The Black Box: A novel

by Cliff Jackman

  “Get out of here!” he said. “Get out of my store, before I call the cops!”

  “Mr. Ha,” I started.

  “I said get out!”

  So I did. Everyone in the store (it was pretty busy) was perfectly motionless, staring at me like I’d just molested a cat. I hurried out, and in the parking lot I called Dean and told him what happened.

  “I can’t go through this again?” Dean asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what he said?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Nuts, isn’t it?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Yeah,” Dean said. “It sure is.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, what should we do now? I’m not really sure what our next move is. Do you think we should call the cops?”

  “No!” Dean said. I was startled by the tone of his voice. “No, we don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t really have enough to prove anything yet.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but it’s not necessarily our job to prove anything, right? We know a lot more than when we started. Detective Aston said that the case is still open. If we bring him all this stuff he might start working on it again.”

  “Look,” Dean said. “It sounds like Ha is cracking. Give him a day to cool down. We’ll drop by tomorrow and get the whole story. Once we know a little more, we can talk about whether we get the police involved. They’re not going to do anything about it tonight anyway.”

  “Okay,” I said. “If you say so.”

  And God help us, that’s what we did.

  32

  I spent the next morning tailing Burke. Alan called me a little before lunch.

  “Did you piss off the cops?” Alan asked. “Downloading kiddy porn? Something like that?”

  “What?”

  “A Detective Aston from homicide stopped by.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “That’s the guy who was on the Goldstein case. What did he want?”

  “He’s still here,” Alan said. “He’s asking all sorts of questions about what you were doing yesterday and last night. Won’t say what it’s about. I’m calling you from the bathroom. I told them I had to take a piss. What did you do yesterday?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I interviewed a guy about the Goldstein case. Should I come in?”

  “That’s up to you,” Alan said. “I told them you were unreachable.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hung up and went back to work.

  A couple of hours later, after I’d mostly wrapped things up and was having a snack, I got a call from Dean.

  “Detective Aston just left my office,” he said.

  “Alan told me he came looking for me,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “What?”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Derek Ha is dead.”

  “What?”

  “He jumped, or was thrown, off a bridge into traffic in Mississauga at 2 am.”

  “Oh, shit shit shit,” I said. “Shit!”

  “I know,” Dean said.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing,” Dean said. “He asked me some questions and I asked why he wanted to know. He said he wouldn’t tell me, and so I said I wouldn’t answer his questions. He got mad and threatened me. Finally he told me. I said, that’s interesting, but I have no comment.”

  “You just stonewalled him?”

  “Yeah, for now.”

  “But why?” I said.

  “We have to keep this close, for just a little while,” Dean said. “I think we’re on the right path. If the cops start snooping around, anyone who might be involved with this will get spooked. They’ll cover their tracks. I want them to think they’re safe.”

  “But Dean, it’s going to look as suspicious as hell if we don’t talk to them.”

  “Of course it will,” Dean said, “but so what? We didn’t do anything. And even if we did, our decision to remain silent can’t be mentioned if we’re ever charged. They can be as suspicious as they like, but they can’t do anything about it.”

  “Won’t he charge you for obstructing justice or something?”

  “What are you talking about? I have the right to remain silent.”

  “Dean, this is crazy,” I said. “You’re telling me a homicide detective walks into my office and you want me to exercise my right to remain silent?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Dean said. “Terrell, trust me. You cannot hurt your position by just staying quiet. Okay? Just give me a bit more time to work on some leads. I don’t want to risk what we’ve accomplished so far. I don’t want this to end up like the thing from California. I just need a bit more time. All right?”

  “Dean,” I said, “I just don’t see this. We should tell the cops everything.”

  “I need more time Terrell,” he said. “I just need more time. Hang tight. I’m going to book an appointment with Oksana tonight. And I’ve got something planned about this CQC guy. I’m going to call you soon. Okay?”

  I took my phone away from my ear and looked at it in disgust. Finally I put it back and said: “This is fucked up.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it. It won’t be long.”

  Try as I might, I just couldn’t see things Dean’s way. All I could think was that I really hoped this wasn’t about the girl, and I really wished I wasn’t so worried it was.

  And now I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t feel like I could go home, or to work, because I was worried the cops would be waiting for me. So I decided to drive to Yonge and Lawrence and hang around in one of the parks up there. I took Avenue north, cranking Q107 and taking deep breaths, and that’s when I noticed the black Suburban following me.

  Mr. CQC mercenary, I thought. I felt a momentary chill. Could he have been the one to throw Ha to his death? But I knew Dean wanted to talk to him so I threw on my four-way flashers and pulled over to the side of the road, thinking he’d follow me and wouldn’t have the balls to try anything right in the middle of a busy street.

