by Mary Moylum
This was what he had been dreaming of, but he was afraid to respond. Instead he said, “I heard through the grapevine that the IRC has a huge backlog of cases, too.”
“Shhh. According to our Commissioner, backlog is a dirty word. We’re trying to keep the lid on the exact number.”
“Where are they all coming from?”
“The civil war in Yugoslavia. We’ve got asylum claims from both sides. It’s hard to separate the victims from the perpetrators,” said Grace. “Too many lies, and no one has clean hands.”
“I’ll keep my job, thank you,” said Nick.
“Hey, I heard through the grapevine that you were dating your secretary.”
“The things people gossip about on e-mail. She’s a single mother with boys. I took them to a hockey game. I don’t consider that a date. I was just playing uncle.”
“I apologize for believing that bit of erroneous gossip.” Grace smiled at him again. It made him feel faint.
“What about you? I heard you were seeing someone. Dating one of the department’s senior legal counsel.”
“Three evenings at the symphony. Jealous?”
“Can’t help it. You know, you ruined it for me with other women.” He said it in jest but it was the truth.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. Grace looked away, apparently disconcerted by the honesty of his remark.
“I could use a drink, Nick. How about you?”
“Good idea,” he grunted.
They stood in the drink queue at the bar and made small talk.
“Tell me, what kind of cases are you working on, Nick?”
“The usual. You don’t really want to know.” “I only know about the one that’s been in the papers.”
“Yeah, an illegal alien investigation. It’s eating up a lot of my time and energy.”
“I can tell by the dark circles under your eyes.”
“It was bad,” he said, “when Walter was killed.”
The touch of her fingers on his face was like a jolt of electricity. It made him jump.
When it was their turn at the bar, she said, “I’ll have a Dubonnet on the rocks.”
He mumbled something about a Jack Daniel’s while he psyched himself up to resist her. He had worked out his strategy on the flight up. He would go for limited honesty: letting her know details of the Crosby murder while he tried to find out, discreetly, what she had been doing at Crosby’s townhouse. He needed to know the level of her involvement in whatever it was that had gotten Crosby killed. Too bad he was so nervous and tonguetied. It was hard to sound cool and professional when her physical presence was affecting him so powerfully. The worst of it was she knew it.
“It’s crowded in here. Too many people networking each other to death. I don’t think we’re here to network our way to the top. Let’s go outside. I’m told that our minister has one of the best gardeners in the city. Let’s check out the quadrangle.”
Before he could refuse she slipped her arm through his and led him through a pair of French doors and down the steps towards a maze of a garden.
“I’m not keen on getting lost in this rain forest.” He aimed for humour. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“I’m leading you down the garden path,” she laughed.
“I believe that.”
She tossed him a sideways glance and smiled at him.
Taking his hand, she guided him towards a fountain with a stone cherub spouting water from his mouth.
“I heard the news. You lost the case against the Mandarin Club owner, Sun Sui. Humiliation wasn’t bad enough, you had to go for public humiliation. Ten times worse.”
“You got it,” said Nick, screwing up his face.
“Hey, my people wrote the book on shame and humiliation.” She laughed but her eyes were serious. She wanted to mention that she had met the appellant Sun Sui, that people were trying to set her up with him — but she didn’t know how to insert that bit of information into the conversation. It wouldn’t be welcome news. So she let the moment pass. “What happened?”
“The judge threw out the case. All the allegations are true but I couldn’t prove it. Didn’t have enough evidence. But I know in my gut the appellant is bad news. Ever get that feeling, Grace?”
“Yeah, our sixth sense doesn’t let us down too often.”
They had slipped easily back into their old familiarity. Without thinking, she put her hand in his, and they strolled through the jungle of cultivated flora and fauna.
“I love gardens. I wish I could afford a full-time gardener.”
“You don’t have one?” He mocked her. “Who’s that Portuguese guy, Manuel, then? Your butler?”
“Manuel’s not a gardener. He’s a weed puller. Comes once a month for half a year to fertilize the soil, repot and replant, and rip out the weeds. That kind of thing.”
“Grace, that would be most people’s definition of a gardener.”
“No, Nick. There’s more to being a gardener.”
“I’ll take your word for it since I’ve never had a gardener myself.” He has always ribbed her on the class divide and her bourgeois habits.
She continued, “Amazing how they got hibiscus to grow in this climate.” She pointed to a row of small pink flowers. “See those over there, Nick? When I lived in Africa, they grew everywhere. They’re so common they’re considered weeds. We used to call them outhouse flowers because they grew like crazy around outhouses. The name escapes me at this particular moment. And this one here, this is scented. I had a part-time gardener when I lived in Kenya and I asked him to plant me some of these at the front of the house. It’s from the jasmine family. Come close and smell this.”
She leaned close to him, giving him a good glimpse of cleavage. “Smell that. Isn’t it great?” she asked, pushing a flower up his nose. “I had some planted outside my front door. I use to sit and watch the sun go down inhaling this wonderful intoxicating scent.”
