One or the Other

by John McFetridge

  “I don’t know.”

  Judy was looking out the side window, looking at the river in the darkness. After a few minutes she said, “I guess we’ll see, who knows.”

  Dougherty didn’t say anything, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t the right time to get the ring out of his pocket.

  And then he was thinking about whether he should call Legault when he got home or wait till morning, and then he was trying to figure out how they were going to set up some kind of interview with the girl at Tommy’s school.

  He called Legault as soon as he got into the apartment and Judy went straight to bed. She was asleep by the time he got off the phone.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dougherty pulled into the empty parking lot of Centennial Regional High School and said, “Must’ve been designed by an American, thought there’d be student parking.”

  Legault said, “I’m surprised you could find it.”

  A nearly new building, maybe four or five years old, two storeys, long and flat, red brick with vertical concrete on either side of the windows, squatting in the middle of a new residential neighbourhood filled with bungalows and laid out like a maze. There was a second parking lot full of teachers’ cars.

  “My brother goes here,” Dougherty said.

  “He talked to the girl?”

  They got out of the car and walked towards the main doors. “He heard something. I told him we wouldn’t mention his name.”

  Dougherty pulled open one of the glass doors and held it for Legault. She said, “Even here, someone might figure it out.”

  He was still a little surprised by Legault’s dry humour, her sarcasm. It was familiar to him, a lot like what he was used to on the Irish side of his family but it wasn’t one of the stereotypes that Anglos usually saw in the Québécois. Dougherty was thinking maybe it was too subtle for most Anglos to see and then he was thinking about Anglo stereotypes.

  Legault held open a door in the second set about six feet in, and Dougherty said, “Thanks, you okay?”

  She fanned her fingers and made a fist, saying, “Skin is still a little raw, maybe I scratched too much, but it’s good to get the casts off.”

  It was just after lunch and the hallways of the school were empty and quiet. Dougherty could imagine the comedy voice saying “too quiet.”

  They walked into the main office, an open concept space with wall dividers around small desks but no people. Dougherty said to Legault, “This place is a lot different than Verdun High.”

  “Yes, a lot different from my high school, too.”

  A young woman came down the hallway from the offices beyond, the ones with walls around them, and said, “May I help you?”

  Dougherty said they were there to see the vice-principal.

  “Mrs. Norris or Mr. Desjardins?”

  “Mrs. Norris.”

  The young woman said, “Is she expecting you?”

  “Yes.”

  A middle-aged black woman came down the hall then and said, “Thanks, Nancy,” and then, “This way, please.”

  Dougherty and Legault followed Mrs. Norris the few steps down the hall to her office. When they were inside she said, “Would you mind closing the door?”

  Dougherty had to move one of the chairs out of the way and take a pile of files off it to sit down. Legault had already sat down in the other chair facing the desk and Dougherty said, “This is Sergeant Legault, from the Longueuil police.”

  The vice-principal said, “I’m Evelyn,” extending her hand and shaking theirs before sitting down behind her desk. She looked at Dougherty then and said, “You look a little familiar, did you go to Richelieu Valley High?”

  “No,” Dougherty said. “I just have a common look.”

  “I thought maybe you were in my class when I was a teacher.”

  “No, we didn’t live on the south shore when I was in school,” Dougherty said.

  “But Tommy has been at Centennial for a few years?”

  “Since grade seven,” Dougherty said. “Since the school opened.”

  “Well, I don’t really know him.”

  “That’s good, I guess, he doesn’t spend much time in the vice-principal’s office.”

  Mrs. Norris said, “Mr. Desjardins handles discipline, he knows him.”

  Dougherty was thinking, Yeah, probably not nearly as well as Mr. Richardson knew me in high school, but he didn’t say anything, just smiled a little.

  “Now,” Mrs. Norris said, “you said you’d like to talk to Kim Cunningham?”

  “That’s right,” Dougherty said. “It’s a little delicate. We were hoping she could help us with some information about something she may have seen.”

  “All right, well, I’ll talk to Kim, and if she’s willing to talk to you I’ll need to be there as well.”

  Dougherty said, “Okay.”

  “We’ll be changing classes in a few minutes. I can catch Kim then. Why don’t you come with me.” Mrs. Norris stood up and Dougherty and Legault followed.

  They left the main office and walked down the hall to a kind of open area with a wide staircase in the middle and carpeted areas around the edge. There were posters on the wall for an upcoming dance and other notices.

  At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Norris stopped in front of the library and said, “We can talk in here.” She pushed open the glass door and Dougherty and Legault followed.

  A woman stood up from behind the desk, and Mrs. Norris said, “Helen, I’m going to bring in a student and we’re going to talk over there. This is Mr. Dougherty, Tommy’s brother.”

  The librarian, Helen, shook hands with Dougherty and said, “I see quite a bit of Tommy.”

  Dougherty said, “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I’ve never seen him reading a book.”

  “Oh, he likes to read.”

  Mrs. Norris said, “Have a seat and I’ll go get Kim.”

