CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
The last night of Heather’s life had started out like all the other nights for the past month. She had pushed her desk in front of the door between her room and the office. Mom had yelled, “Heather Dawson-Edwards, this is a fire hazard, and it is too late in your pregnancy to be moving furniture.”
In her own room Cathy sat on the bed, legs crossed, watching her mother smack Heather’s door with the flat of her hand. This was how it went every night. Yelling. Bang on the door. More yelling. Then Mom would pick up the phone in the office and call Cousin Mitch. She’d complain about the prescription and ask if he couldn’t give Heather something newer, stronger, and Mitch would talk for a while, Mom saying, Yes, possibly, all right.
Only this time was different. Heather shouted back, Don’t bother calling anybody. I haven’t been taking your pills. I’m leaving with my baby as soon as she’s born and I’m never coming back.
You will not, Mom said. You aren’t responsible enough to be a mother. I’ll get custody. That is my baby.
You’ll never get her. I’ll jump first, Heather screamed. Mom just stood there with her hand on the door. I’m done, she said. I’ve had it. Your father can talk to you. Then she turned around and stalked downstairs.
Cathy thought, Uh oh. Uh oh, for she couldn’t find another word anywhere. She wanted to shut her door, put earbuds in her ears, and turn up her iPod as loud as it would go, but instead she crept into the office, staying near the door to the bathroom. There was something in there, something she could grab if need be.
Dad didn’t run upstairs. He walked slowly and deliberately, his footsteps softened by his leather slippers. When he got to Heather’s room, he put his shoulder to her door and pushed, the desk squeaking as it slid across the floor. Then he stood in the doorway to talk to Heather, ignoring his other daughter, knowing he didn’t have to worry about her. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
Get away. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll jump. That was what Heather said, but her voice was getting quieter, too.
You wouldn’t dare, he said, but not like he was mad. His voice was quiet and his voice was pleasant and the sound of it made Cathy’s skin crawl. I brought you into this world and you have no right to leave it without my permission, he said. Without me you would be a common tramp. You can’t even keep your legs together for two minutes outside this house. Look at your belly. It says everything. You like it, don’t you? You want it. You know I’m right.
Heather looked away as her breath came shallow and fast while he banged her with his voice. Your baby will like it just as much, he said. And I’ll take care of her, too. Now say good night.
Good night, she answered dutifully.
Good night, Cathy, he said.
Night, Dad. And she turned as if she was going to bed, but it was Ceecee turning, and as soon as she was certain that he wasn’t coming back up the stairs, she was in her sister’s room. When Heather looked up, her eyes were empty. Ceecee started talking fast, words tumbling out in a rush until her sister’s eyes came to life. She showed Heather where she’d hidden the gun in the box of sanitary pads in the bathroom. If you need it, she said.
Heather hugged her. She said, You’re the best.
Ceecee got the quilt from her bedroom. It dragged along the floor as she carried it through the office, getting caught on the cables until she freed the stupid ruffles, gathering the quilt into her arms. In Heather’s room, she folded it double, laying it on the floor next to the bed, and then went back for her pillow. Sitting on the pillow, hugging her knees, she teased Heather about her horribly pink nightgown and Heather teased her about her spotlessly white PJs. The floor was hard under the quilt and Ceecee was cold. It took a while for her to fall asleep, listening to the rain, imagining the apartment she would share with her sister and the baby. It would be small, all of them together in one bedroom, within arm’s reach. Nothing pink. Nothing frilled. They’d get dishes from Value Village. They’d eat no-name mac and cheese. Heather could paint a mural on the wall.
When she heard the shot, she thought she was dreaming. As she got to her feet, deafened by the sound, smelling smoke and thinking, Fire, she was sure she was still dreaming. Even when her mother came upstairs, knife ready, as if she’d known, as if she’d been prepared, Ceecee didn’t believe this could be real. Her mother pushed her out of the way and Ceecee lost her balance, tripping against the desk, banging her hip. But she saw Mom cut the nightgown and she saw Mom cut the skin and she saw Mom take her sister’s baby out of the hole she made.