  But the black Suburban just rolled on by, and when I glanced at the driver through the window, I felt like I swallowed a cannonball. Because it wasn’t the mercenary driving the car: it was Desean. And he never even glanced at me as he drove past.

  My heart started beating so hard I was worried it might actually break or come loose or something. The taste in my mouth, bitter and metallic, was like I’d licked a battery. For a little while I was worried I was going to throw up. Eventually, I got myself together and drove up to Lawrence.

  I parked my car at the public library and walked south to the park. I sat down on a bench and watched the people come and go. I couldn’t live like this. People following me and threatening me and guys dying. You know how it felt? Lonely. That’s how it feels when you do something you’re guilty about. Like there’s a barrier between you and everyone else. I felt envious of every single person walking past. Like they were all skipping along without a problem in the world.

  And some of it must have shown on my face, because when the mercenary suddenly sat down next to me, he said: “Terrell, you look like a man with the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  33

  I picked up Dean at his house at eight pm that night.

  “How did you set up this meeting?” I asked. “Did you do it through Milo?”

  “No,” Dean said. “We’re going to her place.”

  “How did you get her address?” I asked.

  “She e-mailed me about some legal stuff. Basically she wants immigration advice. I’ve been talking to her a bit. I told her I needed to talk to her in person so she invited us over.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  Dean shrugged.

  “Is that where you’ve been going at night?” I asked.

  “You so
und like my wife,” he said. “What about this thing with the CQC guy?”

  “He said his name was Tom,” I said. “I arranged to meet him tomorrow at one pm at the Starbucks at King and Yonge.”

  “Great work,” Dean said.

  “Dude, I gotta tell you, I was a bit freaked out when I found out Desean was following me.”

  “No kidding,” Dean said. “We’ll take care of this soon, I promise. For now, keep it tight.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Oksana lived in the northwest corner of the city, at Jane and Finch. It’s one of the most notoriously violent neighborhoods in Toronto, which actually isn’t saying too much, not compared to New Orleans anyway. Just a lot of old high rise apartment buildings and poor immigrants.

  The lobby of Oksana’s building smelled like stale food and the buzzer was broken. We rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor and then knocked at her door while people shouted at each other down the hall.

  The door opened, revealing Oksana dressed in a bathrobe, done up loosely enough so that I could see the side of her breast. She didn’t say anything, only motioned for us to come in.

  Nicely decorated place. An Indian rug on the floor, potted plants, goldfish in a little glass bowl. Laminated posters of famous paintings on the walls, and a metal wine rack in the corner. Looked like the apartment of a classy young undergraduate.

  Oksana glided over to the couch and sat down. Dean and I pulled up chairs from the dining table.

  “So,” Oksana said, “is it just more questions or do you want to do anything this time?”

  “Can I smoke?” Dean asked, taking out his cigarettes.

  “What do you want? You know it is not safe for me to talk of my work. Desean has informants in this building. Why are you doing this to me?”

  Dean got his cigarette going. “When we got the bill for the last time we had one of these little chats it cost $1,000 and it was payable to some fishing store on Sheppard,” Dean said. “So how come every time Brucie hired you it was $2,000, and it was payable to some random Moneris machine?”

  Oksana lowered her big eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe Desean …”

  “No way,” Dean said. “You said that Brucie showed up outside the Rail and you gave him your contact info. He didn’t make contact with you through the regular channels. You knew he was a dumb kid and he was infatuated with you, and so you ran a scam on him. Let me guess how it worked. You had a friend of yours hire you for the night by paying the regular rate to the fishing store. When Brucie showed up, you charged him $2,000 through your friend’s Moneris machine, and then you and your friend split the difference. Is that about right?”

  “When I saw you in the club,” Oksana said, “and you said his name, you said Brucie, I was so afraid. I thought that Desean would hear. That he would find out what I had done.”

  “Who was your partner?”

  “I cannot say,” she said.

  “Was it Vasily Bogdanov?” Dean asked.

  That startled her. She nodded.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “Did Vasily ever meet Brucie?”

  “Of course,” Orkana said. “Every time. So he could run through the credit card. Vasily loved Brucie. He used to joke with him, to tell him stories. He called him Young Master Goldstein. He told him jokes about Jews and lawyers. He said I was teaching him to be a man. Afterwards Vasily would pay me in cash.”

  “Did they ever talk about comics?”

  “No,” Oksana said. “Vasily does not care about comics. He is a man. Brucie is a boy. I don’t understand why you ask about comics. Brucie was just a boy. When his money ran out, I thought he would learn his lesson. I thought he would be sad and then find a nice girl. I did not know he would kill himself.”

