The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery

by Richard Cain

  Carscadden shook his head. “Nice place to raise your kids.”

  “Makes me want to take Josie out of school just to give her a hug.”

  “Yeah, give her one for me too.”

  Carscadden had brought his brown leather lawyer’s bag with him. The kind of questions they were going to be asking, they’d rather come across as lawyers than cops. Inside the office the atmosphere and smells changed. If it had been muggy outside, it was nothing compared to this. The air was thick from the smell of burnt marijuana and curried foods. A leather strip of bear bells jangled as the door banged into its crooked frame. A tall Sikh man appeared from the back room. He had red heavy eyes and offered a sedated smile; though half-baked, it took him less than a second to figure out that they weren’t there to rent a room. Nastos read the name tag: Sandhu.

  The man chuckled to himself. “We don’t offer hourly rates.”

  Carscadden opened his bag and slid fifty dollars to the man. “Mr. Sandhu, we’re just looking for information.”

  In one smooth motion Sandhu curled the fifty and put it in his shirt pocket then braced both of his hands on the counter that separated him from them. Like he had done it a hundred times before. He was a professional blabbermouth. “How can I help you fine gentlemen?”

  Nastos asked, “You used to rent a room to a guy named Rob Walker.”

  Sandhu blinked slowly. “I remember him well.”

  Nastos wasn’t convinced Sandhu remembered him at all but he definitely remembered what a fifty-dollar bill looked like. “Did he leave any personal effects here?”

  Sandhu turned to face the key board that was mounted on the wall. There were copies of all of the room keys, each key in its place, a Post-It note wrapped around the white string that was tied to it. “He may have. I haven’t cleaned his room since he left.”

  Carscadden’s face twisted up slightly, and Nastos noticed it. “Mr. Sandhu, that was over a week ago.”

  He shrugged. “When we get busier it might be worth it to hire a maid.” Sandhu turned to the key rack and dropped one on the counter. “There, room 103.”

  Carscadden took the key and turned to go but Nastos stopped him when he asked, “Has anyone else been here asking about Walker?”

  Sandhu didn’t hesitate. “That depends.” He glanced to Carscadden’s bag.

  Carscadden sighed and took out two twenties. “There.”

  Sandhu swept the bills up in his hand like he was raking in a poker win. “Four men have come. Two groups of two. You two make it three groups of two. Mr. Walker’s past apparently caught up to him.”

  Nastos asked, “What do you know about his past?”

  “Just that he had one. With men like those looking for him, he didn’t seem to have much of a future.”

  Nastos considered the irony of Sandhu remarking that Walker didn’t have much of a future living here. Like Sandhu had the world by the balls as he managed this place for minimum wage and sold drugs to get by. “The other guys looking for him, were they cops?”

  Sandhu shook his head. “I don’t think so. And not you two either.”

  Carscadden said, “Just to be clear, they came around after he died?”

  Sandhu’s eyes flashed for a moment. “Dead? I thought maybe he just ran away.” He paused for a moment. “Yes, they came after he died.”

  Nastos was beginning to get the feeling that anything said or done in front of Sandhu may as well be broadcast to the entire planet. He had to tread carefully.

  “Did Walker have any friends here, anyone he talked to?”

  Sandhu enthusiastically slapped the counter, laughing. “Right, the girl. They all asked about her also. I’ll tell you what I told them. The woman raced back shortly after they had left that night. She was frantic. I thought maybe they had just forgotten something, then I never saw them again.”

  “Were they paid up?”

  “They lived together. They had paid for another week in advance.”

  Carscadden asked, “Her name?”

  “Ann Falconer. I only remember because everyone asks about her.”

  Nastos wondered if at this point Sandhu was just exaggerating. “Everyone?”

  “Well, a lot of men. Like all of the other women here, she was a whore. But she was white, and the prettiest one of the filthy things.”

  Nastos asked, “Would you know where to find her?”

  “I’d try on the internet, the prostitution sites.”

  Nastos asked, “Can you describe the men who came looking for her?”

  “Not really. They were white, like you two. If you want to look around the room you can.”

  “Do you have video here?”

  His only answer was another soft chuckle.

  With the key, Nastos and Carscadden unlocked the door to room 103 and entered. It didn’t smell as bad as Nastos anticipated. Carscadden spread out the two empty pizza boxes on the dresser as well as the candy wrappers scattered there. He mumbled to himself a Seinfeld quote, “A penchant for empty calories.”

  The bed was left unmade, the sheets wrinkled and a paisley duvet lying in heap on the floor. The window had been left open, which helped with the smell. It wasn’t like anyone had recently died in there. As Nastos stepped around the duvet he pointed to the blanket and said to Carscadden, “Watch out for the DNA toilet.” He crossed the room to the waste can near the bathroom door and found what he was hoping for. “We just struck solid gold.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Carscadden was going through the dresser, examining the contents with his hands on his hips.

