by Elka Ray
I nod, unsure how to respond. “Have they . . . found anything?”
His eyes skid toward the water, then away. “No.” This single word catches in his throat. He motions toward a chair. “Please, join me.”
I take a seat. “D’you know why the cops think she could be . . . here?” I ask. Bruce had refused to say anything. Even Quinn couldn’t get a word out of him.
Josh shakes his head. “No. I heard it on the news.” There’s a can of lemonade on the table and he takes a swig. It’s the kind of gourmet stuff they sell here, with an Italian name in swirly font. He upends the can, then crushes it. “But they’re wrong,” he says. “She’s not dead. She can’t be.”
I’m not sure what to say. Does he have good reason to believe that? Or does he just hope not?
“She’s vanished before,” he says. “In L.A., when we fought.” He stares out at the water but I doubt he’s seeing it. “She went off partying. Drugs. Drinking. But she always came back.” He rubs his eyes, his gaze finding mine. His expression is so open, so hurt and bewildered, that I can’t look away.
“Did you guys have a fight?”
His face shuts down again.
For some minutes we sit in silence, him staring into the marina, me staring into space. I’m thinking of making an excuse to leave when he springs to his feet.
Without thinking, I look where he’s staring and see the round head of a seal. Except it’s a diver, his head shiny and black in a neoprene cap, the first diver soon joined by two others. The police boat motors into view, the driver speaking into a radio. The divers bob and vanish, then bob up again. My chest feels heavy with foreboding. They are dragging something.
I look away. I don’t want to see this.
“Josh?” Should he really be watching this? It’s bound to be traumatic. I stand and lay a hand on his elbow. He doesn’t respond. I try again. “Josh, let’s not stay here . . .”
He makes no answer.
I’m standing there, unsure what to do, when he exhales. He starts to laugh. It’s so unexpected I take a step back. Has he lost it?
I glance over his shoulder just in time to see the guys in the boat pull her up—pale floppy limbs and clotted blonde hair, a flash of hot pink and black lingerie. Feeling ill, I grab the deck’s railing. I shouldn’t have looked. “What the—” I clap a hand over my mouth in horror. From the corner of my eye I just saw her head fall off.
Josh continues to laugh. “Did you see that underwear?” he giggles. “Fuchsia leopard print!” His wide shoulders shake. “Crotchless panties.” He’s snickering like a twelve-year-old in a PG movie.
I stand open-mouthed, unable to grasp why he’s behaving like this. The woman he married has just been pulled dead from the bay! He might not love her anymore, but he once did. Is his laughter the result of shock? I want to shake him.
I’m stunned when he grabs me and picks me up, my wedges lifting off the ground. He hugs me and twirls me around. “It’s not her!” he exclaims, his voice giddy with relief. “It’s just a doll! I read about it in the papers last week. It went missing from a sex shop in Langford! Some stupid grad prank!”
When he sets me down, his cheeks are flushed. “I knew it wasn’t her!” He smiles out at the dive boat in the bay, which is now motoring toward the dock. “I’m sure she’ll show up soon. Maybe she’s at a spa. Or a music festival?”
He sounds so certain I’m convinced: Tonya is off having fun, too selfish to care that people might worry. Like him, I feel relieved.
Josh grins at me. He motions above us. “Shall we go upstairs for a drink to celebrate?”
I hesitate, then say sure. Above the café lies a fancy restaurant that makes great cocktails. The view is even better up there.
“Great,” says Josh, as he leads me up the wide steps. He’s still smiling with relief. “I told you Tonya’s fine.” He glances back at the bay, which shines sapphire in the setting sun. On the beach behind it, three kids with nets are paddling in the shallows. Two kayakers have appeared from around the rocky point, droplets flashing off their paddles. It’s a perfect end to the day, now that we know Tonya’s not rotting in the water’s depths. Josh opens the heavy door for me.
“I kept telling the cops she was fine,” he continues. “In L.A. she once left for a whole week, just took off to some resort in Cancun.”
The rosy sunshine pouring in through the restaurant’s massive windows is blinding. I count the days in my head: it’s coming up on a week since Tonya was reported missing.
