by Tim McGregor
“I’ve been good, Mrs. McNiven.” Billie looked past the woman, trying to get a look inside the cottage. “You?”
“Busy. Summer season and all.” The woman’s eyes went down to the kite in Billie’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I was looking for the family who’s staying here. The boy, actually. Do you know his name?”
“Oh, they left last night. Late too.”
Something dropped in her stomach. Billie looked at the bright red kite. “Damn.”
“They seemed like a very quiet family. Not much for conversation.”
“The boy. I wanted to give him this.” She looked out at the road, as if she could spot their car. “I don’t suppose they’re coming back this summer for another stay?”
“Not that I know of, dear.” Mrs. McNiven glanced at the kite again. “It’s very nice. I’m sure the boy would have liked it.”
“I’ll never know. Thanks, Mrs. M.”
The woman waved goodbye and Billie went back to the Rover. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with the kite now. She tossed it into the backseat finally, climbed under the wheel and drove away.
5
BILLIE FLUNG THE trunk open and reached for a hard shell case of camera gear. “What’s this event for?”
“Art gala,” Tammy answered, adjusting something on her vintage Hasselblad. “It’s their big fundraiser.”
The parking lot at the pier was crammed with expensive cars. Billie and Tammy lugged the gear into the park where strings of paper lanterns floated over the tables and the flowers while the upper crust art patrons mingled about with champagne flutes in hand. The strains of Dixie jazz drifted across the harbour from a band playing under a gazebo on the wooden pier.
Tammy was here to shoot the event for a local paper, documenting the glitterati in their natural environment. Watching her friend work with a camera, Billie had developed an interest in photography two years ago. Another attempt to find a passion to follow, a vocation to pursue. It had ended up as a minor hobby. Still, she thought when Tammy asked for help, she might learn a thing or two.
“I’m gonna work through the crowd first,” Tammy said as they strode into the thick of the crowd. “Then I’ll get some wider shots from the pier when the speeches start.”
Billie scanned the party-goers around her. Primped up and turned out in their finery, they seemed like an entirely different species. “How long is the reception part?”
“About an hour. Hold up.” Tammy dug through the bag on Billie’s shoulder and swapped out cameras. “Plenty of time to get what I need before the jet set get trashed. Where are you gonna be?”
“I’ll plunk down over there,” Billie nodded to the railing near the water’s edge. “Out of the way.”
“All right. I might need to change cameras again.” Striding into the crowd, Tammy hollered back. “See if you can snag us some of that champagne.”
Lugging the camera bag to the railing, Billie hunkered down on the concrete step. The breeze off the water was cool against her back, turning her sweaty skin clammy. She watched her friend work through a crowd.
Tammy was an adorable oddball but the one thing Billie admired about her was her passion for the photographic image. She was always experimenting or getting into complicated situations to find the most interesting angle. Sometimes dangerously so. Tammy had fallen from ledges, scraped her legs open on barbed wire and had her arm singed badly on a hot exhaust pipe. All of it dismissed as part of the job chasing the right frame. Her passion was infectious, which is what led to Billie’s own interest in it. Tammy, it turned out, was the secret ingredient. Left to her own devices, Billie found her interest in cameras dwindled quickly away.
At the very least, she could cross photography off her list of potential vocations to pursue. One more down, a million more to go through.
A server with a tray of champagne flutes buzzed through the nearby tables. Billie tried to flag her down but the server ignored her, clearly marking Billie as a party-crasher.
“She pegged you as a fence-jumper.” A man’s voice, coming from her left.
Turning around, it took a moment for Billie to place the man’s face. The creep from the other night. The English dude in the rumpled tie. “You need to tackle those bloody people if you want a drink,” he said.
She got to her feet. “Oh come on. Are you stalking me?”
“Maybe. But not the way you mean.” He raised his arms. Two flutes in one hand and a full champagne bottle in the other. “Can we talk?”
“Nothing to talk about.” Billie hooked the camera bag back onto her shoulder, ready to stomp away.
“Hang about. Here, take one of these.”
He held out the flutes to her. Billie didn’t move but then he waved the glasses at her, as if it were urgent. She took one.
“Let me do-over the intros, yeah?” He tipped the bottle and filled the glass. It foamed up and ran down his fingers. “My name’s Gantry.”
“You suck at pouring champagne, Gantry.” Billie shook the sticky wine from her hand. “What kind of name is that anyway?”
“The one I got stuck with,” he grinned. “You’re Billie, yeah? Billie Culpepper.”
Again, a prickly sensation tingled her arms. Trouble. “How do you know that?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a stalker if I didn’t glean that basic information, would I?”
He was grinning but she didn’t find it very funny. Listen to your gut, she scolded herself. “Look, what ever you’re selling, I don’t want it. Just leave me alone.”
“I just want to talk,. He held up both hands as if to show that he wasn’t hiding anything up his sleeves. “I swear.”
Billie hesitated, then grumbled “You have two minutes.”
“Alright then.” He eased down onto the step she had just vacated and set the bottle beside him. “How much do you know about your mum?”