  Helen saw Legault looking at a table set up beside the circulation desk with a display of books about Vietnam and said, “This month’s topic. We have quite a few students from Vietnam.”

  Dougherty said, “Boat people?”

  Helen said, “Yes, I guess you could say that. They arrived last year.”

  Legault said, “They go to English schools?”

  “They’re not Catholic,” Helen said. “I don’t think there are any French Protestant schools on the south shore.”

  “Are they Protestant?” Legault said.

  The librarian had an uncomfortable smile frozen on her face, and she said, “I don’t know.”

  Dougherty said, “The Protestant school boards aren’t very religious, they’re really just everybody who’s not Catholic.”

  Legault said, “I see.”

  There was tension, Dougherty could tell that, but he didn’t really get what it was about.

  The bell rang then and the hall outside the library filled with students.

  Dougherty said, “Come on,” and found a table behind the last row of stacks near the windows overlooking the empty parking lot.

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Norris came into the library with a girl who looked about sixteen or seventeen.

  “Kim, this is Detective Dougherty and Sergeant Legault.”

  Dougherty had stood up and was holding out his hand. “Hi Kim.”

  She shook his hand and said, “Hello.”

  Legault also stood up and said, “Bonjour,” also shaking hands.

  Dougherty said, “Have a seat.”

  Kim looked at Mrs. Norris, who nodded and sat down, so Kim sat down as well.

  Dougherty looked at her and tried to be as friendly as he could, but he had the feeling it was coming across as creepy. He was looking Kim in the eyes and he noticed she had make-up, eye liner and eye shado
w and even some lipstick. She had long straight dark blonde hair that was parted in the middle and fell past her shoulders and she was wearing a white peasant blouse and jeans.

  He said, “You know you’re not in any trouble, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Dougherty nodded. He felt the girl seemed confident. He had some doubts about himself, this was more delicate than his usual interrogations. He told himself it wasn’t an interrogation and said, “We were wondering if you could tell us what happened after the concert you went to last week.”

  “I didn’t go to a concert last week.”

  Now Dougherty was worried. He was really acting on rumours, third and fourth hand at that, and high school students. Still, he didn’t think his brother would have brought it up if there hadn’t been something to it.

  He said, “A concert at Place des Nations?”

  Kim glanced sideways at Mrs. Norris and said, “ELO?”

  “It’s all right, Kim, you don’t have to talk about it,” Mrs. Norris said.

  “Is that who it was?” Dougherty said.

  “Yeah but it wasn’t last week, it was quite a while ago, it was before Labour Day.”

  Dougherty said, “That’s not important.”

  “Is this because I sold Tommy the ticket? I just didn’t want to go. I only charged him what I paid for it.”

  Dougherty smiled and said, “No, it’s not about that.” He paused, trying to pick his words, and then he said, “When I was talking to Tommy he said that you bought this ticket a while ago but then you didn’t want to go to the concert.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you have another ticket for a concert in November, for The Doobie Brothers, that you said you’d sell.”

  Kim nodded.

  Dougherty said, “The thing is, I was wondering if something happened at the last concert you went to that made you not want to go to another one?”

  Kim was looking at her hands then, squeezing them together. Quietly, she said, “No.”

  “After the concert at Place des Nations, did you go to the bridge, the Jacques Cartier?”

  “No.”

  She was still staring at her hands, and Dougherty wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to press her too much, but this wasn’t his kind of interview. He looked over at Legault, and she nodded and moved forward a little.

  She waited a long moment, until the silence was becoming too much for everyone, and then she said, “Kim, please excuse my English, it’s not so good.”

  Kim looked up a little, relieved to be talking about something else and said, “It sounds good. It’s way better than my French.”

  Legault smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Norris, taking the cue that they were going for more casual conversation said, “You aren’t in French immersion anymore, are you?”

  “No, I was failing math and science,” Kim said. “And English.” She laughed then, a quick nervous laugh.

  Legault said, “I understand.” She paused and then said, “Kim, we are looking for a man and we think he sometimes sells drug on Île Sainte-Hélène.”

  “I don’t buy drugs.”

  Dougherty noticed she didn’t say she didn’t use drugs but he let it go.

  “We don’t care about that,” Legault said. “We are trying to get to know what the man looks like.”

  Kim shrugged.

  They were getting close to it. Dougherty could tell already that it was true, Kim had met the guy and something bad had happened. He said, “You can tell us, Kim.”

  She said, “Did Dawn tell Tommy?”

  “No,” Dougherty said. “Tommy doesn’t know what happened.”

  Kim looked back at her hands in her lap but didn’t say anything.

  Mrs. Norris stood up and said, “Maybe we should go to my office.”

  Legault stood up and looked at Dougherty and said, “We’ll meet you back at the front door.”

  It took him a moment to realize they were going without him, and by then they were walking out of the library.

  Dougherty waited a few minutes then got up himself. As he started to walk out, the librarian stepped up and held out a book.

