by Giles Blunt
Cardinal had thought he knew where Deloraine Drive was, but it turned out he didn’t. After he passed the same crooked stop sign for the third time, he pulled over onto the shoulder. There was a solitary man coming up the road on the other side, dressed in the Canada Post summer outfit of white short-sleeved shirt and blue shorts. The man was engaged in an idiosyncratic form of locomotion. He stopped every three or four steps and reared back in a rocking motion, left hand fingering the invisible fretboard of an invisible guitar.
If anyone had earned the right to play air guitar, Cardinal figured, it was Spike Willis. Spike had been a little ahead of him in school, and since the age of sixteen had always been in the best rock bands Algonquin Bay had produced. He had done his stint in Toronto in the seventies, changed bands every year, released a lot of recordings and pretty quickly developed a reputation for making his battered Telecaster talk. Then he threw it all over to come back to Algonquin Bay and raise a family. Why, Cardinal never knew. Nor did he know Spike well enough to ask. All he knew was that Spike Willis played the kind of blues guitar that can make grown men cry.
He called him over.
“Oh, shit. I surrender, Officer.” Spike threw his hands up with a big grin. He had always struck Cardinal as one of nature’s few truly happy men.
“You know, I grew up in this town,” Cardinal said. “And I’ve been back now for about twelve years. So how the hell is it possible that I’m lost?”
“Oh, hell, everyone gets lost up here,” Spike said. He hitched his mail sack higher and waved away a blackfly, his good nature apparently insect-proof. “I grew up right here on the base and I’ll tell you something. True story. One night after I’d had a few—well, more than a few, really—I came home, opened the door, went inside and suddenly realized my entire family had moved out of town. Mom, Dad, Sis: all gone. Some other family had moved into my house and changed all the furniture. Even the aquarium was gone. It was like I was the victim of a magic trick. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
“You’d staggered into the wrong house?”
“I had the wrong house. And I lived here, man. Isn’t that too much? What are you looking for?”
Cardinal told him, and Spike gave him the directions.
“How many of these houses are actually empty?”
“Oh, geez. Tons of ’em. I don’t even need the mail cart up here any more.”
“They don’t look empty.”
“No, the military keeps ’em looking sharp. They figure once they start to go, the whole place’ll cave in. Probably right, too.”
“What about Deloraine, is it a ghost town?”
“Not really. They haven’t let any one street get completely empty. They rent the houses out, you know. Pretty low rents, from what I hear.”
“You notice anything unusual on Deloraine?”
“Nope. Same old, same old.”
“Okay, thanks. Where you playing next?” Cardinal said.
“Toad Hall, two Saturdays from now.”
“I’ll try to be there.”
“Do that. Got a guest vocalist. Black babe can really wail.”
Spike headed off down the road, rocking and tilting, sending another blistering—if silent—solo up to the wide blue sky.
Deloraine Drive proved to be a cul-de-sac. Cardinal parked in a cramped turning circle and walked over to number 145, the last split-level in a row of three. The grass was trimmed and the porch swept, everything shipshape as Spike had said. The blinds were lowered, but there was no other indication that the house was vacant.
Cardinal walked up to the front door. It was still on the latch and did not appear to have been tampered with. The sliding sections of the front picture window were also unmarked. He stepped down onto the lawn and checked the front window of what would be the master bedroom. The dust was thick along the ledge, and undisturbed.
He went around to the back and saw that one of the basement windows had been broken, just enough to reach inside and slide it open. Cardinal knelt on the grass and a blackfly bit his ear. He slapped at it and cursed. He slid the window open, turned around and backed into it, lowering himself to the basement floor.
It was only a half-basement; just big enough for the washer and dryer, which were still there. He lifted the lid of the washer. Empty. In fact, the entire basement was empty and smelled of nothing except concrete.
He went up the stairs and pushed open the door; it opened onto the kitchen. The fridge and stove were still there, but the kitchen was otherwise empty. He stood there for a minute and absorbed the emptiness of the place. Not the emptiness of a house between rentals but the desolation of a place that had once been home to many and was now nothing more than bricks and wood and stale air. He could almost hear the voices of children, the adult voices of old arguments, ancient apologies. He could almost smell the thousands of dinners that had been cooked on that Kenmore stove.
The sink was wet. Someone had turned the water on and used it quite recently. Cardinal opened the cupboard underneath it and found a paper bag with nothing in it except an apple core and a banana peel not yet black.
He walked quickly into the living/dining area. There were places where the dust had obviously been disturbed. He went up the half-flight of stairs. Nothing in the bathroom, nothing in the master bedroom. But in the smaller bedroom he found fingermarks on the blinds where someone had lifted them. He opened the folding doors of the closet, but there were just a couple of hangers, bearing the ghostly shapes of dry cleaning plastic.
He stepped into the hallway and looked up at the square in the ceiling that led to the attic. He knew the attics in these places. They were tiny, airless spaces full of fibreglass insulation and not much else, big enough to store a few suitcases. You needed a ladder or a high stool to reach them, and the square looked undisturbed.
