Final Act

by Dianne Yetman

  It was Gina, a 30 year old drug addicted mother of two, who worked the streets, that gave her the news. Gina had lived on the reserve until her life began to spiral out of control because of her drug use. She had contacted Hanya two months ago and asked about her two children she had left behind with her mother. After their initial meeting, Hanya began to meet with her regularly once at week in the evening at the small downtown park.

  She picked up the phone and dialled.

  ***

  “You’ll never guess who that was,” Susan said.

  “Probably not, so why don’t you just tell me”, Alexis said.

  “It was Rev. Hanya. Remember, we were introduced to her at the funeral reception, charming woman. She’ll be here in 30 minutes.”

  “Did she say why she wanted to meet with us?”

  “No. She asked if she could come over for a chat, said it wouldn’t take long.”

  Alexis returned to Louise Penny’s newest release and immersed herself in the magical village of Three Pines, re-emerging only at the sound of the intercom.

  Susan seated Rev. Hanya on the love seat directly across from them. The first ten minutes were filled with condolences, small talk, and tea until Rev. Hanya laid her cup on the table, refused another éclair, leaned forward and in a very firm, but kind voice informed the two women that there was a very important matter she needed to discuss with them.

  Susan and Alexis leaned forward.

  “It has been brought to my attention, ladies, by a friend of mine, who will remain anonymous, that the two of you have been frequenting a rather unsafe area of the city during the evening hours.”

  Susan and Alexis exchange a quick glance.

  “The neighbourhood’s a bit risky, but that’s not my concern. It’s the questions you have been asking the ladies who make their living on these streets that’s disturbing. I usually don’t interfere in other people’s business but I need to speak to you about your visits with the ladies.”

  Two bright spots blossomed on Alexis’ cheeks.

  “Your questions could be putting you in danger. My friend informed me some of the women are starting to get pissed. They said the two of you were scaring their clients off because they thought you were mothers on the search for their daughters. I was asked to tell you, and I’m sorry to give offence, to take your geriatric butts off their turf.”

  “Oh goodness, there’s been a misunderstanding”, Susan said. “Once we clear it up with the ladies, there will be no danger. We’re simply doing research. We have been asked to take part in a play, Ladies of the Night, one of our friends has written. We thought it would be good to get the true picture of what it’s like to work the streets. It would help to make our acting more authentic.”

  Susan turned to Alexis. “Perhaps we didn’t make the purpose of our questions clear enough. We’ll have to rectify that.”

  Hanya sat mute, too stunned by Susan’s response to reply.

  Alexis chose to remain mute.

  “We appreciate your concern but once the ladies realize we have no interest in competing for clientele...”

  “Really Susan”, Alexis said. “Do you honestly think they were, for one moment, concerned about us stealing clients?”

  Hanya began to cough, not that the other two were aware. She was glad she didn’t take another éclair; she could have choked to death.

  “Come off it Alexis. Get real. Sex knows no boundaries.”

  Having caught her breath, Hanya decided it was time to intervene.

  “I understand what you are saying, Susan, and I commend your efforts to strive for the most authentic performance in your friend’s play. An interesting one, no doubt, and I certainly support redemptive themes.”

  Not quite a lie.

  “Not every role is best researched by hands on method. There is a real danger. My source tells me some of the, leaders, shall we call them, are getting nervous and there’s been talk of ‘teaching a lesson to the do-gooders, one they won’t forget’.”

  “Well, that does change the water on the potatoes,” Susan said.

  “Beans, Susan. Changes the water on the beans,” Alexis said.

  Hanya was tempted to get into the act and start rolling her eyes but refrained.

  “Yes,” Hanya said, “I’ve been working in the neighbourhood for a couple of years now and most of the people are harmless. Confused, abandoned, defeated, addicted, unloved, homeless, in need of mental and physical care, but not usually violent. By a cruel twist of fate, it is their so-called protectors – the drug dealers and pimps – who feed off their need that are the dangerous ones.”

