One or the Other

by John McFetridge

  Legault said, “Did he just go back and continue cutting up the chickens?”

  “I don’t know,” Dougherty said, “that’s a good question.”

  * * *

  Legault left her car parked half a block down on Girouard. One side of the street was lined with old stone houses. Where the other side used to be was now the Décarie Expressway, twenty feet below. Across the gaping hole of the expressway was one side of another street so the houses still faced each other.

  In Dougherty’s car, Legault said, “Gupta lives on Melrose Avenue.”

  “Below the tracks?”

  “Is that an expression?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Dougherty said, “but in this case there are also real tracks.” He drove along Sherbrooke and down Regent, checking address numbers until they got to the dead end at the railroad tracks, and Dougherty said, “See, below the tracks.” There was a pedestrian walkway through a tunnel, the concrete steps and walls covered in graffiti, and a couple blocks away there was a pedestrian overpass but they had to drive to Girouard to get to the other side.

  The Guptas were from India but Sid was born in Montreal and looked to Dougherty like every other pot-smoking student he saw downtown. When they’d parked in front of the two-storey duplex, Dougherty said, “That’ll be Sidney,” pointing at the guy in the t-shirt and jeans sitting on the front steps with a couple of white guys. Sid was a little darker-skinned and his hair was black but otherwise they all looked alike.

  Dougherty got out of the car and said, “Hey Sid, how’s it going?”

  Sid played it cool, smiling, acting like it was no big deal, saying, “It’s the fuzz,” and laughing along with the other guys on the steps.

  Dougherty said, “You want to talk here or go for a ride?”

  “I like it here.”

  Dougherty looked at the two white guys and then back to Gupta and said, “You’ll want it to be private, too.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Dougherty said. “That way after you cave and tell us everything we need to know you can still tell these guys you were the man and you didn’t say a word.”

  Gupta laughed and said, “Far out, you’re cool, man.”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  Dougherty looked back at the two guys and one of them said, “I was going anyway, see you later.”

  The other guy followed him, and when they were gone Dougherty said, “This is better, just us.”

  Gupta said, “There will be justice.”

  “You sell drugs at concerts: the Forum, Place des Arts, Place des Nations.”

  “What?” Gupta was still smiling but it was starting to fade.

  “We’re interested in Place des Nations. You remember the Gentle Giant concert?”

  “Oh man, yeah,” he tilted his head back and said, “the power and the glory.”

  Dougherty had no idea what he was talking about. He said, “You met two kids on the bridge, they were walking back to the south shore.”

  “What?”

  “At the pavilion, the stairs up to the bridge.”

  “That old building?” He was starting to focus.

  “A boy and a girl, but in the dark they might have both looked like girls.”

  “No, man,” Gupta said. “I take the Métro, man, I don’t go near the bridge.”

  Dougherty glanced at Legault. He got the feeling that Gupta was scared. And not of the cops. He said, “Why not, Sid, what’s on the bridge?”

  “Heights? I’m afraid of heights?”

  “No you’re not,” Dougherty said, answering the question. “But I believe you, that you’re afraid of the bridge. It’s not your territory, is it?”

  “I don’t go near the bridge.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Just give me his name.”

  Gupta looked to Legault and said, “Why you gotta hassle me?”

  Dougherty leaned in closer and put his hand on Sid’s shoulder. He squeezed it hard and said, “Last chance.” His free hand curled into a fist.

  “There’s some guys, I don’t know their names.”

  “Just one.”

  They were almost nose to nose.

  Gupta said, “Comptois. I don’t know his first name.”

  “It’s Martin,” Dougherty said, standing up. “See, that wasn’t hard.”

  * * *

  Driving back downtown, Legault said, “You think it was Comptois?”

  “We’ll find out when we talk to him.”

  Legault shook her head and said, “This is crazy.”

  “What is?”

  “Do you ever get tired of beating information out of people?”

  “Not as long as I keep getting the information.”

  “And then we just go from one to another. They’re all the same.”

  “Not all of them,” Dougherty said. “The glass slipper will fit only one of them.”

  “What?”

  “You know, Cinderella? We keep making them put on the glass slipper till it fits.”

  Legault said, “You come up with that?”

  Dougherty said, “No, it was my,” and he paused, not sure of the word to describe Judy. He said, “Girlfriend.” But then he said, “We’re going to get an apartment together. I think we’re going to get married.”

  “You think?”

  “Her parents just separated,” Dougherty said. “It doesn’t seem like a good time to talk about getting married.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “A few years,” Dougherty said.

  “How long have you known each other?”

  “Well, let’s see, the first time I arrested her was in 1970.”

  “How many times since?”

  “Almost again a couple of years later, that’s really when we started going together. She was a political radical.”

  “She hijack any planes?”

