by Sheena Kamal
We collected Whisper from a reluctant Leo and went back to Brazuca’s apartment in East Van. A pattern establishes itself. Walk, eat, and go to bed. Dao hangs there between us, but we’re exhausted by the thought of him. We push him aside for now. The Canadian climate is a blow after all the sun we’ve experienced, leaving behind reddened cheeks and cold fingers. We mostly stay in. It feels better this way.
“Do you believe me?” I ask Brazuca.
“Yes,” he says, after a moment. He’s telling the truth, but he looks uneasy. It could be from hunger, I think. He eats only half as much as I do. I feel a burning urge to row in place, so after I walk Whisper, I head to the gym. My mind is too busy for anything else. Before I leave, I look back at him from the door. He’s half-turned, his smile disappearing, a grimace of pain replacing it.
Two days later, he returns from a doctor’s visit with news of an ulcer. The day after that Bonnie calls to tell me she’s in the city. She speaks in a mashup of sentences that takes me a moment to pick through.
“You’re in Vancouver?” I ask, feeling dread creeping over me.
“Mom and I are staying with my dad for a bit. Can we meet?”
“No, go back to Toronto.” I don’t mean to say this, for it to come out the way it does. Made harsh by sudden confusion.
Bonnie doesn’t take this well. She’s quieter when she speaks next. “I can’t. There was a van and a man tried to grab me . . .”
“No.”
There’s a moment of silence. “You don’t think it happened?”
This . . . this is exactly what I was afraid of. “I know it did.” All I can think of is that she’s here, right where she shouldn’t be. Close to me.
And the film reel keeps spinning.
45
Things have changed between Bonnie’s adoptive parents, Lynn and Everett. When I first met them two years ago, their marriage was a cautionary tale in getting married. Now divorced, they’re at ease with each other in the kitchen of Everett’s rented apartment in a way I would not have expected of them. There’s even a hint of warmth underlying the concerned looks they shoot each other when they think Bonnie and I aren’t looking.
It’s the first time I’ve seen the three of them together like this, Bonnie and her parents. Back when she’d gone missing and they reached out to me to see if I knew anything about her disappearance, everything about their relationship with each other seemed strained.
But now, through the miracle of divorce, they finally seem like a cohesive family unit.
“Whoever tried to take her, the vehicle was stolen and later dumped,” Lynn says. “There was some CCTV footage, but they couldn’t identify anyone. Only the driver was visible, but his face wasn’t clear.”
I look at Bonnie. “And you said it was likely two people?”
“One guy tried to grab me, and seconds later the car pulled away. I think there were two of them.”
It’s difficult to find a trusted accomplice for your sexual predation, if that’s what it was. Which makes me think it wasn’t about sexual predation at all. That it was targeted. Lynn and Everett think so, too.
It’s time to come clean. “There was a man who worked for the Zhang family—”
“Dao?” Bonnie asks.
“Yes. He’s alive. He remembers me, and you, too. Two years ago, when I went looking for you on Vancouver Island, in Ucluelet, I shot him. I think . . . I think he’s holding a grudge.”
“You mean he was trying to kidnap me again?”
“Not him personally. He’s been hiding out overseas. But he might have had people watching you. And his grudge isn’t with you. It’s with me. He knows if you go missing, I’ll come looking.”
“We’re going to the police,” Everett says.
Lynn puts a hand on his arm. A friendly gesture. They’ve come a long way, these two. “We’ve already been to the police in Toronto. There wasn’t much they could do. What are we supposed to say? This whole thing is beyond me, Nora.”
How do they think I feel? Turning to Everett, I say, “Does anyone know about this apartment? Can Bonnie stay here?”
“It’s leased in my name, but my . . . partner, Adele, her brother has a cabin in Whistler that’s vacant. He’s never there, so she has full use of the place.” At the mention of his partner, he glances at Lynn, then Bonnie. Neither seem perturbed. A certain tension in him, one that’s not related to his daughter’s safety, releases.
“I can work remotely for a little while,” Lynn says. “Ev, is there Wi-Fi at this cabin? And is it okay with Adele if I stay there as well?”
“I’ll check with her, but it shouldn’t be a problem. It’s got four bedrooms, so you’ll have privacy. I can come up on the weekends. And there’s Wi-Fi, of course. Who can live without it?”
“How soon can you guys pack up and get there?” I ask, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice.
Everett looks at the clock. “We can leave tonight after the traffic slows.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Lynn says, rightly assuming that being in my presence is dangerous.
Bonnie shakes her head. “No, I want her to come up with us, Mom. Please?”
If there’s one thing parents of an only child can’t resist, it’s their one child. They’ve got no others to put their hopes on if the relationship goes sour. As both Lynn and Everett know, because they agree quickly.
“I’ll be back later,” I say, rising from the kitchen table. Bonnie brushes her hair off her neck, then immediately pulls it forward again. She’s too late. I’ve already seen the red bruise there. She meets my eyes and gives me a quick darting smile. Neither of her parents notice the hickey or the smile.
