by Joan Boswell
Ian directed the technician to rerun the sequence. The women in the room verbalized the silent “help” as the woman said it.
“Are you sure you don’t recognize either of them?” Rhona asked.
No one did.
“With that baseball cap, dark glasses, and the collar of his jacket turned up, he could be anyone,” Ginny said. “I bet he knew about the cameras and didn’t want anyone to see his face.”
“He can’t hide his height,” Fatima remarked. “Easy to figure out how tall he is if you project his image against the elevator wall and measure it. Either he’s exceptionally tall or the women is as short as I am.” She looked directly at Rhona. “Or the good detective.”
Rhona ignored the remark but it registered that Fatima had read her body language and sensed her sensitivity about her height. No doubt figuring out people was a finely honed skill that she used every day.
“I wish we’d invited Hollis to sit in on this,” Rhona said quietly to Ian.
“I’ll go and get her,” Ian volunteered.
The technician held the tape while Ian left the room. When he returned, Ian said, “She’s gone out. Her boyfriend’s watching the kids and said she’d be back very soon. I asked him to send her in when she returns.”
Why was the unknown woman begging for help? Did the man’s tight grip indicate love or hate?
SIXTEEN
Back in the apartment Hollis again thanked Agnes for taking care of the girls. Willem was due in half an hour. She just had time to change into grey cargo pants and a grey-striped fisherman’s shirt and refresh her makeup.
She’d given herself twenty-four hours to find Mary, and her mission to see Norman had failed. Should she ask Willem to babysit and make another attempt to visit Norman, who not only could answer her questions but also might make an informed guess about Mary’s disappearance? Much though she would have preferred to spend the entire evening with Willem, this was not the time to choose romance. She would ask him to do it. When she returned she’d try to make it up to him.
Willem arrived and enveloped her in what he called his “famous bear hug.” “You look great,” he said.
When they heard his voice, both girls emerged from Jay’s bedroom. Willem produced two more gigantic hugs accompanied by a bear imitation, complete with growling and gnashing teeth, that sent the girls into fits of giggles.
“I have a favour to ask,” Hollis said after he’d disengaged himself. “I have to leave for an hour or so and hoped you’d keep the girls company.”
Willem stopped horsing around, walked over to her, cupped his large hand under her chin, and lifted it. He stared unblinkingly into her eyes. “You’re involved. You’re going to do something dangerous.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
“No, I’m not. I’m meeting with a long-time Aboriginal friend of mine from the Brantford Six Nations Reserve who keeps up with what’s going on there and on other southern Ontario reserves.”
“Does he know Aunt Mary?” Crystal asked.
“He does, but he didn’t want to talk on the phone, so I’m going to see him,” Hollis said.
She removed Willem’s hand from her chin but held it tight as she gazed into his eyes. “Willem, I must know where Mary is and when she plans to come back, or I can’t keep Crystal. I don’t want Crystal to suffer through a bureaucratic nightmare, but she can’t stay with me unless I know exactly what’s happening.”
Willem tightened his grip on her hand. “I understand and,” he looked at Crystal, “I’m sure Crystal appreciates what you’re doing. But I’ve seen you involved before, and somehow bad things happen to you.” He drew her into his arms. “I won’t ask you where you’re going, but stay safe,” he said and kissed her.
“Yucky,” Jay said.
Hollis gathered her denim bag and headed for the door.
“You driving or taking the subway?”
“Subway, and I’ve got my BlackBerry,” Hollis reassured him. She’d wondered if it would be safer to drive, but she didn’t know where to park.
The walk along Delisle and down Yonge Street to the subway was uneventful. She got off at Dundas with the crowd heading into the Eaton Centre, lollygagged through Sears, detoured into the food court, slid out of the building, and back into the subway, where she leaped on a southbound train. Again she pushed through Union Station and took the light rail to Queen’s Quay. Most of those who entered the waiting space after she did appeared to be legitimate businessmen and women returning home, but she wasn’t taking chances. Instead of making her way directly to Harbour Square, she strolled to the main shopping concourse, drifted through it, and then sauntered to the apartment building.
“I’m here to see Norman Smith,” she said, offering her driver’s license. The security man on the desk took a careful look at her and the document before he buzzed Norman and allowed her through the doors to the elevators.
Norman stood in the hall waiting for her. They hugged and said all the usual things about it being too long and how good it was to see each other before he drew her into his apartment.
He lived on the north side of the building, which faced the city skyline and didn’t have the endless views of Lake Ontario that filled the south-facing windows. He’d converted what must have been the living room/dining room into a large studio. Three easels with paintings in various stages, along with two long tables loaded with paints and other supplies, filled the space. He’d removed the wall between the kitchen and the living room and installed a large industrial sink. Hollis took all this in.
“Norman, why didn’t you buy a loft? You’d have higher ceilings.”
Norman, who watched her survey the room, nodded. “True, but lofts don’t usually have good security, and their fire escapes can make them too accessible.”
“What are you hiding from?” Hollis said. They still stood in the middle of the studio.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” He ignored her question and continued. “I live in what was the master bedroom. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and we’ll sit down before we get into the serious stuff. Red or white?”