  “Not really. But I found a pop can.” Nastos placed the tool box on the floor and unclipped the top. He removed the top tray and set it aside then pulled out a pen. He stuck the pen into the aluminum can and carefully lifted it out of the garbage and onto the bedside table. The partially crushed can teetered in place, balancing precariously. Nastos put on a pair of blue rubber gloves, turned on the bedside light and began dusting for prints. He opened a clear plastic tube and removed the brush. He twisted it in the tube of filings then began lightly twisting it over the can, carefully looking to see if they accumulated anywhere.

  Carscadden stepped over the duvet and joined him, watching over his shoulder. “Anything?”

  “Not yet. Check the bathroom, the mirror and garbage. Take a little flashlight and shine it offset so —”

  “Yeah, I know, I know.” Carscadden grabbed the flashlight and began his search. He barely looked in before coming back out. “Nothing.”

  “Yeah,” Nastos said. “Nothing here either.”

  “What’s your best guess for who this guy was to have so many people looking for him?”

  “No idea. To be honest I think that at face value, this makes no sense. And when that happens it means that there is no logic to it.”

  Carscadden tried to open the closet door but it was stuck. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. Glancing down he saw that the carpet wasn’t smooth and it bunched up under the door. He shoved the door shut and pulled it open again, this time pressing the bulge down with his foot. “So you think Karen is holding something back? I thought she was your old partner?”

  Nastos grunted. “We had a complicated relationship. She wished we could have been more than partners.” He tried to force himself to finish his thought. “Now that Maddy is gone, I just wonder what her game really is.”

  Carscadden yanked the door most of the way open and turned on the closet light. “So you think she might be trying to get you back into her life? She’s playing the damsel in distress? She could have just gone to the cops.”

  Nastos carefully examined the pop can. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Hello. Here, check this out.”

  Nastos turned to the closet that Carscadden had slid open. Inside was a recycle box filled with empty liquor bottles.


  Nastos whistled. “We have to get something from there. Glass is perfect.”

  After three bottles of vodka, Nastos had made four respectable lifts. Nastos sprinkled on the dust, pressed the clear tape over it, smoothed it out then transferred them to the white print cards. He labeled them, put them in the tool box then packed everything up.

  Carscadden pointed to the remaining bottles in the box. “Are these of any use? We can take them with us just in case.”

  Nastos shook his head. “Let’s get out of here before we catch a disease.”

  They locked the room and returned to the office to take the key back. Sandhu was standing at the counter puffing on a cigar-sized joint and watching a foreign film on a small, fuzzy TV screen.

  Carscadden dropped the keys on the counter. “Here, thanks.”

  Sandhu was enthralled by his show and didn’t respond.

  Nastos watched some of the TV program. An older guy with a white turban was surrounded by two younger guys with their swords out. They were circling the older man, obviously taunting him.

  Carscadden asked, “Nastos, you think the guys following Walker would watch this place to see if anyone else came looking for answers?”

  Nastos shook his head. “Too labour intensive. It would be easier to hire someone here, maybe one of the Sri Lankans from upstairs. If someone comes around they make a phone call for some easy money.”

  Nastos thought of something. He spoke louder. “Hey, Sandhu, hey pal, wake up.”

  Sandhu paused the show and took a drag on his joint. “What?”

  “Are you going to call anyone and tell them that we were here looking around?”

  “No.” He manufactured a stupid smile.

  With all of the THC in Sandhu’s head, Nastos couldn’t tell if he was being honest or sarcastic. “Hey, this is important. We’ve been good to you, we have more money, but if you screw us over you’re gonna piss me off.”

  “No, I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

  Carscadden slid more cash over the table. Sandhu wasn’t as smooth when he picked it up this time. He giggled to himself and he stuffed the money in his chest pocket.

  Nastos waited for Carscadden to sit in the passenger side before he started the car, taking a last moment to look up to the Sri Lankans leering down from the balcony.

  Carscadden asked, “We gonna drop off the print cards now? We might beat the traffic.”

  “Sure, I think it’s fastest to take the Gardiner to South Kingsway to Finch and straight up to the Forensics Unit. I’ll quickly drop them off and my guy will have the results by tomorrow.”

  Nastos’ phone vibrated and he read the screen. “It’s from Jacques. He has it.” The message said Pictures attached. You didn’t get this from me. He scrolled down and saw that there were two pictures and a small document attached. He quickly forwarded it to Karen with a message added. Karen, show this to Ann. Let me know ASAP if these were the guys who shot Walker.

  Carscadden pointed out a Thai restaurant across the street. “We should get some Thai this week.”

  “I barely get takeout now that it’s just me and Jo.”

  Carscadden didn’t reply. At first Nastos thought it was unlike him, rude even, for a guy who had a stupid comment about everything. Then he began to wonder if the comment was too close to Maddy being gone for him to touch.

  Carscadden took out his cellphone and checked the screen. He held the phone to Nastos. “Look what Tara sent. It’s from a few weeks ago.”

  Nastos took the phone. It was a picture of Josie in the restaurant. The owner, Viktor Kalmakov, was sitting with her at the bar with his arm around her the same way he would with one of his “flavour of the day” girlfriends.

  Nastos chuckled. “She thinks he’s the most handsome prince in the world.”

  Carscadden took the phone back. “Girls love the guys with accents.”

