Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  After two days, Kaitlyn reached her own decision. She would tell the police that she had informed her mother about the little house a week before her husband’s death. She would tell them her mother had much more sophisticated drug sources than either Julio or Danielle because she was a party user of custom drug cocktails that mixed MDMA and cocaine to achieve the perfect edge. Kaitlyn would also tell them that although Danielle had served the Scotch, the cook claimed Janine was in the kitchen when it was prepared and had ordered Danielle to serve it.

  It wasn’t much, especially stacked up against Janine’s social standing and her powerful lawyers, but it might be enough to broaden the police investigation. If the cook corroborated Kaitlyn’s story, it created a plausible alternative to Danielle’s guilt.

  Venetia had already had a private phone chat with Edith, who fiercely denied Kaitlyn’s version of events. “That girl just wants to get back at her mother,” she’d insisted, but Venetia could hear the fear in her voice. Edith didn’t want to go up against the power of the Saint Clairs either. She’d dedicated her whole life to their service and would have nothing if that were taken away.

  “I suspect Janine has already laid that on the line,” Venetia said to Amanda later than night. “She may even have sweetened the deal with a subtle bribe. I know Edith had her heart set on the little retirement cabin that Janine’s father had promised and Janine had scuttled. If Janine put that back on the table …”

  They were sitting in the small hotel living room, unwinding at the end of the second day. Kaitlyn had finally fallen asleep, and the two women were sharing a bottle of Merlot. The wine wrapped Amanda in a warm glow, and she felt as if she’d known this generous woman for years.

  “We’ll just have to find a way to appeal to Edith’s conscience,” she replied. “I think she liked Danielle and sympathized with her plight.”

  “She also despises Janine. Janine has made a lot of people angry over the years.”

  “Then maybe her famous social standing won’t protect her as much as you think,” Amanda said. “Once people start speaking up, others will join in. Edith seems like a woman with strong ideas about what’s right and wrong. Once the police start pushing her to do the right thing …”

  In the cold, stark light of the next day, parked outside the towering pink cubes of Toronto Police headquarters, Amanda’s confidence wavered. Set amid soaring glass skyscrapers in the city’s downtown core, the building screamed of power and privilege, of secret deals and old boys’ understandings. This was Janine’s world, not that of a drug-using teenager or a family cook. Certainly not of a foreign nanny on the run. But Venetia, with traces of Saint Clair blood pulsing through her veins, circled the car and took the girl’s hand.

  “This is going to be sweet payback,” she said with a smile as she strode toward the glass doors.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Kaylee spotted him before Amanda did. She snatched up her ball and raced gleefully up the hill toward the path. Through the trees and dappled sunshine, a figure strode into view, his long limbs all akimbo and a Montreal Canadiens ball cap perched crooked on his head. A potential lynching offence here in Toronto Maple Leafs territory, but Chris had joined the legions of Canadiens fans who cheered from the bars of Newfoundland.

  Kaylee bounced in circles around him. He tossed the ball and raised his hand to wave at Amanda. Instantly the sun shone more brightly and heat welled within her. He’d been in Parry Sound less than a week, but it felt like a year. She left the blanket and picnic lunch to run into his arms.

  “How did it go?” she asked when they came up for air.

  “Lots has happened, for sure! Is that ours?” He pointed to the picnic cooler on the blanket. When she nodded, he grabbed her hand and headed down toward it. “I’m starving! Standish just called me on my way back — we’re on our way to becoming best buds — and he says the Toronto cops are closing in. They’ve been rounding up drug dealers across the city to try to get to their sources. This opioid crisis has everybody spooked, especially the politicians, so the word from on high is throw as much money at it as you need and clean it up. ASAP. So deals are being offered, and a few of the lower-level guys are starting to sing.”

  He broke off to fold himself down onto the blanket. He peered into the cooler, grinned, and reached for a beer in a brown paper bag. “You’re so bad for me, woman.”

  “I try. But I don’t think any of your comrades are fooled for one minute.”