“White. Sorry, it’s none of my business and I was too abrupt, but I’m under the gun as far as time goes. I have to learn everything I can about Mary Montour and where she is.”
As Norman moved to the kitchen, Hollis noticed that his gait was uneven, as if he wasn’t sure of his footing. When he turned from the fridge carrying a bottle, she observed his grey hair and stooped shoulders. Norman seemed like an old man, but she knew he was forty, far too young to look like that. Was he ill? Had he suffered a serious accident? What had done this to him?
“If you’re hungry, I can dig out crackers and humus to go with the wine,” Norman said.
“I’ve eaten dinner, but if you’re hungry go ahead,”
“I’m never hungry,” Norman said, leading the way to the bedless master bedroom where a slip-covered sofa, book-laden coffee table, wall-mounted TV, and a small pine table with two chairs worked with a wall of bookcases, a brilliant Oriental rug, pillows, and throws to create a cocooning nest.
Probably a mixed metaphor, as cocoons didn’t have nests, but the lovely warm room enveloped her and made her feel cozy.
Hollis sank into the sofa and Norman chose an ottoman.
After she sipped Hollis, swallowed and said, “Lovely wine. Now tell me why you’re hiding and who you’re hiding from.”
“You don’t want to know,” Norman said. “It sounds melodramatic, but it’s true that keeping myself hidden is a matter of life and death, so I don’t mess around. If I wasn’t an artist with a reputation, I would have changed my name, but I couldn’t do that. Instead, I’m a prisoner in my own home.” He picked at a spot of yellow paint on his fingernail. “Bet that wasn’t what you were expecting.”
“No, but I knew when those men followed me that it must be serious.” She put down the wine glass and reached across the table to clasp his hands. “Keep safe. If you want company I’ll o
pt for the most circuitous route, maybe drive to Buffalo and back, to make sure I don’t lead anyone to you.”
Norman squeezed her hands. “Thanks. I may take you up on that. Back to the reason for your visit. You want to know about Mary, don’t you?”
“I do. She lives in my building, and yesterday she disappeared, leaving behind her eleven-year-old niece, Crystal, who is my foster daughter’s friend. I’ve taken Crystal in because Mary left a cryptic message asking me to care for her until she returned.”
Norman nodded. “That sounds straightforward.”
“It isn’t. There also has been a murder in our building. I’m harbouring a child whose aunt disappeared and for all I know may be involved. If I keep her without telling the authorities, I risk losing Jay Brownelly, my eleven-year-old foster daughter, and that’s not an option. Now you know why I have to find Mary or know what she’s up to.”
“Did you say Jay Brownelly?” Norman asked. His brows drew together and he narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, do you know her?”
“I’m not sure. What’s her father’s name?”
Not her parents’ or her mother’s but her father’s. What did he know?
“Calum Brownelly.”
“Describe him.” Norman’s frown had deepened.
“I can’t imagine why you want to know, but medium height, thick-set, big hands, very curly hair.”
“Raspy voice?”
“Yes. Why.”
“Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable.” Norman shook his head. “He doesn’t know you know me, does he?”
Hollis felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. “No. I met him and we talked about Jay and my fitness to foster her. I can’t understand why he isn’t looking after her himself, although his work takes him away for long periods. It’s not as if she’s a baby. He could find after school programs, sitters, a housekeeper.”
Norman continued to frown.
“Actually, he asked to meet Jay tomorrow evening in the food court of the Eaton Centre. I’ve insisted that Crystal and I be there too. By the terms of the CAS agreement, he’s supposed to see her at their offices.”
“Did the men who followed you discover where you lived?” Norman said, leaning forward with wide eyes.
The urgency in his voice alarmed Hollis. “No. I lost them in Sears. I confronted them and said I was buying a bra and asked if they wanted to come.”
A grin spread across Norman’s face. For a moment his youthful exuberance peeked out from behind the grey facade he now presented to the world. “Very funny. But this is serious.” He thought for a moment. “You sent me an email. They have hacked into my computer. Do you have a webpage, a Facebook profile?”
Hollis nodded. “Both, and I sometimes tweet.”
“They can find you. Even if they knew you were coming to see me, I didn’t think you were in danger, but fostering Calum Brownelly’s daughter is something else again. Do not take her to the Eaton Centre. Phone Brownelly and give him any excuse, but do not go.”
A wave of panic swept through Hollis. What had she done? Too late to undo her past actions. Time to figure out a new course.
“I hear your warning but not the reason behind it. I promised him and I promised Jay. Her heart will break if we don’t go.”
Norman lurched to his feet, bent over Hollis, and grabbed her shoulders. “She could be dead if you do go. And you may also be a target. Don’t do it. Look at me.”
Hollis pushed his hands away but met his gaze. “This sounds like a police matter.”
“It isn’t, at least I don’t think so. It’s more like going into the woods in hunting season. You take the chance of being mistaken for a deer.” He frowned. “Yes, it’s more like that. Nothing much the police can do except warn you to be careful. Don’t go out alone if you can help it. Do the girls walk to school by themselves?
“No. The dogs and I accompany them, and then I take the dogs to the reservoir to run.”
