by Joan Boswell
“Let’s go to Spring Garden for Thai food. Bit of a hike but a walk will do us good.”
Rhona shrugged on her black trench coat and joined Ian. Outside a fine drizzle and a lowered temperature compelled them to turn their collars up and trot briskly along College Street before turning onto Dundas Street and entering a restaurant that hummed with the buzz of a hundred conversations. Usually a line-up snaked away from the entrance, but not at this late hour. The hostess led them to a table and their server appeared almost immediately. Rhona decided against a drink. She’d wait until she got home for her vodka martini.
After they ordered soup, hot and sour for Ian, coconut chicken with lemon grass for Rhona, they chose three mains — one with shrimp, one with chicken, and one vegetarian, along with two helpings of rice.
Rhona wanted to talk. Always curious about Ian and his life, she longed to lob questions at him. He didn’t open the conversation. Instead he sagged back on his chair and stared off into space. She followed his lead, settled back, and didn’t speak while they waited for the food to arrive.
Rhona adored Thai soups. When she chose to cook, her repertoire included them. At the same time she usually whipped up bannock, Scottish oatcakes, or cornbread to accompany the soup. She called it her international cuisine.
They spooned up the fragrant broth.
“Where did you first have Thai food?” Rhona asked.
“In Thailand,” Ian said without elaborating.
“Me too. Did you love Thailand?”
Ian looked at her. “I hope this isn’t going to be another one of your inquisitions.”
“My god, it’s small talk. Do you want us to sit here and say nothing?”
Ian put his spoon down and blotted his lips with the paper napkin. “That would be okay.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be okay with me. Conversation is part of civilized eating. Not bolting and running. If you don’t like my topic, you introduce one.”
“You seem pretty touchy today. I guess I’d better not ask about …” He raised an eyebrow.
“No. You better not,” Rhona muttered.
EIGHTEEN
When Hollis took the dogs outside on the lawn, she increased her vigilance while waiting for the dogs to do what they had to. She felt like the Secret Service men around the U.S. president. Their eyes darted everywhere and they focused on everything going on around them. She did the same but also took time to ask herself questions.
What had the Children’s Aid hidden from her? What did they know about Calum Brownelly that they hadn’t told her? If danger threatened Jay, the CAS should have forbidden her father’s visits. But maybe they didn’t know. They’d told Hollis that they’d taken Jay into care as a toddler without explaining the background. Why hadn’t Hollis asked? Perhaps the fault was hers?
Why did they take children? What had she read? That the law charged parents or guardians with not providing the necessities of life, of endangering a child’s welfare. The cases mostly related to neglect, to drug-addicted parents who didn’t look after their children. Time to go online and see what other causes she could find. Tomorrow morning she’d phone the case worker and persuade her to reveal why they’d removed Jay from her father’s care. She’d assumed Jay’s mother had died, but assumptions could be wrong. Time to inquire. She couldn’t believe the CAS had lied, but omission could be as big a sin as commission.
First, she’d phone Brownelly and tell him they weren’t coming to the Eaton Centre. That done, she’d inform Jay that the Eaton Centre meeting was cancelled. Whatever course she chose she could only claim that a friend had warned her they might be in danger. When her mother had used the line, “just because I said so,” Hollis hated it, but it might be her only option.
Back in her apartment she found the girls getting ready for bed.
“I have to make a phone call. I’ll join you in a minute,” she said.
In her bedroom with the door shut, she pulled her BlackBerry out of her handbag, and tapped in Brownelly’s number. She’d couldn’t bring Norman into the equation, so she’d cite Rhona.
“A police officer I know told me that Jay and I will be in danger if I take her to meet you at the Eaton Centre,” she said.
“A police officer? You have to be kidding.” Brownelly’s voice registered his amazement.
“Yes. She didn’t spell out the reason. She’s worried about my connection to you. When she said you were in danger and not to take Jay to meet you, I believed her. What I want to know is why the CAS allows Jay to see you.”
“Because she’s my daughter.”
“Is the officer right? Are you in danger?”
“Listen, smartass, I wouldn’t risk my daughter’s safety, but she’s been meeting me for years and nothing’s happened.”
“Maybe, but my friend says that the situation has changed. From now on, if you want to see her it has to be at the CAS offices.”
“Jesus, she’s my daughter. I could take her with me any time I wanted.”
“I don’t think so. If you plan to do that, deal with the CAS,” Hollis said, hoping forcing this confrontation had been the right thing to do.
“You’ll hear from me,” Brownelly growled.
Hollis took a moment to collect herself before she went to see the girls.
“Jay, come into my bedroom. We have to talk.”
The child looked from Hollis to Crystal and back. “Talk away. Crystal knows all about our life.” Her hands on her hips, her head back, her eyes said I dare you.
A challenge.
Jay’s sensitivity to Hollis’s moods initially had unnerved her, but now she believed that a child desperate to continue to live with a foster parent developed an accurate barometer for reading moods. In this instance Jay sensed Hollis’s reluctance to deal with an issue. Crystal’s presence would provide moral support and might prevent Hollis from taking a hard line. Smart child.