She follows me to the door. There’s something on her mind.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Do you remember something?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just . . . I don’t know why a person would want to hurt someone else. How could you want to kill?” she asks. “Not like an accident or that you’re defending yourself. But really want to cause harm.”
“I think you just have to be capable of it. It has to be inside you.”
“I don’t think it’s inside me. I’m not . . . I’m not like that. I could never hurt someone.”
She’d be surprised at what she’s capable of. And maybe one day she’ll have to test that theory. But it’s not something I want for her.
I say softly, as gentle as I can, “I don’t think so, either.”
Then I walk away before she has too good a look at what’s inside of me.
In the Corolla, which I’ve picked up from Simone’s building, I run that moment in my mind again and again. Her question about morality. A mutual acknowledgment of a secret.
Bonds have been made on less.
The police station on Cambie is right under a bridge. If, like me, you enter the lobby of the station and are ignored by the cops, criminals, and regular civilians standing around, you may feel the need to bury your pathetic instinct to seek help. Maybe you feel that there’s no support here, that no one will help you despite the evidence that someone is trying to kill you and take your daughter. Again. Maybe you feel the need to take the walkway up onto the bridge, try to climb over the railing, fail, and instead consider flinging yourself at the cars speeding past.
This pit stop wasn’t planned, yet here I am. Standing in the lobby and trying to imagine a situation where a cop would give me the time of day to explain. Excuse me, sir, but there is a mercenary after me. Sorry, alleged mercenary. He blames me for the deaths of certain members of a family he was close to. Do I look like a femme fatale from an old-time film to you? Point is, someone—this alleged mercenary—sent some hit men after me in Detroit and has now tried to take my estranged daughter. Also there was a run-in in Indonesia I should probably tell you about where he murdered an eccentric billionaire bent on revenge.
Then I would feel guilty because I think of this imaginary policeman as a
man and what does that say about my feelings on gender equality?
Whatever instinct brought me here has failed me. I wait just inside the door for someone to notice me, some sign of interest. Two police officers stare at me as they walk past. “This isn’t a shelter,” says the woman cop. “Go warm up somewhere else.”
“Hang on,” says her male partner. “Not sure there are shelter beds free tonight. Weather report’s calling for more snow.”
“Really?” she replies. “Climate change is a bitch. At least it’s good for the skiing.”
I leave while they move from discussing their weekend plans to the likelihood of more traffic accidents and the possibility of overtime pay.
I’m not even a blip in their memories.
I walk out of the station to discover that snow hasn’t started falling behind my back, but something else, something ominous, has appeared. I’ve looked away, blinked, and there is now a Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell on the corner.
My endangered daughter who’s no longer estranged has shown up with a hickey on her neck, just in time for the holiday season.
46
As soon as I open the door to Brazuca’s apartment with his spare keys, I hear Whisper crying. This momentary distraction takes my attention away from what I should have noticed the moment I walked inside.
There’s a man here. No, men. Plural. One who has stepped behind me from the bedroom and one who is in the living room with Brazuca.
The man behind me isn’t armed, from what I can see, but this does nothing to reduce how tense he makes me. He’s not much taller than me, but he’s lean and muscular. And he can move silently, which says something about his training. It says “don’t fuck with me.” Shouts it, really.
“Ms. Nora Watts?” asks the man sitting in an armchair next to Brazuca, who’s on the couch. He’s Chinese, fit, and compact. I put him somewhere in his sixties, maybe older.
“Who wants to know?” I’m just buying time while I adjust. It’s obvious who he is. My instinct is to delay this conversation as long as possible. Reality, however, won’t wait any longer.
“Nora,” says Brazuca. “This is Edison Lam, Bernard’s father.”
Lam’s father nods. “You were one of the last people to see my son alive, Ms. Watts. I would like some information from you. Do you have some time for a grieving father?” Though it’s posed as a question, the lethal intent of the man behind me, Mr. Lam’s private security, tells me it’s not.
Whisper is now barking, the noise coming from the closed bathroom door. It puts me on edge. “I’m sure my boyfriend told you everything you needed to know,” I say, nodding to Brazuca. I make a split-second decision to continue the ruse we’d used in Indonesia. A couple with some intimacy issues. There’s a flicker of understanding from Brazuca to me, but it’s gone so quickly I think I’m the only one who sees it. I hope so, anyway.
“We decided to wait for you,” says Mr. Lam. I can’t imagine calling the quietly dignified man in front of me anything other than mister. Everything about him demands respect, takes it from the room, and pulls it inward toward his body. Edison seems a ridiculous name for a man like this, yet here we are. It’s possible he has another name, one that reflects his heritage, but I don’t know it.
Brazuca’s voice takes on a gentle tone. “We told the police everything we knew back in Indonesia. Your son hired me to help him look into someone that was hiding out in Lombok. My girlfriend came along for the ride.”
“You’ve worked for Bernard before.”
“Yes, sir,” says Brazuca. “We met back when I was with the police and we developed a rapport.”
“I see. And this . . . rapport led him to ask you a few months ago to investigate his whore’s death?”
Brazuca keeps his expression neutral. “Yes.”
