Shadow Puppet

by Jeffrey Round

  “He was Muslim,” Dan interjected, “so he probably didn’t drink. Though I don’t think he was a particularly devout Muslim. He was also an athlete, which may have been why he abstained from alcohol.”

  “Yes, I noticed the excellent condition of his muscles immediately. He took care of himself.” Stuart nodded sadly. “In case you’re wondering, we were also able to rule out suicide. Drownings attributed to suicide are not actually common, though it does happen. Drownings attributed to homicide, however, are far more common. In such cases, we look for signs of struggle such as skin abrasions, even finger marks to show how and where the victim was held down.”

  “Did you find any indication of that?”

  “Sadly, no.” Stuart looked off for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. “The fact is, you don’t have to sink very far to drown. Technically, you could drown in your bath — ergo the infamous bride-in-the-bath murders in England in the last century. Deep-water immersion is more common, insofar as the victim falls into deep water. Bodies submerged at great depths often show fewer signs of trauma because it’s much colder, and also the likelihood of having your body swayed by current is lower, resulting in less rubbing against rocks and coral and such.”

  Dan wondered when he would get to his point, but Stuart seemed to be enjoying his captive audience of one.

  “In the case of the Toronto Harbour, it’s mostly sand instead of rocks. But for the sake of argument, we’ll say he went all the way down. The body gets waterlogged and it sinks. It’s what I call ‘that sinking feeling.’ In this case, sometimes the marks we see are the result of disturbances caused by marine animals — usually fish nibbling away. This, for instance.” He pointed to a notched groove on Nabil’s left ear. “But they can also be the result of being chopped by a propeller blade, which may make it look as though the body has been attacked.” He looked at Dan and smiled, a teacher patiently explaining his lesson to a slow pupil. “In the absence of any and all of these, however, we look for other determining factors. On opening your friend’s lungs, for instance, we found none of the obvious signs to provide evidence of drowning. Pulmonary edema, for instance, which is a fancy term for fluid in the lungs.”

  “In other words …?”

  “In other words, what we found in Mr. Ahmad’s lungs showed something entirely different from what we would expect to find when a body is recovered from the water.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he had no water in his lungs. He did, however, die due to a lack of oxygen to the heart and brain. The foam in the lungs and throat, for instance, is in fact similar to that of drowning victims. This is caused by the mixing of mucus and air in the trachea as the victim struggles to breathe. But one of the giveaways — if you will look closely at the skin — is cyanosis of the skin.”

  Dan noted the blue discolouration, which he’d attributed simply to death.

  “However, the telltale symptom,” Stuart continued, pulling back Nabil’s eyelids, like a magician pulling a dove from a hat, “is when the whites of the eyes turn bright red, like this.”

  He clicked on a mini-mag and held it directly up to Nabil’s face. In the bone-white gleam, Dan could make out tiny pinpricks of blood. Demon eyes. Nabil had the look of a man possessed. As though he might suddenly sit up and start speaking in tongues.

  “Bloodshot eyes — also known as subconjunctival hemorrhaging — are a result of capillaries bursting in the eyes when pressure builds up in the head due to lack of oxygen.”

  “So you’re saying — ?”

  “I’m saying that although your friend was fished out of the harbour, he did not drown.” Stuart folded his arms across his chest. “He was placed there by person or persons unknown after being suffocated.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Meet Your Local Pornographer

  DAN LEFT THE MORTUARY AND returned to his office, thinking about his next move. After some serious deliberation, he got Prabin on the phone.

  Prabin’s voice was grave. “So now we know it’s murder.”

  “I’m afraid so. But before you start beating yourself up again, I think you should know that Nabil has probably been dead for a while. Maybe even before we started going to the bars.”

  “Why did they find him and not the others?”

  “Impossible to say at this point. My best guess is that for some reason the killer got nervous and realized he had to dispose of the body fast, whereas with the others he had more time to hide them.”

  Dan looked out the window over the river, the landscape frozen and grey. With the rapid freeze setting in, the ground would have been too hard to shovel without a lot of effort. That increased the possibility someone might be seen in a ravine digging a hole that was considerably larger than a dog’s grave.

  “As sad as it is, we can now lay this to rest and let the police do their business —” Dan began.

  “I’m going back out.”

  “To the bars? That won’t bring Nabil back.”

  “No, but it might prevent someone else from disappearing.”

  Dan could hear the conviction in his voice. “I might have a better idea,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  Prabin listened attentively as Dan laid out his plan.

  “Huh,” he said when Dan had finished.

  “If you still want to do this, then that’s the best way I can think of doing it. It’s a little risky, but it won’t be dangerous.”

  “Not with a personal bodyguard on the premises.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I trust you, Dan. I know you want to make this right as much as I do. Especially now that we know Nabil was deliberately killed.”

  “I will be there in the building the entire time,” he concluded. “Nothing can possibly happen to you with me there.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Dan retrieved Sasha’s card from his wallet and read off the number. “Call and ask for an audition then let me know the time. When I show up for an unscheduled visit from the furnace inspector, I can make sure you don’t run into any trouble.”

