by Vicki Delany
Adam must have told her what had happened.
Wasn’t that sweet. They were in love.
Give it another year, and he’d keep quiet.
A year or two after that and she’d have his prick out in no time.
They were all the fucking same.
Too bad about Moonlight, though. It would have been nice to have a girl friend.
Not that Nicole ever intended to come back to Trafalgar. Maybe for her mother’s funeral. Kyle’s she wouldn’t bother attending.
She needed a line, but she’d used the last of her coke before going to the funeral.
She wondered where Joey had gotten himself off to. If he was still around she might give him a call, see if he could get her another score.
“Can’t we have some light in here?” she said, pulling herself out of the overstuffed couch. “Place is as dark as the freakin’ grave.”
Her mom began to cry. Again.
Nicky pulled back the front curtains in time to see a police car turn into the driveway, a uniformed officer at the wheel. She watched Molly get out of the car and walk up the sidewalk with strong purposeful steps. This looked to be an official visit.
Maybe they’d found something new about what happened to Dad.
Nicky hurried to open the door.
Molly Smith stood with her hand raised to knock. She did not smile at her long-time friend.
“Ms. Nowak. Sergeant Winters would like you to come down to the police station. He has some questions for you.”
“What the hell?”
“Who is it, dear?” Nicky’s mother croaked.
“Sergeant Winters suggests the station rather than your mother’s home,” Molly said. “For a private conversation.”
“Has he found out who killed my dad?”
Molly’s face was totally expressionless, her voice flat. “I believe this has nothing to do with the death of Mr. Nowak.”
“I’ll go and change.”
“That’s not necessary. Sergeant Winters is waiting.”
Nicole put her hands on her hips. “When did you become such a power-hungry bitch?”
Something flickered in Molly’s eyes.
“Unless you are arresting me, Constable, you will wait while I change out of the clothes I wore to my father’s funeral. I’d tell you to go and sit in the car, but you probably think I’m going to climb out the kitchen window.” She turned her back and walked to her bedroom, satisfied at having put the cop in her place.
She slammed her door shut, and leaned against it. She tried to control her breathing. What the hell was this about? They couldn’t be arresting her for prostitution. She’d hadn’t gotten anywhere with Adam, which was the only time she’d tried. Good thing Joey had told her not to play with Winters; she had nothing to worry about on that score.
Joey.
This had to be about Joey.
What had the miserable bugger done? Why the hell had he come to her town anyway? After the fiasco with Adam Tocek, she’d told him she wasn’t going to try again. This town was too darn small: she wasn’t going to crap in her own backyard. Instead of arguing, he’d let it go. That in itself had been strange. Once Joey got an idea in his head, he stuck with it.
She’d last seen him sitting with four young girls under the awning on the coffee shop patio. What on earth had he done?
And more to the point, why had it led to her?
Chapter Thirty-five
Lucky Smith had forgotten that tonight was the monthly meeting of the marijuana legalization action group. They usually met in the Smith kitchen because most of the members were young and didn’t have the space Lucky had around her kitchen table.
When Moonlight was living in the house, after having joined the police, the group decamped to various locations, but eventually they gravitated back to the Smith’s. The enthusiasm of the group had been dying over the past year, but with the federal government now huffing and puffing and threatening to strengthen penalties for marijuana growing and use, they’d sprung back with fervor.
Lucky was assembling the ingredients for dinner. She’d planned linguini with a sauce of cherry tomatoes, arugula, and basil from her garden, tossed with goats’ cheese. They’d have a glass of wine or two outside on the deck, and she’d slip into the kitchen to toss the ingredients together and cook the pasta. Then dinner, followed by coffee and apple pie. And then, she giggled to herself, who knows what might follow.
She heard a car and looked up. He was early.
Only when she recognized the battered old van belonging to Steve and Lynette did she remember the group meeting.
The pro-marijuana activists were here. More than just theoretical political organizers, they could be counted on to settle back in their chairs and light up.
The chief of police was coming for dinner. She’d changed her mind about continuing to see Paul Keller. Nothing wrong with a couple of single people getting together for a meal of an evening.
She ran for the phone and punched buttons.
Paul didn’t answer.
She glanced at the clock. He was due to arrive in fifteen minutes.
Steve and Lynette had given a lift to a second couple. Lucky met them at the door.
“I’m so sorry,” she shouted. She coughed and lowered her voice. “Sorry, I completely forgot. My… uh… my grandchildren are visiting. I won’t be able to have the meeting here. Sorry.”
“Hey, Lucky,” Lynette said, patting her huge round belly. “That’s okay. I’d love to meet your grandchildren.”
“No. You can’t. I mean, my grandson has allergies. Bad allergies. To smoke.”
“Not a problem,” Steve said. “We’ll take it outside.”
They edged toward her. She stood firm, blocking the door. “My son, he doesn’t approve of pot. He might not let the children come again if he finds out you were here while his kids were.”