  He laughed. They were in Toronto’s High Park, an oasis of woodlands, trails, and meadows in the heart of the city’s west end. Like all city parks, alcohol was banned except under specific circumstances, so coffee cups and paper bags were popular. Chris paused to take a deep, appreciative sip of the craft beer Amanda had brought.

  Amanda swatted him impatiently. “And?”

  “One of the canaries had Janine Saint Clair on his client list.”

  Triumph mixed with the disgust that shot through her. No matter how much she learned about Janine, each new level of depravity came as a fresh shock. “The noose is tightening.”

  “Let’s hope so. So far they don’t have nearly enough to sew up a murder charge. They’re going to have another go at the cook now that they have this new information, but meanwhile Fernando and Danielle are still in the frame.”

  “And has Fernando had his show cause hearing?”

  “This afternoon. It was postponed and postponed, so I finally had to leave. The wheels sure grind slow up there in the country. Matthew and his pal Pomeroy hired this whiz of a Toronto criminal defence lawyer. I don’t know the guy, but Pomeroy says he eats cops and Crowns for breakfast. But he has his work cut out for him getting Fernando out on bail. For now, the charge is second-degree murder in the death of Ronny Gifford, but the shark lawyer is trying to get that downgraded. It’s a serious charge, so even with a fancy defence lawyer, bail is unlikely.”

  A little joy seeped out of the afternoon as Amanda contemplated the poor man languishing in a jail cell far from home, alone, unfamiliar with the language and customs, and rightfully frightened of the police. To make matters worse, Danielle had not been seen or heard from since her little house burned down. Julio too had dropped out of sight, no doubt into the secretive, protective underworld of the undocumented. Without Danielle’s testimony, there would be nothing to corroborate Fernando’s claim that Ronny’s injury had been accidental and he’d believed the young man to be dead when they buried him.

  “What about George? No charges there?”

  He took a bite out of his curried-chicken wrap before shaking his head. “I visited George again before I left this morning. He’s on the mend, and he told Standish he came on like a raging bull when he found Fernando and Danielle on the island, and they freaked out. Danielle was carrying the shotgun, but it was way too heavy for her and it just went off. That’s more or less what Fernando told me. George doesn’t want to press charges. He even took some comfort from the care they showed burying Ronny. The cross and the prayers.” He paused for another bite and Amanda picked up her own wrap. “He’s set his sights in a new direction anyway. He’s going for custody of Kaitlyn.”

  Amanda stopped with the wrap halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened. “That’s a stretch.”

  “Not if her mother goes to jail. And if DNA testing shows he’s the grandfather. Effectively next of kin.”

  “But still, he’s a stranger.”

  “He plans to change that.”

  Amanda frowned. “Kaitlyn is a fragile girl. She needs familiarity and love. Her Aunt Venetia will be taking her in.”

  He gave a mischievous, Cheshire Cat grin. “Yeah. And just as I was leaving this morning, Venetia popped in to see him. She was smiling ear to ear, and I can’t say he was unhappy to see her. I think something will work out.”

  Amanda pictured practical, back-to-the-earth Venetia and the grizzled outfitter together. Both were used to running their own lives, simple, unadorned, and rooted in their own interests
. But maybe both had room in their hearts for another like-minded soul.

  “Wouldn’t that be cool,” she said. “And Kaitlyn would be out of that toxic, drug-infested environment in Toronto. Fresh air, open water, the slower pace of country life.” She wondered how the restless, urban girl would adjust, and hoped she wouldn’t get bored. Maybe a stint as a junior counsellor on the Fun for Families kayaking trip this summer was in order. Kaitlyn would learn a lot from those struggling mothers and kids and even more from Frankie.

  She tilted her head to look at him, drinking in the charm of his crinkly blue eyes and ski-jump nose. “Have you run out of excuses for staying here?”

  He nodded. “The shark lawyer wanted me to stick around for the show cause hearing. Fernando doesn’t have any character references — Larry and I are it — but Sergeant Knotts is finally out of patience. I tried to persuade him the OPP still needed my input, but he is not buying it. He booked me on the night shift tomorrow.”

