She set her cup down and jumped to her feet, startling Kaylee, who raced up the grass with a stick. Ever the optimist, Amanda thought as she threw it.
“That’s something we can do,” she said. “We can look harder for that boat.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After losing his way in the crescents and twisting streets of Rosedale and stopping to puzzle over his phone GPS several times, Matthew finally stumbled upon the right street. He cruised down it, peering at the brick and stone mansions set discreetly behind leafy trees. The street numbers were often hidden on door transoms, carriage lanterns, or ornate porch pillars. The implicit message seemed to be, if you don’t know where you’re going, you have no business being here.
Number 16 was a gabled red-brick fortress with a two-car garage at the rear and a low brick wall across the front that encased an immaculately trimmed garden. Even the peonies were well behaved. Daddy’s little wedding gift. The place looked deserted; the window blinds and curtains were closed tight, and if there were cars, they were parked inside the garage.
The neighbours’ houses looked equally unwelcoming. Nearby, a group of professional gardeners was trimming and mulching and fertilizing the budding greenery. They shouted back and forth in a babble of languages, but Matthew doubted he’d have any luck with them even if they spoke English. He parked his car down the block and strolled up the street. Two houses down from Number 16, his luck changed. Behind the Audi in the drive, he spotted a woman kneeling in the rose garden below her bay window. Blonde hair peeked out from her wide-brimmed straw hat, and her oversized rhinestone sunglasses didn’t look as if they came from the dollar store. An old, baggy man’s shirt covered most of her clothing, but her sandals looked designer issue as well. Her skin was porcelain pale. A cup of coffee sat on the stone step beside her.
He strode up the driveway. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Matthew Goderich with Associated Press.” That had once been true, and he still had an ID to prove it. He gestured in the direction of the Humphries house. “I’m putting together a background piece on Benson Humphries, and I’m trying to verify some information I was given. I hope you can help me.”
The woman stood up slowly, wincing as she straightened her knees. Matthew sympathized. He could see now that she wasn’t as young as she was aiming for. Grey hair blended with the blonde, and there were deep lines around her lips, which were painted rather imperfectly in bright rose.
She held herself ramrod straight, but a faint scent of alcohol wafted from her. At ten in the morning, what luck! From behind her sunglasses, she appeared to be sizing him up. For the occasion, he had dressed in a tan sports jacket and grey slacks, and he had polished up his black Italian shoes. All knock-offs from the Vietnam street markets, of course, but they did the trick.
“Have you some identification?” she asked in careful private school diction.
He produced his AP card, but before she could examine it too closely, he launched into his spiel. “I understand Dr. Humphries was a respected physician but had personal struggles.”
“I have no intention of contributing to baseless gossip.”
Matthew nodded his understanding. “Nor do I. That’s why I want it verified. I want to ensure the piece is fair and sympathetic. Some of the tabloids are preparing to publish some unsavoury things about him.”
She kept her lips pursed shut, but he sensed her wavering. Curiosity drew her forward.
“I’m told in his personal life he had a dark side.”
A frown deepened the furrows between her brows. “Who told you that?”
He smiled. “I keep all my sources confidential, I promise you. Is it true he had a violent temper?”
“That’s nonsense. Benson was the nicest man you’d ever meet.”
“I’m told he was only after his wife’s money, and there were violent fights in the house.”
“Whoever told you all this is just trying to stir up trouble. Maybe the stepdaughter. I wouldn’t put it past her.” She studied him shrewdly.
He filed that tidbit away but pretended to be uninterested. “I’ve also been told Janine is …” He searched for a neutral-sounding word. “Quite outgoing and loves to host parties.”
The woman snorted. The movement unbalanced her, and she reached for the wall to steady herself. “Outgoing is an understatement. Wild is more like it. Always has been.”
“Oh, you’ve known her a long time? Before they moved here?”
“Since she was a little girl. Daddy’s little girl. Goodness, he spoiled her. He had her installed on boards and foundations, even though she hardly ever came to meetings. If there was a photo opportunity, she’d be front and centre, but don’t expect her to do any work.”
“Yet Dr. Humphries must have seen something in her.”
“She’s a beautiful woman, I’ll grant you that, and she could be charming. In the beginning, that charm could be infectious. However, I think recently …” She chewed her lip as if debating how far to speculate, then shook her head.
He nudged. “The charm was wearing off?”
She wavered. “I think he’d begun to realize he’d made a mistake. But he adored his children. Poor man.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just, it’s a bit of a trap, isn’t it?”
A car drove by, and her gaze flicked uneasily to it. Sensing her discomfort, he changed the subject. “The nanny has apparently disappeared. Did you know her?”
Her lips tightened. “Yes, she’s been with them a couple of years. Before that they went through nannies like a revolving door. I’ve heard the rumours, but I can’t imagine Danielle had anything to do with Benson’s death. He was all that stood between her and Janine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Janine wanted a maid, a cook, a housekeeper, and, God knows, probably a personal dresser, too. I’d hear the poor girl up at all hours of the night with the baby and then at six thirty getting the twins breakfast. Janine was raising those twins to be as spoiled as her. They’d order Danielle around, scream at her if their egg was too runny.” The woman waved her arms in exasperation. “I think that’s one of the reasons Ben was starting to worry.”