Not what she expected to say the least. Who did this creep think he was, bringing that up? “What does she have to do with this?”
“Everything. Sort of starts with her.” He fished out a cigarette and lit up.
A terrible thought popped into Billie’s mind. “Did you know her?”
“Nope. Never met her,” he said. “So you don’t remember much about her?”
“She disappeared when I a kid.”
Gantry leaned forward, intrigued by what she had said. “How old were you when that happened?”
“Eight.”
He mulled that over, as if something loose had clicked into place. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“None of this makes sense.” She was getting bored of the whole mystery act he was putting on. “Look, if you know something, then just spit it out. I hate games.”
“I’m not playing at one, luv.” Gantry puffed a smoke ring. “We just need to take this slow. Because what I’m about to tell you requires an open mind.”
~
Tammy checked the time on her phone and scanned through the schmoozefest playing out on the harbour lawn. She’d snapped over a dozen of the pretty people but none of them had any zap. Zap being the photo that would relay the tone of the event. Sometimes she got lucky and found the right person or the right mix of people that captured the event. Other times, she struck out completely and had to roll with what she had.
Plenty of people had twigged to the camera in her hand, smiling or flipping their hair in a sly attempt to catch her attention. Photo sluts, as she termed them. The vain and the narcissistic who loved nothing more than to have their picture taken. These were the polar opposite of what she was looking for. She scanned the faces for someone who turned away from her camera. Ready to throw in the towel and move out to the pier for the wider vista shots, she stopped and craned her neck to see over the mob of teeth flashers. Paydirt.
The couple looked a little more real to Tammy’s sensibilities. The woman was clearly part of the scene but more on the art side than that of a patron. She was beautiful but in a
way that suggested something more than what she wore or how her hair was done. Her date was handsome enough but a little rough looking. He seemed bemused by the crowd around him, as if he’d wound up at the wrong shindig.
Tammy wormed through the stiffs toward her target, the camera raised up. “Hi. Can I take your picture? It’s for the Meridian.”
The woman immediately waved her off. “No thanks,” she said.
Her date pulled her back and locked his arm round hers. “Oh come on. It’ll be fun.”
“No, it won’t,” she said. Then she turned to Tammy. “No offence.”
“No worries,” Tammy smiled. She kept the camera poised to snap the shot. The man was willing, his date just needed a nudge. “Can I be honest? You two are the only interesting people I’ve seen all night.”
“Go ahead,” the man told her, keeping his date close. “Pay no attention to miss ‘I-hate-my-picture’ over here.”
The woman scowled but stayed put, humouring her date. Tammy got closer and started shooting. “What are your names?”
The woman was about to speak when her date suddenly jolted out of frame, peering off to something behind Tammy. He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Holy shit.”
“What is it?” the woman asked, perturbed.
“Stay here.”
The woman clutched his arm. “Raymond, you’re off the clock, remember? Call the office, let them handle it.”
“I can’t.” He gently pried her hand away. “Wanted suspect, twelve ‘o clock.”
Tammy glanced over her shoulder, trying to see what the fuss was all about but saw nothing out of the ordinary. What were they talking about?
“Who?” the woman demanded.
“Gantry.”
Her face blanched and she gripped his arm tighter. “No. Call the office, let them handle it.”
“He’ll sniff the cruisers from a mile away and vanish again.” The man pried himself away but looked his date square in the eye. “He’s not expecting me. Call Odinbeck, tell him what’s happening.”
The man hurried past Tammy and elbowed through the crowd. The woman was already dialling her phone. “Get me the desk sergeant on duty,” she hissed into the phone, panic rising in her voice. “Tell them Detective Mockler has gone after a suspect. A dangerous one.”
The term detective rang through Tammy’s ears. The guy was a cop? She spun around to pinpoint said detective rustling through the throng of champagne-swillers, charging at the man they had both described as a suspect. The man they were talking about was standing near the rails by the water’s edge.
And he was deep in conversation with Billie.
~
The man wasn’t making sense and Billie couldn’t decipher a word of what Gantry was saying. Pressure was building in her head, like a storm threatening to pour down and it threw a haze over everything around her. The fog was coming on, like it did last time she had spoken to this man.
“Stop.” She felt dizzy. “I need to sit down.”
Gantry rose up and took her arm. “It’s happening right now. And you don’t even realize it. Do you?”
“Just shut up for a minute,” she said. She tried to snap her thoughts back into place. He was about to tell her something about her mother, wasn’t he?
A bark cut through the lazy air, sharp and startling. One word.
“Gantry!”
They both looked up to see a man charging up the path toward them. A brick wall of a guy with pure venom in his eyes it froze Billie’s marrow until she realized the menace was directed at the Englishman beside her.
“Oh shite,” Gantry hissed.
“Step away from the girl, Gantry!” the big man barked. “Get down and assume the position.”
Billie felt Gantry release her elbow. The air felt charged and electric, the threat of violence humming strong. But she couldn’t figure out why Gantry was smiling.
“You look off-duty, Mockler,” Gantry sneered. “You don’t want to mess up that cheap suit, do you?”