  Nastos remained silent until Carscadden asked, “What’s up your ass?”

  “Karen. She knew right from the beginning that Falconer was a bullet magnet and she never said anything to us. She did it to make sure I’d take the case.”

  Carscadden made a noncommittal noise then continued, “Well, for what it’s worth, she seemed nice enough to me. A tight little package, if you like that sorta thing.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that part before.” Nastos closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “That’s all I need.”

  Two people left the Thai restaurant, a young couple holding hands.

  Carscadden said, “That’s what you need,” pointing to them. “A companion. Someone to —”

  “Do not even finish the sentence.”

  “Okay, maybe not Grant, maybe someone stupider, less attractive. Maybe hit up some three-hundred-pound lesbian daughter of Russian beet farmers. Maybe that’s the new hotness. There’s probably a website that —”

  Nastos turned to him. “How long would Tara have to be gone before you could even consider dating?”

  Carscadden paused, giving it some thought. “I guess it depends on how it ended. “If she left me, sooner. If she died, I don’t know. Maybe a long time.”

  “Exactly. And besides Grant and I have . . . It could never happen.”

  Carscadden asked, “Why, because you were partners?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Because we tried and it didn’t feel right. You fucking happy? There. I made a mistake, a big mistake. Karen and I started — you know what? It was stupid, I figured it out, but not as fast as I should have. End of story.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah. No shit. If you ever embarrass me by telling Tara I’ll kill you.”

  “In the vault, man, don’t worry about it.”

  Carscadden scrolled through a few messages on his phone. “Did Maddy ever know about you and Karen?”

  “No, she never did. It wasn’t easy hiding it because Karen sent me a crazy number of texts — I mean really, a not normal number. But it was only one night, I was drunk, I never had any feelings for Karen and I ended it as soon as I sobered up. I got rid of her as a partner, I did everything I could to make up for it. I took time from work. I cooked Maddy’s favourite meals, I cleaned the house more. That was the year I adopted the diet she told me to start. I did everything to prove to her that it was all about her and Josie. And I carried the burden of it alone. If I’d had cancer I wouldn’t share. I didn’t share this either.”

  Carscadden watched the young couple as they disappeared from view. Eventually he asked, “Have time for a late lunch with Viktor?”

  Nastos checked his watch. “You know, Josie and I were going to have a barbecue tonight. She’s done school just after three today and I’d have to leave to get her right now.”

  “I’ll send Tara a text. She can pick her up and we can meet at your place for dinner.”

  Nastos mulled that over. They used to do that all of the time. Josie would love it.

  Before he pulled away from the curb something on the motel balcony caught his eye. He thought he saw one of the men point a smart phone in their direction, taking a picture. “You know, I’m beginning to think there’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye. I’d like to meet this Ann Falconer either way and ask her some questions.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that. We’ll drop off the fingerprint cards at FIU. Then meet the girls for dinner.”

  Carscadden dropped the visor down to block the sun from his eyes. “Sure. We’d love to see little Josie. I’ll text the plan to the boss. So what are the cops’ names anyways?”

  Nastos handed his phone over. “You can read it out to me while I drive.”

  Carscadden scrolled down. “Life is about to get complicated for officers Radix and Morrison.”

  6

  Karen took wha
t had become her usual precautions on the way back to her condo: two separate and illegal U-turns chosen at random intersections while she studied the cars in the rear-view mirror. She was an oddity, a crime journalist who had actually been a cop. She had been shot at, in car chases, done “spin” or surveillance, been beaten up during interrogations. She’d lived almost the entire spectrum of the policing experience. She had learned how to investigate stories and people the way journalists used to in the ’70s and ’80s, before the twenty-four-hour news cycle turned every story into a Twitter feed. She struggled with the need to condense the story like a marathon runner who was forced to compete in sprints. Her skills presented themselves only when a story needed a journalist who could take it the distance, methodically plodding through the self-serving lies to find the truth.

  She avoided the Don Valley Parkway for obvious reasons, taking side streets to monitor the following traffic. Before long she arrived at her building, 701 Don Mills Road. It had once been her older brother’s apartment. He lived there while he attended university and when she moved to town she joined him there. After a year as roommates, he moved out, leaving it for her.

  When the building owner starting flipping the units into condos Karen bought it for the investment, thinking that she’d build equity until the right guy came along, then she’d flip the cash into a house. Despite working as a cop in a ninety percent male-dominated profession, the only contender who meant anything to her was married.

  He’s not married now; now he’s a widower. She pushed the thought out of her mind. With the past we’ve had, we don’t stand a chance.

  She took the elevator up to the twelfth floor to number twenty-one, and put the key in the door. She pushed the door tentatively, forgetting that she still had to unlock the deadbolt, and was confused when the door moved so much. The chain at the top didn’t block the door from swinging open either. She had watched Falconer lock it as she left. Her heart raced. “Ann?”

  “Yes?” the voice was Ann’s, from a back room. Karen checked her watch. It was two p.m. Usually Falconer slept all day.

  “Why isn’t the chain on?” Karen eyed the apartment, looking for anything that might be out of place.