After the Horses

by Jeffrey Round

  “That’s a smart stance,” Dan agreed.

  The waiter returned with two pints of beer. Dan took a long, satisfying swallow while the hockey game rumbled on overhead.

  “At first it was very routine. They wanted to hear the message Yuri left asking to meet when I returned from Mexico. Luckily I still had it on my phone, so I played it for them. Then the questions started. How often did we meet and what did we discuss and were there any unusual payments made by the bar?” Lionel leaned closer. “I told them I was aware Yuri paid for what we euphemistically called ‘security,’ but I didn’t say that I knew where it went. Technically, I didn’t know who or what he paid in that regard. In actuality, we’re talking about substantial payoffs to the police to leave the bar alone for various reasons, particularly because of the association it had with drugs.”

  “Did Yuri ever ask you to make the payments personally?”

  Lionel shook his head. “No. I made it clear from the start that I was not going to doing anything illegal, with or without his express consent. I did, however, make financial transactions at Yuri’s request, always in cash, from the bar’s profits. I handed them over to someone who, I assume, paid the police directly, but never in my presence.”

  “And who was that?”

  Here, Lionel’s gaze shifted to the far side of the bar, as though he sensed eavesdroppers. The other patrons were so oblivious to anything but the match being played out on the screen that it was hard to imagine anyone’s taking an interest in their low-key conversation.

  Lionel locked eyes with Dan again. “At first, Yuri had a couple of drug dealers running the money for him, but then one of them got busted and that ended that. Over the last couple years he’d been dating a young Cuban guy. That was who was making the payoffs for him.”

  “This was Santiago Suárez?”

  “Yes. My part was simply to take a percentage from Saturday night’s payroll and give it to Santiago in cash. What he did with it or who he gave it to, I have no idea. I always insisted I didn’t want to know.”

  “Did you keep records of the payments?”

  Lionel nodded. “Yes. Scrupulous records, even detailing the denominations of the bills I used to pay him. The transactions were always listed as ‘security.’ Yuri might have passed it off as payment to the regular bouncers the club employed.”

  “Did the police inquire directly into those payments?”

  Lionel shook his head. “No, not yet at least. They have the records, but you know how it goes when police investigate their own. My feeling is they know what the payments were for and they’re trying to see if I know as well.”

  “What will you tell them if they ask?”

  For the first time, Lionel looked afraid.

  “I’m going to tell them I don’t know what they were for other than basic payments to ensure the business was run smoothly. Of course, they don’t know who took the payments from me.”

  “I understand Santiago is an illegal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which will make it difficult for him to come forward with what he knows, if anything.”

  Lionel nodded.

  “Are you worried the police may find something in Yuri’s personal financial records that would make things difficult for you?”

  Lionel’s cheeks expanded and forcefully expelled air.

  “A lot of what Yuri did bordered on the illegal. As far as I’m concerned — and Charles has already advised me on this — I was just doing what I was paid to do in a strictly legal capacity. I wasn’t there to judge or even snoop around and ask questions. I merely passed money over to one person or another. What those individuals did with the money was between them and Yuri. I made it clear I didn’t want to know about drug payments, for instance. Less dangerous for me. It was just easier that way.”

  Dan nodded. He had probably done more overtly illegal things in pursuit of his own career activities.

  “Money’s a funny thing,” Lionel said. “We all use it in various ways to accomplish many things. Much of what Yuri did with his money helped a great many people in need. It’s funny that so much of it was made in questionable ways. He was sort of a Robin Hood, as far as the gay community was concerned. I mean, we all knew about the sex and drugs that went through his club. He was well aware of it; in fact he even bene-fited, exacting a percentage from everyone who used his premises for such activities, but he seemed to think it was his duty to use those profits for good.” Lionel looked meaningfully at him. “Whatever may be said of him, I think Yuri Malevski was a hero, not a villain. Everyone in the community turns a blind eye to the goings-on in bars. Yuri chose to embrace it and use it for a positive end. He knew the AIDS community was under-funded for years, long before anyone in government admitted it. I think he chose to do the things he did in order to settle some old scores and balance a few ledgers that were sorely in need of adjusting. We shouldn’t judge him for it.”