“Was he thinking of leaving Janine?”
“Oh no, he —” She shook her head and wobbled again. “I didn’t mean to give that impression. I’ve probably said too much. I’ve been so upset, you see. The poor man. Never mind. I should —” She shook her head again, picked up her coffee, which Matthew suspected was laced with Bailey’s, and headed for the door without so much as a nod goodbye.
Despite her abrupt departure, it had been a good haul. Matthew tucked his folder under his arm and continued down the street in search of other neighbours. The file folder was mostly a prop to support his cover story as a reporter. He didn’t expect to find anyone else so willing to talk, although Janine had clearly not inspired loyalty in the community, but after wandering aimlessly down a few blocks, he spotted a children’s playground tucked beneath majestic, leafy trees. Preschoolers were chasing each other about, clambering on structures and pushing trucks in the sand under the watchful eye of adults. He knew as a man alone he’d be viewed with suspicion in a playground, but he hoped to find some of Janine’s friends. If indeed she had any.
Several of the adults appeared to be nannies, however, and one threesome was gathered on a bench under the trees, laughing and looking at their phones. His hopes rose, for they were chattering away in Tagalog. He cooked up another impromptu cover story as he approached.
“Do any of you know Danielle Torres?” he asked. “I called at the house but there’s no answer.”
Blank stares.
“I’m her lawyer, and we were to get some immigration papers signed today.”
More stares, now laced with suspicion.
“Sponsorship papers for her husband and her son.”
“She’s not here,” one of the women said.
“Where is she?”
“She
have your number, she will call you.”
“But she doesn’t know these papers need to be signed today.” He brandished his folder for good measure and hoped that none of the women knew the glacial pace of sponsorship applications. There was no such thing as a day’s turnaround. More like two years. “Can you get in touch with her for me?”
“I don’t know where she is.”
Another woman fired off some words in rapid Tagalog, and they both eyed Matthew with even greater suspicion. “My friend says there are no papers. You lie.”
He sighed and settled down at the end of the bench. The trio edged away. “Look, I’m not here to cause her trouble. I know there are people who pretend to be lawyers or immigration consultants. They take your money and they cheat you. I think Danielle’s husband hired one of those in Manila. I don’t know how much money he spent, but I do know the papers are no good. That’s why I’m here. To try to get her the right papers. She came to see me in Pointe au Baril.”
It was a nice touch. There was another flurry of Tagalog as the women argued, presumably over whether to trust him or not. Finally the first woman, who was older and the unofficial leader, said, “Danielle don’t need your help now. Her husband and son, they are already here.”
“Oh? Where?”
The second woman interrupted and wagged her finger at him. “No, no, no. They are all fine, sir. You take your papers away. I don’t think Danielle ask you.”
“She’s going away,” the first woman said. They argued again and seemed to settle on a story. The older woman waved her hands in a shooing motion. “They all go home. Canada is not good for them.”
And with that, they collected up their jackets and strollers and headed across the park toward their charges.
As he made his way back to his car, Matthew pondered his next move. He wasn’t convinced Danielle and her family had actually left the country, for it seemed a convenient lie to get him and the authorities off her tail, but the women had let slip a useful tidbit that was probably true. The husband and son were already in Canada. Whatever visa he had bought, it had worked well enough to get him into the country. The husband’s next step would be to reunite with Danielle. Where? In Toronto, where they could easily slip underground? Or up in the Georgian Bay area?
Even he as an experienced investigator was no match for the thousands of escape routes they could have taken in Toronto. However, if the husband had travelled to Georgian Bay to connect with Danielle, the trail would be much easier to pick up. As a stranger in Canada, with limited English and even more limited funds, he would probably take the train or bus. That narrowed down the search considerably!
Back at his favourite coffee shop near his apartment, he ordered an espresso with a pain au chocolat and booted up his laptop. A quick internet search narrowed down his options even more. Only three trains a week passed through Parry Sound, all of them in the dead of night. By contrast, three buses a day went from Toronto to Parry Sound.
He could start at this end by asking questions at the impossibly busy Toronto bus terminal on Bay Street, but the chances of the husband and son being noticed and remembered were far better at the much smaller station in Parry Sound. He pulled out his phone.
“George was already by yesterday asking the same questions,” the marina owner said. Chris and Amanda had been visiting marinas and boat rental places all morning, working their way along the coast, and they were down near the bottom of their list. This one was a tiny, ramshackle operation that offered boats for rent or sale as well as fishing equipment, permits, and guiding services. It was tucked into a narrow inlet south of Parry Sound, and its fleet appeared to be two sorry-looking aluminum runabouts turned upside down on the reedy beach.