  She said, “This is one Tommy read.” She seemed very pleased, so Dougherty took the hardcover book from her. There was a picture of a cop in uniform on the front and the title, Walking the Beat, in yellow letters. Under that Dougherty read, A New York Policeman Tells What It’s Like on His Side of the Law.

  “This could be pretty boring.”

  “It’s not.” She took the book back. “It seems like a very interesting job.”

  “It has its moments,” Dougherty said, and he thought about adding, But this isn’t one of them, but he didn’t. He said, “I was kind of hoping Tommy wouldn’t have to know I was here.”

  The librarian looked doubtful. “Not many secrets in a high school.”

  Dougherty said, “I guess not.” That’s why he was there, after all, chasing down a rumour. “Well, thanks. I’m supposed to meet them in the front office.”

  He left the library and walked down the stairs, but instead of heading towards the front office he walked down the hall in the other direction. He passed the doors to the auditorium and then the cafeteria, empty in the middle of the afternoon, and at the end of the hall he came to the gym. He wasn’t really looking for anything, just killing time until Legault and the vice-principal were finished talking to Kim. Walking back down the hall, lined with lockers, he admitted to himself that he was upset not to be in on the interview, or really, that he was upset he didn’t have the skills needed for that interview.

  It’s not like anyone was needed to punch a teenage girl to get her to talk.

  Dougherty turned down another hall and followed the sounds of power tools. When he’d been in high school he’d certainly been a lot more comfortable in the wood shop than in the library. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time he’d gone to the library, except for photo day, maybe.

  At the end of the hall, past the wood shop and the auto shop, the back doors of the school smelled of cigarette smoke and a little weed. Dougherty knew that if he’d gone to this new school this is where he would’ve hung out, having a smoke at lunch and talking about cars and being a tough guy. It was an attitude that had served him well at Verdun High, made him at least as popular as he’d been and most of all gave him some security. These were things he’d never thought about before, and probably never would have if it hadn’t been for Judy. She understood these things, the kinds of group dynamics that went on in high schools and at work and in families.

  Judy would be able to explain to Dougherty how his skills were perfect for walking a beat, for wearing a uniform and keeping the peace — with a nightstick and his fists — and for dealing with the tough guys, the street hoods and low-level gangsters and bikers dealing drugs in the bars, but when it came to a real investigation, a homicide, where evidence had to be collected and presented to a prosecutor and taken into court, his skills might not be the right ones.

  Dougherty checked his watch and figured he’d better get back to the front office. He walked down the empty hall, listening to the sounds of the power tools and a couple of guys’ voices, and he was thinking that’s the way Judy would say it, too, something that didn’t really sound like a limitation or make him feel like he was heading for a dead end, just something he needed to work on, like taking a CPR course.

  His fear, though, was that he was good at being the good thug who dealt with the bad thugs. If that wasn’t needed he might not have anything to offer.

  As he approached the main office, the bell rang and the halls filled with students, so Dougherty kept walking out the main doors and waited in the parking lot. He lit a cigarette and looked at the bungalows across the street and wondered if that was the kind of house he and Judy would end up in.
Could he live like that, mowing the lawn on the weekend, shovelling the driveway in the winter? Coming home from a call in the middle of the night? Maybe Delisle was right, maybe he shouldn’t try for detective, maybe he should become a desk sergeant and work a day shift, run a station.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have a say in the matter.

  Legault came out of the school then and said, “Did somebody die?”

  Dougherty said, “No, I was just thinking about living here.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Legault said. “Too English, maybe.”

  They walked to the car, and Dougherty said, “Listen to yourself, this is the most English I’ve heard you speak.”

  Legault said, “Elle était très . . . serviable.”

  “So something did happen?”

  “Oh oui.”

  Dougherty pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the winding streets of the neighbourhood and switched to French himself. “Coming home from a concert?”

  “Yes,” Legault said. “Electric Light Orchestra. You know them?”

  “Sure, ‘Evil Woman.’”

  “Yes, that’s right. So, after the concert some of Kim’s friends went backstage.”

  “She’s sixteen?”

  “Yes,” Legault said. “But the band had left and Kim wanted to leave as well.”

  For a moment Dougherty thought he must have taken a wrong turn and was going in a circle, but then he saw the back of a grocery store and followed the road around until he saw the way to Taschereau Boulevard.

  “Did she?”

  Legault nodded. “Yes. But her friends stayed. It was late by then and the rest of the crowd from the concert was gone. She walked to the Métro station.”

  At Taschereau there was a Chinese restaurant on the right, Kenny Wong’s. Across the four lanes of Taschereau was the rest of Greenfield Park, old Greenfield Park, and Dougherty wondered how it had managed to spread onto the other side of the boulevard.

  “There was a man standing by a car,” Legault said.

  “Near the bridge?”

  “Yes.”

  Dougherty turned right and headed towards Longueuil. “If she was walking from Place des Nations to the Métro, she wouldn’t need to go near the bridge.”