by Rene Natan
“I don’t know anything,” Louis murmured and strode off.
Nineteen
Miriam opened her eyes, glanced around, and closed them quickly. She’d ended up in a hospital, she realized. She tried to move her hands. The right responded, the left didn’t. She did the same with her legs. The right moved freely, the left lifted up only a bit. What had the doctor said? He spoke of a stroke, she remembered. Miriam sighed and relaxed. Her life had been a catastrophe since she left Experience the Unseen. The company had a good reputation, attracted decent people, and managed to keep the unbalanced at a distance. Not so with her one-person business. Desperate to rake in money, she’d welcome anybody who knocked at her door. Some paid her, some didn’t, and some got upset because she’d predicted good fortune that hadn’t materialized, or because she wasn’t precise about the future, or because she was too expensive.
She’d contacted the circuses that traveled across the country. When they came to perform close to home, she offered them her services. They provided a controlled environment, and this arrangement had worked better than having clients at home. There weren’t too many occasions, however, so when a fair arrived in Vancouver, she was happy to be part of the event.
The performances were spectacular, the food outlets offered international dishes, and the atmosphere was festive. Her booth stood close to the outside fence, a bit isolated from the other temporary structures and tents. Her pickup was parked beside her booth. As the evening progressed, the crowd multiplied, but her business remained as poor as at the beginning. Disappointed and annoyed, she paced in front of her booth, her long shiny dress reflecting the light of the high fixtures illuminating the compound.
When a young man approached the booth, she recited her little speech advertising her services. The man only murmured a simple okay and followed her inside. It didn’t take her long to understand that the man’s interests lay elsewhere. Her turban was yanked off, and he pushed her toward the back wall. But Miriam wasn’t as unprepared as her client thought or hoped for. From the hidden pocket of her fancy dress she extracted a pepper spray and temporarily blinded her attacker. Everything would have been fine, had she called for help. But she didn’t.
She swiftly folded the three-legged table, ready to leave. Then the man grabbed her legs in a powerful hold. Enraged, she swung the table over the attacker’s head until the man lay unconscious on the floor. She looked into his pockets, took his wallet and quickly gathered her belongings. With some effort, she dragged the lumpy body out of the booth and away from it. She packed her pickup and returned home. She vowed never to be part of a crowded exhibition again.
Miriam opened her eyes and stirred when somebody entered her room. It was a nurse. She smiled at her, deposited a tray with a covered platter, a carton of milk and a soft drink on the over-the-bed-tray. Miriam didn’t feel like eating, but a cold drink would soothe her thirst. She waited until the nurse walked out and then extended her right arm to reach for the ginger ale.
***
At the London, Ontario Airport, Stevenson waited impatiently to board the chopper and start his reconnaissance mission. Finally, he settled inside the cabin. The seat was comfortable and allowed him to look out. In front of him were the digital vision and thermal systems that would capture and record the secrets Camilo Estorbar hid on the land behind The Tranquility Resort.
The pilot arrived, and the chopper took off. In a few minutes, they were on location. On the first round, Stevenson spotted a barn, which confirmed the designation of the land as farming, a huge shed or hanger, a parking lot, totally deserted at that time, and several little cottages, one similar to the next. At the second round, carried out at a lower altitude, he saw a narrow path that, brushing off the manicured lawn adjoining the resort’s restaurant, took several twists and turns in and out of a wooden area. That trail finally led to a parking lot whose entrance was controlled by a gate. A fence, about six feet high, surrounded the part of the complex that wasn’t shielded by the thick woods.
Stevenson took a few pictures and asked the pilot to fly over a third time, hoping to spot some movement. The infrared thermal imaging hadn’t revealed the presence of any living creatures. After about an hour of reconnaissance, he concluded the place was empty. He took a chance and ordered the pilot to land in the parking lot. The pilot, surprised, asked him for confirmation and, after having obtained it, landed inside the complex, almost in front of the biggest building.
“Wait here,” Stevenson ordered. He got his Glock from the holster, checked the chamber, and released the safety. He adjusted his bullet-proof vest, and cautiously deplaned. On foot, he proceeded toward the closest building. It was locked; he circled around it and found another entrance at the back, protected by a digital lock on top of an old one. He retraced his steps and moved toward the barn. No sound came from within, and the entrance had a digital lock. Disappointed, but still hoping to discover something useful, he walked toward the first cottage and looked for a point of entry. When he didn’t find any, he approached one of the little windows and tried to peek inside. Thick drapes protected the secrecy of whatever lay inside. He analyzed the other window, and then neared the second cottage. His inspection was laborious but thorough. He had no valid document for legally entering the premises, and didn’t think it would be worth obtaining one. There was no activity of any kind. The place had been evacuated, even if only recently, because the electricity meter was still ticking.