As the smiling hostess leads us to our seats, Josh continues to list times Tonya went AWOL. “I told the police all of this,” he says. “She’s irresponsible! But they wouldn’t listen!” Sliding onto a barstool, his earlier relief has turned to frustration. “That dive op today, what a waste of tax payers’ money!”
I nod, eyeing the cocktail menu gratefully. “Well, at least they solved one crime.”
CHAPTER EIGHT:
DEAD FLOWERS
I’m naked and fresh out of the shower when Josh calls, at 7:19 a.m. on a chilly Wednesday morning. If it were almost anyone else, I wouldn’t pick up. But the sight of his name on my caller display makes my heart speed up. Plus I’m curious—and anxious. Has Tonya turned up yet?
“Hello?” I say, a towel clutched to my chest and my hair dripping onto my one and only Persian carpet. Josh is talking so fast I can’t get a word in edgewise. He is obviously very upset. “I just can’t believe it,” he says. “I was so sure she was fine! And now the cops want to talk to me again, and I’ve already told them everything I know. I just . . . who would do that to her? It makes no sense. Things like this don’t happen here! This is Canada! That’s part of the reason we left L.A. It’s crazy . . .”
Because I’ve only just woken up, and need coffee, it takes a moment for his words to sink in. “Josh,” I say. “Slow down. What happened?”
I can hear him swallow. “Tonya’s dead. Her body was found yesterday, in the marina. The police just left. They think she was murdered. They want to see me again, at nine.” His voice shakes. “I need your help.”
I readjust my towel, trying to take it in. Tonya dead. Murdered. Found in the same marina where, the day before yesterday, we’d laughed after that stupid doll got hauled out. It seems unreal, like a cruel joke. I recall Josh’s relief. Is he a suspect? “You want me to come to your police interview?” I ask. “Did they advise you to bring a lawyer?”
“No,” says Josh. “But I think it’d be better if you came.”
“Why?”
“The husband is always a suspect,” he says dolefully. “And we were getting divorced.” I can hear him swallow. “God, it’s so awful.”
My mind is racing. I try to recall when Tonya went missing. I’m pretty sure she was last seen the Monday night before last, on the same day Josh first showed up in my office. My fingers move as I count. Nine days ago. When did Tonya die? I hope Josh has an alibi. “I handle family law,” I say. “So if they charge you with anything . . . but there’s no reason to think they will, right?” I cross the room and, phone wedged under my chin, scrabble through my underwear drawer.
Josh makes a weird croaking noise. “I . . . I guess not.”
“Well, if they did, we’d find you a good criminal lawyer.” I immediately think of Quinn’s mom, Jackie Andriesen. I pull some beige panties and a matching bra from the drawer, then use my knee to shut it again.
“They asked me to come to the main station on Caledonia Avenue. Please, Toby,” says Josh. “Please come with me. I could use some support.” He sounds so worried I feel sorry for him.
“Hold on, let me find my schedule.” I grab my calendar and my towel drops, my breasts too small to hold it up unassisted. After that, I check my watch and manage to drop the panties too. I curse silently.
“Toby?” asks Josh. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, just a second.” I retrieve the towel from the floor and drape it around my shoulders like a cape, then reopen my underwea
r drawer. I toss in my beige bra and fish out one in pink lace, which I’ve never worn before. I dig out the matching panties. I’m not sure what inspired me to buy this set, much less wear them today. The color, although pretty, is much less practical than beige.
“Toby?” Josh’s voice is breathless. The way he says it takes me back in time, me and him holding hands behind the canteen, him saying he’d been watching me for days, hoping I might like him. He’d seemed so sincere. Except that when the shit hit the fan, he hadn’t stood up for me. Why am I even helping this guy?
I take a deep breath. So he let me down. So what? We were kids! It would have taken a strong man to do the right thing and he was just a boy. I’m being pathetic. “Yes, fine,” I say. “I’ll meet you out front of the station at eight forty-five. And stop worrying, Josh. I’m sure this is totally routine.” A lie, of course, but it’s best if he stays calm. “I’m sorry to hear about Tonya, but this is a murder investigation. The cops will talk to everybody.”
