by L E Fraser
The woman turned back to address Sam. “I’ll allow you to speak with Jordan and Jordanna.” Judging by her sour expression, the notion didn’t please the woman. “Jennifer is too young. Wait here. I’ll get the twins.” She shut the door on their faces.
“Off to a great start,” Reece murmured.
“I got an earful about talking to Jennifer when I called to set up the meeting.” She patted Brandy. “I figured if we brought the dog, we’d have a better chance of talking to the twins without Mrs. Harris around.”
“So we’ve accepted Jesus as our personal saviour.” He raised his eyebrow at her. “Don’t be surprised when she invites us to attend a revival.”
She laughed. “We may as well sit down and wait for Jordanna and Jordan.”
Reece eyed two ancient wicker chairs on the decrepit porch. “I’m not sure the porch or the chairs will hold us.”
The front door opened and a male teenager stepped out. He slammed the door shut behind him and folded his arms across his chest.
Sam got up from the wicker chair and introduced herself and Reece. The kid tilted his chin in Reece’s direction but didn’t speak. As they waited for Jordanna, Sam chatted to Jordan about football, university, and the recent Blue Jays game against the Red Sox. Reece wandered down the front steps with Brandy and looked across the fields.
Eventually, a girl came around the corner of the house from the back. She wasn’t pretty like her younger sister. Jordanna’s features were sharp and set close together. Heavy-lidded, small eyes drew attention to a hooked nose, and thin, straight hair did no favours to a big forehead. She wore a pair of hip-riding shorts that didn’t fully cover her ass and a sleeveless T-shirt with a slit cut into the neckline so that it barely concealed her huge breasts. Her father must have had his hands full with her.
At least Jordanna’s expression was pleasant, which was more than Reece could say about her brother.
Seeing his sister, Jordan jumped off the porch and whispered something in her ear that Reece didn’t catch.
Joining them on the front yard, Sam said to Jordanna, “How about you show me around the property? Brandy could use a walk.”
She agreed and they strolled off with Brandy, leaving Reece alone with the surly young man. He gestured at the porch and Jordan followed him up the stairs.
Reece cautiously eased his butt into one of the rotting wicker chairs. He cleared his throat. “I hear you play football.”
Jordan was better looking than his twin was. At least he would be if he didn’t look so disagreeable. His blond hair was long and shaggy. It curled around his neck, and he kept flipping it out of his large hazel eyes. There was a tiny crop of pimples on his prominent chin, but the rest of his complexion was clear. He had broad shoulders with impressive bicep definition and wore a tight white T-shirt with Property of in black letters and King City Lions in yellow. The khaki shorts he was wearing showed off muscular legs.
“Quarterback,” Jordan muttered, leaning against the side of the house and crossing his arms against his chest. His lips formed a tight slash across his face, and he avoided Reece’s eyes.
“I tried out but didn’t make the cut.” Reece wished the kid would sit down. “Ever hear of the game forcing the gates?”
Jordan shrugged.
“You know, they test the strength of the candidate by getting him to run at the line and break through,” Reece prompted.
“Red rover.”
“Yeah, that’s another term. Does your football coach use that drill?”
Jordan’s lip curled into a sneer, as if Reece was the stupidest person he’d ever met. “It’s banned. Everyone knows that.”
Grasping for a conversation topic that would stick, Reece examined the ink on the kid’s left forearm. An elaborate design with intricate details. Well-drawn and expertly coloured.
“You like tattoos? That’s something else.”
“I drew it. It’s Sharpie. What do you want?”
So much for establishing rapport.
Reece decided to cut the bullshit and treat it like any other interview. “What happened the day your dad died?”
A vein throbbed in the kid’s forehead and his frown deepened. “He got fried. Didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.” He looked down, rummaged in one of the pockets of his shorts, and withdrew a phone.
“Wasn’t good with electricity, eh?”
Jordan gestured around him. “Hashtag loser. Graham sucked at everything.”
“Must have been tough to change schools. Think your mother will sell the farm and move you guys back to the city?”
“Probably in with the dude she’s banging.” He focused his attention on the phone, typing.
“Do you know the man?” Reece asked.
Jordan didn’t look up from the phone. “The headshrinker from Toronto. Brenda’s nuts.”
“Have you met him?” Reece asked.
“He was creeping around when Graham bit it.”
“Do you know what he was doing here?”
Jordan laughed. “What do you think he was doing? Looking to get laid.”
“Did you talk to Roger the day your dad died?”
“Yeah, he was freaked out and his pants were soaked.” Jordan glanced up from his phone. “Threw him some shade, went inside, found Brenda zoning, and Graham dead. Called 911. End of story.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“Nah.” He looked off into the distance and shuffled his feet. “Couple days before, some creepy dude was here. He was freaking out over dollars Graham owed.”
What? Reece felt confused. This was a big piece of information. Bryce hadn’t said anything about the police looking into a dispute that had occurred a few days before the murder.
“Did you tell the cops?” he asked.
Jordan shrugged. “Can’t remember.”
“Do you know why your dad owed him money?”
The kid sneered at him. “Cards, horses, games, whatever.”
