She smiled.
“We’ll just pray to the Lord that’s what happened this time. There she will be, back again. You can’t know the reason for someone like her.”
“You’ll watch out for her, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“May I leave my number with you?”
“Yes, give it to me, and I’ll put it somewhere safe.”
I thanked her and left the library, feeling better than I had in days. It was nice to meet Esmé, and to know she was around for the Maggies of the world. I checked my watch. I’d have to hustle to get Andy his lunch.
Chapter 22
I found Andy in the lounge by the elevator, drinking coffee with Jim. I stuck my head around the door and held up my bag full of contraband.
“Pssst! I have zee parcel,” I said. “What is zee password?”
“The password is give me the damn food.”
“I sink perhaps you are not zee person for whom zee parcel is intended.”
“The password, damn, what’s the password?”
He looked to his partner for assistance. Jim shrugged.
“Perhaps something about the beauty of the bearer,” he suggested, gallantly.
“There are emeralds in the eyes of my beloved,” Andy tried.
“Close enough,” I said. “Do you want to picnic here?”
“Too public. Let’s go back to my room,” he said, getting to his feet. He grabbed the handle of his pump and whistled. “Here, Rover, that’s a good boy.”
“I’ll be getting along,” Jim said.
“Don’t,” I said. “I’ve got plenty of food.”
The three of us went back and settled in. I pulled a chair over from the other half of the room, which was empty.
“Your roommate gone already?”
“Checked out this morning, lucky bugger.”
“You’re almost there,” I said.
I opened the bag and spread out the food on a newspaper at the foot of the bed.
“Here we go: two falafels, extra hot sauce. Two barbecue pork buns, two curry beef, and a couple of fried yam thingies. I also have a beverage and some cleverly concealing plastic cups.”
I closed the door and pulled three beers out of my purse.
“I had a hunch you might be here, Jim.”
The three of us chose our favourites and dug in, Andy making little moans of enjoyment. Fifteen minutes later, there was nothing left but grease spots and belches.
“See the paper today?” Andy asked.
“I skimmed it.”
“Did you get to the occupying armies part?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, that’s going to help a whole lot on the streets, isn’t it,” Jim said.
“I don’t think he was saying that that’s what the police are,” I said. “I think he was just explaining that that’s how people think of them in some neighbourhoods. You can’t kill the messenger.”
“Whether he’s right or not, he’s got to be world-class stupid to say something like that,” Andy said.
“I guess your chief set him straight,” I said.
“Don’t get us going on the chief,” Andy said. “He’s as stupid as the other guy.”
“And he’s just making it worse for the guys who count, the guys on the front line in those neighbourhoods,” Jim said.
“Ah, by the time you and I get back to work, it will be cooled out again.” Andy said.
“Do you want to hear my news?” I asked.
“I doubt if we can avoid it.” Andy said.
I quickly filled in Jim on Maggie’s disappearance.
“Then yesterday, I didn’t have a chance to tell you, Andy, because you were so obnoxiously bad-tempered and self-absorbed, I went to see Moira Bell at the drop-in centre.”
“I know Moira Bell.” Jim said.
“We both met her about five years ago,” Andy said, pointedly.
“Right. The case with the vagrant.” Jim said, too quickly.
“Guy solidarity’s so cute.” I said. “Anyway, the point here is that she suggested some places I could look for Maggie on my own, since the cops won’t help. Do you know two guys named Martineau and Brewer?”
Negative head shakes all around.
“They are living, breathing examples of why you guys get called pigs. Aside from flinging around gratuitous insults to women, children, and blacks, they refused to take anything we said seriously.”
“What did Moira say?” Andy interrupted. “Does she think something might have happened?”
“Actually, no,” I admitted. “She thinks Maggie probably just moved on. But I think it had to do with the guy in the laneway. The guy in the suit. I think he scared her away.”
“What guy in the suit?” Andy asked. “He’s new.”
“I’m trying to tell you. Yesterday, T.C. and Anthony talked to a woman from the next block over whose house backs on the lane. She saw a man in a suit arguing with Maggie just before she disappeared.”
“And who do you and your young friends think this mysterious man in the suit might be?” Andy said, with unnecessary sarcasm. “Is there a working hypothesis you’d care to share with us?”
“For a start, it could have been one of those anti-abortion creeps who have been hanging around.”
Andy looked dubious.
“Well, the blood found around her chair was probably thrown there by them, since she lives behind Dr. Sachs’s house. Or he could be some perverted killer. It could be her husband, even, although the lady said he was young. Except she’s older, so she might see a middle-aged man as young, if you get what I mean.”
“Why should you start making sense now?” Andy said. I pulled his ankle hair.
“Ow! Stop harassing me. I’m an injured person.”
“So am I,” I said. “You’re injuring my feelings.”
“There’s not much to go on, Kate, seriously.” Jim said. “With all respect.”
“Thanks for the respect, anyway.”