“No. I want to talk to you, not to you and Crystal.”
Hollis smiled at Crystal, who had troubles enough of her own without finding herself in the middle of a squabble between Jay and Hollis. “Crystal, finish up in the bathroom. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Crystal didn’t wait for a second invitation. She bolted from the room, leaving Hollis and Jay face to face.
Hollis pivoted, headed down the hall to her bedroom, and held the door ajar to allow Jay to follow before she shut it.
“You aren’t going to like what I have to say.”
Jay flopped on the bed. “So. Say it.”
“We are not meeting your father at the Eaton Centre tomorrow.”
“What?” Jay bounced off the bed and grabbed Hollis’s arms. “What do you mean? You promised. My dad will be waiting for us.”
“I called your dad and told him.”
“What did he say? He wanted to see me. I bet he was really, really mad.” She released Hollis’s arms, straightened with her arms at her sides, and her mouth set in a straight line. “My dad will make you really, really sorry you did this.”
“What do you mean?”
Jay maintained her stance. “He can be really scary. I’ve seen him when he’s like that and you better watch out.” She crossed her arms over her chest, lowered her chin, and dropped her voice. “Mrs. Cooper tried that once, and my dad made sure she never did it again.”
My god, what was she dealing with? Who was Brownelly that even his daughter knew he could intimidate and enforce?
The set-to with Jay upset Hollis. She felt it might indicate that she was failing to give Jay the security she needed. She wanted to be sympathetic, to recognize the effect that losing Mrs. Cooper must have had on the child. Most of all she wanted Jay to be happy about coming to live with her. Reneging on the agreement to go to the Eaton Centre certainly hadn’t helped establish a rapport between them.
What had Brownelly done to Mrs. Cooper when she crossed him? Why hadn’t she reported him to the CAS? But maybe he hadn’t done anything. Who knew if Jay’s angry
threats were true? Children frequently accepted their parents’ omnipotence. Hollis guessed that it was vital for Jay to believe that whatever her father did was so important that he’d had no choice but to leave her in foster care.
Meditation usually calmed Hollis down and helped put her life in perspective. In her bedroom, crowded though it was, she’d designated one corner for the purpose. Here, a floor cushion and small statue of Buddha provided the framework for meditation. She sank to the floor, thinking that crossing her legs in the lotus position might soon be impossible if she didn’t get back to Pilates and running. Because of her busy life she’d neglected both. She centred herself, focused on the air coming in and out of her lungs, and worked to clear her mind. Twenty minutes later she rose and acknowledged that it had worked once again.
Breaking Mary’s black book code seemed a manageable task. She checked on the girls, who lay in bed talking in low voices. Jay refused to look at her.
“Girls, I’m working in the office. The monitor is on and I’ll leave the office and apartment door open and the dogs on guard. If you need me give a shout.”
She bent across Jay, who slept in the first bed, and kissed Crystal. She then brushed her lips against Jay’s cheek, ignoring the fact that Jay did not reach up for a hug or return the kiss.
“Turn out the light in ten minutes and sleep well,” she instructed, walking to the door.
Fastening the gate in the apartment’s doorway, she crossed to her office, pulled a pad of paper from her desk drawer, and opened the diary. She paused for a moment to watch the security monitors as tenants and visitors came and went.
Facing away from the distraction of the cameras, she unfolded the downloads she’d printed from Google and tucked into the diary. Taking a copy of the alphabet and moving a second copy any number of letters to the right so that “a” became “c” or another letter for purposes of the code was one way to do it. Another was to reverse the alphabet’s order and make “z” correspond to “a.” Before she tried any options, she examined the entries looking for vowels, the letters that occurred most frequently.
The first entry began, zdurolkhjdfglxjdoomxov09qhuhhq.
A month might precede 09, but which one? She tried various combinations before she reached July. If m was j, x was u, o was l, and v was y, would it work? She printed the alphabet and then overlaid those letters above their regular counterparts.
Eureka. Mary started with x, y, and z then moved all the letters three steps to the right. Hollis printed a copy of the first page. Then she used the guide to decipher the notations.
Caroline MacDougall July 09 three weeks could not kick the habit pimp intervened Caroline back to the street. Pimp intervened. Innocuous words that spelled trouble. A good reason to keep her activities secret, to protect Crystal from knowing what she did or the identity of the women.
Sheanna Robinson August 09 started methadone on for one month back to North Bay registered in the preparatory studies program to upgrade, connected with their aboriginal learning program
Page after page of women’s names and details of their attempts to leave the street and the life of drugs. Not a high success rate. One or two woman at a time, year after year.
Why had she fled? Had the caller Bridget mentioned been an angry pimp looking to drag Alicia or Veronica back to the street?
Hollis moved to the last entry looking for the reason, but found no mention of either Alicia or Veronica. Of course. Mary only made her comments after her clients finished.
When she left, had she taken Veronica, with her hooker’s clothes, and Alicia Meness, the woman well on her way to methadone salvation, with her? After she heard from Norman she’d turn this information over to Rhona.
“Working late?”
