by Joan Boswell
Two labelled clear plastic bags were on the table.
Rhona again invited Candace to sit down, but she shook her head. The two detectives also stood.
“These are the clothes he was wearing,” Ian said pointing to the larger bag.
Rhona bent forward, withdrew and unfolded a grey poplin windbreaker, beige plaid flannel shirt stained with dried blood and tan cargo pants. She laid green, diamond-patterned socks beside well-worn, blue and white Nike running shoes.
Candace shuddered but didn’t avert her eyes. Rather she snapped to attention. Her eyes cleared, and her jaw firmed.
“I’ve never seen him dressed like that.” She pointed an index finger at each item of clothing. Her voice rang with conviction. “My brother hated plaid shirts like that. He said they marked you as middle-aged. Same thing for that jacket. He wore blue jeans, never cargos. He had extra-wide feet and always bought New Balance.” She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something disgusting. “I can’t ever imagine him buying socks like those.” Her eyes narrowed. “He was a cool guy. Unless he was trying to disguise himself, he would never, ever dress like that.”
Her adamancy startled Rhona. “Thank you for telling us.”
Candace lunged forward and grabbed a shoe. She yanked its tongue back and peered inside. “Eight narrow,” she said and slammed the shoe on the table. “My brother did not wear eight and couldn’t have squeezed his feet into this narrow shoe.” She spoke firmly and with authority. “He wore twelve extra-wide. I know about the extra-wide because both my toddler and I need wide shoes. They’re hard to find.” Candace challenged the detectives. “You think I’m insisting these things don’t belong to my brother because I don’t want it to be my brother. I know what he wore. He wouldn’t have worn those clothes, and he couldn’t have squeezed his feet into those shoes.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Rhona said. “We’ll show you what this man was carrying.” She opened and gently decanted the second bag’s contents.
The first two items were a black comb with missing teeth and a ballpoint pen with a chewed end that transformed it from a standard to a poignant item. Rhona could picture the owner chewing pensively as he mulled over a problem or waited through a company’s punch one, punch two and listened to “please stay on the line your business is important to us.” Loose change. Subway tokens, a subway transfer, chapstick and a half-empty roll of Lifesavers. That was it.
Candace stepped closer to the table, bent over, and peered at the items. “No wallet, no keys?” she asked.
“No. This is everything,” Rhona said.
“If someone mugged him, that person could have cleaned out the apartment. We found no evidence that anything had been disturbed.” Candace pivoted, paused and eyed the two officers.
Rhona suspected Candace had something to add but was wondering if it was wise.
“We’re on the same side,” Rhona reassured her. “If you know anything that will help our investigation, you should tell us.”
Candace still hesitated.
“We don’t care how you discovered whatever it is you know, but you must share information,” Ian added.
Candace straightened, folded her arms over her chest and looked from one to the other. “Okay. Here goes. I have access to my brother’s online banking. He withdrew money on the last Friday before he vaporized. No one has used his credit card. Although I don’t believe the body in the morgue is his, I do think something bad has happened to him.” She paused as if waiting for the detectives to comment, but they didn’t.
“The chapstick from the person’s effects would have traces of saliva. The comb might have hair—why don’t you retest?” Candace asked.
“Candace, there is no doubt that after what you’ve told us we have serious questions about our identification. We will run the DNA tests again after we receive the dental report. I hope for your sake that we’ll cross Danson off as the unidentified victim.”
“How long will that take?” Candace asked.
“A few days,” Rhona said and added, “I know that will seem like forever to you, but we must be absolutely sure.”
“If that is Danson, may I ask how he was killed? Did his murderer do that to his face and hands before or after he died, and where did you find the body?”
“I’m sorry, but we aren’t at liberty to tell you,” Rhona said. She hated doing that—not knowing was always more excruciating than receiving the worst information. “I’d like to know more about your brother’s life, but until we have the corroborating dental information, I’ll wait to interview you. In the meantime, please make notes about the connections in his life that might help us in our investigation.”
