by Warren Court
“That’s what I assume. He was very angry, very sad those last couple of months before he disappeared.”
“You’ve been a great help, sir. I don’t think we’ll need to trouble you anymore, but who knows.”
“Of course, of course.” Mr. Nair stood and showed Temple and Mendoza out, walking them to the staircase.
Temple paused at the top of the stairs. “Just one more question: do you know how Farzana Nair got that burn mark on her face?”
Ravinder Nair shook his head. “That was a terrible business. It happened back in India. Acid was thrown at her by some man.”
“They ever catch him?”
“No.” Ravinder said. “Again, it was a matter of honour. I did not get involved.”
13
“Getting late to do those others,” Temple said. They were back in Temple’s Buick and it was getting on six o’clock. “We can hit them tomorrow or the next day. Add them in with the restaurant employees. I want to focus on this daughter thing.” If this had been a fresh murder Temple and Mendoza wouldn’t have cared what time of day it was, they would have pounded on doors at midnight in order to speak to people as their chances of solving the murder dropped with every passing hour. But in this case, with the murders happening four months prior, Temple’s casual attitude towards speaking with the other people on their list was a subconscious way of telling himself that this wasn’t going to get solved. Their chances of clearing this case were slim at best and rousting people out of their beds was just going to get a lot of angry phone calls to headquarters and possibly a news item or two. As much as he hated to admit it Temple was leery of pissing off command concerning this case. He had taken Wozniak’s guidance to heart though he still couldn’t fathom why they would be interested in this particular case.
“We going to hit her school?” Mendoza said.
“Tomorrow . It’s closed by now. Let’s head back to 40 College and get Oswald’s target pistol in the mail to forensics.”
“Right.”
Back at 40 College, Temple let Mendoza take the target pistol away and file the ballistics request. It would take a couple of days. He also reminded him to get to work on the production order for the phone records.
“John.” It was Wozniak. He was standing in front of Chief Inspector’s Munshin’s office across the floor from Team Two’s cubicles. The guys on homicide called the inspector, Moonshine. Moonshine had worked homicide for ten years before getting the top spot. Temple walked over.
“What’s up, Tim?”
“Inspector wants a minute.”
Munshin didn’t get up when Temple and Wozniak entered his office. He sat behind his gleaming wood and metal desk. His coat was hung up on a rack. His massive frame was bulging in a white Harry Rosen shirt that gleamed in the light. He wore suspenders with Maple Leafs logos on them. On the wall to the right was an autographed photo of Darryl Sittler scoring a goal in a playoff game back in the seventies. On the desk were several Maple Leaf bobbleheads. There were neat piles of stacked paper on his desk and his laptop computer was open but pushed to the side. He leaned back in his chair and put his muscled arms behind his head, exposing two serious yellow pit stains.
“Sit down, John.” Moonshine said.
Temple took a seat. Wozniak did not; he stood behind him up, against a wall, with his arms folded. Temple could see his own reflection in the wall of certificates and awards that Munshin had behind him.
“This Nair thing—where are you at with it?”
“Running down the list of relatives, associates. So far the only thing we have is that the father had an argument on the phone a couple of days before he disappeared. Wife heard it but doesn’t know what it was about, or with who.”
“Whom,” Munshin said.
Temple said. “What?”
“With whom.”
“Right,” Temple said. “Sorry, with whom.” Munshin was a stickler for correct grammar and spelling on all reports. He had a degree in classic literature before he realized that the job was his life’s calling. They had called him The Professor when he first got on with TPS, but he was a good cop and that moniker was dropped somewhere along the way and replaced with Moonshine, even though he was a notorious teetotaller.
“We just spoke with Nair’s cousin. He says that the father was in a bit of a mood last couple of months he was around. And that it’s something to do with the daughter. We’re going to her school tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“Can I ask why I’m in here, Chief?” Temple said.
“Because we asked you,” Wozniak said behind him. Wozniak was the senior on Team Two. Though he and Temple shared responsibilities equally, technically Wozniak called the shots for the whole team. Temple had always afforded Wozniak the respect he deserved, but this was the first time in a long time he could remember Wozniak exercising his rank over him.
“Lot of eyes are on this, John,” Munshin said.
“I don’t get it.”
“The media is starting to speculate about it being an honour killing. There are repercussions on how it’s handled. It’s a sensitive subject.”
“Honour killing?” Temple shrugged. “The cousin did say ‘honour.’ Said the daughter had disgraced the family.” He paused, then changed the subject. “We interviewed the security guard, the one who called it in. Bit of a nut job. We got his handgun away from him, going to do ballistics. He has an AR15 but from the look of the wound I’m thinking handgun. We can always go back later and grab it if need be.” Temple deliberately kept the details from Munshin. He preferred to run leads down rather than voicing his opinion on them.
“Security guard?” Munshin said. “You like him for this?”
“Not really. Just a place to start. Found it odd that he remembered a four-month-old BOLO. But after you speak to the guy I kind of get it. He tried to get on the force, couldn’t make it. He even got kicked off the auxiliary.” All three cops laughed.
