Murder Is Uncooperative

by Merrilee Robson

  I agreed I'd let him know as soon as I found out anything.

  In the meantime, I needed to look at the material the newspaper's librarians had found.

  I opened my email and waited for the message to download. There were articles from both of Vancouver's daily papers. The first article was from two days after the girls had disappeared.

  NO SIGN OF MISSING TEENAGERS

  Police are still searching for Jessica Anderson and Amy Cole. The two girls, who both attend Vancouver's Britannia Secondary School, were in classes Tuesday. According to classmates, the pair planned to go to Cole's home after school to work on a school project.

  Les Walter, the manager of Waterview housing cooperative, where Cole lived, said he saw the two returning from school about 3:30 EM. yesterday afternoon. He didn't notice them leave again. Marian Cole, Amy's mother, said the two girls left a few hours later, heading for Jessica's house.

  Neither has been seen since.

  There were the usual contact details for anyone with further information. But I'd stopped reading.

  I don't know why the last name hadn't tipped me off. I'd been focusing on the past. But I was now pretty sure that Amy was Mariana's daughter. They had got the first name wrong— sloppy reporting, I thought—but it must have been her.

  I hadn't yet read the other articles Dave had forwarded to me, but I was pretty sure they were going to be bad news. Mariana had talked about her son, but she'd never mentioned a daughter. My heart clenched. I knew how I'd feel at even the idea of something happening to Ben. I couldn't imagine losing him.

  My heart went out to Mariana. I knew I could probably just ask her what had happened. But I was reluctant to bring her more pain. I was sure I could find other ways to satisfy what was mere curiosity at this point.

  I read quickly through the other stories Dave had sent me. One could only hint at the desperation of the girls' families.

  FAMILIES PLEAD FOR INFORMATION ON MISSING GIRLS

  The families of missing teens Jessica Anderson and Amy Cole pleaded today for anyone with any information on their whereabouts to come forward. Elizabeth Anderson and her husband, Donald, said Jessica, their only child, had never run away before.

  “But if that's what happened, if Jessie felt she had to leave for some reason, then we want to assure her that she can come home. We love you, Jessie, and we'll welcome you home, no matter what.

  “And if someone has taken her or knows anything about where she is, I beg you to let her come home safely.”

  Marian Cole, Amy's mother, said she always thought her daughter was safe in her own neighborhood. “It's hard to think about this happening. A daughter comes home from school and then vanishes. I just want her to come back.”

  The girls were last seen at Waterview housing cooperative, where Amy lives.

  I scanned the photos of the desperate parents. Despite the worry that wrinkled their faces, Elizabeth and Donald Anderson were a handsome couple in their forties, prosperous-looking and well groomed. Jessica had obviously inherited her mother's blond good looks.

  The photo of Marian Cole made me wonder if I'd been wrong in thinking it was Mariana. The picture showed a heavy-set, almost obese woman with big hair and too much makeup. She was dressed in a beaded sweatshirt, leggings and high heels. I squinted at the photo on my screen. Enlarging it just made it look more grainy.

  Maybe I was wrong about it being Mariana. Maybe it was a former co-op member with a similar name. Mariana was plump, but this woman was much heavier. I hoped I was wrong and that it wasn't our friendly neighbor who had suffered the horrible tragedy of a missing child.

  I read through the other articles quickly, desperate to find out more. Then I wished I hadn't. “BODY OF MISSING TEEN FOUND,” the headline screamed. Jessica's body had been found in some bushes in New Brighton Park, near the waterfront. She had been strangled.

  I read the final article, written some time later. It summarized what I'd already read about the disappearance of the girls and the discovery of Jessica's body. The police had not found Jessica's killer. And Amy had never been seen again.

  That was all the information I had from Dave, and it didn't really resolve anything. I remembered that there were other boxes of files in the office, and I wanted to ask Ruth if I could look through them.

  Glancing at my watch I realized the office was likely closed for the day. It was time to start dinner. I decided that looking through the boxes could wait until tomorrow. It was a decision I'd regret.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Four

  The next day, as I was about to head down to the office, I remembered the plate I had found. I went back to the kitchen and picked it up to give to Ruth in the office. I hoped she would be able to find out who it belonged to, both because it looked like something the owner would want back and because the co-op would want to stop people leaving food out in the alley.

  At that time of day, the office should have been open. But I found the door locked and another co-op member waiting at the door when I got there.

  It was Aaron, the man I'd battled with over the motor home. He was banging on the closed door and muttering under his breath. He stopped and glared at me as I approached.

  I wondered if he was going to go into another tirade about me. But someone else was the target of his anger today.

  “I don't know how I'm supposed to pay my housing charge if the co-op can't keep the office open.”

  I must have looked puzzled because he went on.

  “Housing charges. That's what we call rent in the co-op. If you're such a great new co-op member, you ought to know that. It's supposed to make us feel special, I guess. That Les was always on about how we were co-owners, not tenants. We still had to pay on time though, else we'd be in trouble.

