by Warren Court
“He in there?”
“Don’t know. Let’s wait a bit.” The Fiesta was blocking another car in, but Temple couldn’t make out what kind or even see the plate. It was a blue SUV crossover of some type. “In a while I’ll send you over to get that other plate. Probably another tenant’s.” They sat there and finished their coffees.
After a while Temple got restless and decided to stir things up. He pulled up a redialler app he had on his phone and punched in Zurawska’s number. The app asked him if he wanted to disguise his voice and he punched in yes and selected female. The phone rang four times before a woman answered. She sounded sleepy.
“Hello.”
“Is Coconis there?” Temple said.
“No. Who is this?”
“Where’s he at?”
“Where’s who?”
“Coconis.”
“Don’t know him. You got the wrong fucking number. It’s too early in the morning for this shit.” She hung up. Temple had the call on speaker so Mendoza could listen.
“She knows him,” Temple said.
“She said no at first,” Mendoza agreed. “Wish we had a tap on her line.”
Temple did too. She might be calling Coconis now. Or maybe he was in the apartment, standing right next to her. Coconis had no active warrants but maybe he was extra cautious. He certainly had an ability to disappear from the radar when he wanted.
Temple had the binoculars trained on the front window. The curtains parted for a second and then closed again. They waited another hour, then Mendoza got out of the car and walked around the back of the muffler shop, which was now open and busy. He came out on the right side of it and crossed the street headed at an angle away from Zurawska’s house. He window-shopped in front of a shoe store then turned and headed down fifty feet to the target house. He glanced only a second at the car that was blocked in then carried on past the house for two blocks. Temple lost sight of him and only saw him again as he was opening the passenger side door. Temple jumped in surprise.
“You’re one Sneaky Pete,” he said.
“Learned from the best. Did the spin course last year; Boychek was still teaching it. Shame about what happened to him. Cancer,” Mendoza said. “It was sad at the end. Like watching a dog you know you have to put down.”
Temple looked at Mendoza. “That’s pretty deep…. For you, partner, I mean.”
Mendoza had written down the licence plate and make and model of the car. He called the switchboard and had them do a make on it. It came back registered to someone in the house next to Zurawska’s. It was a shared laneway.
“Must be a pain in the ass getting that car out with hers blocking it,” Mendoza said. “What do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“How long?”
“Shit, man. This is the job,” Temple said.
“Okay, relax. Was just asking.”
“This is the job,” Temple repeated, pissed off now. What any uniformed cop wouldn’t give to be in Mendoza’s seat right now.
After another two hours of waiting and watching in the muffler shop parking lot, they saw Zurawska leave her house. Temple glanced at her photo on his phone and confirmed it was her. She got in the Fiesta and headed downtown. Temple put two cars between him and her and followed.
“What about the house?” Mendoza asked.
“We got no warrant. I don’t think he’s there. That call would have spooked him. Good thing she doesn’t have an attached garage.”
Zurawska took them down to the entertainment district where Temple had been the night before. She drove past the Steely Dan, which was just opening up. She glanced at it as she passed.
“You see that?”
“Her favourite place maybe?” Mendoza said. “Wonder why she didn’t stop and go in?”
They got the answer quickly. Three blocks from the bar was a cheque-cashing place called Super Pay Day Loans. Zurawska pulled up in front of it. It was two in the afternoon; she could park there until four, at which time her car would be towed. Temple drove past her and watched her walk into the store. He pulled up half a block from the place and he and Mendoza sat in the car in case she came out again fast. She didn’t. Temple checked the address. It was the same place that Prajoth Nair had called days before he disappeared.
“This ties it for me,” Temple said. “Nair phones this place a week before he disappears. Ten minutes later he calls Coconis on the only phone registered him, a cell. Now that phone is out of service. It was a throwaway. We got Coconis pulled over six months before then. Who’s driving the car? Zurawska. In the passenger seat, our Coconis. Either it’s girlfriend and boyfriend, or hooker and pimp. I think probably a little of both.” Temple had pictures of both the Nair girls and their father on him. “Let’s see if we can spook her again.”
