by Joan Boswell
Katerina’s chin jutted. “What does this Spike do?” There was a note of triumph, of “now I’ve got you” smugness in her voice.
Hollis sighed. She didn’t want to be having this bizarre conversation, she wanted to be in her truck driving to the university searching for Willem.
“He works at the Starshine Lounge,” she said.
Katerina’s face revealed her displeasure at being wrong, that Hollis did know her son and did know where he worked. She deflated as fast as a punctured balloon. Hollis lightly touched the woman’s shoulder. “I do know Spike, and he did ask me to come and talk to you. I have to go, but I’ll be back.”
Katerina didn’t try to stop her. She subsided on the bench without even picking up the knitting lying on the path. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Okay.”
Hollis hated to leave, but she’d come back.
In the truck, she drove as fast as she dared and left her vehicle in an outrageously expensive parking garage close to Willem’s office. Out of the truck, she and MacTee ran to the building and up the stairs. When she reached the office, the door stood open. The office was empty. Willem’s overturned chair provided mute evidence that something had happened. She knelt down and examined the floor. No blood stains—that was good.
“What are you doing?” a voice behind her demanded.
She stumbled to her feet. A petite, dark-haired, neatly attired woman stared at her.
“I was looking for Willem,” she said.
“Under the desk?”
“No. He was talking to me on the phone when men broke into his office and attacked him.”
Hands on her hips and head tilted, the woman sniffed. “That’s hard to believe. I work here, and I saw him walk out with two men. He wasn’t making any fuss or anything. Minutes later the police stormed in, and I told them I’d seen him leave. They checked a bit and left. Said someone must have phoned in a crank call.” She peered at Hollis. “Were you that someone?”
If only she hadn’t hung up, she could have confirmed that Willem had been abducted.
“I was. You’ll be glad to know that you may have endangered Willem’s life by telling the police he left voluntarily,” Hollis said.
Thinking of where Willem might be, and what might be happening to him, filled Hollis first with horror and then with rage.
“I don’t suppose you noticed that the men walked very close to Willem? You couldn’t see but I’ll bet they had a gun or a knife poked into his side, and that’s why he walked quietly.”
The woman glared at Hollis. “You’re making that up so I’ll feel bad,” she said, her tone petulant.
“I’m not. I wish it had been a message so I could play it back, but you’ll have to believe me.,” Hollis said.
The young woman studied Hollis for a moment. “If it’s true, I’m sorry, but how was I to know. This is a university, not a place where professors are abducted at gunpoint.”
“I agree, but it did happen.”
“Oh my god, poor Willem. Is there anything I can do?”
“If the police come back, tell them you were wrong,” Hollis said as she redialed Rhona’s number.
Rhona still wasn’t there. She left a message relaying what had happened to Willem.
While she talked, the young woman leaned on the door frame. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
Hollis felt contrite. There had been no need to lash out the way she had. “I’m sorry I said what I did. There was no way you could have known,” Hollis said.
MacTee trailing after her, she retraced her steps. In the truck she sat and thought about what she should do next. Katerina’s distraught image flashed into her mind. Perhaps she could undo the damage she’d done there and uncover the woman’s connection to Willem. Maybe Katerina would have an idea where the men had taken him. She didn’t want to think about what they might have done to him and shivered at the thought of Gregory’s smashed face and fingerless body.
* * *
“Let’s go find Spider Jones in Allan Gardens,” Ian said.
Inside the park, they carefully examined the pigeon feeders, the strollers, the brown bag drinkers.
“Katerina’s here again,” Ian said, looking ahead to the spot where three paths converged.
“Something’s wrong with her,” Rhona said.
Katerina paced around and around the bench, talking to herself and gesturing with her knitting. A purple trail measured her circles and isolated her like an agitated spider in its web.
“Katerina,” Rhona said softly as they slowly approached the bench.
The woman stopped as if the sound of her name had been a brake. Her head, which had been lowered as she paced, came up, and her neck stretched long and flexed back like a cobra about to strike. She flicked her gaze from side to side, finally fixing on Rhona’s face.
“You,” she hissed. “They sent you.” She raised her eyes and bobbed her head. “They will never get me. No, no, no, never, no.” The litany went on and on as she resumed her measured tread around the bench. She shot glances their way but didn’t slow her pace or stop the monotonous drone.
“Who do you think sent us? What are you saying no to?” Ian said.
Katerina ignored him.
“No one sent us. Can we help you?” Ian said.
Katerina acted as if she hadn’t heard.
“I don’t like to leave her like this,” Rhona said.
“I don’t suppose she’s dangerous, is she?”
“No. We’re here to talk to drug addicts but…”
Hollis, who’d entered the park shortly after the two detectives but had hung back waiting to see what was happening, recognized their impasse. She wanted to corral Rhona and pour out her story, tell her about Willem and what had happened. It was time to cooperate.
“Maybe I can help,” Hollis said, tapping Rhona on the shoulder.
Rhona jumped and whirled around. “What are you doing here?”
Her voice penetrated Katerina’s preoccupation with denial. She stopped and lifted her head. A puzzled frown creased her forehead. “You with them,” she said in a flat voice.