“So, don’t tell him,” Lynette said. “The reading of that bill is next month in the House of Commons. We have to get to work on this.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucky said. “I can’t have you here. Not tonight. Are Brad and Howie coming?”
“I think so.”
Everyone turned at the sound of a car engine. Lucky’s heart was in her mouth until she saw Brad’s BMW turn the corner. He’d brought Howie.
Almost pushing and shoving, blathering excuses, Lucky got the group off her step. They climbed back into their cars, exchanging dubious looks, and drove away.
She went back into the kitchen and dropped into a chair.
Hadn’t that made her look like a right fool. She could have just said she was sick.
Even Sylvester was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Her political activities were important to her. They always had been. In the early years, Andy had stood firmly at her side, and she at his, but as they settled into comfortable middle age Andy had begun to seek the easy way. No more marches and demonstrations for him, no weekends around a kitchen table full of strangers painting posters and planning tactics, no more trips to Ottawa or Victoria in rusty vans armed with petitions.
Even on the one issue that should have mattered most to Andy, war and war resisters, he wasn’t interested in doing more than looking up from the paper and insulting ignorant, strutting politicians.
They’d gone their separate ways, but Lucky had always known he was there for her, if only in spirit.
Could she say the same for Paul Keller, Chief Constable of Trafalgar?
They didn’t talk politics, both suspecting they’d come up on opposite ends of some spectrums. For a senior police officer he was quite liberal, which was good, but it was unlikely he’d let his own views stand in the way of doing his job and enforcing the law.
Another car.
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Paul would have passed the group heading back to town. No doubt he recognized Steve and Lynette’s van. Hard not to, what with the giant marijuana plant entwined with a red Canadian maple leaf painted on both sides.
She put on a smile, tucked her hair into place, and once more went to greet her visitor.
Chapter Thirty-six
“Heard you got busted,” Kyle said, stepping out from behind the bushes at the side of the house.
“I did not get busted.” Nicky rummaged in her bag for a cigarette. She lit the match and sucked in smoke, watching the taxi drive away.
The miserable cops hadn’t even offered her a ride home.
“What’d they want?”
She studied her brother. “What are you doing lurking in the dark?”
“I live here. If I want to stand outside, I will.”
“Lurking,” she said. “You’ve been waiting for me.”
His eyes slid to one side. “I was sitting outside. Heard the cab pull up.”
“I bet. An acquaintance of mine followed me here from Vancouver. He’s been a naughty boy and the cops are looking for him. That’s all.”
“You were gone a long time. Mom knocked on my door, all upset, said you’d been arrested.”
She blew out smoke. Miserable cops. Winters had had her brought in and stuck her in an interview room until he could be bothered to talk to her.
Hadn’t Moonlight just loved it? Marching her into the station like she was about to be fingerprinted and locked up, looming over her like a Nazi storm trooper, fingering her gun, fantacizing about putting a bullet between Nicky’s eyes.
Realizing she had no choice, she threw Joey under the bus. Winters and a red-headed plain-clothes cop showed her a picture of a Chinese girl, and Nicole’s heart fell into her stomach. She’d overheard something in the churchyard earlier about a thirteen-year-old runaway; hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention.
The picture was of one of the kids they’d met at Eddie’s. One of the ones Joey made friendly with and bought drinks for. And remained behind with when Nicole left.
One of the kids, probably the one with the dog, had described Nicole. Told her parents and they went screaming to the cops. The police knew Nicky Nowak well. Because she, she thought with a touch of satisfaction, did not blend into the hippie-skirted, yoga-attired, rugged outdoorswoman crowds in this pathetic town.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Kyle said.
“I am always pleased with myself. I have a lot to be pleased about.”
He snorted. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’ll be staying on.”
“Don’t worry, brother dear. It doesn’t. I’m leaving tomorrow as planned.”
Rather than order her to stay in town, Sergeant Winters had been happy to hear she was going to be on her way. She had no doubt he would be on the phone to the Vancouver police asking them to keep an eye on her.
Tough. She hadn’t done anything to warrant the attention of the authorities, and she did not intend to start now. It wasn’t she who blackmailed men stupid enough to screw around on their wives.
Time to get rid of Joey. Maybe move east, start again with a new name and a new partner.
If Joey was sniffing around underage girls, she wanted no part of it. Not because she cared what trouble small-town girls got themselves into, but she didn’t need the attention.
And, sure enough, Joey had managed to attract police attention.
Idiot.
She’d told them he was a casual acquaintance. He’d come to Trafalgar after her when she heard about her father being found, saying he wanted to offer support. She said she suspected Joey wanted to be more than just friends, but she wasn’t interested.
She gave them his name, at least the one she knew. Unfortunately she’d never been to his home and didn’t know his address or his place of employment.
Nor did she know where he was staying in Trafalgar.
Sorry.
See how helpful I’m being.
Winters asked if Joey had been at the funeral earlier. No? Wasn’t that strange, considering he’d come all this way to be supportive?