“I want my sister,” she said. The clouds over the lake were breaking up, the sun making a silver path on the water. And on that path she could see her sister, hair in golden spikes, running along the surface of the lake. I’m sorry, Heather, she whispered. I love you.
She’d been gripping Alec’s hand so hard it was numb, but he didn’t move it. Not even when he felt his cell vibrate. The social worker was saying that it wasn’t Ceecee’s fault and that her sister’s memory lived on in her baby and all the things that ought to be said even though Ceecee couldn’t believe any of it yet. He thought he’d turned the cellphone off. Must have pressed the wrong button. With his free hand, he dug it out of his pocket, hoping there wasn’t some mess-up with the kids. He still had to drive Ceecee and Linny to the hospital, where they’d be examined, and then he’d have to boot Sharon out. There was a limit to the mom stuff he could do. Dealing with stirrups attached to an examination table was beyond it.
“Sorry, I need to check this e-mail,” he said, after he read the text from Eleanor.
His thumb moved, clicking on the attachment while Ceecee got up and walked to the window. Her hands were on the glass as if she could push through into another world. And perhaps she could, if she went back inside. But the baby was waking up with a yawn, eyes fluttering and opening, looking for her auntie, and her auntie was thinking that she’d draw pictures for Linny because a girl baby ought to know how Wonder Woman worked her lasso of truth. Handing the cell to Detective Ellison, Alec said, “My sister-in-law sent this. She saw these pictures in Dr. Dawson’s office.”
“I’ll be right back,” Ellison said. Then she left with the cellphone and walked next door to the observation room.
Behind the two-way mirror, she plugged the phone into a computer and uploaded the pictures while Detective Armstrong watched. “Stop there,” he said. He studied the picture of Debra’s godson. “Hell. I’ve been looking for that kid for a year.”
Debra unlocked her front door, throwing the keys and her bag on the marble table. “Cathy!” The house was so quiet. The baby must be asleep and Cathy listening to music. If she’d told her once, she’d told her a hundred times: you’ll damage your ears. She walked quickly up the stairs, not running, she never ran, but her footsteps seemed to echo as if the house was empty, though that was impossible. Cathy had been grounded for being careless with her school books. If she couldn’t be responsible when she went to her friends’ houses to study then she couldn’t go. Their mothers should not be coming to the house before breakfast on a school day with her math book. So Cathy should be pleased they were going to give her a break, pleased enough to get rid of those awful shorts and that tacky T-shirt. Debra had just picked up a new summer dress for her and she’d look sweet in it.
“Cathy, there’s a going-away party at Magee’s,” she called, walking into the office. All the doors were closed. The doors were never closed. That was a rule. But her daughter had been breaking rules lately.
She shook off the thought, and checked the baby’s room first, then Cathy’s. Her pulse raced. The bathroom came last. She slowly turned the handle, afraid she’d see a bloody wrist overhanging the edge of the shower stall. But it was empty, the medicine cabinet still locked, thank God. She climbed up to the third floor and her own bedroom—no one. She ran down the stairs, through the living room, the den, the kitchen. Her daughter could be getting a snack or warming up a bottle, mag
ically making no sound. But nobody was there, either, and the door to the basement was still locked. Her fingers touched the steel surface of the counter, range, fridge, as if she could conjure a note. In the hallway mirror her face looked like a stranger’s as she snatched up her bag, unsnapping the side compartment, taking out her cellphone.
As soon as he got the call, Rick made a brief thank-you speech on behalf of the whole family and left Magee’s. He was careful not to speed on the three-minute drive home. He didn’t want to get a ticket. It was at times like these, when you were sure that you couldn’t possibly be caught on such a short trip, that you were. He already had points for speeding on his way up to the cottage at three a.m. on a long weekend. Nobody was on the road and he was making time, absolutely safely, and he was stopped for it. Ridiculous.