He went downstairs again and opened the front closet. Empty. He stood in the tiny vestibule, wondering what to do next. All units were on the lookout for an AWOL patient with red hair, but the blue hooded T-shirt would hide that. Then he noticed the cupboard under the stairs and for a moment was flooded with memories.
When he was about nine years old, he had been best friends with a boy named Tommy Brown who lived up here at the base. His house had been identical to this one, and the two of them had had great fun hiding in that crawl space, telling Twilight Zone stories and in general trying to scare the hell out of each other. Tommy used to bring his collie, Tango, in there with them, and the space would reek of dog breath.
Cardinal stepped up to the little door. The bolt was open. He pulled on the handle and the door swung outward. He got down on one knee and looked inside. In the shadows of the back corner, he could just make out the frightened, pale features of Terri Tait.
33
“TERRI,” CARDINAL SAID. “Are you all right?”
She looked away from him, and her face vanished in shadow. “Please go away.”
“Come on out, Terri. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Cardinal thought he had never seen anything as sad as this young woman huddled in a crawl space hiding from—as far as he knew—the only person who was trying to help her.
She sniffed wetly; tears glistened on her cheeks.
“Terri, come on out and let’s see if I can help you with whatever it is you want to do. All right? Let’s work together on this.”
Cardinal wished Delorme was with him. Mind you, Delorme would probably just drag Terri out of there and ask what the hell was on her mind. Delorme could be a little short on sympathy when it came to attractive young women.
Terri crawled out of the cupboard and stood up, hugging herself although it was not cold.
Cardinal pointed to the stairs.
“Why don’t you sit there.”
“I think I’ll just stand.”
“Sit, for God’s sake. You look like you’re going to faint.”
He took her by the shoulders and gently lowered her to the stairs.
“Why were yo
u so frightened?” he asked. “Who did you think I was?”
Terri shrugged. She was wearing the blue hoodie. The sleeves hung over her wrists and made her look like an orphan, which of course she was.
“Did you think I was whoever might’ve shot you?”
“No. I don’t even know who that would be.”
“Come back to the hospital with me. You won’t have to hide in any cupboards there.”
“I don’t need a hospital. I’m not sick.”
“Someone tried to kill you, Terri. Until we find that person, you’re still in danger. Come back with me.”
“I don’t want to. Believe it or not, I do have a life, and if you don’t mind I’d like to get back to it.”
“In an empty house? Where you haven’t lived for, what, ten or twelve years?”
Terri looked at him. The green eyes, informed now by memory and who knew what personal history, no longer looked so innocent.
“Tell me about your brother Kevin.”
“I don’t want to talk about Kevin.”
“You called him last night. His number’s not in service.”
“Kevin’s away right now.”
“Away where?”
“How should I know?”
“Terri, I’m just trying to help you. Your brother has been involved in narcotics in the past. He could have some connection with whoever tried to kill you.”
“I told you, I don’t remember anything about that. Are you going to arrest me for trespassing or something?”
“I don’t want to arrest you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Why? What do you care? You don’t even know me.”
“I know that. I need to know you better. I can’t help you if I don’t. Tell me why you’re still here. You said your brother is away. Does that mean he’s here? Look, I can find out from the phone company where he’s dialling from, so you may as well tell me. Is that why you came to Algonquin Bay? To find your brother? If he’s not here, why are you still here?”
Terri folded her arms across her chest and looked away from him.
“Look at me, Terri. Is your brother here in town? Is that why you’re here?”
“It’s really none of your business.”
“I think he’s here. I think he’s what drew you back here. And I think you know where he is.”
“I don’t.”
“I need to talk to him, Terri. He’s involved in the heroin trade—it can be a violent line of work. He could even be the one who tried to kill you.”
“He isn’t.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know who shot you.”
“I know it wasn’t Kevin.”
“Tell me something. You said you were staying in a motel by the lake. I don’t suppose you remember the name of that place yet, do you?”
“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact.”
“Reason I ask, we don’t seem to be able to locate that motel.”
“This is northern Ontario, right? There’s lots of motels by lakes.”
“Here in Algonquin Bay there are exactly twelve. We’ve talked to all of them and none of them remember any red-haired young woman who suddenly disappeared.”
“So, it was a different motel. A different lake. What do I know? I haven’t lived here for a long time.”
“There are no motels on the other lakes. See, here’s what I think’s going on—you tell me if I’m wrong: I think you came back here to find your brother. I think he’s still here and you intend to find him. I think you remember exactly where he was. You don’t want to tell me, and I can only assume that’s because he’s involved in criminal activity. I don’t care about that, you understand? That isn’t what I’m interested in right now. I just want to get whoever tried to kill you off the streets.”
“Detective, last week I got shot in the head. My memory is not what it should be. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Dr. Paley says it’s unheard of for a person with your injuries to remember some things and not others. It all comes back at once, not in these convenient little packages you’re offering up.”
“Dr. Paley doesn’t know what I think or what I remember.”