“I’ll tell you the same,” the owner said. Greasy strands of white hair draped his shoulders, and a droopy lip gave him a permanently hangdog look. If he could afford to retire, Amanda suspected he would have ten years ago. “I ain’t rented a boat yet this season, not to Ronny or nobody else. But I’m helping George spread the word. George got a lot of respect in these parts, and if he’s worried, we all are.”
“Has he heard from the police?” Chris asked, waving away the bugs. There was barely a breath of breeze in the marshy inlet, and the mosquitoes and blackflies were ferocious. Amanda was already yearning for the truck.
“Dunno. The police are not Ronny’s friends in this. They think Ronny got himself involved in that murder, and he’s taken off. Along with the nanny.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
He shrugged. “Ronny’s a good kid. Big heart. Gets that from his dad. But when it comes to pretty women …”
After thanking him, Chris and Amanda climbed back into the truck. Despite their best efforts, a dozen insects followed them inside.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Amanda said as Chris navigated the truck over the potholes. “I think Ronny has been set up to be the fall guy. Everyone says he’s got a big heart but a weak spot for women.”
“He’s a big boy, Amanda. Don’t underestimate him.”
“I’m not! He’s been a jerk. But he’s naive. Living up here, what does he know about the illegal underground world? Once Danielle connects with her husband and son and she doesn’t need him any more, she’ll cut him loose. She’ll disappear and he’ll be the one left facing all the questions.”
He glanced at her. “I thought you believed she was innocent, too?”
Amanda sifted through her feelings. “But she was up to something. We know that from the phone call that Kaitlyn overheard a few days earlier.”
“And the documents she stole from the murder scene.”
Amanda focussed in on a mosquito to deliver a carefully aimed swat. In that instant, her phone rang and the mosquito flitted away.
“Amanda!” Matthew sounded excited. “Any word up there?”
“No. We’ve been looking for the boat Ronny and Danielle must have used to get off Franklin Island.”
“There’s been a new development. I’ve been snooping around Rosedale, where apparently Benson was next to sainthood but Janine is more like Marie Antoinette. As in ‘let them eat cake.’”
Amanda laughed. “That’s more or less the same verdict up here.”
“She treated the nanny like her own personal servant —”
“Slave?”
“Close. Anyway, Danielle’s nanny friends are a protective bunch who close ranks against outsiders, even a nice, helpful guy like me, but they did let slip that the husband and son are already in Canada.”
“Oh, dear.”
“That’s not official confirmation, but I’m thinking one step ahead. If they’re going to reunite with Danielle, it’s going to be by bus. Either they take the bus up to Parry Sound or she takes the bus from Parry Sound to Toronto.”
Amanda was tempted to interject. There were numerous other, equally plausible choices besides those two. If Ronny and Danielle had a boat, they could head straight down the bay toward larger towns such as Collingwood or Midland at the south end. In fact, by heading west into Lake Huron, they could get all the way to the United States.
But she sensed Matthew had a proposal to make, and since they couldn’t cover every possibility between here and Michigan, they might as well start somewhere.
“The police hunt is on for her up here,” she said. “It would make way more sense for them to disappear in the big city.”
“But it would be much easier for us to find them in Parry Sound. I’m on my way to the Bay Street bus station now, but you know it will be a zoo. Dozens of buses and potentially hundreds of passengers.”
Amanda took aim at the mosquito again. “I’m pretty sure the cops have already canvassed up in Parry Sound.”
“For her and Ronny, yeah. But not for the husband and son. I’m sending you their photos. If you ask up there and I ask down here, maybe we’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.”
She chuckled. He sounded like the old Matthew she had known years a
go. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to help you out, Amanda.” He sounded hurt.
“And it’s a good story.”
“It’s an important story. Abuse of temporary foreign workers, the impossible roadblocks they face trying to get permanent residence, the desperate decision to go illegal. Oh, and in this case, the terrified escape from Duterte’s killing squads.”
She sobered. He was right. She had been so focussed on the minutiae of the case — on Danielle’s phone call, her deception of Ronny, and her role in her employer’s death — that she’d forgotten the bigger picture. That desperate people were forced to make desperate choices.
And that much of the world was desperate.
When Matthew sent the photos, she sat for a moment studying their faces on her phone’s small screen. The husband’s photo was his passport headshot. Despite his sombre expression, Amanda could see a sparkle in his dark, slanted eyes and a wide, generous set to his mouth. He had a sweep of thick black hair that added a rakish air. An attractive man, she thought. He was listed as five feet, six inches and one hundred and forty pounds; a small, delicate man like his wife.
The little boy grinned out at her from his photo, his black eyes twinkling like his father’s and two mischievous dimples framing his smile. Black hair curled around his ears. He looked like a child well loved, yet he was growing up without his mother while she worked to make a decent living for them thousands of kilometres away.
Amanda smiled. The hunt had become personal again. These two were about to be swallowed up by the underground of illegals, fugitives through no real fault of their own. Always on guard, denied access to the services and benefits Canadians took for granted, and forced into the lowest paid, poorly regulated, under-the-table jobs.
“Turn around, Watson,” she said. “We have a new assignment.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Prisoners of Hope Page 12