  †

  An hour later, Prabin called to say he’d set up a date for the following afternoon at three. At noon the next day, Dan called Reggie. In his most winning tone, he asked the super whether he’d be willing to help him with his investigation. As he’d suspected, the super jumped at the chance.

  “Here’s what I need,” he said, giving him an address in the west end. “There’s a coffee shop on the corner right across the street. Get there early and try to get a window seat. That way you won’t be seen. I need to know if a white van with a Nova Scotia licence plate shows up between two and four this afternoon.”

  “That’s it?” Reggie, said, sounding disappointed.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “I can’t tell you yet, but it could be extremely important to the case.”

  “Okay,” Reggie said, brightening. “I’ll be there.”

  Dan left his office and headed to a costume rental outlet. He went through the racks that held everything from priests’ cassocks, bakers’ hats, and undertaker suits, through to uniforms for sailors and soldiers. Once, presumably, they’d been the property of living people. Now, however, they’d fallen into the murky realm of the public domain, where just about anyone with a little cash could slip out of one identity and into another.

  He chose a brown zip-up jacket with a yellow logo that could have designated anything from a plumber to a department-store deliveryman, then tossed in a pair of brown brogues to match: Mr. General Serviceman.

  Back home, he thought of Domingo’s admonition as he put on the outfit: This man is a master of disguise. Just before leaving, he slipped a gold band on his ring finger and looked at himself in the mirror. He was getting pretty good with disguises himself.

  He drove to the Second Cup and waited. Ten minutes later Prabin came through the door, took one look at Dan’
s uniform, and laughed.

  “Convincing,” he said. “And we all love a man in uniform.”

  Prabin had dressed in his gym sweats, with a nylon jacket over top. The ta’wiz glinted above the neck of his T-shirt. Not bad for a would-be porn star. As he swung a chair around, Dan saw several of the customers throw him admiring glances.

  “You’re popular,” Dan said.

  “Yeah, but I figure I’m a wannabe, so it doesn’t really matter how I dress so long as I show off my muscles.”

  “Good choice. Make sure you tell them you work for cash only. That’ll make you even more attractive to them. And find a way to let slip that your visa has expired.”

  By the time Dan parked a block away from the Viking, Prabin had broken into a sweat. He gave Dan a grim smile.

  “Okay, so I’m a bit nervous,” he said in a plausible-

  sounding Middle Eastern accent.

  “That’s good. You’re auditioning. You’re supposed to be nervous.”

  “And this is my Uncle Hamid’s accent, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Sounds authentic to me.”

  “Me, too. Let’s hope I can keep it up.”

  Dan grabbed a tool box from the backseat. They parted at the corner. Prabin walked on ahead. Dan stopped down the street and waited till his cellphone rang. He answered without speaking and heard the apartment buzzer sound. A voice replied telling Prabin to wait.

  He headed for the building. Ten seconds later, he heard the door click open. “You Jameel?”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Dan heard Prabin say right before his cell clicked off.

  “Hold on!” Dan called out, dashing up the walkway behind him. The ferrety director turned as Dan flashed a card. “Furnace inspection. The super here?”

  Egeli scowled. “No, he went out.”

  “That’s okay, he doesn’t need to be here. I just need to get downstairs.”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Dan gave him a stern look. “Sir, I’ve been asked by the city to make sure the furnace is in compliance with regulations. Who’s in charge of the building?”

  Egeli sighed and made a call on his cell. “Furnace inspector wants access to the basement,” he said into the phone. He ended the call and turned to Prabin. “You can go upstairs. Third floor. Just wait in the hall till someone calls you.”

  “Thanks,” Prabin said, giving Dan a last look before he went up the stairs.

  Egeli turned back to Dan. “Hang on. Someone’s coming with the keys.”

  A voice called from the floor above as unseen hands tossed the director a set of keys. He caught them and headed for the basement door. “I’ll leave it unlocked. Just let me know when you’re done. We’re upstairs in 303. Make sure you knock first.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Dan looked around. The furnace was chugging hard, threatening to tear itself free from its base. No doubt it was on its last legs. It would need more than an inspector when the time came.

  He found the cold-air return and stuck his head in the opening, listening for sounds. One of the tenants was a jazz fan. That was all he heard apart from the opening and closing of a door somewhere above. If Prabin yelled for help, he wouldn’t hear it over the hum of the furnace and other ambient sounds old buildings made.

  He waited a few minutes then crept slowly upstairs, but it was impossible to move noiselessly. Each step had its own particular creak and groan.

  He’d just reached the third-floor landing — 303 was on the left — when he heard footsteps from inside. There was nowhere to hide. Running would give him away instantly.

  The apartment door opened and Zoltan Mirovic peered out. Recognition showed in his eyes. “Ah, you were here the other day,” he said.

  “I was sent back.” Dan checked his notebook. “Something to do with a clogged cold-air return.”

  “I thought maybe you changed your mind and came to audition for us. I like your uniform. Maybe I could write a furnace repairman into the script. Have you ever been in an adult film?”

  “Not my thing, thanks.”

  Zoltan laughed loudly. “Too bad. I pay very well. I mean, how much can you make doing furnace inspection?”

