“She didn’t succeed.”
“But she will. One day it will all go to Janice and Ashley will be there waiting, pretending to be a part of that family.”
Dan looked now to where Ashley lay stretched out on the rock. No longer waiting.
She gazed up at him. “You,” she said accusingly.
Dan heard the bitterness in her voice. All the colour had drained from her face. Horace was pressing down on her leg, stanching the wound for all he was worth.
“Everything for that damn child,” she said, with a strange air of disappointment. “I didn’t sign up for that.”
Dan clutched his bloodied hands to his sides, trying to quell the pain. “No, I guess you didn’t.”
He turned to look over the bay and was momentarily blinded by the light. When his eyes adjusted, he could see the town in the distance. Neither he nor Horace would make it down in time.
“Did I fail her?” Clarice had asked as they stood at the door, both of them wishing the meeting was over, neither of them quite willing to end it. “Janice, I mean.”
“Do you think you failed her?” Dan had replied.
“People will see it that way. Because it’s always the mother’s fault, isn’t it? Janice always said I knew. I look back and I think, no, I didn’t know. Maybe I saw the signs, but I don’t think so. Fathers destroy and mothers get the blame. That’s just how it goes. I think of Ashley’s mother sometimes and I wonder what she was really like. Maybe not as bad as they say.”
THIRTY
Exit Wounds
DESPITE HIS PAIN, Dan was surprised by how much he enjoyed the ball game. Even more so having Nick there to explain the intricacies of the plays.
“Why doesn’t the guy on first run to second?” Dan asked after a batter hit a pop fly.
“He’s waiting to see if the ball is caught.”
The ball skyrocketed briefly then fell neatly into the outfielder’s waiting glove. The play ceased.
“But what if the guy had fumbled it? The runner could have been halfway to second base.”
Nick shrugged. “Too risky. That’s just the way it is.”
Five minutes later everything came to a halt again after a runner stole second base. The umpire declared him out, but the runner stayed in position.
“If he’s out, why doesn’t he leave the base?”
Nick laughed. “Because he doesn’t agree with the decision. He’s waiting for a review of the play.”
They watched as the action was replayed in slow motion overhead on giant screens. The stadium erupted as the umpire’s call was overruled and the runner remained on base.
“I can’t keep track of what’s going on. There are too many rules,” Dan grumbled. “Just like this damn city we live in.”
“You could always move,” Nick said.
“Never. This is my home.”
Dan turned back to the playing field. Other people’s rules, he reminded himself. But he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by how easily Nick took to rules. After all, he was a cop.
The game ended with a Jays’ win. Home team victory. Dan cringed when Nick grabbed his arm in his excitement.
“Sorry!” Nick’s face was creased with concern. “I forgot. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Just a bit — bruised.”
“Did you enjoy the game at least?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Thanks for suggesting it.”
“How is it you grew up without learning to play baseball?”
“I’m a northern boy,” Dan said. “We played lacrosse and basketball. Good Canadian games. Why don’t these guys play basketball instead?”
Nick laughed. “Not tall enough, for one thing. And for another, most of them aren’t Canadian. They probably wouldn’t even know basketball was invented by a Canadian.”
“What? It should be compulsory training for professional athletes.”
The night was fine. The edge had been taken off the hyper-inflated temperatures, the humidity escaping like a slowly decompressing balloon as they walked along.
They stopped on the Queen Street Viaduct and stood gazing down at the water, pink and somnolent in the afterglow of evening. Overhead, sketched in iron across the bridge, read the inscription This river I step in is not the river I stand in.
Nick looked over at Dan. “So you found them in the same cave?”
“Yep, the one where I found the rosary. It was Eli who initially took the boy and brought him to Ramón for Marietta to deliver to her parents. I guess Ashley thought no one would think of looking there this time around.”
“Had she intended to kill them?”
They’d been drugged. He’d had to help them crawl to the surface on their hands and knees — Janice, Sarah, and Jeremy.
“I don’t know. Maybe she miscalculated the dose or maybe she only wanted to drug them till she got away. She had the money in a knapsack. She was going to ditch them and head across the water to the U.S. From there she could have gone anywhere.”
“How did she do it?”
“The night we stayed at the cottage, Janice and Ashley switched most of the bills for newspaper. I thought the box felt different in the morning, but I didn’t have a chance to check. Elroy’s men picked it up in the boat, but they were under strict orders not to open it. They had no idea what was inside. Probably thought it was dope.”
“So they double-crossed Elroy?”
“Yes. As far as Janice was concerned, it was her money. She wasn’t about to give it to away again. So they told Eli —”
“That Elroy kept all the money. He probably thought Elroy was lying about not getting his share. Did Eli kill himself?”
“That’s my guess. Although he planned the kidnapping with Janice and Ashley, he didn’t know about the switch. Afterward, he would have thought that there was nothing for Jeremy’s treatment.”
“Didn’t Janice realize it was stupid to double-cross a biker?”
“Was it any stupider for her to kidnap her own child?”
Nick shrugged and looked off.