The big man locked his eyes on Billie. “Miss, step away.”
“What’s going on?” she stuttered.
Gantry seethed through clenched teeth. “You just cost me work hours.”
The other man moved in, slow and cautious. “Get on the ground! Do it now.”
“Piss off.”
Gantry feinted left then bolted right, knocking the glass from Billie’s hand. The other man charged like a linebacker and lunged at the Englishman. Both men plowed straight into her.
Bille walloped hard against the railing, her head ringing off the metal, and then the railing crumbled away. Billie felt herself falling. Everything went very dark and very cold when she hit the water. The deep end.
Tammy booked it hard, calling her friend’s name only to see Billie sail over the edge into the harbour. The two men tumbled over one another, fighting and cursing until the big guy she had talked to earlier bucked like a bronco. The skinnier man lost his balance and fell into the drink too.
“Billie!” Tammy ran to the edge of the pier where the railing had fallen away and looked down. The water lapped dark and still. Billie was nowhere to be seen. Unhooking the camera strap from around her neck, Tammy was kicking off her heels when she saw that the big guy had beat her to it. His shoes and jacket were left on the pier as he lunged over the side. His frame snapped in a graceful dive and he slipped into the water with barely a splash.
The man’s date came up alongside Tammy and now both of them peered down into the black water but nothing moved. There was no sign of any of them.
6
SQUARES OF WHITE floated before her eyes. It was a long time before Billie realized that what she was seeing were ceiling tiles. The crappy soundproof kind you find in an office or a hospital.
Hospital.
Leaning up one elbow, the room swam with a seasick lurch and Billie flopped her head back down onto the pillow. Everything hurt at once and she wondered how badly she was injured. Waiting for the vertigo to pass, she unscrambled her thoughts. She was in a hospital room. She must have been hurt. How?
The fishy smell of Lake Ontario. Gantry. Then some bruiser appeared out of nowhere and knocked into the drink. Just the thought of dropping into that polluted stew of cold lake water gave her the willies.
She patted the bed with her hands, looking for the button to summon a nurse. Craning her neck, she clocked a big button on the wall above her head. She pressed it. No tell-tale buzz or ping but she hoped it got someone’s attention.
Eons later, a nurse whooshed into the room. She looked bored to tears. “Hello,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“I’m sure you do. Can you tell me your name?”
Billie glanced about the room. “Isn’t it on a chart or something?”
“I want to know if you know your name, honey.” The slimmest of smiles touched the nurse’s lips. “Or your age, phone number? Details.”
“Billie Culpepper. I live on King East. I’m twenty-nine.”
“Billie?” The nurse frowned and reached for the chart. “Says here you’re Sybil. Is Billie the short form?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“You drowned, honey.” The nurse set the clipboard down and turned for the door. “Let me find a doctor. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” Billie called out but the woman didn’t reappear.
Drowned? Was the woman pulling her leg? Shouldn’t she be dead? Maybe she was still asleep and this was just some stupid dream. The urge to go home was so immediate it felt like panic fluttering against her sternum.
It was a moment before she noticed that someone had entered her room. She hoped it was the doctor but the man’s white smock marked him as another patient. He stood hunched over, staring at the wall as if entranced. Billie tilted up to see what was so interesting but there was nothing but a bare wall.
“Hello,” she said.
The man shifted a little but didn’t
look at her. She didn’t like him in her room. She always attracted the crazies. “Hey,” she ventured. “Are you lost?”
“They won’t let me outta here,” he said. “Fucking doctors think they know everything.”
“Call the nurse. She’ll help you.”
“I just wanna go home,” he grumbled. “I fucking hate hospitals.”
Okey-dokey. Now he was officially freaking her out and she wanted him gone. “No one likes hospitals.”
“You should get out. While you can.” He finally turned to look at her, rotating around toward the door, and as he did so, Billie saw the immense splash of red on his smock. So much blood it almost looked fake. It dripped from the hem, leaving droplets on the floor.
“Oh my God!” Billie sat up and screamed for the nurse, for anyone. The man shuffled slowly out the door and disappeared from sight.
The nurse came running, with another staff member on her heels. “What is it?”
“There was a patient in here. He had blood all over him.”
“Where?” Her head bobbed around, as if the patient in question was hiding somewhere in the small room.
“Here! Not two seconds ago. You gotta find him before he bleeds to death.”
“Oh for Christ’s sakes,” the nurse huffed and ran back into the hallway.
The remaining staff member approached. A young man not much older than herself. “Billie?” he said. “I’m doctor Sanjay. How do you feel?”
“Groggy. Did you see that guy?”
“Afraid not. Lie back for a second, okay?”
She did as he asked and tried not to blink when he shined a penlight into her eye. “Do you know what happened to you?”
“I got shoved into the lake by two meat-heads.”
“You got a nasty bump to the head too.”
Her hand shot to her head, feeling over the scalp until she felt a tender lump. Her hair felt dirty and greasy. “Ouch. Is it bad?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Billie, you’ve been unconscious for three days.”
“Three days?” That seemed impossible.