  “You remember Milton Park,” Dougherty said, “people getting kicked out of their houses? She was protesting that development, stuff like that.”

  “But not anymore? You set her straight?”

  Dougherty laughed a little, thinking about what Judy would say to that. “Oh, she hasn’t given up, she’s still involved. She’s a teacher now.” He realized that was the first time he’d said she was a teacher, not going to be a teacher. It felt good.

  “Would it surprise you to know I was involved in protests?”

  Dougherty shrugged and said, “No,” even though it did surprise him a little.

  “For an independent Quebec?”

  “Oh,” Dougherty said, “you’re a separatist.”

  “Does it shock you?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “It’s just politics,” Dougherty said. “I don’t really care.”

  “You don’t care if we tear apart your country?”

  “You won’t tear up the roads will you? I’ll still be able to drive to the east coast?”

  “If you can get through customs. But you would stay?”

  “It’s my home,” Dougherty said. “I was born here. Why wouldn’t I stay?”

  “People talk about moving, so they can stay part of Canada.”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Because you don’t think it will happen?”

  “Because I don’t think it will change anything.”

  Legault looked surprised. She said, “But don’t you think it will be better if we can run our own affairs?”

  “Maîtres chez nous,” Dougherty said, using the expression that was everywhere.

  “That’s right. Don’t you think that would be better?”

  Dougherty shrugged and said, “I don’t know, I’ve never k
nown politicians to make anything better.”

  “We’ve never tried this.”

  “No,” Dougherty said, “that’s true.”

  He turned onto Girouard and parked behind Legault’s car.

  She said, “So we have to find this Martin Comptois.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t have a record?”

  “Not in Montreal or Longueuil.”

  “Okay, I’ll make a request with the provincial police and the RCMP. See if they have any information.”

  Legault let out a sigh and nodded her head slowly. She said, “Sure.”

  Dougherty said, “Look,” and he paused, but Legault didn’t look at him, so he said, “not just anyone could do something like this. If we’re right about this.”

  “We are.”

  “If we are, and there’s a guy out there who strangled these kids and threw them off the bridge, if he doesn’t get caught he’ll do it again.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, he was probably all broken up about it when he did it, when he realized what happened, how . . . final it was, that shocked him, sure, but the longer it goes on, the longer nothing happens to him and life just goes on, he’ll just go with it. And, yeah, I believe he’ll do it again, or something like it.”

  Legault was nodding, but she didn’t say anything.

  “As long as we have someone to check out, something to look at, we keep looking.”

  It was quiet in the car.

  Then Legault said, “Okay. We keep trying the glass slipper.”

  She looked at Dougherty, and he had an urge to hold up his hand to shake on it, but they just nodded at each other, and she opened the car door and got out.

  Dougherty drove back downtown, thinking every day this went on the chances of catching the guy got smaller and smaller.

  Which just made him more determined.

  * * *

  When Dougherty walked into Joe’s Steak House Judy was already at a table with her father and already looking like she wanted to get away.

  Dougherty said, “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Judy’s father said, “just order a couple of these Harvey Wallbangers and catch up.”

  The waiter was at the table then, and Dougherty said, “I’ll have a rum and Coke. Just one, thanks.”

  After the waiter left, Judy’s father looked at Dougherty and said, “You out catching murderers all day?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re a detective now, right?”

  Dougherty had never had much conversation with Judy’s father. On their Sunday visits, Dougherty usually stayed out of it, letting Judy and her father argue politics or some world event until her father went into the basement with a drink in his hand and a defeated scowl on his face.

  Now Judy’s dad was a lot more upbeat, a lot more positive looking, as if nothing could get him down. He also looked like a guy who was trying to score in a bar, and they hadn’t even had dinner yet.

  “I’m doing Olympic security,” Dougherty said. “Spent the day at the Queen E showing people how to lock doors and use the phone.”

  “That’s where the dignitaries are staying, right? There must be some kind of party there tonight for the Americans, big fourth of July thing, the bicentennial?”

  Dougherty said, “I don’t know, Tom,” using Judy’s dad’s name for maybe the third or fourth time since he’d known him, “probably.”

  “Maybe we should check it out,” Tom said. “Wish them a happy birthday.”

  Judy said, “Why should we be happy about it?”

  “They’re our neighbours.”

  “Nothing we can do about that.”

  The waiter came to the table with Dougherty’s drink, and Tom said, “So, how does everyone want their steaks?”

  After they ordered, Caesar salads and steaks medium-rare all around, Tom said, “What better way to celebrate America’s birthday than with a steak?”

  “I didn’t realize we were celebrating it,” Judy said.

  “Sure, we’ll celebrate freedom.”

  Judy said, “Do you know what Pravda said today? The Declaration of Independence has been subverted by American capitalism.”