“And that’s very useful when you want to hide something, isn’t it?”
“You should know. You’re the detective.”
“Well, here’s something you should know, Terri. Whoever put a bullet in your head just did the same to someone else. Only this young man wasn’t as lucky as you. He got two in the head from the same gun and he’s dead, Terri.”
Cardinal was not at all sure it was the right move to make just then, but he turned from her and went to the front door. He snapped open the locks and went outside.
Follow me, he silently urged her. You must be desperate to know. Follow me.
He opened his car door, but before he could get in, she called after him.
“Wait!”
She came running down the front steps in bare feet.
“Detective, wait!”
Cardinal got in the car and started the engine.
Terri threw open the passenger door and got in beside him.
“Who was it?” Her pale skin had turned even paler. “The guy who was killed. Who was it?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
The green eyes were bright with panic.
“Oh, God, you have to tell me! How old was he? What did he look like? Was he thin and sort of gangly?”
Cardinal opened his briefcase and pulled out a forensic photo. The smashed head, the pool of blood.
Terri covered her mouth.
“Is it your brother?”
She shook her head, still covering her mouth. Cardinal hoped she wasn’t going to vomit in his car.
“This guy was mid to late twenties. About five-foot-five. Light brown hair.”
She let go of the breath she had been holding. “It wasn’t Kevin. Kevin’s younger. And he’s nearly six feet tall.”
“It could’ve been you or your brother,” Cardinal said gently. “Whoever did this made absolutely certain with this guy. The gun they’re using is malfunctioning and it looks like they finally figured that out. When the bullets didn’t kill him they busted him over the head with a baseball bat. The next time I get called to a scene like that, I don’t want it to be your brother, and I especially don’t want it to be you.”
Terri was sitting back against the seat now. She looked exhausted.
“You don’t want me to ask any more questions, I won’t ask any. But get your shoes and I’ll take you someplace safe.”
Terri stared straight ahead.
It’s now or never, Cardinal thought. She’ll either come with me now or I’ve truly lost her.
“Not the hospital?” Her voice was barely audible.
“Not the hospital.”
34
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Delorme said, the moment Cardinal got back to the station. “We’ve been buzzing you.”
“I’ve been over at the Crisis Centre,” he said. “I found Terri Tait.”
“You found Terri Tait.” Delorme raised one eyebrow. The little check-mark injury was fading. “How did you find her?”
“School records. I also looked up her brother, Kevin Tait. Turns out he did two years for intent to traffic in heroin, and I think he’s here in town.”
“That’s why she’s been holding back on us. She doesn’t want her brother to end up doing serious time.”
“Why were you buzzing me?”
“We got an ID back from Forensics. They got a match on the teeth. Have you ever run into a character named Morris Tilley? Also known as ‘Toof’—which is why odontology was able to identify him so fast. He had an extra incisor.”
“Don’t know him.”
“Of course not. You, you don’t work the small stuff. Seems we’ve pulled Morris Tilley in at least three times, maybe more, mostly for theft under. He’s also been known to sell dope, mostly grass. Morris Tilley’s problem is he’s a hundred-percent we
ed junkie. We haven’t heard from him for nearly a year, though.”
“Maybe he decided to go straight.”
“Hah, hah. He didn’t have any means of support other than dope or pool hustling.”
“Have you notified the parents yet?”
Delorme gave him her sweetest smile; that always meant something unpleasant was coming.
“Parent,” she corrected him. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
The Tilley home was located on Main West behind the Country Style parking lot. Owing to the national obsession with donuts, this parking lot was the fastest-expanding piece of real estate in town, devouring in its quest a limestone convent, several small stores and a brace of Edwardian houses. The Tilley address was fifty yards west, amid a block of red-brick houses that had recently sprouted ugly storefronts: Deirdre’s Beauty Shoppe, Polar Air Conditioning and Prent & Pilaggi Attorneys at Law.
It sometimes happens that a violent crime will lead police to a good address, a household of well-mannered people with degrees from the best universities; Cardinal had been to one or two such scenes himself. But they’re rare. Morris Tilley’s household was the more common variety.
His mother let them into the front hall. It was a dark, close space and the air had the slightly mouldy, old-fabric smell of the lowest-end thrift shops. Mrs. Tilley herself was a small, sparrowlike woman in faded flowerprint who squinted at them behind pointy glasses.
Cardinal introduced himself and Delorme.
“Mrs. Tilley, are you the mother of Morris Tilley?”
“Yes. Is Morris in trouble again? He doesn’t mean to get into trouble. He just doesn’t think, you know? He gets excited about something and then he just gets carried away. And that marijuana never did anything good for him. Other mothers complain that their kids are addicted to video games or their computers, and I would give anything if Morris would take up an interest like that. I mean, he discovered marijuana when he was twelve and he’s been in a fog ever since. But he doesn’t mean any harm. Really, he doesn’t. He’s a good boy. Man, I mean. Though he’s still a boy in lots of ways. What’s he done now? Nothing serious, I hope.”