Norman appeared to visualize the site. “Big dogs?”
“Retrievers.”
“Too bad. Anybody who knows anything about dogs knows retrievers of all varieties never cut it as watch-dogs. Luckily the world’s villains don’t know much about dogs. They usually only take an interest in large, aggressive ones like pit bulls, Rottweilers, Dobermans, or some other breed that complements a thug’s image. Do you park in a secure garage?”
My god, what was this all about? “Yes, monitored by state-of-the-art video cameras.”
Norman nodded. “Drive the girls to school and drive to the reservoir. Drive wherever you go. Zoom into a parking garage, get a ticket, and drive out again if you think someone is following you.” He stopped. “What else? Make vigilance your watchword.”
He scared Hollis. “Tell me what this is about. I came here to talk to you about Mary, not about Jay or her father.”
“I know how to contact Mary, and I’ll do it. Sometimes she involves herself in dangerous stuff. I’ll find out exactly what’s happening and get back to you. I’ll send you text messages, They’re harder to intercept than emails. BlackBerry security beats all the competition.” He collapsed on the sofa beside Hollis and covered his face with his hands, mumbling. “Never, it’s never going to end.”
“What, what are you mixed up in?” Hollis almost screamed.
Norman shook his head. “Go home. Don’t go to the Eaton Centre,” he whispered.
His agitation and insistence that Hollis take great care frightened her more than she cared to admit, as did his comments that her safety was up to her, that there was nothing the police could do. Creeping out of Norman’s building, she scanned the driveway and the nearby promenade along Lake Ontario. No one struck her as suspicious. She’d forgotten to ask Norman if the men to fear all looked like Tweedles Dee and Dum. Unlikely, but she should have pinned him down to describe the kind of men to watch out for. Although she’d not done that, she remained hyper-aware of her surroundings. She’d always thought tailing a victim into the subway during rush hour and giving the person a good push as the train roared into the station would be the best way to kill someone. In the confusion and horror, the killer could fade away or brazen it out and claim not to have done it. She thought of this scenario each time she stood on the platform and imagined others considered it too. From now on she planned to glue herself to the wall or maybe, given Norman’s advice, avoid the subway altogether.
She shook her head as if listening to an internal conversation. Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, Norman’s text about Mary would arrive and, depending on what he told her, she might be able to turn the whole puzzling problem over to the police.
Meanwhile she loitered outside the entrance to the underground streetcar until a group of chattering teenagers flooded down the steps. Sticking close to them, she descended and hopped on the train. In Union Station, she shot to the platform that served north and south lines and pressed herself against a pillar as far from the tracks as possible. Again, she surveyed the crowd but no one appeared either threatening or interested in her. When she disembarked at St. Clair Avenue, she emerged on Yonge Street and walked north with a stop to look in the Roots window, then another to read the menu outside the Thai restaurant, before she crossed at the light and made her way south. She wished Gowans, the high-end home products store on the corner, was open because she loved walking through it and it would provide one more chance to assure herself no one was interested in her. Since it was closed, she employed no more diversionary tactics and trotted up Delisle. All this subterfuge had taken time, but it reassured her knowing she wasn’t leading home the men Norman feared, men connected to Brownelly.
Brownelly. From the start he’d made her uneasy. For the CAS to remove Jay from his care meant something had been very wrong. What reason had he given Jay? Probably the “I did it for your own good” line. Given Norman’s fear, Brownelly had told the truth. But what was he doing now that made it impossible to reclaim his daughte
r?
She ran through various possibilities but none convinced her.
At home she let herself in, shouted hello, and endured Barlow and MacTee’s enthusiastic welcome before she entered the living room where Willem, Crystal, and Jay played Uno.
The three card players raised their heads and smiled.
“How’d it go? The detectives want you to check in with them right away,” Willem said.
Oh, no. Had they found out about Mary and Crystal? Hollis remembered Rhona’s past anger when she withheld information, innocuous or not.
“They’re waiting in the party room,” Willem added.
No time to tell Willem about Norman. She turned and reluctantly walked to the party room, wondering if prisoners marching to an interrogation felt like this.
“There you are,” Rhona said.
Hollis resisted the urge to say that they were mistaken. This was no time to be a smartass.
“The women from the fifth floor viewed images on the security cameras, and we want you to do the same and identify everyone you recognize.”
Not Mary and Crystal. Hollis breathed again.
She grabbed a bottle of water and, amazed that the women hadn’t gobbled up every doughnut, gave in to her passion for the coconut-covered chocolate ones.
“The women said ‘bingo’ to stop us when they recognized someone. Please do that,” Ian said.
Bingo? You’d think it was a game.
She identified those she knew. In one sequence she watched a man in a baseball cap and oversized dark glasses and a woman he was holding close move into the elevator.
“Hold it,” Ian said to the technician. “What about this man and woman? Do you recognize either one of them?”
“Run it by again,” Hollis said.
The technician froze the frame in which the woman looked at the camera and appeared to mouth a word.
“Hard to know if I’ve ever seen the man, but the woman looks familiar. Not a renter but she may be a visitor I’ve seen. Is she shouting something?”