But teenagers were mindless. They never realized how their actions affected others. Debra was wild with worry and all it would have taken was a phone call to let them know where she was going. Of course they wouldn’t have let her go, which was why she hadn’t called. Cathy was supposed to be home, babysitting, and there would have to be consequences for turning off her cellphone. He drove through the alley, stopped the car to open the gate, and parked in the garage. After straightening the garden rake, which had fallen sideways off its hook, he went inside the house. There was an order to things. First call her friends. She wasn’t her sister; she wouldn’t have run away. That was what he said to his wife. Then she asked, But who are her friends? I only know the Lewises. They were searching Cathy’s room for an address book when he heard the sirens: he assumed it was a house alarm triggered accidentally.
Cathy was on her way to the hospital for a medical exam while squad cars surrounded the house on Lumley Street. Neighbours looked curiously out of windows, stood on porches, younger children leaving TVs to gawk, older kids texting friends while they watched the street. Someone was recording a video to upload to the Internet. Was that Rick Edwards splayed against a cop car?
The sun was in the west, still high over Christie Pits, refusing to go down until this was over. It reflected off the roof of the car, dazzling Rick’s eyes and gilding his beard. He had a pipe in the pocket of his linen blazer. Who gets arrested with a pipe in his pocket? “What is this about?” he said. “Do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Edwards, I’ll have to ask you to keep your hands on the car, sir,” Detective Armstrong said. Excessive politeness helped Armstrong keep himself in check: a reminder to be correct in every respect, no matter the cost, for correctness now meant a conviction later. When his work was done, he could work off his tension in the exercise room at the station.
Detective Ellison asked Debra to put her hands behind her back.
“She’s putting handcuffs on my wife!” Rick said.
“It’s all right, Rick. We’ll straighten this out,” Debra said. Her lips were pale. She wore a light summer suit, a cream-coloured jacket and a matching cream-coloured skirt and she wished her skirt was longer. “I want to see your badge again. Is this some kind of joke?” she asked Ellison.
The street was blocked, the house in a freeze, officers stationed inside to make sure that nothing was touched or removed until the warrant was executed. “Ma’am, get in the car, please.” Thinking of the cold cell that awaited, Detective Ellison placed her, with the utmost care, in the back seat. After the shift was over, she would show Armstrong how to throw peanuts in the air and catch them in his mouth. They would drink to this one.
Now the sun gave its blessing and set, sinking into Christie Pits, while on the shore of the city, the lake turned from silver to pink to blue to the black of night and stars hung like jewels in the net of heaven.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
A couple of weeks later Sharon was in the dining room paying bills when her sister-in-law called. “Hi Eleanor,” she said, tapping on the keyboard with one hand as she held the phone with the other.
“How’s it going?”
“Busy. The fridge is empty again.” After the hospital exam, Frances Grafstein and a police officer had escorted Cathy to her house to pick up what she needed, and then the children had gone straight to the Lewises’. It had all happened with surprising ease, for it turned out the foster care system was stretched to the limit. A willing family near the child’s school and among her friends was a gift.
“Have you seen the Gleaner?” Eleanor asked.
“Not yet. Why?”
“You’re on the front page.”
“Me?” Sharon’s fingers stopped tapping.
“Hang on. I’ll read it to you.” The rustle of a newspaper being picked up, folded back.
“Wait,” Sharon said. “Let me get the paper myself. I’ll call you right back.”
She put the phone down and went out onto the front porch to fetch the Gleaner, reading as she walked back to the dining room.
LOCAL COUPLE CHARGED IN CHILD PORN BUST
A spokesperson from the Child Exploitation Unit reported that eight children are now safe from further abuse after a child pornography investigation that began with the arrests of Dr. Debra Dawson and Professor Richard Edwards, long-time residents of Seaton Grove.