“Gambling debts?” Reece was even more confused. If the man gambled, there could easily be another person with a motive to kill him.
Jordan shrugged.
“When you returned from school the day your dad died, were the lights on?” Reece asked.
Jordan stared down the lane to the main road. “I dunno.”
“Did you go straight into the basement?”
“I dunno. Can’t remember.”
“Where were your sisters?”
This question pissed him off. “How the fuck should I know?” He jammed his fists against his hips and glared at Reece. “What do I look like, a babysitter?”
Talking to the kid was frustrating. Jordan was an indecipherable, seething lump of animosity. Maybe Sam was having better luck with Jordanna. Reece decided to take a different approach.
“What was your dad like?” he asked.
“What do you think? His woman was hooking up behind his back.”
“He knew?”
A shrug. “When he took his head out of the bottle.”
“Big drinker?”
“Hung with his squad so he didn’t have to be here.” He laughed in a mean way, but his eyes filled with tears. He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and turned his back on Reece. “Like I blame him. Place is a hot mess.”
A car pulled up with music blaring from the open windows. Jordan hopped down the porch steps and headed for the car. He stopped halfway to the car and turned back to face Reece.
“You wanna know about Graham, talk to his squad. They hung with him more than we did.”
* * *
BACK IN THE car, Sam—cheerful and a bit smug—asked him how it went.
“Well,” he said, “I learned how much teenage slang has changed. What hasn’t changed is that teenage boys are angry, uncooperative creatures.”
“Vernacular lesson aside, did he tell you anything interesting?” Sam asked.
“All I got was that Graham—he calls his parents by their first names—was a
heavy drinker, hung out with his friends more than he was at home, and knew about Brenda and Roger. Roger was here, his pants were wet, and Jordan—” he paused, trying to remember the kid’s wording, “threw him shade.”
“Gave him attitude,” Sam translated, patting his hand.
He put his blinker on and merged onto the Don Valley Parkway. “What was interesting was that Jordan claims a man visited the farm a few days earlier and argued with Graham over money. His sense was gambling debts.”
Sam was nodding. “Jordanna said the same thing.”
“I don’t think they shared that with the cops. If they had, Bryce would have said something. I’ll call Detective Alston at York Regional when we get back. Let him know we’re working the case and fill him in,” Reece said.
“The kids were probably in shock when the police interviewed them,” Sam said. “It’s not unusual to forget to mention things that turn out to be important.”
“Or they lied.”
“I have a bookie contact I’ve used in the past,” Sam said. “He has his hand in most of the Toronto action. I’ll give him a call and see if he recognizes Graham’s name. He’d have to owe a chunk of change if someone hunted him down to collect.”
“Well, they wouldn’t kill him. They’d break bones. You can’t collect from a dead man.”
Sam nodded. “They wouldn’t stage it as an accident. Anything else?”
“Jordan thinks Brenda plans to move them into Roger’s place,” Reece said.
“So the relationship is serious. That’s not the impression I got from Roger. Overall, what’s the kid like?”
“His only redeeming quality is he’s an amazing artist. Or would be if he used paper as his medium rather than his skin.” He sighed. “When Jordan and his squad are in prison someday, he can earn dollars inking inmates. Don’t ask me to engage with kids again. That heinous exchange validated my suspicion that teenagers aren’t part of the human race.”
Normally he felt a bit sad leaving the country and heading into Toronto’s bumper-to-bumper traffic, but not today. Adaptation or a strong desire to get back to adults? Reece wasn’t sure.
“The kids are traumatized,” Sam said. “Jordan’s attitude and language is a defence mechanism to deal with loss he’s too emotionally immature to process. His dad died less than two weeks ago, and his mother is in hospital. Their extended family is sketchy. It’s a frightening time, and teens react with anger when they lose security.”
“Jordan did not strike me as traumatized. Didn’t seem to care at all,” Reece insisted. “He’s a scary kid. How’d you make out with the other one?”
“Actually, I talked with both girls,” Sam said. “Jennifer snuck away from her great-aunt and joined us, but she didn’t speak much. I think she’s shy. Jordanna did most of the talking. She’s very charming, Jordanna I mean. She was at school when it happened. The cheerleaders were planning an after-game event for the football team. Jennifer was with their religious indoctrinating great-aunt. When Jordanna arrived home, a social worker took her next door to her great-aunt and -uncle’s place.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t superficial charm?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Football is played in the fall. No football in May. Your charming princess lied.”
“Maybe it was an off-season event…” She sounded doubtful.
He patted her hand. “Don’t feel bad. Kids lie when they’re traumatized.” Reece laughed at her eye-roll. “Anything else?”
“Jordanna said Brenda has an office in the barn. I wouldn’t mind having a snoop.”
“Did she know about Roger?” Reece asked.
“She came home early from school once and met him. Figured they were having an affair, but she didn’t blame Brenda. Jordanna said Graham drank and partied, so we have confirmation on that point. They were having money problems, and she overheard an argument. Brenda wanted to sell the farm.”
He pulled off the Don Valley Parkway and headed west on Queen Street to the loft. “When you called Roger to tell him we took the case, did you ask how Brenda’s doing?”