  Susan paled.

  “I apologize if I was too glib and shallow in my response. There will be no more nightly visitations. Thank you for taking the time to warn us.”

  “Yes,” Alexis echoed.

  “How is your friend,” Susan asked. “I’m assuming your source is a friend you’re working with?”

  “She’s struggling.”

  “Sad. The whole district is sad. There was one character we kept running across, never spoke to us, mumbled a lot but last night, she spoke to us. Grabbed me by the arm, commented on my red hair, and then shook her head no, and mumbled, ‘not tall enough’. I asked her what she meant. She smiled and said nothing. I gave her $50.00 and she talked. Said that someone wasn’t sure if it was a man or woman, with red hair, could have been a wig, she wasn’t sure, dressed in a long black coat and fedora hat, stopped her one night and said something about a contract person. When I asked what kind of contract person, she laughed and said I had to be kidding. I told her I wasn’t and she said the person was looking for a hired killer, someone to take out a black cop who was making a pest of himself. I felt my jaw hit my belly button, the street lady smiled and walked away. The talk of killing, red hair and the tall figure in the long black coat psyched me out and Alexis and I headed for home.”

  “Can you describe the street lady”, Hanya asked.

  “She was thin, wore bangles, there must have been 15 or more on her right wrist. She had a large diver’s watch on her left arm. She wore a long skirt – purple weave with embroidered red roses – it was filthy and her fingernails were gross but her hands had been washed, hair and teeth brushed.”

  “I know who fits the description – Hazel. Years ago her family – husband, children, and their farm were wiped out by a tornado in Oklahoma. She left the town and never went back. She’s not delusional, has no mental health issues, doesn’t drink or do drugs. The story she told didn’t spring from her imagination. Someone’ in trouble.”

  “I better pass this on to the authorities”, Susan said.

  “Yes”, Hanya said. “If the threat’s real, it’s police business. I’m hoping to speak to Kate later on. I can pass it on but no doubt she’ll want to talk to you in person.”

  The two women nodded, thanked Hanya for letting them know about the veiled threats made against them, shook hands, said their good bye’s. When the door closed behind Hanya, Susan turned to Alexis.

  “So that’s that. We’ll leave method acting to the experts. I’ll tell you one thing, though, I won’t miss those damn stilettos, my calves still ache.”

  Hanya hurried to the car, called Kate but no answer. She left a message but never received a return call.

  Chapter 9

  Gordon and Kate had sat side by side in the waiting room outside of Intensive Care for hours. She had stared at the watercolours hanging on the wall until the pictures began to blur. Gordon and Withers sat on either side of her wearing the faces of the sleep deprived. They had taken turns doing a coffee run, started conversations that petered out, and sunk back into their own private prayers or reveries. Roger’s mother and his aunts emerged from the ICU during the long vigil to give them an update. It was always the same. He still hadn’t regained consciousness after the surgery; the
doctors weren’t optimistic about his recovery. The surgeon tried to convince them to go home. They stayed until Roger’s mother insisted they leave, promising to call if there was any change.

  Kate grabbed three hours of dream filled sleep then left for the hospital where she caught up Gordon and Withers at the entrance. The stressed looking trio made their way back to the waiting room. Gordon briefed them on the way. A team had been assembled to investigate the attempted murder, cops who were off roster gathered at the precinct. Everything that could be done was being done.

  Sitting in silence, side-by-side, they waited. A nurse came out to tell them that Dr. Sara Trembler would be with them shortly. Withers’ face paled, Kate sat ramrod straight and Gordon’s right foot began to tap. Sara came out of the door of the unit; a blank look on her face, her hands wrapped around her stethoscope, eyes bloodshot.

  Kate’s heart went out to Sara as she watched her approach. How painful it must be to see the man you love at death’s door. There was a tremor in the woman’s voice when she spoke.

  “Roger’s come out of the coma, tried to talk, but is too weak.”

