eavesdropping.

  “And she knows that Eric guy. I tell you I’m getting scared. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  I’d heard enough. I had to get out of there before she discovered me. I flushed the toilet and fled the washroom, not daring to look back in case she was behind me. I didn’t know what to do, whether to wait in the front area as if nothing had happened or to leave. But one thing I knew for sure, I had to find out who was on the other end of Doris’s phone call. And I had to find out if “the girl” was Fleur. The only way was to follow the woman. Deciding it was probably best for her to think I’d left, I headed back out to the street.

  I did notice on my way out that the flashy ad seeking aboriginal models no longer hung on the bulletin board. I almost stopped in mid-step with the sudden realization that this ad could’ve been the method used to lure the missing women. Few young, pretty, and unemployed women would be able to resist such an alluring opportunity.

  “Did you see who removed an ad looking for models?” I asked a young man sitting next to the board.

  “I don’t know what it was, but the lady who works here took something down.”

  It had to be Doris. And its hasty removal had to mean I was getting close. If only I’d paid attention to the contact information.

  Fortunately, my truck was parked with a good view of the entrance. But first, I had to let Teht’aa know what was happening in case I missed our six o’clock meeting time. I found a payphone in a fast food restaurant around the corner and called her cell phone, which I’d insisted she bring with her. The line was busy, so I left a detailed message telling her my plans. I thought of asking her to join me, but I worried that Teht’aa’s arrival might coincide with Doris’s departure and alert her to our presence. I did, however, finish the message with a suggestion that she call the police if she didn’t hear from me by nine. I figured I couldn’t be too careful.

  Within fifteen minutes of my setting up watch, Doris scurried out the front door and hastened along the street in the opposite direction. Fortunately, she didn’t give my truck a second glance. I’d started to manoeuvre my truck out of the parking spot when I noticed that she’d stopped at the bus stop in the next block.

  I waited for the bus to arrive and when satisfied she had gotten on, I slowly followed behind, keeping at least a couple of cars between us. I was terrified I would miss seeing her leave the bus, but when she did, I recognized her immediately by her bustling gait and fluttering earrings. She was obviously in a hurry. She transferred to another bus. Occasionally, when it stopped for passengers, I was forced to pass. A little further along I would stop at the side of the road until it overtook me then continue my pursuit.

  After about twenty minutes the bus turned into the labyrinth of Vanier, not far from the Welcome Centre. I followed it through every twist and turn of the haphazardly placed residential streets until Doris finally stepped out onto the sidewalk. I slowed to a stop. I ducked when I saw her walking down the street towards me and sighed with relief when I saw her walk on without any hesitation in her step. She turned at the next corner.

  I quickly did a U-turn and turned down the road in time to see her tramp up the concrete stairs of a brick triplex, its faded vinyl awnings in drastic need of repair. I turned onto the next street and parked out of sight. Fortunately, the corner house had a nice thick two-metre-high cedar hedge. I positioned myself behind it with a good view of her front yard, and waited.

  Five minutes later, the front door opened and Doris stuck her head out. She glanced up and down the street before stepping outside with another woman. Although this woman’s face was not the least familiar to me, I realized she fit the profile, pretty with a luxurious fall of black hair and pouting lips, in her early twenties and native. Half supporting her, Doris dragged her down the stairs toward a tiny red Focus. She continued to prop up the young woman as they walked to the car. When the girl turned a dreamy smile in my direction, I realized she was drugged.

  I hoped to god this wasn’t how Fleur had been treated.

  If I’d had a cell phone, I would’ve called the police. Instead I did the next best thing; I followed
the red car. Doris was delivering this young woman to someone. Chances were this person would be more important to the police than Doris, for they could be a direct link to those responsible for the trafficking, if not the ringleader themselves.

  Chapter

  Forty—Four

  I was surprised to discover that Doris was the traitor at the Welcome Centre. My suspicions had focused on Paulette, not only because of the photo of the fishing camp in her office, but also because she seemed to be doing her best to remain out of sight just as things were heating up. Nonetheless, I wondered what would prompt a woman like Doris, who appeared to be well-liked at the Centre, to betray her own people.

  I had little difficulty following her tiny red car, easily recognized by the stylized medicine wheel in the back window and damage to the back bumper. I tried to keep at least two vehicles behind her, which was easy to do as long as she remained on the busier streets.

  This she did for the first several kilometres as I followed her onto the main road, where she turned west into the vermillion of a setting sun and headed across the Rideau River in the direction of the ByWard Market. Remembering the significance the Market had played in Eric’s analysis, I began to suspect this was her destination until she turned right onto the road that I’d travelled on less than two hours ago and drove across the now infamous bridge into Quebec.

  I wondered if Doris dared glance at the water far below to where her colleague had fallen to her death. Had she had a hand in her murder? Perhaps Claire had started to suspect Doris’s involvement in the disappearance of the Centre’s clients. Perhaps in one drunken moment, the woman had said too much, giving Doris little choice but to kill her?

  And yet I couldn’t envision Doris a killer. Perhaps she’d mentioned her suspicions to others involved in the trafficking, and they’d made the decision to kill Claire. I wondered with a vague sense of disquiet if it was the person Doris was leading me towards, the one who would be taking possession of the drugged girl.