They got out and went into the store. The place was small. There were security cameras everywhere and a heavy steel door with a large glass view-hole at the far end. Half of the store was open to the public; the other half was a wall of thick security glass and a counter. It was divided into three slots for customers. Zurawska was in the middle one, and had the only customer in the place in front of her window. There was no way any legit place would hire a woman with Zurawska’s criminal record. This place was dirty.
Zurawska was taking her time with the customer. She eyed Temple and Mendoza wearily, then turned back to the man in front of her. The other girl behind the glass was free and she called out.
“I can help you here?”
Temple shook his head and then nodded his head at Zurawska’s window. When Zurawska’s customer left with some loose bills in his hand, Temple stepped forward. Mendoza stood behind him and watched the store.
“Hello, Miss.” He clicked his badge against the plastic window and pulled it away again. “We’re conducting an investigation about a missing girl.” He slid the photo of Sidduth Nair through the slot at the bottom of the security glass. “Have you seen her around here recently? We think she was abducted down here.”
Zurawska barely glanced at the photo and shook her head.
“You sure? I mean, you hardly looked at it.”
She made a show of studying the photo a second time and said no. Her voice was raspy. Temple knew from her file on the computer that she was thirty-seven but decades of hard living had aged her prematurely. She still had a rather nice body, though—large breasts that probably got all sloppy when she took her top off. She had a deep tan, wrinkles on her neck. Her hair was bleached blonde and dark at the roots. Temple caught a small tattoo on her wrist but couldn’t make it out. It looked like a key. Temple had the picture of Coconis loaded onto his BlackBerry and he put the device up to the glass for her to see.
“What about this character? We think he’s involved.”
She looked at it. Temple saw only the barest hint of recognition, but she said, “No, sorry. Can’t help you.”
Cool customer, Temple thought. “Okay, Miss. Thank you for your time.”
He and Mendoza turned and left.
Back in Temple’s car, Mendoza turned to him. “What was the point of that?”
“I want her running to him. Not just calling. If this biker is as wily as we think, he isn’t going to want to talk on the phone anyway.”
“If he is a biker, why don’t we just stake out their clubhouse?”
“Villains don’t have one. Most of the new gangs don’t. Needlessly draws attention to them. They’re getting smarter. It’s taken decades but they are.”
“What about lunch?” Mendoza said.
“There’s street meat across there. Go get it—two dogs for me. And a Coke.” Temple pulled a twenty out.
“Am I your gopher? Get the licence plate, get the hot dogs...”
“You’re paying your dues. At least be happy that I’m paying. Mustard and relish, no ketchup.”
Mendoza grabbed the twenty on his way out. Temple started the car and put the heater on. It was a cloudy day and the temperature had drop
ped. He watched the Super Pay Day Loans doorway in his rear-view mirror, and then looked across at Mendoza. He was handing cash to the hot dog vendor and Temple gauged he’d be along in a minute. When he looked back he saw Zurawska at her car. Damn. He put the Buick in drive. He didn’t know what direction she would go. He rolled his window down and yelled at Mendoza, but a streetcar came by, its brakes squealing, and his partner didn’t hear him. He watched the Ford Fiesta pull out and make a U-turn and head in the opposite direction from the way Temple’s car was pointed.
He beeped on his horn and made the same turn. Mendoza turned around, two dogs in his hands. Temple stopped so that Mendoza could run across to him. Horns blared. The Fiesta was already a block away. Hopefully Zurawska had not seen Temple do his pull-out into traffic. Mendoza jumped in.
“Come on—she’s on the move.”
“He had only two of the dogs.”
Temple smelled the onions. He glanced over at the dogs and saw that they were loaded down with hot peppers and sauerkraut.
“What the hell?”
“These are for me. I was doing yours next,” Mendoza said.
