“But you didn’t say ‘please,’” Lenore shot back over her shoulder.
“Pretty please with sugar on it,” said Dickie, his hands steepled as in prayer.
Andy looked around the room, barely keeping a straight face. He had never seen the bar at full tilt before. It was a sight. The (male) foreign editor was arm wrestling with the (female) business columnist at one table, while a bunch of transplanted Brits sang dirty rugger songs at the next.
In the darkest corner a pair of middle-aged copy editors were coming as close as possible to sex in public without getting arrested for it. Andy smiled, insincerely, and turned to Dickie.
“What does your job involve? High school? Minor hockey? Little league?”
“All of it. I find covering amateur athletics far more rewarding than the crass commercialism of professional sports.”
Sure, and he would sell his first-born for a chance at the hockey beat. Lenore came back with the drinks. I took out my wallet.
“Nope, they’re paid for,” she said.
“Jake?”
“Not a chance,” she said, pointing a few tables over. When we looked, Margaret Papadakis raised her glass at us. At Andy.
There was no graceful way out of it. I smiled and raised my glass at her.
“Wasn’t that nice?” Andy said. “I must return the favour sometime.”
I was about to kick him under the table when Dickie carried on the conversation as if there had been no interruption.
“But what I do is nothing compared to your work,” he said to Andy. “It’s so important. My father was a cop up north. I thought of joining myself, but I didn’t have what it takes. I’m not tough enough.”
“Most of it is just paperwork,” Andy said, not comfortable with the turn of conversation.
“These murders you’re working on are horrifying. I know the brother of one of the boys. The family is devastated.”
“Really? Which one?” I asked.
“Benny Goldman. I did a feature on his brother Justin’s hockey team last winter. I talked to Justin’s mother last week, extended my condolences. It’s a terrible thing. Have you found any suspects?”
“I’m really not at liberty to discuss it,” Andy said, looking to me for help.
“Let’s talk about something more cheerful,” I said, dutifully.
“They have to be connected, don’t they? All these murders?” Dickie wasn’t going to let it go.
“That’s the assumption we’re working on,” said Andy, gone all stuffy and cop-like.
“A serial killer, right here in Toronto. I thought that only happened in the States.”
“What about Clifford Olson?” I said. “He was Canadian. And that guy in New Brunswick. It looks like we’re catching up to our violent neighbours to the south.”
“Maybe there are others we don’t even know about,” Dickie said. “How sophisticated are your computers?”
“We progressed beyond stone tablets and chisels a few years ago,” Andy said, drily.
“I don’t mean to insult you,” Dickie said. “I was reading an article about serial killers the other day. It said that until recently if a killer murdered people in different provinces or even different cities, the police wouldn’t necessarily realize that they were connected.”
“That article is way out of date,” Andy said. “Maybe a few years ago that would have happened, both in the States and here. But not now. Now we would connect the crimes.”
“Listen, if there is anything I can do to help, since I know the family, just call me.”
“Certainly. Thanks for your offer,” Andy said, then downed his drink.
“I’m really sorry to have to break this up, but we have dinner reservations. I’d love to talk longer, but you know how it is in Toronto restaurants these days.”
“Absolutely,” I said, gathering up my things. “They’ll blackball you for life if you don’t show up on time.”
We said our goodbyes and got out of there as quickly as we could. Andy had to stop by Margaret’s table to thank her. I gave her a particularly generous smile as we left. After all, he was leaving with me.
When the door closed behind us, I grabbed Andy’s sleeve and kissed him. After he had stopped responding, we both laughed.
“Never again, I promise. I’ll meet you anywhere but here,” he said.
“It’s a deal,” I agreed. “So, where are these hot reservations? Somewhere dark and romantic, I hope.”
“I know a spot in Riverdale where you can get superb pasta with an intimate, homey ambience. Chez Katarina.”
“Let’s take both cars. I’ll toss you for who stops for the pasta and who makes the Martinis.”
Chapter 11
I just made it for closing time at Sanelli’s, the Italian deli in the yuppie health-food mall that caters to lazy cooks who don’t like tofu. I talked the sullen teenager behind the counter into selling me fettuccini and some red clam sauce. I went to the cheese store down the street for a hunk of parmesan to grate, then stopped at Sunland for salad stuff and some spring flowers.
As I climbed the stairs to my door, I heard music playing and what sounded like conversation. Pausing outside, I realized that Andy was talking to Elwy. As I opened the door, they were discussing my lateness.
“Caught you,” I laughed. “Big tough cop, conversing with a cat. What would your macho buddies say?”
“Well, there was no one else to talk to,” he grumbled. “Right, Elwy? She’s hanging around the Danforth flirting with handsome Greeks and forgets the two of us waiting at home for dinner, starving.”
Andy took the bags from me and unpacked them while I arranged irises and daffodils in an old-fashioned milk bottle on the kitchen table. Then I attended to Elwy, who tried to eat the food while I was still glopping it out of the can into his bowl.