“There’s no sign she was abducted.” he continued. “She probably just moved on, like Moira said.”
“The boys went through her stuff and found old family pictures. She would never have left those behind willingly. And, the old lady also saw a man she called ‘rough-looking’ who was bugging Maggie.”
“So? Maybe she split because he hassled her.” Jim said. “There are innocent explanations, too, you know.”
“But it’s frustrating because nobody seems to care about her because she’s a homeless woman, a bag lady. I don’t think that’s fair.”
“No, it’s not that nobody cares because she’s a bag lady,” Andy said. “It’s just that we know from experience that people like Maggie don’t necessarily stay put. As for the guy in the alley, he could have been anyone. Until you can produce some evidence of violence, the police have a lot more pressing matters on their books. That’s all, honey. You just have to calm down.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “It’s just that . . .”
“How about a game of crib?” Andy said quickly.
“What, three-hand?” Jim said. “Sure.”
“Make it two-hand,” I said. “I’m going to go grab a smoke before I go nuts. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
I grabbed my bag and went down to the main floor to stand outside like a felon with the others, a surprising number of them wearing medical uniforms. I averted my eyes from the patients puffing away in their wheelchairs, intravenous bags suspended from poles. Are they out of their minds? Who am I to talk?
Cravings erased, I butted out before I was halfway done. I got back to Andy’s room and found them so engrossed in their game that they barely looked up.
I sat in a chair by the window and watched for a while, but crib doesn’t make it as a spectator
sport.
I dug the NOW magazine out of my bag and flipped through it. I skimmed the news briefs and municipal news in front, skipped the sports column, and headed towards the reviews that make up the bulk of the tabloid. As usual, I was baffled by the music ads, which made me feel ancient, although I was quite taken by some of the band names. The Pardon Beggars seemed a particularly Canadian group.
I checked out the movie and restaurant reviews: Thai was in, then out, now seems to be in again. Who can keep up? Who cares?
The boys were making it best two out of three, so I kept on flipping, back to the classifieds that give the paper its unique and hip flavour.
I skipped the lovelorn notices and SWFS who like romantic walks in the rain and got right down to the business personals—the “filth” the Greek waitress had been on about.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Here’s something you might like. Here’s a ‘gigantic breasted 52DDDD dominant goddess’ who seeks slave to lick her boots and suck her heels.’ How’s about it?”
“Sorry, we’re busy right now,” Andy said.
“No, I guess you’re not really submissive types. What about Niki and Casey, then? They’re ‘Rich sorority girls 18+’ who want to be your sex slaves. ‘Spank me, sir!’ That’s what they say, right here. Well, some of what they say.”
“Got any offering to play cribbage in the nude?” Jim asked.
“No, but there are ‘2 Hot Big-Titted Sisters’ who want to dust your house or office topless.”
“Bet they don’t do windows,” he said.
“For the right price, I expect, they’ll do most anything,” I said. “Oh, look. Here’s an ad for Toronto’s raunchiest gay connector service, with the motto ‘No Holes Barred.’ Do you vote for that, or ‘Up the Ass with a Touch of Class’?”
“I vote for you shutting up,” Andy said, “Fifteen two, four, six, and a double run of four makes sixteen. You’re toast.”
Just for that, I wouldn’t tell them about “My butt is like a muffin, it needs to be buttered and jammed.”
I finally got tired of the tawdry and flipped back a few pages. There was an ad in the announcements section, from a woman with a good eye for a marketing niche: “Haven’t Come Out Yet? Family Wedding or Corporate Function coming up? Stunning, Sophisticated, Attentive blonde female will make YOU look good.”
Admiring her initiative, I read the next ad: “REWARD: $5,000 for information about the location of Mary Alice Gabel Carlson, born 1938 in Wawanesa, Manitoba. Call AdWatch 5777.”
Great name, Wawanesa, Manitoba. I had a classmate at university from Wawanesa. Dirk Lingenfelter. I looked at the ad again. Mary Alice Gabel Carlson. Mary Alice Gabel. M. A. G. Mag. Maggie.
Chapter 23
I jumped up and walked across the room, waving the paper.
“Here, look at this. Now you’ll believe me.”
Andy looked up from the cards he was shuffling.
“Kate, you’re really getting on my nerves.”
I read him the ad.
“Mary Alice Gabel Carlson has got to be Maggie. She made up her phony name based on her initials. The age is right, and she told me she was from the prairies. This is why she ran away.”
“So? Even if you’re right, what does this tell you?” Andy asked. “Someone’s looking for her. Someone other than you. So what? Maybe that person found her and she left town with him or her. Of her own accord.”
“I know for a fact that Maggie read NOW, because the woman at the greasy spoon told me. That’s what got her scared. She was talking strangely the other day about people wanting to make her go back. Then the guy with the suit showed up, and no one has seen her since. It must be connected.”