What was Spike’s real name? She needed it, like a blessing. That was it—Venedikt.
“Your son, Venedikt, sent me.”
“Why he not come?” Katerina said.
“Because he had to work,” Hollis said.
“Now I remember. You say Willem. Then you run away. How you know Willem?” Katerina’s frown deepened, and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t resume her walking. Instead she stared at the sky as if looking for inspiration. Then she lowered her head and glowered at Hollis.
“You with them.” It was a flat statement. “I know you.” She waved the knitting needles at the two detectives. “You. All come from them. Come to get me. To put me away.” She shuffled backwards, clutching the knitting to her chest and trampling the strands lying on the ground.
“No, we haven’t,” Hollis said wondering if it was true, if a woman as obviously agitated as Katerina should be taken somewhere where she’d be safe from her demons.
“I get them. One by one I get them,” Katerina said. Her voice rang with conviction and triumph.
An alarming statement. Who was she getting and why? Hollis felt uneasy. Since Katerina had responded to her and not the detectives, she posed the question. “Who? Who do you get?”
A sly expression crept across the woman’s face. “Them. Soon I get them all.” She glanced down at the tangled purple skein on the ground, yanked the strand coming from the ball she carried in her pocket to her lips and bit through it. No longer attached to the purple mess tangled with fallen oak leaves, she pulled her knitting close to her chest, moved back to the bench and scooped up her flowered bag. “Go now,” she mumbled and edged away.
“How do you know her?” Rhona said to Hollis.
“Her son, Spike, is a bouncer at the Starshine club where Danson worked. When I talked to him, he asked me if I’d come and make friends with his mother and try to get her help
, because she needs it. He says she’s crazy and obsessive and suspicious of nearly everyone.”
“Well, he’s got that right. Did he tell you her story—why she’s upset?”
“After she and her two boys came to Canada from Russia, her younger son dropped out of school, got involved with the Russian mob and was killed by a drug addict. She’d had great hopes for him, and his death toppled her over the edge.”
“Killed by a drug addict,” Rhona said thoughtfully. “Do you know her surname or where she lives?”
“Her son said she comes to the park every day. I don’t know her name, and I know him as Spike.”
Rhona made a note. “Why are you here?”
“I upset her when I spoke to her earlier in the day. I wanted to make amends,” Hollis said as she patted MacTee, who had sadly watched the sausage lady’s departure.
“Who is Willem?” Ian asked.
Oh my God, the Katerina situation had wasted precious minutes. “He’s a Russian linguistics professor at the University of Toronto. I asked him to translate something I found in Danson’s apartment. He did but he told me to give it to you—that it could be dangerous.”
Rhona crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Not again. Why didn’t you?”
Hollis couldn’t meet Rhona’s gaze. “I thought it would lead Candace and me to Danson or at least give us some clues as to his whereabouts. I planned to turn it over to you if Willem hadn’t found out what the note meant in twenty-four hours.”
“I can’t believe that after your experiences you’d do this again,” Rhona said.
“Truly, I intended to, but, as I was talking to Katerina, Willem phoned me from his office. He started off normally. Then I heard him being attacked and he shouted, ‘phone 911’ and the line went dead. I made the call and headed for the university. When I arrived, a staff person who viewed me suspiciously briefed me on events. She claimed Willem left peacefully with two men. When she told this to the police, I suppose they thought the call had been a prank, because they left.” She didn’t confess that she’d hung up when she’d been told to stay on the line.
Rhona was already on her radio.
Ian shook his head. “Where is this paper?”
Hollis scrambled in her bag, extricated the translation and handed it to Ian, who read it and passed it to his partner.
Rhona zipped through the note and glared at Hollis. “You thought this wasn’t important enough to give to us,” she said.
It was not the time or the place for Hollis to allow anger and outrage to seep into her voice. She might have been wrong, but her intentions had been good. “When we started our search for Danson, there was no police investigation. It was after Candace viewed that horrible body and you informed us about his car that we really believed something terrible had happened to him. I was doing my best to explore every possible angle.”
“Initially, maybe that was okay, but you should have given us this,” Rhona waved the paper, “the moment you found it.” She smoothed and folded the translation in thirds before tucking it in her bag. “By withholding this evidence, you may very well have sealed Danson’s fate.” Without waiting for Hollis to respond, she continued. “Now you know how serious the matter is, you must give us any other information, and you must stop investigating.”
“I’m frightened for Willem.” Hollis frowned. “This was my doing. I feel horribly responsible. Do you know who or what the Super Bug mentioned in the translation refers to?”
Ian, who’d been following the conversation while stroking MacTee, intervened. “Don’t you realize that even if we know, we can’t discuss it with you? Why don’t you take this lovely dog for a walk and forget your amateur detective work?”
Hollis promised nothing. Instead she said, “You will keep Candace in the picture? She’s frantic to know what’s happened to Danson. Myself, I feel horrible about Willem. He was doing a good deed, and he’s gone.”
Rhona sized Hollis up in a way that told her the detective had noted her failure to promise to stay out of the case. “We will let you know any news that relates to Danson or Willem,” Rhona said.