“We’ve already done some of that. Hollis and I checked out his apartment.” Before the detectives reacted, Candace added, “We used gloves and replaced everything.”
Rhona didn’t smile. This wasn’t a moment for levity, but it amused her just the same. Both Hollis and Candace would have known that if Danson had been a victim of foul play, the apartment would be sealed. If she was a betting woman, she’d wager Hollis had copied documents that she thought might help them find Danson or his killer. From experience, she knew Hollis wouldn’t be content to sit back and allow the investigation to take its course.
“You do know that in a criminal investigation you could be charged with interference if you continue your investigation?” Ian said.
“Of course,” Candace said, her voice lacking conviction.
“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that there are dangerous people out there. You don’t want to do anything to make them think you know something incriminating about them.”
“Would you like the keys to his place?” Candace asked in a conciliatory tone.
Rhona and Ian accepted the offer and Rhona recorded their receipt in her notebook.
* * *
After Hollis had tidied the kitchen, she boiled water for tea. Given the circumstances, tea, along with many hugs, should help. When the front door banged open, she hurried to embrace a white-faced Candace.
In the living room, Candace refused tea, folded herself into the sofa and tucked her feet under her.
“Want to talk about it?” Hollis said.
“Horrible, terrible,” Candace shook her head. “Because the…” she inhaled sharply, “they weren’t going to show me his face. They had it covered, but I insisted. I thought it couldn’t be that bad, and I might be able to tell if it was Danson. But I shouldn’t have done that. Oh God, it was awful. It was destroyed. I couldn’t tell if it was Danson. The hair looked right, and the man was tall and in good physical shape, but the other evidence, the clothes, particularly the shoes, which were the wrong size, didn’t belong to Danson.” She clasped her hands together and lifted her eyes. “Although everything—his clothes, the stuff he was carrying—is wrong, it’s hard to argue with DNA.”
Hollis joined Candace on the sofa and swung to face her. “What a totally awful experience.” No point dwelling on the horror, they had work to do. “What did he have in his pockets?”
Candace listed the items.
“No wallet, no keys?”
Candace shook her head as tears leaked from her eyes. She took a shaky breath. “You know what really undid me?” She answered her own question. “A pen with a chewed end.” She choked and put her face in her hands. “It’s too much to deal with,” she sobbed. “I don’t believe it’s Danson, but maybe I’m fooling myself. Even if it isn’t Danson, it’s a man someone must love, must be worrying about.”
Poor woman. Time for more TLC, Hollis thought as she moved closer and put an arm around her friend. “It’s something no one should have to deal with. Since working helps both of us, we’ll get on with the tasks we set for ourselves,” she said and squeezed Candace’s shoulder.
Candace covered her mouth with her hand. “I gave them my second set of keys and told them we’d left everything as we found it, but I forgot about the computer.” Her eyes anxious, she e
xamined Hollis’s face, “Have you returned it?”
“Yes, I forwarded every file I thought we might need to my computer. I have a mass of information.”
“What can I do—we’re supposed to be a team. You’re doing all the work.”
“We are a team. Your task is to pry more information from Poppy.”
“Oh my God—Poppy has to be told.” She straightened her legs, put her feet on the floor, half-rose then sank back. “No.” She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “No. She doesn’t need to hear until the identification is absolutely positive, absolutely one hundred and ten per cent positive. Imagine going through the grief then having the police say, ‘Oops, we made a mistake.’ It’s bad enough that I have to go through this—there’s no way I’m telling Poppy.”
“Good decision. Since you’re not convinced, there’s no point in burdening her.”
Candace nodded. “They’ll soon finish with the dental records. I’m sure they will. They said they wouldn’t release his name until I’ve told everyone. I’ll continue with life as usual—go to work—carry on.” Her eyes widened. “I nearly forgot. Tomorrow is Halloween. I have to send Elizabeth to daycare with a costume and leave work early to see the kids’ parade in their outfits. Then we snack on Halloween treats. Thank goodness I didn’t volunteer to make anything. I’m taking cut up pita and hummus.”