“Too bad,” Munshin said. “He could have made next chief of police.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Temple said.
“Anyway, keep us informed and do it by the numbers.”
“Right, I will. Thanks, Chief.”
Wozniak walked with Temple back to his desk.
“That was fucking weird,” Temple said. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know, man. Just do what he says. Funnel everything through me. I want daily updates. You get anything big on your line, let me know.”
“So what if it’s an honour killing? Since when did motive play into how we handle things? We go after the bad guys regardless.”
“The job’s fucked—you know that, right, John? Anyway, I gotta split. Taking Sylvia out for dinner.”
“Where to?”
“Just our neighbourhood. Parmigiano on Yonge.”
“Big spender.”
“For once.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing. Just trying to smooth the waters. Been spending too much time at work lately.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When are you going to settle down?”
“I’m past it now, Tim. I’m over forty. The cougars don’t want me anymore and I can’t keep up with the young ones.”
Tim laughed. “Keep me updated tomorrow on the girl’s school.”
“Just let me do my job.”
“Doing what I and Moonshine say is your job,” Tim said, and he smirked as he left.
Temple watched him go. He pulled his BlackBerry out and checked the last text he had received from Sylvia. It said Have to cancel tonight. Going out with Tim. Normally a pang of guilt would have flooded through him, but Wozniak’s sudden change in management style dampened it. Fuck him— and his wife, he thought, and laughed.
14
Samuel Horowitz’s office was at the corner of King and Bay, the financial hub of Toronto. Horowitz was a legit, very successful day trader but he still ran a book maker’s operation and had ties to
organized crime. Temple figured it was all connected into some sort of money laundering thing. But seeing as he liked to drop a bet every now and then himself, Temple never dropped a dime on his bookie. Those bets he had dropped now totalled ten thousand bucks. The vigorish was running at 21 percent, a discount of two points for cops, Horowitz had told him. He walked into Horowitz’s office. It was bigger than the chief of police’s. Temple had been in that Holiest of Holies at 40 College only once when he was decorated secretly for an undercover drug sting.
Horowitz’s office walls were adorned with art. Temple knew enough about it to know they were real. Expensive. The rug was plush, and the large kidney-shaped desk wrapped around the shrunken Jewish bookie. Temple turned his head and saw Black Tommy sitting on a chair in the corner eating an apple. He didn’t say hello.
“Johnathan, my friend. Come in.” Temple sat down in a chair in front of the desk. Horowitz was paring his fingernails and didn’t offer his hand.
“What’s this about, Sammy?” Temple said.
“I appreciate you coming,” Horowitz said.
Normally Temple did his payoffs to Sammy through Black Tommy or another bag man he ran. He didn’t like coming into this office in case the TPS was running surveillance against Horowitz.
“It’s just this once,” Temple said. “Your boy there said it was urgent.” Without looking at him, Temple jerked his thumb at Black Tommy. He heard Tommy’s chair creak and thump to the floor. Horowitz made a waving motion to cool Tommy down.
“I understand, John. You don’t want to be seen with us criminal types.” Horowitz laughed.
“Something like that. What do you want? I’m a busy man.”
“I know you are, I know you are. I’m offering you a trade. I want some information and in exchange I wipe off two grand from the amount you owe.”
“Two grand isn’t enough,” Temple said. “All of it.”
Horowitz said. “Never. And you haven’t even heard what I want.”
“I know that whatever is it would cost me my badge, my pension maybe. Maybe more.”
“True,” Horowitz said. “But you’re an intelligent fellow. You’re not about to let that happen.”
“What do you want? For Christ’s sake, just tell me.”
Horowitz wrote something down on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk to Temple, who looked at it then leaned forward and grabbed it. On it was written two words: Operation Carnivore.
“What’s this?”
Horowitz put a finger to his mouth to stop John from speaking the two words. “Code word for some sort of police investigation.”
“Never heard of it.” Temple ripped the note up into small bits and dumped the pile back onto Horowitz’s desk. Horowitz smirked.
“I figured you never heard of it. It’s not your area. But you could find out.”
“Maybe.” By “not your thing,” Temple speculated that Horowitz meant it was an organized crime probe or maybe drugs, something outside of homicide’s purview.
“I hear the OPP are involved too. Check into it, please?
“What if I say no?”
“Then you say no. Your account is at what?” Horowitz’s glasses were on a chain around his neck, and he raised them to his eyes now.
“Ten thousand,” Black Tommy chimed in. Horowitz smiled. Thanks Thomas. “Ten thousand. Vig is at twenty-one for now.”
“For now?” Temple said. “You’re going to up that?”
“Might have to. Times are tough.”
“Thought you had rules.”
“Look, John. Just go get the info. I’ll consider scalping five K off your amount. Depending on what you find out.”
“No guarantee I can.”
“I know. Just give it your best shot. Go through Tommy.”
Temple got up. “I want the vig stopped while I figure this out. Should take a week.”
Horowitz laughed. “Okay, okay. Deal. Your account is frozen. Of course that means no bets this weekend.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t like anybody this week.”