  “That Ruth called me yesterday to remind me I needed to give her more post-dated checks. That's how I pay. I usually give them enough checks for the year. But I guess I was running out of checks when I paid in January. She called to say the last one was for October and I needed to give her some more. At least, that's what she said. You can't really trust anyone these days.”

  I paid my own rent through a direct transfer from my bank account to the co-op's, which seemed the easiest way. But it appeared that some people still used checks.

  “But I can't pay if there's no one to give it to,” Aaron went on. “I don't know what kind of a place we're running here.”

  “Yes, well, a death does tend to disrupt things a little,” I said. “You'd think Les could have been a bit more considerate and waited to die until after you'd paid your 'housing charges.'”

  I regretted the words before they were out of my mouth. I was alone in the co-op lobby with a large and very angry man. A man I'd already had run ins with over his stupid motor home. My mother had often told me I needed to think more about being smart and not just smart-mouthed.

  I could see his face getting redder. Was he just a bully who yelled or could he actually be violent?

  “Just who do you think you are?” he screamed. “You come in here and all of a sudden I have to move my motor home so you can park your little car. I've lived here for twenty years and you just got here, but your car takes priority. Why is that, huh?”

  I took a step back but I tried to keep my voice calm. “Look, I have one parking spot, just like everyone else. It's not special treatment. I don't know why you think that.”

  “Oh, yeah, Naomi told me all about you. And other people too. I guess you and Les had some kind of special relationship that got you special treatment. That's so unfair. But I guess you won't be getting any special treatment now, will you?” He was yelling and almost spitting out the word “special.”

  “Aaron, I only want to park my car in the parking spot I'm paying for. That's not unreasonable. And I understand people were complaining about the motor home long before I moved in.”

  “Yeah, that Les. No one else. Now he's gone, I guess I don't have a problem do I? Unless you keep cau
sing trouble.”

  He shook his fist in my face. I backed up a little. Would he actually hit me? He followed me, waving his arms and shouting.

  Was Aaron actually saying he had something to do with Les's death? Over a parking spot for a motor home?

  I was relieved to see a door open down the hall. Gwen poked her head out of her apartment.

  “Oh, hi Rebecca, Aaron. Is everything all right? I thought I heard yelling.”

  “No, everything is not all right,” Aaron replied, his face getting red again. The man was surely a heart attack waiting to happen. “I'm just trying to pay my housing charges. The co-op comes down on me hard enough if I'm a few days late. You're quick enough to charge me a late fee if I don't pay on time. Is it too much to expect the office to be open during office hours?”

  “Well, Aaron . . .” Gwen began. She was obviously going to make some comment about the difficulty of keeping the office open when the key staff person had died. But she seemed to think better of the comment. She was more diplomatic than I was.

  “I'm sorry, Aaron,” she went on. “You can certainly pay your housing charge. I thought Ruth was coming in today. Is the door locked?”

  “Locked,” Aaron said. “And I banged on the door but no one answered. The office is supposed to be open nine to five.” Aaron's face was red, and he was breathing loudly. “I don't know why I live in the stupid place anyway. You guys have no idea how to manage a building.”

  I was astonished that Gwen could remain so calm listening to Aaron's tirade. She was obviously used to his behavior.

  “Just let me get my keys and I'll let us into the office. I can take your check, and Ruth can deal with it when she comes in.” Gwen hurried into her unit and came out jangling a heavy set of keys.

  “I do hope Ruth is coming in today,” she added. “She did a great job last week sorting things out. She told me she'd found some quite interesting files about the co-op in the early days. I didn't even know we still had some of that stuff. I asked her to let you look through it for the co-op history. She stayed quite late though, so maybe she just decided to come in later today.”

  The keys on the ring clanked as she unlocked the office door and pulled it open.

  “That's odd,” she said. “The lights are on.” She walked quickly into the office, followed by Aaron. Then I heard her scream.

  Aaron's huge body was blocking the doorway but he was backing out quickly. He was making gagging sounds and I smelled the sour odor of vomit. I looked after him, puzzled, as he rushed outside. Then I heard Gwen scream again, louder this time, and I rushed into the office.

  The smell of vomit was overpowering. I was used to cleaning up after Ben when he was sick but this smell was putrid. There was a small puddle of vomit on the floor near the door, where it looked like Aaron had thrown up. But surely that couldn't account for the horrible smell.

  For a moment I couldn't see Gwen. Then I saw her crouched down on the floor by one of the desks. There was something on the floor beside her. As she stood up, I realized that it was Ruth. She was surrounded by pools of vomit, and she was frighteningly still.

  Gwen's face was pale. “Call an ambulance,” she said, her voice shaky. “But I don't think it will do any good. She might have a pulse but I can't find it.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Five

  I picked up the office phone and called 911. Then I went outside to direct the paramedics when they arrived.

  I found Aaron sitting on the front lawn, his head between his legs. He had been copiously sick in one of the flowerbeds by the front door. The smell was unpleasant, but the fresh breeze wafted most of it away.

  “I've got a sensitive stomach,” Aaron said, turning his head to look up at me. “I couldn't stand the smell. And I saw Ruth . . . what happened to her?”

  Well, at least his stomach was sensitive.

  “I don't know. I've called an ambulance.”