She’d dressed carefully, while Molly stood fuming on the front step, in jeans and a loose T-shirt under a sweater, and ballet-slipper shoes. She’d scrubbed her face clean of make-up, reapplying a touch of blush to her cheeks, and gathered her hair into a bouncy ponytail.
She looked sixteen, and as sweet and innocent as she had once been.
“I told him to go away, Sergeant,” she said, focusing on his face. “He’s been, well, following me. I’m starting to get uncomfortable. I hope he didn’t turn to those young girls because I rebuffed him.”
Eventually Winters stood up and told her she could go. He hadn’t bought what she was selling, but he had no reason to hold her.
Kyle looked her up and down. “You’re like a chameleon,” he said.
“Don’t you get sick of it? Living here. In this house. With her?”
“She’s my mother, Nicky. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Mother. Smother. She’s choking the life out of you. Do you have a girlfriend, Kyle? Have you ever had sex? Have you ever had an orgasm? With someone other than yourself, I mean.” She read his face. “Thought not.”
“There’s more to life than sex.”
“Sure there is. There’s love.” She laughed. “So people tell me.”
She thought about the men who came to her. Their greed, their neediness. So overwhelming, they’d sacrifice everything to satisfy it. They cared, most of them, about nothing but their desires. Even the ones who expressed some fondness for her were only seeking her approval. Of them. They wanted her to moan and groan underneath them and grind her hips and tighten her cunt and cry out when she came. They had to know, every last one of them, that she wasn’t really coming. It didn’t matter. They needed to believe.
And so they did.
It didn’t matter if they were so-called captains of industry or trust-fund babies, they wanted to be kings of Nicole Nolte’s world, and she made them so.
And then it was over and they were faced, thanks to Joey and his pictures, with the truth. She felt nothing for them at all. Nothing for their pathetic wives and snot-nosed children.
Why should their world be any safer than hers had been?
Sometimes, in this life, you lose.
She looked at her brother. For the briefest flash of a moment she considered taking him by the hand, leading him to her room. He was as sad and weak as the men she saw in the Downtown Eastside trolling for hookers with child seats in the back of their cars. She’d had one, when she first arrived, who had an infant in the back. Nicky’d sucked his cock, pretending she liked it, while the kid snoozed and Daddy thrust and cried, “More, baby, more.”
The silence of the night stretched between them. They watched each other, brother and sister, saying nothing. Feeling everything.
She flicked her cigarette butt into the rose bushes. “Have a nice life. I doubt we’ll meet again.”
“Do you ever wonder”—His voice followed her in the dark—“What things would be like if Dad hadn’t died?”
“No.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
“I expect to have that warrant tomorrow,” Ray Lopez said to his boss.
“The grow-op?”
“Yup, the house on Cottonwood Street.”
“Great. I want noise and activity, lots of it. Ask the Mounties for the dog and a couple of cars. Plenty of uniforms, them as well as us. We’ve been after these guys for a long time and I want everyone to know we’ve got them. Let’s go in Thursday morning, first light.”
“Got it.”
“Any news?”
“You mean May? No. The artist will be arriving tomorrow afternoo
n. Becky’s friend Donna seems to be able to give the best description of what this Joey creep looked like, and the artist’ll work with Donna and the other girls to try and get a drawing we can use. Until then, we’ve got everyone looking for an average-sized, average-looking Englishman. Pretty useless description in a tourist town. I wish we could get more help with this, John.”
“I know.” May Chen had not been abducted. She had run away from home. She had lied to her parents about being invited to a friend’s house for the night, packed her possessions, and allowed her father to drop her off. That she was only thirteen years old meant they could do something about searching for her, but the chief had refused to mount a full-scale investigation and bring in outside help.
“Ray’s daughter is involved in this, John,” Keller had said, “and most of our officers eat at Trafalgar Thai regularly. That makes it hard for everyone, but I cannot treat this as a kidnapping when it obviously was not.”
“The girl was lured away…”
“That hasn’t been determined. Yes, some man said he’d show her around if she came to Vancouver, but I don’t consider that luring, and she was definitely not snatched. Have you and Ray contacted people in Vancouver?”
They had. Not only the police, but health and social agencies, anyone who might come into contact with a thirteen-year-old girl tricked into prostitution. Unlikely, Winters thought with a burst of acid in his gut, she’d be put to work on the street immediately. She’d be kept somewhere for a while. To be “broken in” before allowed out.
“Probably a waste of time, anyway,” Lopez said. “Getting a description. It’s been three days. He’s not going to hang around here with May, is he?”
“Unlikely. But he might be known to the Vancouver police and if we can come up with a drawing that they recognize they can try to locate him. Joe Stewart’s a damn common name, but I don’t imagine that’s his real one any more than McNally is.”
“I had officers visit the hotels last night, after Nicky Nowak told us the guy’s name. He was staying at the Mountain View, but they said he’d checked out. He paid cash, the address he put on the registration form doesn’t exist, and his license plate number was an unreadable scrawl.”