“Not even the Maple Leafs making the playoffs? There’s a lot of action around that.”
“They’re dead to me,” Temple said, and he buttoned up his overcoat.
“You and everyone else. Tommy’s still a big fan, though, aren’t you Tommy?”
“What’s that say about him?” Temple said. He turned and left, ignoring a raging Black Tommy who launched himself up from his chair. Temple heard Samuel Horowitz say “Easy, Thomas” as he shut the door behind him.
15
Instead of turning left when he emerged from Horowitz’s office tower to make the ten-minute walk back up to 40 College where his car was parked, Temple turned right and headed in the direction of Union Station, two blocks away. He weaved his way through the last remnants of the day’s commuters heading to their trains. He had no intention of catching one. He stopped in front of a glass case affixed to the side of a concrete beam. There were several pieces of paper tacked up to a board inside the glass. They were all missing-child alerts.
The throngs of people swarmed around him and the beam, never glancing at the posters. He looked at one in particular. It showed a teenage girl with braces, smiling and turned slightly away from the camera, her hair in a ponytail. A school photo. It was his sister. The details of her disappearance were printed above, including the date she‘d last been seen.
Next to the photo of his sister, who had been fifteen years of age when it was taken, was an age-enhanced rendering of her. Temple had helped out with that, going to the Child Find offices and letting a sketch artist study him, how he had developed as an adult, so that the rendering of his sister in her thirties could be as accurate as possible. The result was remarkable. He looked at that drawing, wondering what kind of life she would have lived. Married, kids, career. She had talked about wanting to work with children or animals; most girls that age did. When she was six, she had wanted to be a mermaid. Their parents had told him about it during one of their collective grieving sessions. She had wanted to go to mermaid school. They had shared a rare laugh together that had quickly turned into more sobs.
Some idiot pushed past Temple, knocking him slightly forward against the case. Temple steadied himself and turned, but the man was gone and up the stairs. Temple took one step after him and then stopped, turned around again, and left Union Station.
The Wentworth Tavern was busier this time, with at least a dozen or more people. Temple walked in and paused for a second to let his eyes adjust. He saw a group of men in a booth to the right of the door, and heard someone mutter “Asshole” as he passed. He ignored it and headed to Rush at his usual spot. It was Tracy’s night off. A male bartender came over and Temple ordered drinks for himself and Rush.
”How’d the day go?” Rush said.
“Ups and downs. Getting tired of this bullshit, I really am.”
“How long you got in?”
“Fifteen. You?”
“Twenty-eight. I could leave tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I’d miss it.”
“You’re not exactly in the thick of it in here all day.”
“I keep my finger in it. Besides, I do my best work in here.”
“So lay it on me. Let me see the great Detective Bill Rush in action.”
“Wouldn’t want to knock the shit out of your confidence.”
“I’m serious.”
“What’s the problem?”
“This fucking case with the Indians. Moonshine wants daily reports. Afraid of bad publicity, the victims being minorities, I guess. Politically correct BS.”
“The job’s fucked—you know that right? Completely fucked. What did you tell Moonshine?”
“I said okay. What the hell else am I supposed to say? Jam your daily reports up your ass?”
“Was Wozniak there?”
“Yup. He’s going along with it. This whole thing… I don’t know.”
“Suspects?”
“Security guard gave us his pistol. We’re having it checked. I don’t like him for it but it’s an obvious lead. The father looks clean so far—no enemies, no monies owing. Learned today that his daughter disgraced the family somehow. Maybe that’s something, but the guy who told us, a cousin, could be exaggerating.”
Rush nodded his head. “Wish I could still smoke in here. Why the hell did they get rid of that?”
“Smoke outside.”
“It’s cold as hell,” he said. “What about the daughter?”
“We’re going to her school tomorrow first thing.”
“Your buddy is back,” Rush said, and he nodded backwards toward the booth by the door. Temple looked over. It was the punk from the other night. He had two friends with him. They were all dressed in the same scruffy double denim look, jeans and jean jackets.
“He asked about you. If you’d be in.”
“Really. Kind of ballsy of him.”
“He’s a regular here. Bum kid, plays around with bikers.”
“He ain’t no prospect.”
“No, thinks he’s on his way to being one, though.”
“What MC?” Temple meant motorcycle club, a nice way of saying criminal biker gang.
“The Villains.”
“Never heard of them.”
Rush chuckled. “What was that about me not doing much? At least I’m up on things.”
“He know you’re a cop?”
“Don’t I just naturally project that image?” Rush said, and Temple laughed. Rush was wearing the same brown suit he’d had on the other day. Its wrinkles had deepened into crevasses. His face was ashen grey from too many drinks, too many smokes, and not enough sunlight.
“Anyway, in here is neutral territory. It’s an open city.”
“Yeah, sure it is.” Temple rubbed his face. “I gotta go home. Think on this thing.”
“Just watch yourself,” Rush said. “With Moonshine, I mean. Spotlight’s on you. Something gets fucked up, it’ll all fall on you.”