  Dan smiled. “I don’t.”

  Lionel gave him another of those soulful glances. “I hope you can do something about this. If I told the police what I know I’d be putting myself in jeopardy. Not to mention Charles. It’s just …”

  His words were drowned out by the racket as another goal was scored. The gaps between real life and its electronic simulacra were not so far apart, Dan thought. There were always going to be winners and losers, no matter what you did or what you tried to avoid.

  The commotion died down again. Lionel reached across the table and gripped Dan’s forearm. “You see … I feel responsible for what happened to Yuri.”

  “How could you be responsible for what happened?”

  “I advised him to stop the payments to the police. I thought, what was the worst they could do? Fine him? Close his bar for a week or two? I didn’t know it would turn out like this.”

  The final words caught in his throat. Dan saw a man who felt a deep accountability for what had happened to his former boss because of a personal conviction aired at the wrong moment. Many of his own clients professed to feeling the same, their lives torn apart by a lie or a harsh word that resulted in the disappearance of a loved one, compounded by the unending grief and guilt that followed.

  Lionel released his arm and sat back. “Charles keeps saying I couldn’t have known what would happen. He says I should stop being so hard on myself. But that doesn’t bring him back, does it?”

  Their waiter passed by balancing a tray on his finger tips, looking for all the world like a trained seal. Dan signalled for two more of the same without disturbing Lionel’s tale of recrimination. Guilt was a funny animal, he knew. It deserved to have its own cage in the zoo, labelled “Armed and Extremely Dangerous.”

  “I went past the bar the other day,” Dan said. “It was being renovated. What’s going to happen to it?”

  “They’ll sell it. Some developer will tear it down and build condos. We could be talking several million in development fees. It’s a prime downtown location. A small part of it will go into a fund Yuri set up for his employees. I think he also left a good chunk to Santiago.”

  “So the ex-boyfriend benefits, even though they were estranged?”

  “The estrangement would probably have been temporary, knowing Yuri. He always had trouble with one person or another, then a week later they’d be on good terms again. He was temperamental. It was just his way.” Lionel smiled wistfully. “The rest goes to charity. He was a very charitable fellow, Yuri. Always looking out for someone else’s benefit. There would probably have been a lot more, but a good deal of the profits went to drugs. I used to pad the budget with costs that were in actuality drug payments. He probably spent tens of thousands over the years.”

  “What of the people who were in his close circle of friends?”

  “Well …” Lionel shrugged. “That depends how you define ‘friends.’ Suffice to say Yuri had a lot of hangers-on. A big party crowd followed in his wake like seagulls following a fishing boat. He was a good catch, as they say. He could b
e pretty indulgent: all-night parties and the like. Charles and I attended a few of them, but they weren’t really our crowd. Too many hustlers and drug users. You’d walk in and there’d be people smoking up or giving someone a blow job over in the corner while someone else videotaped it.” He laughed. “It could give you a jolt if you weren’t used to it.”

  Dan listened with curiosity. Lionel’s description of his former boss’s personal life was taking on all the drama and outsized proportions of the newspaper headlines that had feasted on the goings-on at his home over the past two months. He was disappointed not to hear a fresh perspective.

  “So I guess it’s true what we’re hearing about his lifestyle.”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “Was there anyone in that circle who seemed a little to the left of shady, in your estimation?”

  Lionel gave a big, friendly laugh. “Just about all of them on any given day! Do you want me to make a list?” He grew serious. “I didn’t make a point of getting to know any of them. It wouldn’t have been worthwhile. I’d never have trusted them enough to want to be friends. Yuri seemed not to worry about such things.”

  Dan looked up as two fresh pints arrived on the seal’s well-balanced tray.

  “I’ve got it,” Lionel said, handing over a twenty rather than a credit card designed to inspire awe.