She was away, lecturing him on gardening, hybrids and soil texture.
“Those marigolds are twice the size of the ones in my garden. I bet it’s a different hybrid. They’re just like the ones I had in Africa. Marigolds help ward off insects like mosquitoes. People plant them around their houses. Much better than inhaling insecticide, don’t you think?”
“You’re a veritable weedpatch of gardening information.”
Her fingers played with the sleeve of his jacket. “There’re lots of things you still don’t know about me. If only you would give yourself the opportunity to find out.”
He changed track and tried to cut the sexual tension between them by taking the conversation a hundred and eighty degrees.
“I heard you were the one who made the 911 call over Crosby’s body.”
“News travels fast.”
He looked at her. “What were you doing at his house?”
She turned her eyes away. “You don’t want to go there.”
But he refused to be put off. “I do, Grace. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. I care.”
“I appreciate your caring, Nick. It’s kind of you.”
“Kindness isn’t my primary motivation.”
Their eyes met. They really were reading each other’s minds. “It was stupid of me to go to his house,” she said. “I could have waited till the next day at the office. Ever ask yourself how come intelligent people sometimes do really stupid things?”
“Well, we all have our stupid moments.”
Without looking at him she said, “I went to his house thinking I could use him. I went to sell him on the idea of making me second chair on that Asian case you’re working on. I thought it would give my career a boost for reappointment on the bench. And I knew you were representing the state. I thought it would be a good way to run into you again.”
“Oh.” He was flummoxed, at a loss for words. He had asked for honesty and now he didn’t know how to respond to it.
“I did it for my career, and you, in that
order. What I wasn’t counting on was finding him dead.”
He put his arms around her and they walked to the end of the stone path where they came across a pair of Adirondack chairs.
“I need to sit down. My feet are killing me. Do you know what it’s like to squeeze five toes into a space designed for four?”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing and shook his head.
“You should try it sometime,” she deadpanned.
Nick examined her shoes. “These heels aren’t so high, only three inches. My secretary hobbles to work every day on four-inch stilettos. Don’t women own any sensible shoes?”
“I wanted to look nice for you.”
Her vulnerability touched him. He replied, “You look more than nice. You always look fabulous.”
She turned towards him and in a voice full of insecurity she asked, “You think so? Middle age is going to be awful. I’m far from fifty and already the security guard calls me ’ma’am’ I mean, what kind of word is that?”
He reached for her. “You’ll be a great-looking fifty-year-old.”
“You think so?” She kissed him.
The next thing he knew, his tongue was in her mouth, tasting the liquor on her breath. The feel and scent of her body induced both anxiety and delight in his brain.
“Ummm. I missed you, Nick.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Where’re you staying?”
“The Lord Elgin,” he replied between kisses.
“Hmm. I haven’t been there in a while.”
“Is that a proposition, Grace?”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Only if you want it to be.”
“I do. I haven’t had anybody since we broke up.”
“That’s your own damn fault!” She kissed him again.
“I don’t know why, but women find me dull. They think I’m a real nerd.”
“Not me.” Between kisses, she pulled him out of the low-slung chair. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What’s in the cards for us, Grace?”
She took him by the hand. “First, just to get out of here.”
He almost had an accident trying to drive with one hand. He had little recollection of what route he took or where he parked the car. By the time they got out of the elevator, his tie and shirt were completely undone.
“Can’t you wait?” he asked, struggling to open the door with the hotel key.
“Patience was never my strong suit,” she laughed as she struggled with the buckle of his belt while he worked the room key.
Feverishly, they undressed each other, mouths and fingers exploring.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he moaned.
They left a trail of discarded clothes in their wake as they sank into the bed. Their bodies fused into one. They had both needed this for so long. Now the dam of lust and passion was broken, there was no holding back. Entering her body was like an electric shock of pleasure. There was no need for words to pass between them. They existed in their own world, forgetting everything but the moment.
“I’d almost forgotten what great sex feels like,” he panted in her ear.
He came quickly the first time while she grabbed at his hair and screamed her way to orgasm.
Afterwards, neither of them spoke. They snuggled in each other’s arms. He knew what she was thinking and said, “No, we didn’t handle it well our last time together. I’m sorry about my boorish behaviour of not returning calls. And when I wanted to talk to you again, you weren’t returning my calls.”
“You were angry with me for deceiving you about my marital status. I understand. I probably would’ve reacted the same way if I were in your shoes. Let’s not rehash this, please, Nick.”
“Apology accepted.” His lips sought hers again.
The rest of the night melted into a kaleidoscope of pleasure and passion. But as keenly as his body felt the ecstasy of release, part of him held back. He had always loved her. But he still suspected that he had to be wary of her.
Nick sat opposite Jeremy Klein at a corner table in the restaurant the international trade lawyer had picked for their meeting.