“So this teacher, Theda McPhail — Janice assumed she was calling her Kathy when she came to her home, but it was actually Ashley standing behind her. McPhail knew who she was.”
“Yes. As you somewhat belatedly discovered —”
“‘Belatedly’? At least I figured it out. The report said ‘twins.’ We thought they were both girls.”
“I’m not criticizing. Just stating a fact. Theda McPhail knew her as Kathy, but she took her brother’s name after he died. She’d moved away by then, so maybe she thought it was safe to become Ashley. That was the boy-girl name her neighbour couldn’t remember at the time.”
“And Sarah Nealon was a witness?”
“Apparently,” Dan said. “They were friends together at school. But whatever she saw she kept to herself. It was only later, with her addiction, that she became obsessed with the boy’s death. That’s probably why Ashley kept in touch with her. To keep tabs on what she remembered.”
“And Sarah’s bruises the night she showed up at the house?”
“She gave them to herself. She figured out somehow the women were leaving and wanted an excuse for them to take her with them. That worked in nicely with Ashley’s plans.”
“So Ashley — was she nuts?”
Dan shrugged. “You tell me. It’s pretty hard to categorize who’s nuts and who’s just sociopathic and desperate these days.”
Nick laid a hand on Dan’s shoulder as they stood staring out over the water. Reassuring, not possessive.
“One thing’s for sure,” Dan said. “Horace didn’t intend to kill her. He tried as hard as he could to save her, but the bullet severed an artery and went right through her leg. If it had stayed inside, she might have survived till they got her off the mountain.”
“Luck of the draw.”
“He’s pretty cut up about it. He doesn’t believe in killing. Said it was Old Testament judgment that took her off. He’s strictly a New Testament ki
nd of guy. Forgiveness and sacrifice and all that.”
“Well, he saved you at least. Tell him I’m grateful for that.”
They crossed to the far side of the bridge. Dan’s neighbourhood. Leslieville had changed considerably over the past few years, gentrification setting in, rents going up. Nothing ever stayed the same. This river I step in …
“And the older Filipinos were looking after the boy! Who would have thought?”
“They fooled me. I thought they were religious fanatics from the way they spoke about Janice and Ashley. They had planned it well enough in advance that Janice could fire Marietta and make it look as though there was no connection between them. Of course, they made sure their alibi was well in place. Apart from the rosary, that is. And when the time came, Ramón got himself fired to be free to participate in the plans. He was the go-between with the parents. She couldn’t risk it. If it had been me, I would just have taken my vacation then.”
“If it had been you —!”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It would have looked just as suspicious. I would have been much sneakier.” Dan winked. “But I was right about one thing — Marietta loved that boy enough to lie for him.”
“The parents never knew they were hiding a kidnapped child?”
“The father’s blind. The mother had her hands full looking after him and the boy. They don’t speak English, so they wouldn’t have been watching the daily news.”
“And the ex-husband had nothing to do with it?”
“That’s the really devious part,” Dan said. “I think Dennis Braithwaite was set up to look like the bad guy. Janice texted him to ask about the cottage, realizing he’d go up there to look for her. Boom — no alibi.” Dan looked sidelong at Nick. “Should I be telling you this? I mean, as an officer of the law and all that?”
Nick thumped his shoulder. “And all that? You make it sound like some sort of inconvenient afterthought.”
“I’m talking about the divide between us.”
“What divide is that?”
“The one Donny thinks is insurmountable. The one that says I might turn a blind eye to someone who breaks a law I don’t agree with and you’d have to come down on my head for it.”
Nick smirked. “Who says I wouldn’t do the same?”
“Are you saying you would?”
“I’m not all status quo. You should know that by now. Some days there’s nothing more I want than to contribute to the crisis in human identity, to push it over the edge so we have to start again. Maybe we’d get it right next time.”
Dan laughed. “A radical in conservative’s clothing.”
“Something like that.”
They turned down Dan’s street. Dan looked up at the lofty boughs arching overhead like a cathedral’s dome.
“We’re nearly home,” he said.
“Home? We? Are you sure?”
“Definitely. We — are — home.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Then get used to it. Do you think you can do that?”
“If I have to. I’m a cop, remember? I do what I’m told. You’re the one who has trouble taking orders.”
Dan opened the door and reached for the light switch.
“No, leave it,” Nick said.
He took Dan’s hand and led him down the hall. Dan followed awkwardly, trying not to bump into walls. Ralph got up from his cushion and scrambled after them. Dan shut him out when they reached the bedroom.
“Sorry, Ralphie,” he said. “It’s big-boy time.”
“I like the sound of that too,” Nick said, breathing into Dan’s neck. “You’re saying all the right things. Keep talking.”
He reached out, lightly running his fingers over the bruises on Dan’s face, before bringing his battered hands to his lips, kissing them.
“Don’t tell me it turns you on,” Dan said. “That’s like necrophilia.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Not today. But yesterday I was.”
Nick rubbed his chin stubble against the back of Dan’s hand. Dan clenched his teeth.
“No S&M, please.”
“Why would I hurt you? I already know how to make you do everything I want.”