  Three smiling, hopeful faces looked up at her.

  “According to his surgeon, Roger’s not out of the woods yet. He took a serious beating, there’s head trauma, concussion. A blood clot behind his left eye may require further surgery if the blood thinners don’t do the trick. He has multiple bruises, contusions, two broken ribs but major organs are fine.”

  “How soon do you think we could speak to him, Sara”, Kate asked.

  “It’s hard to say; he’s heavily sedated. Why don’t you grab something to eat, come back in an hour or so, then... her voice cracked and she struggled for control. “I’m sorry; I have to go, I’m on early morning rounds.”

  They thanked Sara and watched as she rushed towards the stairwell. Withers stood, told them he was going back to the precinct and work on the roster. He asked them to call if they heard anything.

  “We’ll be joining you shortly, Withers”, Gordon said. He turned to Kate. “We need to talk. Let’s hit the cafeteria.”

  Ten minute later, Gordon was munching on a jelly doughnut. “I will never understand Kate, why hospitals, cop shops, and cafeterias can’t make a decent cup of coffee. It’s tar for God’s sake, black tar. Do you see how much sugar I had to put in just to get it down?”

  Kate ignored his remark, sipped her orange juice and scanned the cafeteria waiting for Gordon to begin his talk. He was taking his time and she was getting antsy. Leaning across the table she said his name with such intensity he stopped chewing mid-stream.

  “I want to be part of the investigation team into Roger’s beating. I have to be. Understood?”

  “Oh, I understand alright but it’s not happening. You’re in the middle of a murder investigation, two dead bodies and no arrests. I can’t spare you. Besides, you’re too emotionally involved.”

  “Don’t give me this shit, Gordon”

  “I’m telling you like it is, Kate, there’s no way you’re going to be released from the investigation. That’s it. ” He raised his hand before she could answer. “Think it through; you’ll see I’m right. I’m putting Shirley on the team under your supervision. She’s good, got the right stuff. The investigation into the assault on Roger, I promise, I will keep you informed; don’t worry; we’ll get those punks.”

  “Are you kidding me? This wasn’t a swarming by hopped up juveniles looking for cash for their next fix. It was planned. Roger was a marked man. According to his former boss in the drug squad, someone was out to get him. He thought it could be a drug dealer with a grudge.”

  “I don’t buy the revenge theory. Roger’s stint as an undercover cop ended long ago. Drug dealers don’t wait five years for revenge”, Gordon said.

  “I agree. I’ve got a hunch it’s connected to the murders we’re investigating. The killer wanted Roger dead.”

  “Jesus, Kate. Now I know you’re too close to this, you’re not making the least bit of sense. It’s too wide a leap.”

  “You’ve trusted my instincts before this, Gordon?”

  “Maybe so, but not this time. You focus on the murder investigation. Am I making myself clear?”

  “But...”

  “That’s it, end of discussion. The report’s in on Camira’s death. It was no accident; she had been drugged with sleeping pills. They turned up in the bottom of her tea and in her system. Powerful enough that the killer probably had to carry her to the bed. There’s no way she would have been able to give herself the lethal dose of morphine. Withers has gone back to shape up the roster for two detectives we’ve seconded from the county to investigate Camira’s death. I don’t want you involved in that either. Stay focused on the Stone’s murder, get us his killer.” He brushed the crumbs off his shirt. “Okay, let’s get back to work.

  ***

  Roger opened his eyes and looked around the room. He fought to keep his eyes open but could feel himself slipping back into the darkness. Jumbled thoughts fought for space. What day is it? What year is it? Who won the Indy 500? Do I have a pile of disability cheques waiting at home? Where the hell is everybody? The thoughts scattered as he felt his body elevate. He opened his eyes but all he could see was whiteness. Had he died? Was he on his way to the next world? The lifting sensation ceased and he looked into the face of his Aunt Eva.

  Oh my God, I’m in hell.