Hollis accepted the remark and headed for her truck, where she flipped on the all-news radio station to get the time. Was Vancouver three or four hours behind? Prairie, Mountain and Pacific—three hours. When she returned from work, Candace had promised to phone Vancouver and demand that Poppy answer their questions.
Fifteen
That woman,” Ian sighed as the car hummed to life. “Now we have work to do.” Rhona was already on the phone. “Get the surname and phone number of the bouncer at the Starshine nightclub,” she instructed. Call finished, she shifted and said, “We’re visiting Katerina at home when we know where she lives.”
“Katerina?” Ian sounded surprised.
“Yes, I think she might be our killer.”
“She’s mad I agree, but a killer—that’s a stretch.”
“Maybe, but we should check it out. First, I’m giving the Eastern European experts this translation. I don’t know what Super Bug means, but I’m sure if anyone knows, they will.” She punched in more numbers on her cell phone and passed the information along.” Seconds after she hung up, it rang again. She identified herself and reached for her pen and notebook. “Got it,” she said and snapped the phone shut.
“Okay, we have it. An apartment on Carlton Street, along with her phone number and her son’s numbers at home and work. We may need his help. I’ll call him.”
“If he warns her we’re coming, she’ll leave,” Ian said.
“If Hollis is right, he’s worried about his mother and will cooperate. I’ll call him.”
After identifying herself, Rhona told Spike what they wanted. She listened, nodded and pursed her lips. “I suppose that’s true. We’ll wait outside.”
“What did he say?” Ian asked.
“He wants us to wait until he gets there. He says his mother hasn’t let anyone in her apartment for a long time. He doubts his mother will unlock her door but says that if we have a warrant, the manager, who lives in the basement apartment, will open it for us. His mother fears police and having them enter her apartment will unhinge her. He says he needs to be there, because when his mother’s upset she only speaks and understands Russian. He’ll translate and try to calm her down. It will take him about forty minutes to get here.”
“I can’t believe you think that woman would have murdered the men,” Ian said.
“She has the motive—a druggie killed her son. With her warped view of police, she wouldn’t believe they’d do anything about it, so perhaps she took on the task of avenging his death.”
“What about getting the search warrant?”
“Definitely.” Rhona flipped her phone open. Once she’d established the seriousness of the request and its urgency, she set the machinery in motion to speedily obtain a warrant. They reviewed the case on the drive back to pick up the document.
“Everything seems connected to the Russians, doesn’t it?” Ian said.
“Not everything. We know Gregory must have been in the mob or connected to it because he was killed in their distinctive fashion. We don’t know if he wheedled his way into Danson’s apartment because he wanted to recruit Danson or to spy on him or to stop him. From the translation, I’d guess Gregory was ordered to kill Danson, and that may explain Danson’s disappearance. That fits together.” She paused.
“What doesn’t fit the pattern?” Ian said.
“Why they would go to the trouble of driving the car to Niagara Falls? Why would they want us or the family to think that he’d either committed suicide or run away?”
“Maybe Danson was working for them. His cover had been blown and they were going to set him up somewhere else?” Ian ventured.
“I don’t think they work like that. As far as we know, Danson didn’t speak Russian, didn’t have access to any confidential information and wouldn’t have been useful to them. No, I think we’re missing something.�
� Rhona shifted to look at Ian and yelped. “Damn hip, it should be better by now. I’ll listen to the instructor next time.”
* * *
After her confrontation with the detective, Hollis was glad to arrive home. She and MacTee climbed the stairs, and she knocked on Candace’s door.
“Tee, Tee,” she heard Elizabeth shout. When Candace opened the door, Elizabeth scooted out and wrapped her arms around MacTee.
“That was one terrible day,” Candace said, leaning on the door frame. “I can’t concentrate on anything. My boss asked me a question three times before I registered that she was talking to me. I’ll lose my job if I don’t get my act together. All I want to do is phone Rhona Simpson to see if they’ve found anything.” She scrunched her lips and shook her head.
“It’s terrible when you can’t focus,” Hollis said.
“I’m not the only one affected. When I picked up Elizabeth at day care, they told me she’d been behaving badly. Apparently she wouldn’t settle for her nap, wouldn’t play with any one and bit poor little Caroline when she came over and tried to hug her. They asked me what was wrong. I told them we were worried about my brother who was missing.” She shook her head again. “No one who doesn’t know our family circumstances would understand why that would upset Elizabeth. I’m sure they thought it was a lame excuse. They must have given Elizabeth grief, because she sulked all the way home.” She looked past Hollis at Elizabeth and MacTee. “Good thing you brought MacTee. He distracts her. What happened at your lunch with Willem? Come in and tell me.”
“Willem tried to uncover the paper’s meaning. Thugs abducted him while I was on the phone with him.”
Candace covered her mouth with her hand.
“I called the police, told Rhona and gave her the paper. It’s time to face up to the fact that we’re dealing with a serious situation. I’m here to say again as forcefully as I can that we must talk to Poppy. Please phone and pin her down and make her commit to a time when we can have her undivided attention.”
“Poppy? What’s happened that you need to talk to her?”