“Elizabeth is a hummus fanatic. She’ll be pleased.”
“Dealing with Halloween will take my mind off the waiting won’t it?”
“If you’re taking Elizabeth out, I’ll answer the door.”
“Two and a half is too young to go trick or treating. We’ll dispense the candy. I’ll allow her stay up until seven thirty then turn out the outside light to discourage any more visitors.”
Denial came in many forms, and if this was how Candace wanted to handle the situation, who could blame her? Certainly the difference in shoe brands and sizes had to be significant. Hollis also depended on New Balance for shoes. Anyone who knew her would confirm that. For many people, brand loyalty was important.
* * *
“What do you make of what Ms Lafleur told us?” Ian asked after they’d seen Candace out and were on their way back to their desks. “She was positive the shoes and the clothes didn’t belong to him. Hard to argue with the shoes.”
“How do you explain the DNA? It definitely matches. Maybe it wasn’t his hairbrush, maybe he entertained a visitor who borrowed it.” She shrugged. “I don’t have an explanation.”
“Even if it isn’t his, we’re further ahead, aren’t we?” Ian said.
“We are. The body in the morgue is someone who spent time in Danson’s apartment and used the hairbrush. We don’t know who he is, but it does give us a jumping-off place.”
“Seems to me we should dig into Danson’s life before we hear about the dental records,” Ian said. “On the other hand, this isn’t the only murder we’re dealing with. If it isn’t him, we’ll be wasting time.”
They went to their respective desks. After Rhona sat down, she leaned back carefully—she didn’t want to stress her painful hip—and continued the conversation. “Given that Hollis Grant is involved, and she’ll be meddling in everything, we’ll open a file. I expect she’s copied what she considered relevant information. My worry is that she’ll plunge ahead and get herself in trouble. She nearly died the last time she tried that.”
“Don’t you think she’ll be smarter this time?” Ian asked.
Rhona shook her head. “It’s the third time I’ve been involved with her. I can tell you I don’t have much faith in her common sense. Once she thinks she’s on to something, get out of the way. She’s as determined as racehorse heading for the winner’s circle.”
Ian laughed. “As a track aficionado, I like the picture.”
Rhona added this piece of information to the Ian jigsaw she was assembling. “It’s an added challenge. We’ll have to work smarter and faster than Hollis.”
* * *
Discouraged—that was how Hollis felt. What else could she do? She thought of movies where the person choosing to disappear took evasive action to prevent anyone from locating him. Had Danson done this? Had someone been hunting him and forced him to go to ground? If that was true, he wouldn’t have contacted Candace or Poppy in case his pursuer pressured them to reveal his address. Having lost Angie, he’d never endanger his family. Given that he chased dangerous offenders, it was a reasonable assumption.
Or, had Candace and Poppy’s involvement in his life been smothering him? Nothing Hollis had heard or seen had given her that impression. Nevertheless, this too was a possibility.
Evaluating the situation rationally, his life appeared to have stopped cold almost immediately after he’d visited Poppy and discussed the possibly of phoning what had turned out to be an unlisted number. But Poppy was not helping.
She had no time for her chickens. Danson’s papers came next. She swept them into a pile and sorted through them, cross-stacking each time the topic changed. This time-consuming chore finished, she glared at the document tower and sighed. When you didn’t know what you were looking for, it was difficult to pinpoint anything odd. Certainly he’d led an interesting segmented life with many contacts in each slice. Some were stand-alones. Others overlapped—she’d cross-reference those. The task was daunting. First she’d clear away the dead wood, the files she judged to be irrelevant. After that, a chat with Danson’s boss or his colleagues might provide shortcuts to vital files.