  “I do okay,” Dan said. “Besides, my wife might not like it.” He flashed his wedding band.

  “If she’s anything like you, I’d be happy to include her. You straight or gay?”

  “Wife.” Dan held up his hand again. “Straight.”

  Zoltan’s smile faded. He nodded to the far end of the hallway. “The cold-air return is down there.”

  The door closed. Dan brought out his screwdriver and unfastened the vent cover. He poked around with his fingers then reached into his shirt pocket for a small flashlight. Something actually was clogging the vent where it narrowed just out of reach of the light. He leaned closer. Whatever it was felt soft, furry. Instinct made him yank his hand back, cutting his thumb in the process. He reached into his tool kit for a rag to wipe the blood from his fingers.

  He took out his cellphone and screwed it onto a stick, then checked the flash and set the timer. With his good hand he pushed the shutter and dipped it back down into the vent until he heard a satisfied click. Then he withdrew it.

  At first it was hard to make out. Then suddenly it came together: a small skull, its teeth bared in a grimace. The rest of it was clad in what looked like a miniature fur coat too large for its desiccated frame. He shivered, thankful its biting days were over.

  He retrieved a plastic container from the tool box, bent a wire, and hooked the carcass out, dropping it into the bin. It was too bad he wasn’t getting paid for this furnace inspection gig.

  The door of 303 opened and closed. Prabin emerged and headed down the stairs. Dan checked his watch: he’d been in there a little more than twenty minutes. He waited a beat, then picked up his prize and headed over. Voices carried through the door.

  “I like this one. He looks good on camera.”

  “I’m not sure he’s into it,” Xavier said. “I don’t want more trouble like last time.”

  Mirovic made a dismissive sound. “There are ways of getting him to do what we want.”

  “He doesn’t do drugs. He already told us.”

  There was a silence. Then, “He doesn’t have to know.”

  “No way. We’ll end up with another overdose on our hands. It’s easier just getting someone who does what we say. There are lots of hungry whores out there.”

  “You can’t always do it the easy way.” There was anger in Mirovic’s voice. “Or we offer to give him his papers, like we said. It’s what they all want.”

  “I’m getting nervous about these papers.”

  The voices died down, but the talking continued.

  Footsteps headed toward the door. Dan stepped back a few feet then looked up with a surprised expression when Mirovic appeared.

  His glance was ominous. “What do you want now?”

  Dan smiled. “Looks like I solved your problem. You won’t believe what I found in that vent.”

  He held up the container. Zoltan peered at the dead rat with disgust.

  “Your tenants ever complain of lingering odours?” Dan asked.

  Zoltan looked at him dismissively. “No. Whatever it is, just get rid of it.”

  “Okay.”

  Dan headed back down the stairs.

  “Wait one second.”

  Dan froze. He turned and looked back at the big man.

  “What is our deadline for replacing the furnace?”

  Dan pulled out a notepad and flipped through the pages. He shook his head. “It’s in my other book,” he said.

  “And where is that?”

  “It’s in my van. I can go get it, if you need to know right now.”

  The suggestion hung in the air. Finally Zoltan shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sure Reggie can tell me.”

  “All right,” Dan said, and headed back down the stairs.

  Prabi
n was waiting in the car when Dan got in. He sat rigid, looking straight ahead. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Dan started the engine. “You okay?” He turned to look at Prabin, who appeared shaken.

  “I’m okay. Just … let’s go.”

  Dan put the car in gear and drove off.

  Prabin sighed heavily. “That was really humiliating,” he said, then shook his head. “At first they were quite nice. It was all from the shoulders up. They told me I looked great on camera, complimented my physique. When I said I only worked for cash, it seemed to make them happy. They reassured me they always paid cash, with no records and nothing to trace. I’m thinking, okay, this is not so hard.”

  He looked out the window at the traffic, people walking about on sidewalks, ordinary things.

  “Then they told me to strip. Not a big deal. I was expecting that. I pretended to be nervous, which wasn’t hard because I really was. When I was finally undressed they brought out a pair of handcuffs and told me to put them on … behind my back. I knew I was stupid to do it, but I didn’t want to piss them off. So I put them on. Again, no big deal, right? I mean, I’ve tried weird sex before. Not my thing, but whatever. So far everything’s jokey, even though I’m cuffed to the bed. Then, just as I started to relax, they asked how I felt about violence. I didn’t want them to send me packing, so I said I’d be fine with it so long as it wasn’t real. The director gave me this eerie smile and asked if I’d let them draw blood. Just a slice here and there, he said. Nothing that would show. Even though I knew you were in the building, it unnerved me. I started to think about Nabil. I mean, they could have killed me right then and there, you know? They talked about how much money I would get if I did whatever they asked. When I didn’t reply, they said they could help me get my papers to work in the country. I said I’d think about it. The whole time I’m sitting there handcuffed to the bed and they’re filming me. I asked if they would uncuff me, because I was starting to feel really vulnerable. They said, ‘Not yet,’ and kept filming. It freaked me out. I’ve never felt so helpless. It was as if they were trying to break me psychologically.”