Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  She fished out Stoneface’s card. It might not be as fast as 911, but at least she would not have to explain all over again and risk complete disbelief this time. She was caught at a red light with little time to get the whole story out.

  “This is Amanda Doucette, Officer St—” she checked herself and babbled on. “I got the location wrong. I thought Danielle Torres would go to Janine Saint Clair’s house, but she may have gone to another property of Janine’s on Mahoney Avenue in the west end. They have a dispute over that house.”

  “Ms. Doucette —” She could hear the doubt in his voice.

  “I’m not a flake, and I’m not trying to waste your time. Two people have already been murdered, and the killer has not been found. Things are unravelling fast, and I’m worried.”

  The light turned green, and cars behind her honked. She waited through a long silence before the officer said, “I’ll pass it on.”

  She thanked him and hung up. Pass it on when? she wondered. And with what kind of “crazy lady” caveat? She fed Siri the new address and told it to pick the fastest route, which unexpectedly took her through the heart of Forest Hill, perhaps even more staid and exclusive than Rosedale. She felt grim satisfaction at the racket of her lime-green motorcycle echoing off the stately stone mansions.

  Soon she nosed into the stream of cars inching along Eglinton Avenue and ducked in and out of lanes until she reached Weston Road. No sound of sirens. A short hop took her to Mahoney Avenue. Unlike Rosedale, the street was crowded with little houses pressing up against the street. The street had a scattering of modest cars but no police cruisers. However, among the aging Civics and Fords, as out of place as a panther among barn cats, was a white Lincoln Navigator.

  Amanda tucked her bike down the block behind it. The instant she took her helmet off, she heard shouting, indecipherable with rage. Shielded by the cars, she slipped up the street until she could see the house clearly. The door was open, and Danielle was standing on the front porch, wearing a man’s leather jacket that came down to her knees. She was carrying nothing, not even a purse, let alone a weapon, and her fists were clenched at her sides. She looked impossibly tiny.

  She was facing the open doorway, beyond which Amanda could make out a shadowy figure in the interior gloom. The screaming was coming from inside, and even pitched high enough to shatter glass, Amanda recognized Janine’s voice.

  “Did you think you could walk into my life and steal it all from me? Did you think you could have my husband, a new house, and a shitload of my money too?”

  “I don’t want your money,” Danielle shouted back, matching her pitch for pitch. “I didn’t want your husband! All I want is a little house in our new Canadian home. Your husband lend me the money for Fernando and me to move here.”

  “Oh! And what did you do to persuade him to do that?”

  “Nothing!”

  Janine’s voice dropped, quivering with contempt. “You just crooked your little finger and asked pretty please?”

  “I didn’t ask. He want to do it. I told him Fernando and I will pay him back every little bit.”

  “Really? And why would my husband want to do that?”

  Danielle’s reply was inaudible. Amanda took out her phone and crept along the neighbour’s hedge to get closer.

  “What the fuck did you say?” Janine roared.

  “He was a nice man!” Danielle retorted. “He talked to me. He knew I have a dream — our own home in Canada for me and my husband and our children.”

  “This dump?” Janine snorted. “Well, guess what, bitch. You’re not getting it! With all this shit Julio carelessly left around, this place will go up like a torch.”

  A flame flared in the darkness. Danielle shrieked and plunged through the doorway, arms flailing. All Amanda could see were shadows dancing in the darkened room. She rushed toward the porch, holding down the emergency button on her phone. Where the hell is Officer Fucking Stoneface?

  Abruptly, Danielle’s voice cut through the chaos, steely soft.

  “I know what happened. You killed Dr. B, the only nice person in your whole family. The only person who cares.”

  “About you?”

  “Yes, about me. And your children. You put drugs in his drink and you told me to give it to him. You thought you could make me pay.”

  “Of all the …! You think the police will believe that crap?”

  Amanda had one foot on the bottom step, ready to react if Janine struck another match. Danielle’s response stopped her short. “I don’t want the police. I want my little house. I won’t tell anybody what you did if you give me my house.”