Sharon already knew about the children: one of them was the little boy with the cowlick, Rick and Debra’s godson.
“Our intervention was such that the children will no longer be abused,” Det. Armstrong said. “I can’t state where the children are at present, other than to say that they are safe.”
Edwards, 46 years old, and Dawson, 43, are accused of sexual assault and making, possessing and distributing child porn. In an unusual move, the College of Physicians and Surgeons has sent letters to all the families of Dr. Dawson’s patients, asking anyone who has any information regarding this case, or any concerns regarding the appropriateness of their children’s medical care, to come forward.
Det. Armstrong said the investigation was launched June 9 after a tip from a local source claimed the accused and other people were exchanging pictures and video of children being sexually abused. That same day, police raided a home in Seaton Grove, seizing computers and other electronics. Based on the evidence recovered from these devices, charges were laid against Professor Edwards and Dr. Dawson on June 9. Computers were also removed from their cottage and offices. Yesterday 11 more people were arrested, and face a total of 34 charges. One suspect had 6 million child porn images stored on hard drives and portable media.
Ten of the suspects were men ranging in age from 16 to 63 years old, from all walks of life. Police stated that many of them were relatives or otherwise well known to victims. Some will also be prosecuted for drug and weapons offences. Forensic examination of the computers is continuing, and is expected to lead to further arrests and charges, both locally and internationally. Officers from the Child Exploitation Unit are communicating with their equivalents in other countries. “The children were apprehended within twenty-four hours. Their safety is our priority,” Det. Armstrong told reporters at the press conference.
While satisfied that yesterday’s arrests have removed some criminals from the global propagation of Internet child porn, police said it’s only a foretaste of the busts to come. “These people may think that because they’re hiding behind a computer screen, they can’t be prosecuted. They couldn’t be more wrong,” Det. Armstrong said. “We will find them and bring them to justice, not only through the force’s Internet expertise, but in the old-fashioned way, with the cooperation and assistance of concerned citizens who come forward with information.”
When she reached the dining room, Sharon put the paper down, picked up the phone and dialed Eleanor’s number. “Hi. Great report.”
“The local source. That’s you,” Eleanor said.
Sharon smiled. “You’re in it, too. The concerned citizen.” She would save the Gleaner for Cathy, who was collecting news items about the arrests.
“It took all of us,” Eleanor said.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
By the end of June, Debra Dawson and Rick Edwards were out on bail, awaiting trial. Her license had been suspended and he was forced to take a leave from the university, their real and their virtual movements circumscribed by a court order that required them to remain far from any children and off the Internet. Sometimes they saw people staring. Sometimes their friends called to offer support.
One block east, in the Lewises’ house on Ontario Street, the girls all shared a room, the crib set up next to the futon couch so that Cathy, who slept very little, could reach out and touch the bars. With two teenagers under the same roof, there needed to be some rules. Josh said he was done with dating, but Sharon wanted to make sure that Cathy was clear about that. “If you still have feelings for Josh, we can ask for another placement,” she said. The baby was napping, the other kids at day camp.
Cathy had had her hair cut short for summer, and it was bleaching even paler in the sun. She wore a tank top and second-hand overalls that she’d taken in with Sharon’s help, a black ribbon around her neck. Hanging from the ribbon were Green Day dog tags: the band’s name and a heart-shaped grenade. She was sitting on the futon couch, painting her toenails black. “I hate being a placement,” she said.
“I’d rather you were part of the family.”
“Me, too,” Cathy mumbled. Then added in a louder voice, “Whatever.”
“Good.” Sharon picked dirty clothes off the floor, throwing them in the hamper. When she was done in here, she’d have to change the newspaper in the kitchen, as she’d given in on the puppy, whom her father-in-law had named Beans to go with Franky. “The basement should be fixed up by the time school starts. It’s up to you whether you’d like to share your new room with Linny.”
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