Hollis looked up to see Barney Cartwright, the man from the sixth floor whose cold gaze made her feel as if she was an insect to be crushed if she interfered in any way with his life. He had never threatened, but nevertheless he frightened her and to have him blocking the doorway scared her. Where were her dogs when she needed them?
Unless well-trained as watch dogs, most canines retire for their beauty rest at nine, and her dogs, both retrievers, a breed noted for its laissez-faire approach to life, did exactly that. She glanced at the gated doorway to her apartment, but they hadn’t chosen to nap there. Instead she knew they’d both be curled up on their beds, legs twitching as they dreamed of exciting chases through the woods.
“What can I do for you?” Hollis said, working to keep her voice level and businesslike.
He stepped into the room “That looks like code. Now why would a woman like you be doing something like that?” he said.
Hollis flipped the sheet over. “Nothing to do with you,” she said.
“You might be surprised. I have many interests, some of which may relate to you,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
Hollis looked around for a weapon, but only a heavy three-hole punch tucked away in her desk drawer filled the bill. She couldn’t imagine he’d give her time to open the drawer, grab it, and whack him.
“What interests? Is there something in your apartment that needs attention?”
“I’m not talking about the apartment,” he said, narrowing his eyes and looming over her.
Hollis ran through other possibilities: Sabrina? Calum Brownelly? Norman? Events in her past life? “I have no clue what you mean,” she said and looked at her watch. “It’s late. Could we postpone this conversation until the morning?”
He moved directly in front of her desk.
She removed her hands from the top lest he notice the tremors.
The man bent forward, leaning his elbows on the desk with his face close enough for her to count the acne scars that pocked his face. His stained teeth resembled fangs and his yellow eyes indicated his liver’s unhappiness with the life he led. When he spoke, his foul breath made her gulp.
“You have no clue what I mean,” he said, repeating her words and spacing them out.
“No. I have no idea and I don’t like your attitude.”
He cracked his knuckles. “No idea. My, my, aren’t you the little innocent?”
Hollis lied badly and celebrated that on this occasion she truly had no idea what he meant and didn’t need to lie. “Act like a threatening bully all you like, but I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I wish you’d get out of my office,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and using her firmest voice.
Cartwright removed his elbows, straightened up, and reared back. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t lie well. I’m telling you the truth.”
He mimicked her action, crossed his meaty arms over his chest, and rocked back on his heels. “If I say motorcycles, will that jog your failing memory?”
Motorcycles. Where had they come from?
“I know nothing about motorcycles. I’ve never ridden one, never had the urge to own one, never known anyone who had one. Motorcycles mean nothing, nada, zero to me.”
He stared at her. “Nothing.”
“No. When I was a kid my mother took me to Bermuda where we rented a scooter. She drove badly, and right after we rented it and they showed her how to operate it, she loaded me on board and drove straight from their lot and over an embankment. We landed upside down with everyone nearby screaming and running to rescue us. Now you know my one and only experience.”
Cartwright’s eyes reflected his confusion.
Time to press her advantage. “Now what’s this all about? Why are you threatening me?” She pulled the phone toward her. “Maybe I should phone my friend, Detective Rhona Simpson. She’s interested in anything odd going on in the building that might relate to Sabrina’s murder.”
“Sabrina’s murder. What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Hollis said.
“I know and care fuck-all about the bitch’s murder.” He considered her with icy reptilian eyes.
Ho
llis shivered.
“Okay, okay, maybe I was wrong. But if you’re lying to me and I find out,” he smashed one fist into the open palm of the other, “you’ll be one sorry lady.”
After he was gone Hollis waited until she stopped shaking. She called Rhona’s cell and left a message.
“Barney Cartwright threatened me tonight and I thought you should know.”
NINETEEN
In the morning, Rhona’s fitful sleep, probably attributable to one too many vodka martinis, left her exhausted. The temptation to push the snooze button for another ten minutes was high, but she resisted, staggered out of bed, and yawned her way from task to task until she stood staring at the coffee machine, waiting for it to finish its work and provide her with a hit that would get her going.
Fortified with a dark blend made at maximum strength, she surveyed herself in the mirror beside the balcony door, where natural light revealed her true appearance. Her black pantsuit matched with red cowboy boots and a white shirt looked professional and bore no stains of culinary lapses. She taken care with her makeup and managed to direct the eyeliner to the edge of her lashes, not riding high on the lid as if trying to escape, and the carefully applied concealer hid the circles under her eyes. She’d tamed her unruly curly hair and forced it into a chignon pinned relentlessly in place. She’d do.
Opie swirled around her legs, agitating for a tasty breakfast, and guilt-ridden about her long absences, she gave in and shovelled an overly generous portion of his favourite food into his dish.
Seven o’clock and time to head for the shop, where she never managed to beat Ian to work. They needed a break in the case. A mounting fund of information and nothing to tie it to anyone. Maybe they’d locate Ginny’s ex-boyfriend, who had cause to seek revenge.
She loaded her travel mug with the strong brew. As usual she saw Ian working away when she walked into homicide. Before she could greet him or even park her bag in her desk drawer, Frank burst from his office. What had brought him in at this hour? He spoke directly to her.