  Tom said, “Capitalism is paying for these steaks.”

  “Yeah,” Dougherty said, “but the baked potato is communist.”

  Judy said, “Lots of places are not cheering for America today.”

  “Lots of places should take a closer look at the world,” Tom said. “Get out of the classroom a little and really look around.”

  Dougherty could see this was heading straight into the perpetual-student line Tom used to get to Judy. He was going to say something, but the waiter arrived with the salads and that gave them a moment of silence.

  Then Tom said, “Look at these hijackers, taking the plane to Uganda, is Pravda cheering Idi Amin today, is that the kind of world they want?”

  “They let some hostages go,” Judy said.

  “Yeah, and they kept all the Jews.”

  Dougherty was a little surprised to hear Tom say that, thinking about how often Tom had been casually anti-Semitic out on the West Island, but then he figured maybe the move downtown was opening him up a little.

  “Well, let’s hope this ends with everybody safe,” Dougherty said.

  They ate their salads, and then the steaks arrived on wooden plates.

  “Hijackers and terrorists,” Tom said, “they should hang them all.”

  “We’re finally getting rid of capital punishment,” Judy said.

  “Yeah, that’ll show them,” Tom said. “Look at these guys now, these hijackers, they won’t even negotiate.”

  Judy said, “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated. The Israelis said they’d negotiate, a big change for them. Even Yasser Arafat sent his top guy, and these terrorists wouldn’t talk to him. There’s nothing to negotiate — they’re just going to keep hijacking planes and killing innocent people.”

  “They’re desperate.”

  “Who’s desperate? The main hijackers are German, what do you think this is really about? And Carlos, some South American playboy, they’re making him a hero. And you see who they want released? Some Japanese guy killed a bunch of people at the airport in Tel Aviv and some Germans, some Baader-Meinhof gang members who want to kill more people in department stores.”

  Dougherty saw Judy start to say something and then stop. She was determined not to let her father get to her. Dougherty knew it was really hard, even he wanted to tell Tom to shut up.

  Then Tom looked at Dougherty and said, “Must be making things interesting for you guys.”

  “It’s keeping us busy.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  “There are things I’d rather be doing.”

  “Yeah, well, shit rolls downhill, son,” Tom said, all of his boozy cheeriness gone. “You better figure out how to get out of the way.”

  Dougherty didn’t say anything, and he stole a glance at Judy. She wasn’t angry anymore, he could see that, but he couldn’t really tell what she was thinking. He thought maybe she felt sorry for her father. Or maybe that was just Dougherty projecting, as Judy called it, his own feelings onto her. He was definitely having trouble taking Tom seriously with his turtleneck and sports coat and moustache and his tough talk, thinking, Really, he’s just a guy who was too young for the war but old enough to be in a perfect place to get in on the ground floor with some big company while guys like Dougherty’s father were busy getting shot at in Europe. Now he was fifty-something trying to look thirty-something and make up for lost time. Dougherty hadn’t seen it but he was willing to bet the guy had on a white belt.

  When she finished her steak, Judy lit a cigarette and said, “We’re getting an apartment in LaSal
le.”

  “The two of you?” Her father was smiling then, smirking.

  “Yeah.”

  “But LaSalle?” Tom said. “Why not downtown? I’m on St. Marc, it’s close to everything.”

  “This is close to the school I’ll be teaching at.”

  “You sure you want to settle down, way out there?”

  Talking about living downtown seemed to revitalize Tom. That or it made him feel superior again. Dougherty thought the smirk turned into a gloat.

  “Don’t settle down too early,” Tom said. “Makes it very hard later.”

  Judy said, “We know what we’re doing.”

  “Yeah, what are we doing? We walking over to Crescent Street for a drink?”

  Judy said, “One drink.”

  Of course, one turned into three in the first bar they went to, and then three more in the next, and then they lost count.

  Judy also lost count of the number of times she told her father to stop leering at the girls who were younger than she was, and he kept on winking and buying them drinks.

  Two in the morning, Dougherty got Tom into a cab for the four-block ride, and then he got himself and Judy into a cab to head back to her apartment in the McGill ghetto.

  The cabbie turned the big handle on the metre and said, “What an amazing rescue.”

  “What rescue?”

  “You didn’t hear? Israeli commandos went to Uganda and rescued all the hostages, flew them all back to Israel. It’s all over the radio.”

  Dougherty said, “Well, this is going to change things at work.”

  Judy said, “How?”

  “I don’t know, but it can only be bad.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Detective Carpentier looked over everything Dougherty had given him, and then said, “Yes, he is a good suspect.”

  “Sergeant Legault did good work,” Dougherty said. “She suggested rape as the main motive, not robbery.”

  “But you can’t find this guy?”