“Great.” Temple’s stomach growled. He was hungry before, but now smelling the food he was ravenous. Even if they had hot peppers on them, which played hell with his hemorrhoids, he wanted one.
“You want one?” Mendoza read his mind.
“I’m driving.”
“I’ll keep it warm.”
“No, thanks. Just put it on the dash.”
Even though she had left her work in a rush, Zurawska still did the speed limit and obeyed the traffic signs. It wasn’t hard for Temple to catch up to her. She took the DVP up to the 401 and headed westbound across the top of the city. Temple put three cars in between her and him. Mendoza kept an eye on the car too in between texting on his phone; it was an easy tail. Zurawska took the Dufferin Street off-ramp and headed north. Temple was right behind her. She took Dufferin for ten minutes north of the highway, turned on to Finch, and resumed a westerly direction.
They stopped at a light and a group of fifty kids, all Asian and dressed in the same blue-and-white school uniform, crossed in front of them even though it was the weekend. Maybe it was some sort of Chinese school.
“Jesus, another Chinatown?” Mendoza said.
Temple said, “I wouldn’t call this a Chinatown. Just a bunch of people from the same culture who like to be around each other. Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you immigrated to China?”
“Never happen,” Mendoza said. He finished his hot dog.
Temple could see him eyeing the second one hungrily. He grabbed it and put it in the console between him and Mendoza. “I’ll save it for later,” he said.
“Don’t forget about it. Might go bad.”
“It’s not real meat; it’s street meat. When the nuclear war comes, the only thing going to be left living is cockroaches—and you know what they’re going to be eating?”
“Street meat?” Mendoza said.
“Fucking A.”
Zurawska pulled into a high-rise apartment building. She left her car in the circular drop-off in front of the lobby. Temple drove past it and pulled up in front of a fire hydrant.
“You get the address?”
“2211 Lincoln Place,” Mendoza said. He wrote it down.
“I don’t remember this address coming up in the PowerCase file.” Zurawska had already gone into the building. The tower had at least two hundred units.
“What do we do?”
“We wait. If Coconis is in there, maybe he’s going to come out with her. Or maybe she’s going to go see him.”
“Or maybe she’s just visiting her aunt,” Mendoza said.
“She left work early. She wasn’t even there an hour. You think she drove all that way to her job to work a twenty-minute shift? We spooked her. She’s been told not to talk on the phone, so she’s going to deliver the message in person. That’s what we want.”
Temple’s phone rang. It was Wozniak.
“John, where are you now?” The way he said it, Wozniak knew Temple was working on a Saturday.
“We’re working the Nair thing. I have Sergio here with me.”
“But where are you?”
“I’m outside of…” He grabbed Mendoza’s notebook off his lap. “…2211 Lincoln Place. It’s an apartment building. Why? What’s happening?”
“I need you to back off that. We just got a call from tactical. There’s an operation underway. You’re jeopardizing it.”
“Look, Tim, whatever these guys are up to, this gang might be connected to a double murder. You remember telling me about the eyes that were on this? Shit, I’m trying to clear the case.”
Mendoza said, “We’re trying to clear it.”
Temple gave him a quick, angry look. Not now.
“I know, John. Just back off. Come back to College. I want to be briefed.”
Temple pushed the end call button on his phone as forcibly as he could.
“What’s this shit?” Mendoza said.
“We’re being pulled off this. Some surveillance thing going on. Bigger than what we’re working.” Both detectives looked around to see if they could spot anything.
“I don’t see anyone,” Mendoza said.
“You won’t. If it’s that big you won’t see them. But they saw us,” Temple said. “Someone called it in. They recognized either the car or you and me.”
“What now?”
“We go back to 40 College and find out what the hell is going on.”
Temple’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out to look at the text. It was from Tony in the OPP. Hey, got something. Call me, it said. I will later on, Temple texted back, and put his phone in his breast pocket over his heart so he could feel the vibrations of incoming messages.