When he thanks me, I hear relief in his voice. “I appreciate it,” he says.
Judging from the thick clouds, it’s set to rain all day long, which isn’t unusual on Canada’s West Coast. Josh is on the sidewalk under a big, black umbrella, pacing backward and forward like a caged animal. When he spots me, he rushes over, his red raincoat flapping. Despite the grey skies, he’s wearing dark glasses and a red ball cap. He looks like a movie star in mid-scandal trying to avoid the paparazzi.
“Toby? Thank you so much for coming!” He leans forward to peck my cheek and our umbrellas become entangled. By the time we detach them my carefully blow-dried hair is soaked flat. Typical. I dab at my eyes, convinced my mascara has run.
We both apologize at the same time. I follow Josh under an awning. When he removes his sunglasses I see dark rings beneath his eyes. His cheeks are the color of clay. Tonya’s death has obviously shaken him. I wonder if, despite their estrangement, he still loves her. He’s staring out at the traffic.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Josh shrugs. “It hasn’t really sunk in.” He gives me a wry smile. “I keep expecting her to call and start complaining about something. How can she be . . . gone? I was so sure she was off partying.” He rubs his eyes. “We’d better go in,” he says.
Entering the station I can smell disinfectant, roach spray, and burnt coffee. We stick our wet umbrellas in a rack and unbutton our raincoats. Josh removes his baseball cap. A pretty brunette in her mid-twenties is sitting behind the reception bench. Beside her computer stands a vase of pink carnations, a little plastic sign poking out to offer swirly Congratulations! I’m wondering what for when I spot her left hand—the diamond just-out-of-the-box shiny. Yet despite her recent engagement, faced with Josh, her eyes twinkle like her solitaire. She bats her eyelashes at him, my presence unnoticed. “Can I help you?” she asks hopefully. I turn away, irritated.
“I’m here to meet Detective Fitzgerald at nine,” says Josh. Either he’s ignoring the receptionist’s flirtations or else he’s so used to women coming onto him that her efforts don’t even register. He sounds nervous.
Detective Fitzgerald arrives some minutes later.
In the overwhelmingly white milieu of Victoria, he could pass for a black man. He’s got short, graying hair, gray-brown skin, and grey eyes so full of wretchedness that when he looks at me I imagine myself turning to black and white, like in an old movie. When Josh introduces me as his lawyer, Detective Fitzgerald’s lip curls. “Right,” he says.
We follow him down a long, brightly lit corridor. “In here.” He holds the door for us.
Painted white, the room has fluorescent lights, a picnic-style table bolted to the floor, a large mirror, and no windows. I imagine someone standing behind this mirror watching us, the way they do on TV. Josh and I take one side of the table, Detective Fitzgerald the other. Then someone else enters the room. Turning, I see that it’s Colin Destin.
I’ve met Colin at Quinn and Bruce’s house, since Colin and Bruce studied together. Colin has actually asked me out for coffee a few times but I’ve never gone. It’s not that he’s not attractive— because he’s extremely cute—but rather that it’d be weird to go out with one of Quinn and Bruce’s friends and have it go wrong. I wouldn’t want to feel uncomfortable about going over to my best friend’s place.
At the sight of me, Colin nods. He asks if Josh and I want coffee. Based on the charred smell in the lobby, I decline. Josh says no, too, so Colin fetches us two glasses of water. When he smiles at me I feel bad about not having had coffee with him. He probably hadn’t meant it as a date anyway. Despite the fluorescent lights, Colin looks better than I remember, his jade green eyes ringed by lashes most women would kill for. I feel idiotic for thinking he was actually interested in me. I bet he’s besieged by hot women.
Detective Fitzgerald starts by asking Josh about the divorce. Why were he and Tonya splitting up? Where were they both living? Was the divorce amicable? Having already covered this ground with Josh, I’ve heard all his answers before. I wonder if Tonya really was murdered. Given Detective Fitzgerald’s grim demeanor, it looks that way. How did she die? And do the cops really suspect Josh? I think my presence has, if anything, increased Detective Fitzgerald’s suspicion.