  Another match flared, illuminating the two women squaring off in the living room. Janine circled, waving the flame in Danielle’s face to force her farther inside. When the nanny stood her ground, Janine barked an angry laugh. “Honey, you’re way out of your league. The police think it’s all you. And this house? You burned it down because I wouldn’t give it to you.” She raised her free hand and waved a small booklet in Danielle’s face. “Oh look, the police will even find your passport half charred in the rubble. Too bad you don’t know anything about setting fires. They kill so fast, often the arsonist doesn’t escape.”

  She lunged forward, thrusting the match into Danielle’s face, causing her to shriek in panic. Amanda burst through the doorway and shoved Janine aside as hard as she could. The startled woman tripped on loose cloths and went sprawling. The match flew from her hand, dying just as it hit a pile of rags in the corner. Flame smouldered, and Danielle rushed to put it out.

  “Don’t!” Amanda flung out her arm and caught Danielle’s wrist. She spun the tiny woman around like a top and sent her spinning back down the front steps. Janine was thrashing around on the floor, tangled in drop cloths and screaming with rage. In that instant, a can of solvent exploded in flames, flooding the room with an eerie orange glow.

  Amanda froze as memories crashed in. The stench of smoke, orange flames leaping, fleeing shadows on the wall, the howls of terrified villagers.…

  “What the fuck, bitch!” Janine screamed at her.

  Amanda blinked and saw Janine’s eyes locked on hers in disbelief, the drop cloths on fire around her. Through the searing heat and pain, she reached down to pull the woman free. A second later they were both out in the cool, soft air, coughing and sputtering. Danielle was standing on the lawn, watching as flames blew out the windows and raced up the siding to the roof. Tears gathered in her eyes and seeped down her cheeks.

  Amanda bent over, breathing deeply to beat back the dread of the past. Someone put a blanket over her shoulders. Time blurred until in the distance she heard the clamour of sirens. Within seconds the first responders flooded the scene, shouting orders and ushering her to an EMS van.

  When next she looked for Danielle, the tiny woman in the oversized jacket had melted away into the crowd.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was late afternoon by the time Amanda trudged up Matthew’s stairs and used her foot to kick at his apartment door. Her hands, swaddled in bandages, still throbbed, but it was the gruelling police interrogation at the hospital that had truly worn her down. They had grilled her on her 911 call and challenged every word she said about the fire. How far away did you say you were? How much traffic was there on the street? Did you at any time actually see Janine Saint Clair light a match?

  She lost her temper a couple of times, which didn’t help her case, and by the end she suspected they didn’t believe a word she’d said.

  Kaylee greeted her at the door with an ecstasy that brought a smile to her heart, however fleeting. She let Matthew fold her into his arms for a moment before pulling away and turning to his laptop.

  “Is there anything in the news yet?”

  He blocked her view. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Fuck,” she muttered, shouldering him aside and clicking on a news website. There it was. House in Weston Road area destroyed by fire, significant damage to adjoining proper
ty, the owner of the house, a wealthy Rosedale widow and prominent philanthropist, tried to put it out at great risk to herself, but it was too late. Arson suspected, police and fire marshal’s office investigating. Police are interested in talking to the former nanny, Danielle Torres.

  A headshot of Danielle filled the screen, followed by a juicy video clip of Janine standing on the front lawn against the backdrop of the smouldering house. Her hair was in disarray, her clothes torn and sooty, and her face smudged with black. Effective cinematography.

  “The house was being renovated by my late husband as a thank-you gift to our long-time nanny,” she said, “but when I realized she’d murdered my husband, I withdrew the gift. This —” she swept her hand over the devastation “— was her revenge.”

  “Double fuck,” Amanda repeated. “No wonder the cops don’t believe me.”

  “She didn’t waste any time,” Matthew said.

  “And I probably made it worse with my 911 call. I wanted them to take it seriously, so I implied Danielle was out for revenge.” She sank into a chair and stared at the screen blankly. The news had gone on to other topics. “Danielle doesn’t stand a chance. Where’s Kaitlyn?”

  Matthew nodded toward his closed bedroom door. “Asleep. Poor kid is done in.”