“I put the Martini glasses in the freezer if you’re still up for it,” he said.
“I could handle a small one. But first I’m going to get out of these clothes.”
I went into the bedroom and grabbed my most comfortable sweats. I continued the conversation loudly enough to carry to the kitchen.
“You seem pretty cheerful.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Andy called. “For sure, it’s not because of the day I had. Probably because it’s over.”
“And it certainly can’t have anything to do with my company,” I said, coming back into the room.
“Not dressed like that,” he said, kissing me as he handed me the drink. “When women go away to slip into something comfortable, they’re supposed to reappear dressed in slinky and black. You looked sexier in your work clothes. You’re taking me for granted, woman.”
“And you keep coming back for more.”
“Actually,” he said, dropping a piece of clam on the floor, “it’s Elwy I can’t do without.”
It was nice to have an evening at home, back to the easy domesticity we’d enjoyed in the off-season. The only change was that I listened with one ear to the Titan game broadcast. Without me there, they won. It figures.
“I guess I’m going to have to learn to like baseball,” Andy said, over coffee.
“I’ll take you to a game one day.”
“Maybe one weekend when I have the boys,” he said.
This suggestion wasn’t as casual as it sounded. I had never met his two sons. He thought that it was better that they not meet me unless it looked as if we had something more lasting than a fling.
“That would be nice,” I said, matching his nonchalance.
“Good, fine. We’ll do it,” he said.
“Just not this weekend,” I laughed. “I think I’m going to be pretty busy.”
“Really? How come?”
“You didn’t listen to anything I told you during dinner, did you? Remember Joe Kelsey? Gay baseball
player? Major scoop for your pal Kate?”
“Sorry. Of course I was listening. I just didn’t connect it with this weekend. I guess I’m not all here.”
“Something wrong? I’ve been babbling away and haven’t even asked how your case is going.”
“I’m still trying to tie these kids together somehow, and I can’t make it fit.”
“Tell me about them.”
“It’s not worth it. We keep going over it.”
“Come on. Here’s my ear. Take advantage of it.”
“Why not?” he sighed. “Victim one: Benjamin Goldman. That’s the one your friend was talking about. Ten years old. The youngest of three. The father is a dentist with offices at Bloor and Avenue Road.”
“Serious money.”
“Pots of it. The Goldmans live in a big house on Burton Road, one of those old stone mansions. The mother doesn’t work. She’s active in some high-profile charities. Aside from that, as far as I can see, she lunches. The older kids go to Upper Canada College. Ben was scheduled to start next year.
“He was an average student, with average interests for a kid of his class. In other words, he was a busy kid. He played hockey. He was big for his age and the star of his team. He took guitar lessons, went to religious classes, played tennis, hung around with his buddies playing video games. He wore designer clothes, had his own phone and unlimited spending money.”
“Spoiled silly.”
“I guess. He was last seen on a Saturday afternoon in early March on Queen Street. He had gone to a movie with a couple of friends at the Eaton Centre. They left him there—they were taking the streetcar and he was going on the subway. Then he disappeared. It was about four-thirty.”
“When did his parents miss him?”
“They were out that day, too. When they got home about eight, he wasn’t there. There’s a maid, but she didn’t know what to do when he didn’t show up.
“The Goldmans called the family of the kids he’d been with, but they were out, too. They’d met the boys at their grandparents for dinner. The Goldmans didn’t reach them until nine or so. Then they phoned us.
“The body turned up Monday. It had been put in a dumpster behind a plumbing supply store on Danforth Road. It’s a pretty deserted place on Sundays. One of the sales clerks found him when he went to throw out some packing crates.”
“Nice way to start the week. It’s lucky he looked. Was the body just there, or was it in a bag or something?”
“It was wrapped in a tarp, but he saw the foot sticking out. The body was naked.”
“He’d been raped, you said?”
“Well, semen was found in his anus, but it’s probable that the assault happened after he died.”
“You told me he was smothered.”
“The killer put a plastic bag over his head. He was probably unconscious at the time. There was a sedative in his blood. A mild tranquillizer, actually.”
“When did he die?”
“The coroner thinks it was probably late Saturday night.”
“What else did he find?”
“He’d had a hamburger, fries, and a shake some hours before his death. He didn’t have one with his friends.”
“And he wasn’t on tranquillizers for a legitimate reason? Or could have taken them for kicks? His mother sounds like the type that would have a medicine chest full of them.”
“Maybe. You’re right about the mother, but she swears that she keeps careful track of all their medications.”
“What about the second victim? The boy from Regent Park.”
“Maurice LeBlanc. He wasn’t so little. He was twelve, and well into puberty. He died during the March school break. His mother works in the kitchen at Sick Kids’ Hospital, so Maurice was on his own.