“Am I correct in assuming this someone you were searching for is in connection to this?”
“Yes.”
“Who is this person?”
“His name is David Tao, but most people know him from a single name he went by: Dao,” I say. “He once worked for Ray Zhang’s family. Now he works for Michael Acosta. Acosta’s company has a mine on Lombok, and Dao was head of security there.”
“Why did Bernard want to find him?”
Brazuca interrupts before I can speak. “He thought Dao knew something about the criminal organization involved in Clementine’s death. That’s the woman who died.”
Maybe Edison Lam wants to call her a whore again, but he doesn’t. He’s excellent at reading the room. His first use of the vulgarity was to shock us, get us to reveal something. To use it again would potentially alienate us. My respect for him grows. I can see why his son hated him so much. What would it be like to grow up with a billionaire father who outshone you in every way?
There are a series of three short barks from Whisper, still locked in the bathroom. If she’s unhappy with this situation, she should join the club. Nobody in this room wants to be here, with the exception of Mr. Lam.
“I’d like to let the dog out,” I say.
The bodyguard, a tougher version of Ivan, with deep blue eyes, moves to block the bathroom door. “Not right now.” I can’t quite figure out his accent, but it intrigues me.
With a slight shake of his head Brazuca tells me to let it go. “Is there anything else you need to know?” Brazuca asks.
It takes a long time for Mr. Lam to respond. “Did Bernard find what he was looking for? Did this David Tao give him the information he wanted so badly?”
“We don’t know,” Brazuca says.
“Baby, Bernard is dead and his dad is just trying to get some closure. I think you can bend confidentiality this once,” I say to Brazuca, who looks shocked at being called a term of endearment. I turn to Mr. Lam. “Dao was at the hotel the day your son died, but they met privately. Jon wasn’t allowed to go to the meeting.”
“Where were you instead?” he says to Brazuca.
“Nearby. Waiting to be called in, just in case.”
Mr. Lam looks at me. “And you?”
“I went for an early-morning ride, before it got too hot.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that Dao had a hand in my son’s death?” asks Bernard Lam’s father.
“He would be a fool to cross someone as powerful as Bernard and, by extension, you.”
“Yes, but there are fools all around us.” I wonder if he’s talking about anyone in this room particularly, but he continues before I can dwell on it further. “I know this man Dao. I have seen him at various events with the Zhang family, but I did not pay him much attention because he was just a bodyguard. I think he deserves some of my attention now, don’t you?”
“He might be able to answer your questions about Bernard’s last moments better than we can,” Brazuca says, careful not to glance my way.
“I think you might be right. Do you know where I can find him?”
“No.”
“I suppose I’ll have to look.”
“If he does turn up, please let us know,” says Brazuca. “I have a few questions for him, too. I worked for Bernard, but he was also a friend.”
Mr. Lam hides his disbelief well.
When he leaves with his bodyguard, I let Whisper out of the bathroom. She walks through the apartment, sniffing the surfaces the two men touched. She’s agitated, but then again, so am I.
“If he finds Dao, he won’t tell us,” I say.
“Not a chance. But if anyone can locate him, it’s that man.”
“It would have helped if we could tell him that we saw Dao kill his son.”
“Yes, but then we’d have to tell him that we were there when it happened. Which would mean we lied to the police in Indonesia. We’d lose his trust.”
“I’m not sure we have his trust, but I think you’re right.” I think of Bernard Lam and how he’d wanted to use me. I’m not sure I can allow myself to be used that way again. I trust Bernard Lam’s father as much as I trusted Lam himself.
“I need some air,” says Brazuca.
“Will you take Whisper for a walk?”
“I really need to be alone right now.”
He doesn’t look well, so I don’t push it. It’s the first time he’s asked for space. Perhaps it’s the first time he’s recognized he needs it.
47
The car is idling down the block, just like Brazuca knew it would be. Even someone like Edison Lam couldn’t find decent parking on this street.
Brazuca casts a glance behind him, but he doesn’t see Nora in front of the apartment. Doesn’t see her up in the window, either. Her sight line from the window doesn’t extend far enough to see where he’s going, so if she’s not on the street, he’s safe.
He knocks on the glass of the black-tinted SUV. The door opens, and the bodyguard steps out. “I have some information,” Brazuca says, before the bodyguard has a chance to tell him to get lost.
“Let him in,” says Edison.
Moments later, they’re seated beside each other in the back seat. The bodyguard and a driver up front.
“Sorry, my girlfriend is still upset. I didn’t want to say this in front of her.”
“It is a strange thing to hear a mature man such as yourself refer to an equally mature woman as a girl. Friend or no.”
“With all due respect, sir, would you like the information or not?”
Edison laughs. “I see why my son liked you now. He enjoyed being flattered, but he didn’t respect anyone who did it. You’re not one to flatter.”
“No, I’m not. Let me get to the point. When I was looking into Clementine’s overdose, I came up against some bikers who work with Three Phoenix to bring product into Vancouver. I may have made some enemies, but they know something.”
“Hells Angels?”