He returned to the chopper. He’d banked on obtaining much more than a set of pictures of buildings’ exteriors. On the other hand, there was evidence of another of Camilo’s activities, of one he had never reported in his income tax return. There would be a motive to make a few extra inquiries. The complex was well looked after; the bills for electricity and gas would indicate the amount of activity that took place in recent months.
His reconnaissance had been only partially successful, but it represented a step forward in the investigation.
Stevenson looked at his wristwatch. He’d be home in an hour or so, in time to show the house to the potential buyer who had called yesterday. He boarded the chopper and dozed off.
***
Back from a relaxing weekend, Jocelyn listened to the phone message from the University Hospital, informing her of Ms. Miriam Danton’s condition. “No! Not again!” she screamed aloud. Once more she was getting involved in Miriam’s life when all she wanted was to be free, free of the past and free of the memories. Instead, old problems kept surfacing. Miriam had given her name as the next of kin. Jocelyn sighed aloud, then moved to the bathroom.
She showered, dried herself in a huge bath towel, and got dressed. She grabbed a couple of pastries from the fridge and was ready to go see Miriam, when the thought of Louis, stranded in a house without adult support, made her stop cold. Maybe she should tell Gordon what had happened. She dialed his number. She hadn’t finished blabbering a soft hello when Gordon interjected, “Nice to hear your voice, Jocelyn.”
“Umm, well, it’s almost an official call.” She hesitated. “Ms. Danton is in the hospital, and I wonder what you want to do about Louis.”
“Is Ms. Danton’s condition serious?”
“Don’t know, exactly. She had a stroke. I was just going to pay her a visit.”
“Oh, I see. I’ll come too. Then we can have coffee together and discuss the situation. What do you think?”
“Fine; but I want to make it short; I just drove back from Pointe au Baril, and I’m pretty tired.”
“Good enough. See you later.”
She had mixed feelings about seeing Gordon. To some extent, she felt she had to justify her behavior, and didn’t want to do that. She emitted a long, loud sigh, got her coat, and went to her car.
Gordon was waiting for her in the hospital’s entrance hall. He moved to greet her, and together they rode the elevator. In spite of the chilly weather, he didn’t wear a coat. He was dressed in corduroy trousers and a blue-and-brown flannel shirt. Broad should
ers, narrow hips, about six feet tall, Gordon’s physical aspects exuded strength, and his bright eyes and easy smile inspired confidence. Jocelyn sighed. She had to admit the man was very attractive.
They reached Miriam’s room, where a nurse was helping her drink from a small paper cup. Jocelyn greeted the nurse and then neared the bed. She gave Miriam a kiss on the cheek and took her right hand.
“You’re cold, old girl,” Jocelyn said in a cheerful voice. “What happened?”
“Her speech is slurred, but may improve soon,” the nurse said, smiled at the visitors, and left.
“Stroke,” Miriam blabbed, opening only half her mouth.
Gordon had followed the nurse outside, probably to talk to the doctor. Jocelyn let go of Miriam’s hand, sat close to the bed and patted Miriam’s hair.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll talk to your tenants and take care of the dogs.”
“Lo-uis?” She made an effort to lift her head, and pulled on Jocelyn’s sleeve. “Danger. I saw…” She couldn’t finish, reclined her head on the pillow, and closed her eyes.
“Yes, what about Louis?” She waited until Miriam reopened her eyes.
“Dark, dark sha—dows,” Miriam finally managed to mouth.
“I understand,” Jocelyn replied. “It happened at the telepathic session you gave him?”
Miriam nodded slightly, and added, “Smoke, a lot of dark smoke.” She let go of Jocelyn’s sleeve and closed her eyes. Jocelyn watched her for a few minutes until Miriam’s snoring overcame her laborious breathing.
“They don’t know when she can leave the hospital. They’re still assessing the case. To do so, they have to run more tests.” Gordon had spoken from behind her. He took the little purse Jocelyn had deposited on the floor and gave it to her. “Let’s go have that coffee.”