  The ambulance arrived with wailing sirens. The hallway filled with residents attracted by the noise, and we all watched anxiously as Ruth was loaded into the back of the ambulance. I hoped they had been in time to save her. But somehow I didn't think that was likely.

  I saw the homeless woman slip into the open door of the building and join the crowd. She was looking around, gazing into the faces of the people in the crowd as if she expected to see someone she knew. No, as if she hoped to see someone she knew.

  But she kept edging through the crowd, heading towards the open office door.

  I saw she was focused on the china plate I had dropped just outside the office door when I heard Gwen scream. Miraculously, it seemed unbroken. I headed over to the woman as she swooped down and grabbed the plate, tucking it inside her overcoat and clutching it to her body.

  She looked over at me as I edged closer to her.

  “It's mine,” she said defiantly. “My life was taken. I just want it back.”

  The woman seemed more disturbed than I thought.

  “I found that plate out back,” I said. “Has someone been leaving food for you?”

  “Ha,” she laughed. “Tried. Took my life and then tried to take my life. But couldn't. I saw. I saw you. You found the plate. I was watching.”

  Her voice croaked as if she didn't use it much. I was a little nervous at the idea that the woman had been watching me.

  “I was looking for you,” I said. “That pendant you gave me might be valuable.” Her face wrinkled with a worried look. “Remember you gave me that pendant?” I went on. “I think it's real silver. I thought you might want it back.”

  “Noooo,” she croaked, grabbing my arm with her dirty hand. I shuddered to think of the filthy garbage cans she might have been rooting through. “No, you need it. I told you bad things happen. I told you. You need it.”

  She started tugging my arm, urging me out of the hallway. I was surrounded by co-op members still gossiping in the hallway but I felt afraid. I tried to pull my arm away.

  She peered at me with blue eyes that suddenly looked totally sane. “Please come with me,” she said in a clear voice that sounded completely different from the one she had used a moment ago. “Please. I just want to show you something.”

  I was so shocked I allowed her to pull me to the door. Outside, she let go of my arm but gestured to me to follow her. She led me to the back of the co-op. Her shopping cart was waiting beside the co-op's garbage bin. She rummaged around among her stuff and pulled out another china plate that matched the one she had picked up in the hallway. This one was still smeared with dirt and the remains of something sticky.

  “See,” she said. “My life was taken and now they want to take my life.”

  I had been misled by a moment of seeming lucidity. This woman was clearly crazy, and now I was alone with her in the back alley.

  “I've got to go back,” I said. “I'll bring you out your pendant. You could get some money for it.”

  “No, wait,” she said. She used her cultured, sane voice again. “I need to show you something else.”

  She pulled me towards one of the shrubs that lined the fence in the co-op's back yard. Reaching in, she parted the stems and gestured to something on the ground. It was a large black rat, very dead. Flies were already buzzing around it. I shuddered.

  “Thank you for showing me that. We'll have to get rid of it and clean up. Is someone leaving food for you? Do you know who it is? I should tell them to stop, if it's attracting rats. But I could give you some money for food, or take you to a shelter. There are places where you can get help.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes had a wild look again and she grabbed my arm. “No, your rat.”

  “My rat?” She nodded, as if I was supposed to know what she was talking about. "My rat. You mean the rat I saw before? When I found the plate?”

  She nodded again, her forehead was wrinkled, as if she was concentrating hard. She grabbed my arm again and looked into my eyes.

  “Your rat.” She pulled out the plate tha
t she had kept clasped to her body under her coat. “Your rat. His plate. He ate.” She smiled. “Sounds like a poem. But he died.”

  I frowned. “Are you saying he ate from the plate and then died? That someone poisoned him.”

  She nodded.

  “But you know . . .” I broke off. “I'm sorry. I don't know your name. I'm Rebecca.”

  She looked at me. “E . . . er, Betty. My name is Betty.” She held out her filthy hand in a gracious manner. I cringed a little inside but took her hand and shook it.

  “You know, Betty, there are all sorts of things that could kill a rat. People do put out poison but he could have been hit by a car or just died of old age.”

  “He ate from this plate and he died. She ate from the other plate and she died.” She clutched my arm again. “You watch out. I told you. Bad things happen.”

  She tucked the plate into her shopping cart and pushed it away down the lane.

  “Wait,” I called after her. “Don't you want your pendant back? I told you I think it's worth something.”

  She shook her head firmly. “Keep it. You need it more than me. You live here.”

  She moved away faster than I would have thought possible for a woman her age. I went back to the co-op, pondering what she had said.

  Had someone been putting poisoned food out to kill the rat? If so, it was a dangerous thing to do. Vancouver, being a port city, did have a rat population. The resident coyotes and other urban predators usually kept them under control, but people did sometimes put out rat poison. It was supposed to be in containers that only rodents could access, though, to avoid poisoning pets, birds, and other animals.

  If someone in the co-op was doing their own do-it-your-self pest control, we had to put a stop to that.

  Betty seemed to be implying that someone had been trying to kill her too. She clearly had mental health issues, and it could be paranoia talking, but there was something very odd about leaving china plates around in the lane.