  He was, Dan noted, a quietly attractive man, unlike his flashier husband. His ruminations were interrupted as the air suddenly issued with resounding boos. The game had ended, but not to the satisfaction of everyone in the house.

  “Were you familiar with any of the police officers who might have come by the bar to pick up their payments?” Dan asked.

  Lionel looked up, amazement written all over his face.

  “Wow!” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier.”

  “What?”

  “One of the regulars at Yuri’s late-night parties was a police officer. I only found that out when I saw him in uniform by sheer coincidence. About a year ago, Charles and I were in a small accident and he was the first officer on the scene. I don’t know if he knew who I was or not. Charles was driving, so my licence wasn’t in question, but I never forgot him after that.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Yeah — it was something like Trposki.” He spelled it. “It’s one of those scrambled Eastern European names. But he was a gay cop. I was shocked to find that out.”

  Dan nodded. “There are a few. For the most part they try to stick together. It’s pretty hard being out and gay in the police force. From what I understand, you’re better off if you don’t make an issue of it.”

  “I can imagine,” Lionel said. “The world isn’t that progressive — not yet, anyway. I’ll look on the ticket for the spelling to be sure. I keep everything. I’m a dot the i’s and cross the t’s kind of guy. For sure it’ll be in a file somewhere.”

  They quaffed their beer and looked around at the disgruntled faces. Impossible to say what bets had been won or lost in this crowd, but clearly the tone was downcast overall.

  “Tell me a bit more about Santiago,” Dan said. “Had he and Yuri been going out for long?”

  “About four years,” Lionel replied. “Though, as I mentioned, it ended recently.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Nothing I could put my finger on. All I know is that they quarrelled and Santiago disappeared.”

  “And no one has seen him since the murder?”

  “Well, no one I know.” Lionel smiled. “You could ask around.”

  An idea struck Dan. “Can you get me access to Yuri’s house?”

  Lionel looked at him curiously. “You think Santiago is hiding out there?”

  Dan shook his head. “Not if he’s on the run, but it might help if I had a better idea who Yuri was. To do that I’ll need to get a look at what’s inside the house.”

  Lionel nodded slowly. “Sure, I can arrange that. Until it changes owners, I still have access to the house.” He looked Dan over. “So, are you saying you’ll take on the case?”

  “I’m saying I’m curious about it. I’ll do some preliminary looking around. I’m not promising anything yet.”

  “Fair enough. When do you want me to get you into Yuri’s place?”

  “The sooner the better,” Dan said. “Assuming the police have concluded their investigation and won’t show up while I’m there.”

  “I can’t promise you that,” Lionel told him. “But I’ll see what I can do about getting you in for a look around. How would tomorrow morning suit you?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Five

  Due Diligence

  Dan rattled the gate with his bare hands then glanced up at the stone mansion towering over its neighbours. It got top marks for atmosphere. This was a scary witch’s sort of house, with granite walls, slate tile roof, and a widow’s walk. The veined outline of elm trees flailed their branches around it, as though protecting it in an airy embrace.

  He fished through the bars until he felt the heavy lock, retrieved the key Lionel had given him, and unfastened the clasp. The gate swung open of its own accord, as though urging him in before he could change his mind. A wide, unpaved drive led up to the front steps. Spring had released tulips and daffodils from their underground hideaways, bright blotches of colour arcing over the damp earth. Someone had cleaned up last season’s dead leaves, either recently or back in the fall. It was still early for the gardens to look overgrown and abandoned, but they were clearly luxuriant. A month or two of neglect would turn them into a jungle of weeds and drooping flowers, as sad as an untended grave.

  This was one of the city’s grandest houses, though it lay far from the protective enclave of wealthy Forest Hill. A plaque beside the front door proclaimed its historic significance as having been built by “noted entrepreneur J.S. Lockie” for his wife, Edna.