For some reason, I can’t help but think of my mom’s dumb tarot reading. Didn’t she warn me about weird, negative events and rushing into things without proper consideration? I suppress a little shiver. There’s no heat in this room. I wish I’d worn a thicker sweater instead of this flimsy (but flattering) lamb’s wool one.
“When did you last see her?” Detective Fitzgerald asks Josh. The heavy bags beneath his eyes, together with his drooping jowls, give him the doleful look of a basset hound.
“Sunday, August 26th,” says Josh, answering so quickly it’s obvious he prepared in advance. “In the early evening. She came out to the marina. I’d just taken some customers salmon fishing. We were cleaning the fish and Tonya showed up.”
“And how was she?”
Josh shrugs. “She was upset,” he says. “But she was mad at me a lot, lately.”
We all wait for Josh to explain. He runs a hand through his hair. I, too, would like to touch it.
“She wanted money,” he says. “One of her credit cards got cut off. I was annoyed because she was yelling at me in front of my clients. We’d just had a great day fishing, and then she had to show up and cause a big scene.” Josh shakes his head. “She could be really unreasonable, you know?”
“Then what happened?” asks Detective Fitzgerald.
“I gave her some cash and told her I’d transfer some more into her account,” says Josh. “And I told her to watch her expenses.” He takes a swig of water. “Her spending was crazy. She’d just buy anything that caught her eye without checking the price tag or even thinking about whether she really liked it. She’s got boxes of stuff with the price tags still on! I told her she had a shopping addiction and ought to get help.”
“How about the night of Monday, August 27th?” asks Detective Fitzgerald. “Where were you?”
Josh squints at a wall, looking baffled. “Um, I don’t remember.”
“You were seen at Oak Bay Marina around 7:00 p.m.,” says Detective Fitzgerald. “Does that refresh your memory?”
“Oh yeah, I went out on my boat,” says Josh. He nods, like it’s just come back to him. “I cruised out toward Trial Island, tried a bit of fishing, and cruised back.”
“At night?” Detective Fitzgerald’s jowls quiver ominously. “Was anyone with you?”
Josh frowns. “No,” he says. “It was still light out for about half the trip. I left the marina around seven fifteen and got back maybe ten forty-five. I remember because the eleven o’clock news was on when I was loading my gear into the car.”
“Did you see Tonya?”
Josh swallows hard. “No,” he says. “But I was looking for her.”
This is news to me. Detective Fitzgerald looks equally intrigued. “How d
o you mean?”
“She called me around nine thirty. The mobile reception wasn’t great. She said she wanted to see me. She sounded . . .” Josh frowns. “Upset and really insistent.” He takes another sip of water, slips out of his jacket, and lays it across the bench seat. There’s a dark patch on the back of his white shirt. I realize that, while I find the room cold, he’s sweating.
“I told her I was on the boat and would be in by 11,” he says. “She said she’d meet me at the marina. I told her to leave it till tomorrow, but she said no, it couldn’t wait.”
Detective Fitzgerald is sitting perfectly still. I have an unwelcome vision of a bird of prey, coasting without moving a muscle before it suddenly plummets. “Yet you say she wasn’t there?” he asks quietly.
Josh shakes his head. “No. I tried to call her mobile a few times but it was switched off. I hung around for . . .” There’s a guilty look on his face. “Maybe five minutes. I was tired and annoyed. See, it was just like Tonya to change her mind. I thought she’d found someone else to distract her and not bothered to call me back.” He studies his hands. “I just didn’t worry.”
“But she sounded upset?”
Josh fingers his TAG Heuer diving watch. “Yes,” he says, slowly. “But Tonya loved drama. I figured it was nothing.” He pinches the top of his nose. “I should have gone by the house, tried to find her.”
“So you didn’t see her car?”
“No,” says Josh. “I was parked near the front, but I’m fairly sure the lot was empty.” He shuts his eyes. “Wait, I think there was a pickup truck over in the back right corner. Probably some kids making out. I didn’t pay attention, just loaded my stuff into the back and sat listening to the news for a few minutes.”
Detective Fitzgerald shuffles some papers. “Did anyone see you?”
“I doubt it,” says Josh. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“And where did you go next?”