Halloween probably wasn’t the best of nights to visit the Starshine, where he worked. She suspected costumed hordes would revel until dawn but if she arrived early before the crowds she’d have a chance to talk to the staff. Candace would flip off her outside lights at seven thirty, freeing Hollis to trek downtown. Should she call first or arrive and hope surprise would elicit information? Difficult to explain her mission on the phone—better to show up unannounced.
First, Halloween. Shortly after she heard Candace and Elizabeth arrive home, she went downstairs.
Candace, tightlipped and tense, answered the door. “It’s been an awful day,” she said. “I go over and over my doubts and wonder if I’m kidding myself when I say it isn’t Danson. I keep seeing his terrible mutilated face and fingerless hands.”
“Some days seem endless,” Hollis commiserated. “Remember that you’re not giving up hope until you learn what the dental records show.”
Candace slumped against the door frame. “You’re right. But I can tell you it would be easier if I didn’t keep seeing the corpse, hoping it isn’t Danson then feeling guilty.”
Elizabeth, decked out in a polka-dot clown suit with matching makeup, emerged from behind Candace. “Tee,” she asked clutching Candace’s leg with one hand and peeking behind Hollis.
“He’s upstairs. Halloween scares him.”
Elizabeth frowned, “Scares?” she said in a puzzled voice.
Oops, she shouldn’t make Halloween out to be really frightening.
“He doesn’t like it when the doorbell keeps ringing,” Hollis said.
“Why?”
Quick thinking required. “Because he always wants to bring a present to the person at the door and he doesn’t have that many toys,” Hollis said. It was a lame explanation, but it was the best she could do.
Elizabeth digested the information. “Okay,” she said.
At that moment the doorbell rang. Candace glanced at her watch. “Five thirty. Trick or treaters getting a head start.” She straightened, removed Elizabeth’s hand, darted back into the apartment and reemerged swinging an orange plastic pumpkin brimming with miniature chocolate bars. “Come on, Elizabeth. We’ll see who’s here.”
Moments later, Elizabeth shrieked, “No, no, don’t like,” then wailed. Hollis hoped her comments hadn’t triggered Elizabeth’s reaction. Apparently MacTee wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate Halloween. Hollis went upstairs, collected MacTee and returned. “I’ll answer the door,” she said
to Candace and reached for the candy-filled pumpkin.
“Thanks. Witches and goblins are too much for her,” Candace said.
Downstairs, Hollis, not a fan of Halloween, did her best to respond cheerfully to the excited children and smile over their heads at the shepherding parents who hovered behind them. When she’d been a child, her parents wouldn’t have dreamed of accompanying children, but those innocent days were gone for good.
Her pumpkin gradually emptied.
At the grocery store earlier in the week, she’d grabbed two boxes of her favourite Sweet Marie bars knowing even as she bought them that she’d earmarked them for her own consumption. Once a year she did this. After she’d pigged out, she vowed not to fall into the same trap the following year, but she always did. This year she’d have to share. She trotted back upstairs. The phone rang as she opened her door.
“My name is Carol Usher. You e-mailed me about Danson.”
Hope flickered. “Thanks for calling. Do you have any information that might help?”
“I work for a not-for-profit group that helps immigrants,” Carol said and summarized what the group did.
Hollis, aware that she hadn’t locked the downstairs door, wanted to hurry Carol along but restrained herself and made encouraging sounds.
“He was interested in learning how the Russian immigrant community organizes. Two weeks ago he wanted to know if I knew if there were any fronts, any legitimate organizations that fronted for the Russian mob.”
Hollis fingers twitched. This could be it. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. That isn’t the sort of information that I know. But I thought you’d want to know what he was doing before he disappeared.”
Hollis thanked her, replaced the phone and reluctantly refilled the pumpkin from her stash, setting aside four bars for her own consumption, and raced back downstairs.
By seven thirty, mobs of half-grown youth who jostled and shoved as they angled to fill their shopping bags and pillowcases had replaced the small children. Time to close down.