  Parkdale had always been a contentious community, Dan knew. A mid-nineteenth-century census showed barely enough inhabitants for it to claim status as an independent village. Afterwards, the cry went round that someone had paid a band of gypsies to sign on as local residents to make up the numbers. The Toronto Home for Incurables on Dunn Avenue added to the area’s reputation with its gloomy, eponymous title. Dan pictured parents of the time passing the forbidding structure, pointing stern fingers in warning and spreading fear into the hearts of wayward children who refused to heed admonitions about personal hygiene and the eating of one’s vegetables.

  The neighbourhood’s proximity to Lake Ontario and the Canadian National Exhibition made it a desirable place to live, expanding significantly in the 1920s with infill and sidewalk extensions. It prospered further with the opening of movie theatres, the Sunnyside Amusement Park, and Palais Royale, the latter becoming a favourite venue for big bands in subsequent decades.

  All that prosperity came to a crashing halt in 1955 with the building of the Gardiner Expressway, itself a controversy as much for its exorbitant cost as for cutting the neighbourhood off from the beachfront. Parkdale’s popularity plummeted and it faced a decline from which it never recovered. Of its once-glorious mansions, few remained, but Yuri Malevski’s was one of the most notable.

  Dan took the yard in at a glance as he made his way up the walk. A pair of curious eyes watched his progress toward the house. A pudgy face, unshaven and lined. Funny turned-up nose. It was the sort of mug you distrusted on sight, he thought. What his Aunt Marge would have called “unsavoury.”

  Dan nodded an acknowledgement. The man had been raking leaves. He stopped now.

  “You a prospective buyer?” he asked from across the wood fence.

  “No, just a bit of maintenance.” Dan paused. “Do you know the owner?”

  “Yeah. Dead now. Got what was coming to him, that’s for sure.”

  Dan expressed surprise. “Not a nice guy, I take it?”

  The man snorted. “The worst.” With that, he turned back to his raking.

  Dan punche
d in the numeric code Lionel had provided. A light turned from red to green. He grasped the handle and entered into a vigilant silence, gazing down a long hallway with a green and ivory harlequin pattern. While re-arming the system, his nose picked up the scent of cleaning substances covering something disquieting that might have been the smell of embalming fluid. A perfectly preserved tin ceiling spread overhead while a staircase cascaded behind Dan’s right shoulder. The walls were polished rosewood. High double doors led off from both sides of the hall. The first set opened into a sitting room offering a tableau of stuffed chairs, antique lamps, and a wide brick fireplace. It was like stepping back a hundred years.

  At the far end, a white grand piano sat perfectly framed between bevelled lead windows. Dan ran his finger along the polished top, leaving a faint trail in the dust beside a glittering candelabra above a keyboard that seemed to be awaiting the tinkering fingers of a Liberace-come-lately. A portrait of Jesus with what looked like an exploding purple heart stood propped against it for that added touch of kitsch. Had the notorious bar owner and sex-trade proponent been a secret religious acolyte on the side? Dan recalled seeing a documentary on notorious drug dealers, surprised to learn that one of them, a ruthless killer who had her enemies assassinated, was also a doting grandmother captured by the FBI while reading her Bible in a Florida hotel.

  The second set of doors led to a dining room with a mahogany table that sat twenty. On the walls, a series of tempestuous seascapes in oil were mounted in hand-carved frames, while a vintage bookstand cradled a scrapbook stuffed with newspaper clippings and old registries. A page from The Society Blue Book, subtitled “Toronto’s Social Directory for the Ages,” listed J.S. Lockie at the present address as though he lived there still. Time never failed to make mock of human pretension.

  On the reverse, Boyd’s Business Directory for 1875–6 credited Lockie as manager of the Canadian Bank of Commerce beside an advertisement for “DOCTOR J BELL’S TONIC PILLS FOR NERVOUS DISORDERS — WE NEVER FAIL TO CURE.” A few of those might put him to rights when he was having a bad day, Dan mused, wondering just how much cocaine was in those pick-me-ups back then. Those were the days.