Andy and Jim kept slapping down their cards and moving their pegs.
“Could be.” Jim said. “But there’s not much you can do about it, is there?”
“I could find out who placed the ad. I can call this number and say I have information.”
“Here she goes again.” Andy said.
“Right. Here I go. And I’m gone,” I said. “I’m meeting T.C. and Anthony at four.”
“More sleuthing?” Andy asked, sarcastically.
I kissed him and headed for the door.
“I’ll come back later, maybe in time to watch you eat your peach Jell-O.”
I ransomed the car from the lot, then realized I had time to stop off at the Planet on my way home. I could check in and pick up my mail and messages. I slid back the rag top and headed south.
When I got there, I stopped by the desk of Margaret Papadakis, queen of the front page. Not my favourite person on the paper. Then, I’m not one of hers, either. The mutual animosity went back to some moves she’d tried to put on Andy when we were first together. And she had some serious attitude problems. But she had also something I needed.
“You did a piece on God’s Law a while ago, didn’t you?”
“The pro-lifers, yeah. I hate that term. Does that mean that I’m anti-life? I don’t think so.”
“Well, they’re hanging around my neighbourhood now. I live down the block from Janet Sachs.”
“Oh,” she said cattily, “got a case of the nimbies?”
“Huh?”
“Not In My Back Yard.”
I ignored the crack.
“What I’m wondering is if the group has ever been suspected of any violence.”
“Nothing I could ever print, but a lot of people think that Reverend Ken was behind the bombing of the Morgan Clinic last year. And one of his followers was charged with abduction after he, in his words, ‘rescued’ his girlfriend from the office of another abortionist. The Crown had to drop the charges when she refused to testify.”
“I remember that. She had the baby, didn’t she? And married her abductor.”
“Those God’s Laws guys get what they want.” she said.
“Thanks for the info.”
“Always glad to help the toy department,” she said.
Bitch. I went back to the corner where we jock writers hang out, separated from the self-important front section reporters by the entertainment writers, the weirdest bunch in the paper. They are constantly having screaming rows with each other, especially the drama critic and the lead columnist. Entertainment indeed.
I said hello to Jeff, who gave me a hug, and poked my nose into Jake Watson’s office.
“Are you back at work?” he asked.
“Just picking up some stuff. Andy gets out of the hospital tomorrow, so I’ll keep working at home for now. I’m in touch with New York, though, and with the Titan players and front office.”
“That’s fine. If you could manage something for Sunday I’d appreciate it.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Tell Andy to take it easy.”
“Fat chance of that.”
I checked the clock. I just had time to call NOW and check on the ad. The number listed put me in touch with the classified message machine. I punched in the appropriate code.
“Thank you for calling,” the message began. The voice was male, the accent flat, the age not readily apparent, but neither very old nor very young. “And thank you for helping reunite Mary Alice and her family. If you have information for us, please leave your name and a telephone number where you can be reached after the tone. Someone will call you back as soon as possible.”
I left my name and number, then re-dialled and listened to the recording, while flipping through my phone messages. Nothing urgent. Nick Matas had called. I looked across the newsroom but couldn’t see him at his desk.
I stuffed the messages and my mail in my bag.
“You’re off so soon?” Jeff said.
“Yeah, I’m meeting someone.”
“On the strike?”
“No. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
>
“Not a peep. I think these guys are just going to write off the season.”
“No way. Cancel the World Series? Forget it. It’s the Fall Classic. That’s when they make all their money.”
“I’ll bet you lunch you’re wrong,” Jeff said.
“You’re on.” I checked my watch. “Got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
I took the back stairs to the parking lot. I was running late, and I didn’t want the boys to start without me.
I saw the cruisers as soon as I turned off Broadview onto my street. The first one I saw was parked in front of my house. There were people on my porch. I went down to the laneway and found a second cruiser there, and a uniformed constable who waved me off. I did a U-turn and parked across the street. I got out of the car and locked it. Another constable came along with a roll of yellow crime-scene tape in his hand.
I crossed the street to my house. As I got closer, I recognized the people on the porch: Sally, with T.C., Anthony, Trevor, and Steve. There were also a couple of girls, one of them in tears. Some of our neighbours were out on their porches, watching the show. I ran up the walk.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is it Maggie?”
Sally started to answer, but was interrupted by the policeman, whom I now recognized as Constable Brewer, one of the cops who had refused to take our fears seriously on Wednesday.
“It looks like your young friends have found themselves the trouble they were looking for,” he said.
Chapter 24
I looked from one stricken face to another.
“Maybe we should go inside,” I said.
I pushed past Brewer and went through the door. The group followed me up the stairs.
We settled in the living room, including Brewer, who sat four-square and stolid, both feet on the ground and his hat still on his head. I asked him to tell me the story.
“An apparent murder victim has been found,” he said.
“Maggie?”
“The victim was a white middle-aged male.”
Striking Out Page 10