In the mirror, Dan saw two people — two men — trying to bridge the gap between them. How long can this go on? he wondered as Nick circled him with his arms. He felt removed, one part of him enjoying the sensation of being held and the other watching from a distance. For a moment he was back on the cliff at Gun Point, seeing rather than feeling it all. Why the divide? Why were emotions so much easier for some people? Nick cared for him. He had integrity and a generosity of spirit. In fact, Dan would never want to be with anyone who didn’t. So why was everything so much harder when he looked in the mirror? I want certainty, he told himself. But if I always hold back, how much certainty can there be?
Maybe that was why closeted gay men married women while knowing they weren’t attracted to them. Because it was safe. When Dan had asked him, Nick said, “It’s what men did in the world I grew up in. I don’t excuse it. I just didn’t understand that I could choose.” More rules.
But Dan was a loner and a rebel. When he looked over a fence he saw choices. He’d known instinctively he was in charge of making those choices, one of which was to marry or not. Another had been to leave home at the age of seventeen, before finishing high school, knowing he could no longer live in his father’s world. Against all odds, he’d landed on his feet.
He turned from the mirror.
Nick knelt and unbuckled his belt, pulling his khaki shorts down. He leaned in and inhaled. “I love your smell,” he said. “This is the smell of a man.”
Nick buried his face there, rubbing him with his nose and chin before taking him in his mouth. Dan gasped.
“What do you want me to do?” he whispered, cradling Nick’s head and running his fingertips through his hair.
Nick lifted his feet for him one at a time, freeing them from the tangle of cloth, and peeled his socks off.
“I want you to wake up,” he said. “I want you to see who you are.”
Before she died, Theda McPhail wrote a letter to the police. It was discovered later, with some bills on her kitchen table. Had it been opened earlier, Dan thought, things might have turned out differently.
To Whom It May Concern:
My name is Theda McPhail. In 1996, I was a teacher at Sir John A. Macdonald Elementary School in Toronto. Ashley Lake, a boy in one of my classes, died in a tragic playground incident. Although the death was blamed on his mother, I have always believed Ashley was killed by his twin sister, Kathy.
I was new to the school then. For months I watched as Kathy lashed out at her brother. I saw hatred in her eyes every time he overshadowed her accomplishments. I knew there was trouble at home. The mother, Miriam Lake, was a single parent struggling with psychological issues. It was obvious to me that the boy was wanted, but the girl was not. I surmised this after asking Kathy about her home life, which she was only too willing to reveal. All those childish feelings of jealousy and anger were bottled up inside her until they reached a boiling point. One day she went too far.
When I try to piece together what happened that day, I recall that Ashley and Kathy were playing on the monkey bars after school. Mrs. Lake had just arrived and was trying to talk them both down. Ashley was taunting his sister while avoiding his mother’s attempts to grab his legs. I was inside my classroom, looking out the window and wondering whether to have a word with the mother about Kathy, when Ashley slipped and got his head wedged between the bars.
I heard him scream. To my horror, I saw Kathy kick at him. I ran outside to help before anyone got seriously hurt. When I got there, however, Ashley was hanging limply from the bars. His sister was nowhere to be seen.
Together, Mrs. Lake and I got the boy down. He was dead. The coroner later determined that Ashley’s neck was broken in two places. I attended the inquest and told what I had seen. Mrs. Lake, however,
claimed that Kathy had run off and that Ashley died when she, Mrs. Lake, struck him in a fit of anger for disobeying her. Because of her psychological issues, she was deemed not criminally responsible and the death ruled an accident.
Dan remembered Janice telling him about the death of Ashley’s twin. It was devastating for Ash, she’d said. Only Janice had believed it was a twin sister. And Ashley was only too happy to keep her in the dark, lest someone question her story and, ultimately, her borrowed name.
Ashley and I have these dark things in common, she had said. Things we never discuss. Like the truth about the death of a twin or the blacked-out portion of a police report where it stated Janice had been molested by a boy at school. What it didn’t say was that she had beaten him to a pulp. Or that her friend Eli had covered for her, claiming he had done it to protect her, and got himself expelled in the process. And the boy, ashamed at having been beaten by a girl, didn’t correct him. But, unlike Ashley, Janice had never killed anyone.
It’s hard to say how you know these things, Theda’s letter concluded, but teachers develop a sense early on about which kids will grow up to be okay and which ones are destined for a life of social or even criminal abnormality. When Kathy returned to school the following week, I watched her carefully. During class, an announcement was made over the PA system to say that her brother had died. I looked for signs of grief, or something to say that she was sorry. But instead, what I saw was a look of triumph. I knew that day, looking in the face of that twelve-year-old girl, that she had, in fact, killed her brother. And I knew she hated me for knowing it.
Kathy did not stay much longer at the school. Arrangements were made for her to live with family, and so I thought I had seen the last of her. It was a surprise then, when I saw her recently at a local mall. Some instinct made me follow her. When she arrived at what I took to be her home, I saw another woman with a small child. I was worried for the boy, but I hesitated to say anything. Still, I am fearful for him, which is why I am writing to you now in the hope that you can advise me on what to do.
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