  “Thank you for —”

  The door opened, framing the girl in the doorway. She sagged with fatigue but her eyes sparked. “That bitch is a total fucking liar.”

  “Danielle?”

  Kaitlyn snorted. “No. My psycho mother.”

  Amanda hesitated in search of diplomatic words, but Matthew had no such qualms. “Very true. But she holds all the cards. Danielle is on the run, and she’s got not one but two murder charges hanging over her.”

  Kaitlyn crossed her arms and thrust out her chin. For the first time Amanda glimpsed the spirit that ran through the Saint Clair line. Her eyes narrowed. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “Danielle might have given Benson that drink, but Mother was in the kitchen when it was poured, and she ordered Danielle to take the tray to him. Practically shoved it at her. Gave her the evil eye and said, ‘Don’t screw up this time. This is eighteen-year-old Scotch.”’

  Amanda’s anger mixed with hope. “Did you see all this?”

  “No, Edith told me. It’s weird, because Mother never goes in the kitchen.”

  It was plausible. Amanda remembered her encounter with the fiercely territorial cook. “Do you think Edith will tell all this to the police?”

  “I don’t know.” Kaitlyn’s face fell. “Edith doesn’t like my mother, but she keeps her mouth shut. I know she wanted a cabin on the island for when she retired, so …” She shrugged and left the hint dangling. Janine wielded all the power, and there were not many willing to risk their future by standing up to her.

  “But to save Danielle?”

  Once again, Kaitlyn shrugged. “Like I said, if she pisses my mother off, what’s she got?”

  In the distance, a door slammed and footsteps thudded up the stairs. Even before the knock on the door, Kaylee’s tail began to wag.

  Matthew stepped up to let Chris in. The tall, gangly Mountie stooped as he entered what was by now a crowded room. But he seemed to see nothing but Amanda, and within two strides he wrapped her in his arms.

  She knew she must look a sight. Hands bandaged like boxing gloves, face singed red from the fire, hair and clothes smelling of smoke and paint thinner. But all her doubts evaporated at the gentleness of his touch.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he asked as he kissed her softly.

  She tilted her head up. “Just this.”

  He grinned before looking around and taking half a step away from her in embarrassment.

  “You heard?” she asked.

  “About the fire?”

  “Yes, and about it all being laid at Danielle’s feet.”

  “Yeah. I just came down from Incident Command in Parry Sound. The team up there is comparing notes with the lead arson guy here in Toronto. It’s a multipronged, multijurisdictional case, so it’s going to take a while. Plus Border Services have their oar in, because of Fernando.”

  “Where is Fernando?”

  “Still up in Parry Sound. When I left, he was being booked into a holding cell.”

  In spite of herself, Amanda flinched. “The poor man.”

  “I had to take him there, Amanda. He’s a wanted man. And now there’s this arson accusation against Danielle….”

  “But that has nothing to do with him.”

  “Even so, it’s part of the picture police are acting on right now. You forget, honey, I am the police.”

  “I know,” she grumbled, knowing he was right but hating it. Hating this commitment to duty that divided them.

  “What he should get,” Chris continued as if she hadn’t resisted, “is a good lawyer. I’m going to ask Tight-Ass Knotts for one more week’s personal leave so I can get him a good lawyer and testify at his show cause hearing when it comes up.”

  Amanda felt a surge of affection and shame. Silently, she squeezed his hand. He really was one of the good guys. And this meant one more week! Matthew had been very quiet, and she wondered whether he had witnessed the subtle shifts between them. “What about your friend?” she asked to distract him.

  Matthew shook his head. “Peter is property and estate law. But I can ask him to recommend a good criminal and immigration rights lawyer.”

  Chris nodded. “There’s not a lot of hard evidence to implicate Fernando in anything more than buying the wrong kind of visa.”

  “What about Ronny’s death?”

  “I actually think he’s innocent. Fernando told me Ronny fell during an altercation and hit his head, which is consistent with the autopsy findings. It was Danielle who told him Ronny was dead. He seemed genuinely upset when I told him he wasn’t.” He paused. “I get the feeling Danielle runs the show in that marriage. I’m not sure how far she’d go.”