“We don’t know very much about his last day. It was a Tuesday. He went to the laundromat in the morning, and bought some stuff at the convenience store at Gerrard and Sackville on his way home. He was seen getting on the westbound Carlton car at one-thirty, then zippo.”
“What about the rest of the family?”
“His father’s in jail for bank robbery. He’s from Quebec, the mother’s from Jamaica. There are no brothers and sisters.”
“Family friends? Uncles?”
“We’ve looked into that. Nothing, so far.”
“What kind of a kid was he?”
“A good kid. Everyone says so. He was an A student, a boy scout, active in a church youth group, was on the school track and field team.
“He also did babysitting around the project to help his mother out. Every mother we talked to said how trustworthy he was. He was very mature for his age, and very responsible.”
“He’d have to be, I guess. How sad for his mother. Husband in jail, only child dead.”
“She said that Maurice was all of her future. Now she says her hopes are gone. A nice woman.”
“That just breaks my heart.”
“The body wasn’t found for three days. It had been dumped off the path by the ravine by Moore Park. The weather was terrible that week. Friday morning a birder was out looking for early migrants with his dog. The dog found the body. And he wasn’t the first animal that did, either.”
“Oh, God.”
“The coroner found the same sedative in his system and the cause of the death was the same—he was smothered with a plastic bag.”
“And the latest little boy?”
“James Liu. He was eleven. The middle child of three. His parents are immigrants from China and run a restaurant in Scarborough. They both work there. The grandmother looks after the children. She lives in the house with them.”
Andy got up from the couch and began to pace.
“The boy was strictly controlled, unlike the other two. He worked hard at school and helped in the restaurant. He also took violin lessons. His passion was swimming. He was a very talented kid, with a lot of potential. His coach had to work hard to convince the parents that they should let him compete. They gave in on condition that he kept his straight A average at school. He was on the way back from the swim club when he disappeared.”
“And then?”
“They found him late the next night in an abandoned warehouse over by the Ex. Naked. Raped. The same stomach contents, the same semen type, but this one was raped before he died, and he was carved up a bit after he was smothered.”
“Carved?”
“You don’t want to know,” Andy said.
“So the guy is getting more violent?”
“And more confident, I think. The pattern is changing.”
“This one is really getting to you.”
He rubbed his eyes, then ran his hands through his hair.
“I’ve got to get this guy, Kate, and soon.”
“You’re tired. Let’s get to bed.”
He took my hand and pulled me gently from the couch.
“Let’s make something nice. I’ve had enough ugliness in the last couple of days.”
So we did.
Chapter 12
It was still dark when I woke up. I was alone in bed, but I could hear noises in the kitchen. I grabbed my robe and staggered towards the smell of coffee and the sound of the can opener. When I got there, Andy was feeding Elwy, out of self-defence.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I woke up and decided it was a good morning for a walk. Want to come?”
“At six o’clock in the morning?”
“I’m going to see if anything interesting flew in overnight.”
I knew Andy was a bird watcher. I even went out with him one afternoon on a wintry prowl through some woods north of the city, looking for owls. Other than that, during the one winter we’d been together, bird watching had consisted of standing at the kitchen window and watching the sparrows
and blue jays in my feeder. I suspect that I’ll learn all sorts of other strange things about him as spring progresses.
I took a cup of coffee while I considered his proposition.
“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” he said.
What the hell. I went to put on some warm clothes. When I got back, Andy frowned at my sneakers.
“You need better walking shoes than that,” he said.
“They’re the best I’ve got,” I grumbled, deciding the outing was a bad idea after all. I poured another cup of coffee for the road. Andy drove.
As we headed down Pottery Road towards the Bayview extension, I was glad I’d come. In the early light the willows along the road were golden with buds. There was very little traffic.
“I haven’t seen the dawn for years,” I said. “At least not from this end.”
“If you’re going to become a birder, you’ll get used to it,” Andy said, then reached across and squeezed my hand. I hoped he couldn’t see the horror in my face. I took another swallow of coffee.
We parked the car, then headed down the path, which was slippery with mud from overnight rain. It was cold, despite the sun peeking through the haze. I looked around at the bare trees.
“No birds. Can we go home now?”
“Well, I certainly hear the call of the female grouse,” Andy said, taking my hand and leading me further down the path. After another few yards he stopped and scanned the trees with his binoculars.
“Wasn’t one of the bodies found in here?” I asked, shivering.
“A little further in, near the bridge. Look, up in that maple. It’s a ruby-crowned kinglet.”
“Where?” I peered through my binoculars. There were four leafless trees in the general vicinity of where he was pointing. Who knew which one was the maple?
“In the second tree, see the crotch where the branch heads off at about two o’clock? It’s just about halfway along, on the small branch above. Sort of flipping around.”
Just as I got the little bugger in my sights, it flew away.
“Nice,” I said.
“Did you get it?”
Safe at Home Page 6