  Her mood plummeted. “So this is our last day?”

  He shook his head. “I booked the airport Comfort Inn for one last night. If I fly out tomorrow morning …”

  “King-sized bed?”

  “Two queens. One for us and one for the princess here.”

  “Ever the optimist, that’s you.”

  In fact, Kaylee left them alone until eight thirty the next morning, when she crawled up between them, inching forward as if unsure of her welcome. Amanda opened her eyes languidly and reached over to stroke her head. The bed vibrated with the wagging of her tail.

  Chris brushed Amanda’s tumbled hair from her eyes and kissed her nose. “You stay in bed. I’ll take her out and make us coffee.”

  How did this angel fall into my life? she wondered, barely aware of him moving around. Some minutes later, he woke her again with a fragrant cup of coffee by her bedside.

  “Newfoundland is so far away,” she murmured.

  He slid in beside her, balancing his cup. “But beautiful in late August, don’t forget.”

  A shadow passed over her heart. Newfoundland, despite its charms, still held frightening memories. She sipped her coffee to centre herself. “I know. But it’s not a solution.”

  “It’s a start. You can organize your trips just as easily from Deer Lake as you can from your aunt’s cottage in Quebec. It can be as temporary or as permanent as you like.”

  She started to draw away, but he caught her arm. “Just think about it. You have no home, Amanda.”

  She felt the sharp pain of his words. He was right. How often had she thought the same thing? But before she could think of an answer, his cellphone rang. When he answered it, he snapped instantly alert. “Standish,” he mouthed as he turned away.

  From his brief, cryptic replies, she tried to piece together the conversation. Standish’s voice, even muffled by the phone, was sharp and angry.

  “No …” Chris replied. “What? Oh fuck … No, I haven’t heard from him … No idea … Today … Of course I will. Keep me posted.”

  When he hung up, he turned to her grimly. “Fernando has skipped town. That defence lawyer shark apparently persuaded the Crown to reduce the charge to manslaughter and then persuaded the judge to grant bail over the furious objections of Standish and the Crown. I don’t know where the bond money came from. Some mystery fund that the lawyer signed for. Fernando wasn’t supposed to leave Parry Sound, but Standish didn’t trust him an inch, so he checked the rooming house this morning. Gone. Packed up all his stuff and left the place clean as a whistle.”

  Amanda muttered a soft curse. Danielle and Fernando were digging themselves in deeper and deeper.

  Chris stood up to pace. “They went for the manslaughter charge, but I’m amazed he got bail all the same. That judge must have known he’d be a flight risk. What’s there for him in Parry Sound? He’s going to come here to Toronto. Or take the first route he can out of the country.”

  “He’s pretty scared. And he’d have no trust in our justice system.”

  “But still. Goddamn! Somebody must be helping him. And what’s this mystery fund that paid his bail? Any ideas?”

  She pretended to inspect her coffee cup so he wouldn’t see the evasion in her eyes. She remembered Matthew’s vague answers when she quizzed him about the whereabouts of Julio and the little boy. She also remembered how effortlessly Danielle had melted into the crowd after the fire and how all the resources of the Toronto Police had failed to find her.

  Danielle knew Matthew and had even asked him to get her false papers. Would she have contacted him for help again? Would he have facilitated the reunion of the family? Julio was already managing a comfortable living in Toronto’s underground world. Would Matthew have helped the rest of them slip underground as well?

  She had no doubt it was possible. He’d seen too many innocents caught up in webs of injustice in dangerous parts of the world to have much trust left. As a journalist he always avoided personal entanglements, but in this case, on his own home turf, he might have let his objectivity slip.

  She had no intention of asking him, however. She didn’t want to know the answer, because then she would have to lie to Chris. Secrets and lies were very poor foundations for a relationship.

  “That lawyer may have some powerful connections,” she said, which was probably true. “It’s not difficult to disappear in a place as big and ethnically diverse as Toronto if you’ve got the contacts and the money.”