22
The fifth floor of 40 College had a moderate level of activity for a Saturday. The guys from the third team, who had just come on call, were there and they nodded at John from across the floor. Wozniak was at his cubicle. Temple draped his jacket over the back of his chair and went over. Wozniak saw him coming, stood up, and pointed at an empty interrogation room. He held the door for Temple, who took the seat normally reserved for suspects. It seemed fitting.
“What’s this all about, Tim?”
“I told you there were eyes on this thing. There’s a major task force underway to help combat the sex trade in Toronto. It’s exploding.”
“So? The Nairs might have been taken out as part of that. I think their older daughter was turned out. This Zurawska broad was going to lead us to Coconis, our only suspect. Or she was until you pulled me off her.”
“You can’t be allowed to jeopardize this. Coconis is probably small potatoes anyway. The Villains are a memory. Their gang has been broken up. Half of them are in jail. Some are dead. The surveillance picked you up in that area, wanted you gone. Munshin was called.”
“By who?”
Wozniak lifted his hands. Either he didn’t know or wasn’t going to say.
“Okay, so I’m gone. How do I clear this case now?”
“What about the girl? Can’t you locate her?”
“We were going to work that tonight. All we really had was Coconis.”
“For now, stick to the girl and only the girl. You find her then maybe we can go back to Munshin.”
“The girl, even if she is alive, isn’t a suspect. But what if she names Coconis as the one who killed her dad and sister?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now just work the girl and your other cases.”
“This is bullshit. Murder is number one. Trumps everything including hookers and pimps.”
“Murders don’t get votes. Busting up drug rings and sex rings does,” Wozniak said.
Temple rolled his eyes. “Thought we had a cop’s mayor.”
“Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. But the chief is just as much a political animal as the mayor. You have to be to get a white shirt—I don’t ha
ve to tell you that.” Wozniak meant the white shirts that Command officers wore instead of the standard black of the TPS. “Just do what I ask.”
Temple stood up quickly, knocking the thin metal and plastic chair to the floor. He stooped to pick it up. “This chair is uncomfortable,” he said, and walked out of the interrogation room and back to his desk. Dalupan was at his own cubicle next to his.
“What’s the word, John?”
“Word is the job is fucked.”
“I’ve heard that. The ballistics came back from the security guard at the Sobeys. He’s in the clear. What should I do?”
“Send him a notice. He can come down to pick it up,” Temple said.
“Where are we on the Nairs?”
“Got a lead on a biker gang that may have his other daughter.” Temple was going to go on about Wozniak’s roadblock he’d just run into, but something stopped him. He realized he didn’t know who he could trust. Dalupan was probably not a problem; he hadn’t been working too heavily on the Nair case. But Mendoza had. Mendoza had been on his BlackBerry while they tailed Zurawska. Could he have been texting Wozniak? Temple looked behind him. Mendoza wasn’t at his cubicle. He stood up and surveyed the floor. His partner was not in the office.
“Know where Sergio is?” he asked.
“He came in and went out. Didn’t say anything.”
Temple sat down at his desk and pounded the keys of his keyboard in frustration, then logged into PowerCase. If he had to stay away from the apartment building Zurawska had led him to, fine. He wasn’t even sure Coconis was in there. But he could go after the missing Nair girl. No way anyone could or would stop him from that. Hopefully the girl would lead him to Coconis. Or he might just happen upon him. Then he’d haul him in and let the chips fall where they may.
Temple started going through the PowerCase file again. The calls from Nair to the cheque-cashing place and then immediately to a cell owned by Coconis still smacked him in the face as the most powerful lead he had in this case. On a hunch, he brought up a query page. He could type anything he liked in it, sort of like Google. He typed in the address of the apartment building on Lincoln Place. The search in PowerCase would bring up any registered residences with criminal records. His finger paused over the enter button that would start the computer searching, and then he backed away. He pushed away from his desk and stood up. A colleague of his, Detective Daniel Marinelli, was on the opposite side of the room. He worked in Team Three. Good man—nineteen years on the job, eight of those in homicide. Temple went over to him,