  Amanda remembered the fierce woman shouting down Janine outside the little house she’d dreamed of. Making a bargain with the devil for the sake of her family. That thought brought her up short. “Where’s their son?”

  “I left him at the coffee shop with Julio,” Matthew said. “I wanted to get Kaitlyn back here. Julio seemed to be taking good care of him, and the kid was happy to be with him.”

  Amanda recalled the intimacy of the two at the coffee shop. The obvious affection Julio had shown for the boy, who should have been a total stranger. “Julio speaks Tagalog,” she said quietly.

  Matthew met her gaze.

  “What did you say Danielle’s full name was?” she asked him.

  “Danielle Rodriguez Torres.”

  “In some cultures,” Amanda said slowly, “the woman keeps her maiden name as a middle name.”

  “Her brother,” Chris said. “Fernando let that slip, and then said it was his poor English.”

  Matthew’s expression betrayed no surprise, as if he already knew. “Do the police know Julio and Danielle know each other?” he asked.

  Chris and Amanda shook their heads, and they were all startled when Kaitlyn spoke from the corner, where she’d been patting Kaylee. “You can bet the Bitch-in-Chief will tell them. Anything to make it look like they were all in this together.”

  “She’s right,” said Amanda. “Janine is going to kill as many birds as she can with this stone.”

  “They’ll all need good lawyers,” Chris said.

  “If they’re ever heard from again,” Matthew muttered.

  Chris studied him in silence for a moment before turning back to Amanda. “Right. Well, for now let’s focus on the important things. I for one could use a good steak and a pint! Then we need somewhere to sleep, and not all in this tiny place.”

  Kaitlyn’s teeth were chattering so violently, the entire front seat of the car vibrated. Amanda was tempted to intervene and tell Venetia to call the whole thing off. Barely a week ago, the girl’s life had been hanging by
a thread, and here she was, sitting in Venetia’s Subaru outside the police station in Toronto, preparing to betray her mother. It was a great deal to ask of any fourteen-year-old, let alone one who’d just had her world blown apart.

  Amanda knew it was what the girl wanted, however. Deep down, it was her first step toward putting her life back together. She had at her side the solid, steadfast support of her Aunt Venetia, technically a second cousin rather than an aunt, but the bond was just as strong. No sooner had Amanda phoned her than Venetia had thrown some clothes and a toothbrush into an overnight bag, climbed into her aging Subaru, and made the trip to Toronto at breakneck speed.

  The three of them had spent two days walking in High Park, strolling along the waterfront, and hunched over take-out in the spacious hotel suite Venetia had splurged on. For two days they had talked. Venetia was unequivocal. “This is a lot to ask of you, honey,” she’d said, gripping the girl’s hands. “But I want you to know that no matter what you decide, you have a home with me. And remember, you didn’t do this. This was all Janine’s doing.”

  Kaitlyn had been quiet a long time before giving voice to her deepest, darkest fear; that it was she who’d put the fateful chain of events in motion. She and her mother fought all the time, each inflicting small slashes that had ceased to have any effect. A couple of weeks ago, during a particularly spectacular argument, she had wanted to draw blood. She’d been hoping to go sailing with Benson, but Janine had insisted she stay with the baby while Danielle took the twins out with him instead. “Benson wants to spend some time with his girls,” Janine had said, a subtle reminder that Kaitlyn was not.

  “Oh, like Danielle’s got nothing to do with it,” Kaitlyn had retorted, and in a fit of jealous hurt, she’d blurted out the news about the little house.

  If she hadn’t, Benson might still be alive. She’d probably expected her mother to be hurt and angry, but how could she possibly have predicted the woman would resort to murder? It was a guilt that would haunt her for a long time.

  If blame could be placed elsewhere, it could be with Janine’s ongoing mistreatment of Danielle, or maybe even more accurately with Benson’s decision to go behind his wife’s back. Perhaps out of the goodness of his heart, perhaps as one small attempt to stand up to her, perhaps a bit of both. But as unwise as that decision had been, the true blame lay squarely with Janine, who had turned a family feud into murder.