“He says he talks to her and thinks he’s getting through but she’s unresponsive. He told her he hired us,” she said. “How about you follow up with Graham’s donkey pals and I’ll see about talking to Brenda?”
“Sounds good. Let’s get cleaned up and go out for dinner,” he said. “You pick the place, just nowhere with kids.”
Chapter Ten
Sam
AT MOUNT SINAI Hospital on College and University streets, Sam entered the Second Cup coffee shop on the ground floor and texted Roger. Having visited “9-South” during her psychology training, she knew non-family admission to psychiatric patients required doctor’s consent. She ordered a basic coffee and a chai latte from the barista and settled at a corner table to wait.
Roger wasn’t normally one for demonstrative affection, so she choked on her coffee when he leaned down and hugged her.
“What was that for?” She wiped a coffee dribble from her chin with a paper napkin.
“A discomfiting endeavour to apologize for being an arse.” He sat and removed the lid from his drink. “I’m an insufferable bore and astonished you tolerate me.”
“Forget it,” she said, eager to get past the awkwardness. “You weren’t yourself last time we talked.” She updated him on Reece’s discussion with Bryce and their interview with the twins.
When she finished, Roger looked pensive. “So, Graham was a gambling man.”
“Brenda didn’t mention it?”
“I knew they had financial troubles,” he said. “I loaned her money on a couple of occasions.”
“How much?”
He blew on his chai latte and fiddled with the plastic lid. “Oh, about twenty grand, more or less.”
The amount stunned her. “For what?”
“I felt it impertinent to ask. It’s curious Jordan thinks they’re all moving in with me.” He frowned and looked a bit alarmed.
“You don’t think your relationship is headed in that direction?” she asked.
“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he nibbled on his tattered thumbnail before dropping his hand to the table. “There’s… intellectual distance between us.” A flush of colour crept up his face.
Sam laughed. “There’s intellectual distance between you and most people. Brenda’s not the brightest crayon in the box?”
He cleared his throat. “Brenda can’t even follow Game of Thrones. The plot is too complicated. She dislikes classic literature and music, and the Royal Ontario Museum bores her.”
Sam could hardly fault Brenda for not being able to follow Game of Thrones; many people couldn’t. Silently, Sam reviewed her conversation with Jordanna. The girl was scary smart.
“Was Graham bright?” she asked.
“Not that I noticed, why?”
“Have you met their kids?”
“Jordanna once or twice. Jennifer more often.” Roger lowered his eyes. “Jordan the day his father died.”
“Jordanna is smart.” She refrained from adding “and manipulative.” A quick call to King City Secondary had confirmed the cheerleaders weren’t planning a school event on the afternoon of Graham’s murder. Reece was right. It pissed her off she hadn’t caught the lie. It made her wonder what else Jordanna had lied about, and what she’d been up to on the afternoon her father had died.
“Jordan is also brilliant,” Roger said. “They’re top of their grade twelve class and received acceptance letters to every university they applied to. University of Toronto, McGill, and UBC have offered scholarship incentives.” He paused. “Jennifer is a genius. Her IQ is higher than mine.”
Sam laughed at the dour expression on his face. “Did Brenda tell you that?”
“She asked me to do a neuropsychological assessment,” he said.
“Why?”
“The school recommended it last year because Jennifer’s marks don’t reflect her abiliti
es. The hypothesis is a learning impediment they lack resources to diagnose. I never finished the neuropsych testing. Graham found out and was livid.”
“Why?”
“He claimed that tests label children and force them to conform to a diagnosis, which stifles natural development.” Roger frowned. “But he lied. That wasn’t the reason. I don’t know what his real concern was.”
“The affair,” Sam said bluntly. “Having you, of all people, test his daughter behind his back wouldn’t have landed well with Graham. Can you blame him?”
Roger shook his head but didn’t look convinced. “I considered that but there was more to his objection. It felt like fear.”
“It probably was. He’s right about the issues associated with labelling,” Sam said. “When adults tell children they differ from their peers, the child’s perception is negative. They want to belong to the herd. Nice kids?”
“Jennifer is. She’s sweet and charming. Has a way about her. I didn’t spend enough time with either of the twins to judge. Brenda had complaints, but we didn’t speak about the children after I stopped treating her.”
Meaning he wouldn’t breach confidentiality by discussing what she’d revealed during therapy.
“Can you give me a single word to describe her complaint?”
His stare was intense as he held her eyes with his. “Jordan and Jordanna are cruel.”
Teenagers were notorious for cruelty, especially around their parents. The description didn’t surprise or alarm Sam, who had counselled families. Once, when Sam had to schedule an evening meeting with a troubled teen and her mother, she’d stepped off the elevator to the deserted fifth floor of the empty building and had heard a woman screaming and pounding on a door. The fifteen-year-old had locked her claustrophobic mother in a dark janitor’s closet. Sam had found the girl sitting passively in a chair outside her office. The teenager had defiantly stated it was a joke and that her mother needed to lighten up.
“Jordan and Jordanna said their dad liked to party,” she ventured. Having caught Jordanna in at least one lie, Sam was hesitant to believe anything the girl had told her.