  His aunt slid out of his line of vision and his mother was there. She stepped to the side and he looked at Randy and Sara. He knew he was in serious shit. He swallowed and tried to speak.

  ”Where am I? What’s happened”, he asked.

  “You’re in the hospital,” his mother said. “A gang of thugs put a beating on you.”

  “How bad did they do me?”

  Sara leaned in. “Don’t worry about that right now. Relax, try to stay calm, the doctor is on his way. He’ll speak to you.”

  “Calm, Sara, you want me to be calm. I’m lying in a hospital bed unable to move. I don’t know what works and what doesn’t and I can’t remember anything. You’re a doctor, tell me what’s wrong?”

  I can’t Roger; I’m not your doctor. Eric’s coming into the room now, he’ll fill you in.”

  A tall, thin man smiled down at him, rubbed his hands together, shot a look behind him, turned back, began to speak very slowly, and told Roger about the extent of his injuries and the prognosis.

  Roger looked confused, fearful.

  “Lucky to be here is what I hear you saying Doctor. Now I’m grateful for all you did and everything but I’ve got a major stumbling block. I can’t remember what happened and that scares the crap out of me.”

  “Yes, the inability to remember can be a frightening thing but believe me what you are experiencing is only temporary. It’s called TGA – Transient Global Amnesia. There are many different types, yours is associated with the trauma of the assault. In this type of memory loss, you can remember distant memories and events only weeks gone by. You can retain immediate recall, as well as language recall, attention, visual-spatial and social skills, but the memory of what caused the trauma is blocked. It will come back, no need to fear.”

  “How long will it take to come back?”

  “I can’t say, it varies with individuals. But I can tell you some of what you will experience. You will have difficulties remembering recent occurrences and you will be unable to retain any new visual or verbal information for more than a couple minutes. Now it’s obvious you remember your own identity, but you will find yourself confused by surroundings and people – continuously asking about what is happening. For example, where you are, who is with you, what is happening?”

  “Christ, how long will that last?”

  “No more than one or two weeks. I’m recommending you receive psychological counselling. Anyone who’s been through this type of trauma really needs t
o come to grips with the fears and anxieties surrounding the event. This is going into the official report I will be submitting to your Police Chief.”

  Roger could feel himself fading – fast. So fast, he never heard the conversation between his mother and the doctor. And that wasn’t a bad thing.

  Chapter 10

  Kate opened the door to her office. Shirley, sitting at Roger’s desk, smiled up at her. Placing a large, double-double on her desk, she acknowledged the smile and removed her hat, gloves, parka and took her seat.

  “I hear Roger is out of the deep waters?”

  “Yes but I don’t think we’ll see him back here for a while. I’m glad you’re on board Shirley.”

  “Thanks. I’m willing to learn and hope to gain yours and the team’s confidence.”

  “Fair enough. Now let’s begin. Gordon tells me you were able to tap into Roger’s notes. What did you find?”

  “He made good notes, clear, concise. He believes there are a few people we can eliminate as suspects. The night the poison was put in the bottle, Charlotte, James, Philip, and the lighting crew hit the bar scene - swilling scotch at The Five Fishermen. June was at the hospital with her sister-in-law whose youngest was rushed in around 11:00pm and wasn’t discharged until 2:00am. Nurse on duty confirms her presence. Andrew, Brenda, Henry, Eleanor, and James all claim to have been at home watching TV, listening to music, raiding the fridge or tucked up in their beds”

  “Always good to knock a few off.”

  “He thought he know how the killer may have gotten hold of morphine used to sedate Camira, phoned around and discovered there was a break-in at the QEII hospital, three vials of morphine were stolen, four days before her death.”

  “Good. Jeffrey’s poison was much rarer, harder to come by. We were working on that one together. Any new notes?”

  “Yes, he’s narrowed it down to one possibility, G & M Manufacturing. He had an appointment to meet with them at 2:00pm tomorrow afternoon. Did you want to cover it or shall I go?”