  “Now this is important,” Dean said. “Did Vasily ever say anything about Brucie after the last time you saw him? He didn’t mention anything about comics or money or Brucie or anything?”

  “No, no,” Oksana said. “I told you. Brucie said he would get more money. But then he did not come around anymore. I thought he went to school.”

  Dean kept looking at her. He did not say anything.

  “You can’t tell anyone about this,” Oksana said. “If you tell Desean, things will be worse for me.”

  “We won’t tell him,” Dean said.

  “Please,” Oksana said. “I should not have done it. If you keep asking questions, anything might happen.”

  “You’ll be safe,” Dean said. “I promise.”

  He paused for a moment, and then he leaned forward and took her hands. When he resumed speaking he looked straight into her eyes. “You know, Terrell and I did something like this once before. In California. It was about a girl kind of like you. We were … we were too late. I was too late. I didn’t take care. I won’t let that happen with you. Do you understand? I have fucked up a lot of things over the years, but the thing in California is the biggest regret of my whole life. I won’t let it happen again with you. No matter what. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

  Oksana and Dean had what you might call a moment. And then we left. Dean said to me:

  “We should be careful when and where we meet from now on. If Desean’s following you, and he sees us together, it could blow our chance to get to the bottom of this.”

  Careful about her? What about me? I barely said two words to Dean all the way home, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was pissed.

  34

  While I was walking to the front door of my apartment building, a voice spoke to me from the bushes.

  “Mr. Delacroix?”

  I jumped and turned. A man was walking towards me. Little guy, unibrow, muscular.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Detective Aston,” he said, and held up his badge for me to inspect. “You need to come down to the station with me right now. I’m parked around back.”

  When I got to the station, they took my Blackberry and put me in one of those grim windowless rooms with a mirror along the wall like you see in the movies. I sat there for about half an hour, getting more and more nervous, and more and more angry at Dean. This was such bullshit. Here I was, a private detective, somebody who had to stay on good terms with the police, and now I was a goddamn murder suspect. Why? Because I couldn’t tell the truth about our investigation. Why? Because Dean was into some girl or thought he could do this by himself? It was a load of crap.

  The door opened and Aston came in.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Delacroix?” he said.

  “No,” I replied.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’ve got a roomful of witnesses that put you in Ha’s store the day before he fell to his death. Now I’ve got you avoiding me. How do you think that looks to me?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “Witnesses say that Ha was screaming at you to get out, that he’d call the police. What were you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Nothing?” he said.

  “It was part of an investigation.”

  “So what?” he said. “You think that makes it confidential? You think you don’t have to answer my questions because it was part of your investigation? Think again, bud. You’re going to have to explain what you were doing in there.”

  I shook my head.

  “Where were you at two am this morning?

  “At home.”

  “Oh, were you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Home alone, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “So when Mr. Ha told his wife he’s gotta go out and meet someone, and that’s why he’s leaving at such a late hour, guess he wasn’t talking about you, was he?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Even though she specifically mentioned your name?”

  “What?” I said. “I never went to go meet him. I was at home in bed.”

  “Well, that’s what she said. You call
ing her a liar?”

  “I was home in bed at two this morning,” I said. Sweat was pricking through the back of my shirt. I could barely breathe.

  “And what about this?” Aston said, and slapped down a piece of paper on the table.

  It was a photocopy of a note that read:

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO PAY THE RENT DURING THE LOCKOUT.

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to Ha about?” Aston said. “How he paid the rent during the lockout?”

  “I’ve never seen this before,” I said.

  “Do you know how fucked you are right now?” Aston said. “We’ve got you swearing and yelling at Ha the day before he dies. We’ve got his wife saying you’re going out to meet him the night he dies. We’ve got you investigating some other mysterious death by falling from a few weeks back. How do you think …”

  And then my iPhone rang. It was tucked in my front shirt pocket and I’d forgotten about it.

  “Don’t answer that,” he said.

  I took it out to turn it off and I saw it was Dean. Inspiration hit me.

  “It’s my lawyer,” I said. “I’m allowed to talk to my lawyer.”

  “You watch too much TV!” he said. “You’re talking to me right now.”

  He tried to snatch the phone away but I leaned back and put it to my ear.

  “Dean, I’m in the police station,” I said. “I’m under arrest.”

  “What are you under arrest for?” Dean said.

  I noticed that Aston had put his hands down on the table and was just glaring at me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How could you not know? What did the cop tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything.”

  Dean paused. When he spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled.

  “Are you sure you’re under arrest?”

  “What? Yeah. He said I had to come down with him.”

  There was another moment of silence.

  “Is he there?”

  “Yes?”

  “Ask him if you’re under arrest.”

  I looked at Aston.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “That’s the least of your worries,” he said.