  Chris shook his head incredulously. “But why would he risk his license and reputation by breaking the law? Besides, how would Fernando even get to Toronto? The man has zero contacts in Parry Sound.”

  Not exactly true, Amanda thought; Fernando knew Larry, who had a soft spot for him. But she said nothing. No point in drawing even more people into trouble.

  Instead she shrugged. “However he managed it, I think it’s safe to assume we’ll never see Fernando, Danielle, or their son again.”

  Chris swung on her, his eyes narrowing. “Are you glad about this? They’re in a hell of a lot of trouble! If they’d stayed around to have their day in court, especially with this shark lawyer, they might have been cleared and then applied for Canadian citizenship in the future. This way, they’ll be looking over their shoulders their whole lives.”

  She cradled her coffee, still avoiding his gaze and his unerring faith in the system he represented. She was far less optimistic about their acquittals, for there were two additional facts she had no intention of telling him. Facts that a well-informed Crown attorney would certainly reveal at the trial. First, that Danielle had tried to blackmail Janine Saint Clair into giving her the little house in return for Danielle’s silence about Janine’s role in Benson’s death. With a few choice words whispered in the Crown’s ear, Janine would get that ploy on the record as evidence of Danielle’s moral bankruptcy.

  Secondly, Danielle claimed she’d checked Ronny’s pulse and determined he was dead before they’d buried him. Although conceivable, Amanda had a niggle of doubt. Danielle was an educated woman. In addition to her teaching degree, as a nanny she would have been trained in first aid and should know how to take a pulse. Either she chose not to take it, so as not to be faced with an untenable choice, or she’d lied to Fernando because she was desperate to get on with the escape. Saving Ronny would have slowed them down.

  Neither of these facts would go down well with Chris, her straight-as-an-arrow policeman. Danielle had stepped, by choice, into the murky world of moral expediency. She didn’t have the luxury of righteousness; she was a survivor. She had made her first choice five years ago when she left her homeland, her husband, and her young son to find work abroad to support them. Her ultimate dream had been a little home in Canada, in a safe neighbourhood, to give her son a chance at a better life. She had survived by keeping her sights on that goal, and threatened with its loss, she had doubled her fight.

  That determination, born of a hardship unknown to most Canadians, had made her ruthless. In a world where self-serving powe
r, corruption, and greed were the guiding principles, the powerless learned early to take care of themselves. Amanda had known thousands like her in her work overseas; at their core, good, caring people faced with appalling choices.

  Danielle had made such a choice. Not trusting the system to believe her and give her voice equal weight to that of the Saint Clairs, she’d chosen not to risk what little freedom she had. She’d chosen instead to live in the shadows. In that, she had plenty of company.

  When Amanda didn’t reply, Chris came to stand over her. “You are glad about this.”

  She finally raised her eyes to meet his, for on this score, she had nothing to hide. “I’m not glad about it. I wish they had trusted our system, but I understand why they didn’t. Guilt and innocence are fragile concepts, and the justice system sometimes takes a sledgehammer to them. I’m not even sure I trust our system in this case, and I was raised here.”

  He gave her a long, thoughtful look. She bit her lip and tolerated the silence. It was a silence filled with unspoken clamour.

  “Are we going to be all right?” he asked softly.

  “I hope so, Chris. If we try. If we can bend.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m not as rigid as you think, you know.”

  She cocked her head, crooked her finger, and watched as his beautiful crinkly blue-eyed smile lit up his face.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For me as a writer, research is at the core of credibility. If I get the little things wrong, how will the reader trust the truth of the larger things I have to say? Before I even begin a novel, and at virtually every page along the way, I check my facts. Luckily for writers today, the internet has made a wealth of information available from our armchairs at the click of a mouse, and books, newspapers, and maps can supply even more. But there is no research more powerful than being in the place, filling the senses, and asking the simple, everyday questions that enrich the scenes and draw both writer and reader deeper into the story.