They regarded each other in silence. Nick was still bitter about being screwed by his own government. Finally he spoke. “I bet you do real well in trade negotiations. Talking out of both sides of your mouth. Promising the moon and delivering nothing.”
“If I were you I wouldn’t take this personally,” said Klein. “We’re both lackeys for our political masters. We do their bidding. New government comes in, and we undo what we’ve been doing for the past few years. Guys like us don’t make the rules. We just play by them.”
“I’m not sure I know what rules we’re playing by.”
“Listen, Nick, I can see you’re pretty riled about losing your deportation case. But don’t take this out on me. Thank your lucky stars I’m sitting here talking to you. If I had requested clearance to talk to you, we both know I’d be turned down.”
Nick’s mind was working on the fact that in part of the government, Sun Sui was a bad guy. And in another department of the same government, he was being flattered and courted as a saviour.
“Elections are coming up,” said Klein. “We both know what’s on the table. The government wants to get re-elected, so they want to look good. Lower taxes boost the economy. So they’re looking for mass-market countries like India and China. We need middle men to open doors for us, to say the right things in the right people’s ears.”
Jeremy Klein emptied the bottle of beer into his mug, then he looked around the restaurant to make sure that he had not been recognized before he continued speaking. “I appreciate the work you’re doing. At the same time I’m doing my best to lay what cards I can on the table for you, Nick. You have to appreciate that the prime minister goes on another trade junket in the fall or spring.”
“Team Canada going back to China?” asked Nick.
“Yeah. That’s where your appellant Sun Sui comes in. Unfortunately for you he’s well connected inside China.”
“How so?” asked Nick, raising his mug to his lips.
“That I can’t say.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Gimme a hint. Communist Party connections or criminal connections?” asked Nick.
“Come on, Nick. You know in some countries there’s no difference between the two.”
Nick squinted his eyes at Klein and wondered if the other man was trying to convey a message to him. “You mean, like Russia?”
Klein nodded. Both men laughed, breaking the ice a little further.
Nick wondered if Klein would help him nail Sun Sui after he’d outlived his usefulness to the trade-deal makers. He also wondered what information he could get out of Klein right now. “Okay,” he said, “let’s say I buy what you’re saying. I still have a couple of questions I need answers to. How did a newcomer to this country who was once a country bumpkin from a Communist backwater get to know the movers and shakers in government? I know people born here, families going back generations, and they can’t even get their city hall councillors and senators to return their phone calls.”
“We met him through the Asia Business Council. We try to buy as many memberships in these business and community associations as possible, and China’s going to be the flavour of the month for the next ten years.”
Nick made notes as Klein talked. But the Asia Business Council must have thousands of members. How do you connect to the right people?” he asked.
“Our connection there is one of the old guard in the Chinese community. A past president of the council. His name is Wa Sing.”
“How do I reach him?”
Klein held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “That I can’t help you with.” He drained the rest of his beer. “That’s all I’m going to tell you. If you repeat any of it, I’ll deny that we ever met. Bear that in mind.”
They left the restaurant separately. Nick drove like an automaton,
following the signs and directions Grace had given him. With time to kill as he waited for her to finish work, he took her bike out for an hour. The river scenery on the Parkway was lost on him as he pedalled.
Klein’s words had too much staying power. Nick’s mind kept coming back to the question of what people would do for money and power — the kind of power that kept you in political office.
The trouble with this case was that it wasn’t any longer about a boatload of illegal migrants being spirited out of a Third World country to North America. He wished it still was. Instead it had become something that was rotten to the core. He smelled political interference all the way up the food chain. In the name of justice to an old friend, he knew he would not turn back. But he would have to tread carefully.
After dinner, he wanted to tell Grace about his day. He wanted to unburden himself, and tell her everything. But he couldn’t. He’d have to edit out all those bits of information that were state secrets of the international trade department. He sighed. This was one of the things that had doomed their relationship the first time around.
“Okay, Nick, what’s eating you?”
“Work.”
“I get it. You can’t talk about it. You don’t trust me. You think I’d use the information against you in some hearing,” Grace said defensively. “Or maybe, blab to some newspaper.”
“No, that’s not it,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’m trying to work out the puzzle pieces in finding Martin’s killer.”
“Getting any closer?”
“Not one bit,” he laughed bitterly.
“Well, to take your mind off work, you can putter in the garden with me.”
Meekly, he followed, lugging bags of manure and compost in the direction of the Siberian irises.
“Use the wheelbarrow, Nick.”
He kissed her on the neck. “You don’t want a lover, you want a slave.”
She pressed her lips to his. “That’s not true. But sweetie, could you also get the other bags of black soil from the garage?”
An hour later, sipping iced tea on the deck, she said, “It’s your last night in town. Where do you want to go? What sights do you want to see?”
“I’m not here to play tourist,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh. Her skin was hot beneath his fingers.