Without another word, they lined up at Timmy’s. They both opted for a hot chocolate and a donut, and quietly sat at one of the round tables.
“So you went up north to relax? What did you do? Fishing?” He picked up one of the napkins and offered it to Jocelyn.
“That was the intent, but the weather was way too cold and windy. So I stayed in the cottage and read.”
“Crime stories?”
“No! Romance.” She finally looked into his eyes. “Surprised?”
“Not really.”
“What are you trying to do? Build my profile?”
Gordon laughed. “Nothing of the kind. Just interested.” He finished his chocolate and set aside his cup. “So what do we do about Louis?”
“I have no suggestions.”
“Then let’s go talk to him tomorrow. He was the one who brought Miriam in and came to visit her yesterday. He told the nurse to pass Miriam some information; not to worry about the dogs; he’d take care of them.”
“I thought he was a good boy.”
“Care to come with me? I always feel your presence might help him open up.”
“Not last time,” objected Jocelyn.
“But now he owes you. He may be more trustful.”
Jocelyn nodded. “Well, time to go home. I’m exhausted.”
“Naturally,” Gordon said. “Can you make it early tomorrow morning? Say seven-thirty? We have to be there before he takes off for his job in Lobo.”
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
Twenty
Louis was walking toward the house, each dog on an extendable leash when Jocelyn and Gordon got out of the car. Crumb made an instant play for Jocelyn, who picked him up while trying to avoid the abundant licking. There were greetings on both sides, and Louis unlocked the door.
Louis entered, invited them inside, moved quickly to the kitchen, and said, “Care for breakfast? I cooked pancakes before going for a walk; they’re still warm, I believe.”
“Only coffee for me,” said Gordon.
“I’ll try some,” said Jocelyn. “And coffee, too.”
While Louis bustled in the kitchen, Jocelyn told him, “It was nice of you to take care of Miriam. She’ll have to spend time in the hospital. How do you plan to manage?”
Louis shrugged. “I can take care of things. That’s what I did when my uncle got sick. And I like to take the dogs to the dog park or for a walk. I already paid for board.”
“I see.” Jocelyn sat at the table, where Louis had deposited two coffees, cream and sugar, butter, a bottle of maple syrup, and two dishes with cutlery on top of them.
Once the pancakes were on the table, Louis sat, made the sign of the cross, murmured a prayer, and said, “Here it is.” Before he could help himself, Crumb jumped on his lap, the muzzle in the crook of his arm. Louis grabbed the dog and put him on the floor. “We have guests today,” he said in a curt tone. “You have to be quiet for a while.” The dog emitted a feeble lament and rasped on his leg. “Down!” Louis commanded, and the dog sat at his feet.
“Good,” said Gordon. “Dogs shouldn’t control the master.”
Louis laughed. “He thinks he’s the master. You should see how he cries when I take off in the morning.”
Jocelyn finished her breakfast quickly, and said, “I’ll go take care of Miriam’s bills and mail. See you in a while.”
Louis ate all that was still on the table, and rose to get a glass of orange juice. He silently refilled Gordon’s mug and sat close to him.
“I’d like you to help me with a few photos,” Gordon said and took out some of the pictures he’d taken during the recent aerial reconnaissance. He displayed them on the table in front of Louis. “Are you familiar with any of these buildings?”
Louis’ eyes were glued to the printouts. Crumb jumped on his lap, temporarily distracting Gordon from examining the young man’s reaction.
“Louis? Have you seen any of these buildings? Have you been to any of these places?”
Louis restrained the dog with his left hand and lifted up three of the printouts with the right hand. He waved them. “These buildings belong to Camilo Estorbar,” he said in a low voice.
“I know. Have you been there?” Louis nodded and diverted his eyes from Gordon. “What was the reason?” He shook Louis’ arm. “Talk, for heaven’s sake!”
Louis petted Crumb and let the dog lick his face. “I can’t. You don’t know the man. He’s after me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “He’s after me because of my uncle’s debt—if there was one. I’d be dead if I ever give information to the police.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Louis’ whisper was so low Gordon hardly heard it. “He pays people where you are.”
Jocelyn appeared on the door threshold. “I got all I need,” she said, and stood, waiting for Gordon to rise. “Ready to go?”
With one swift move, Gordon gathered all the printouts and walked toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here. I have work to do.”
Flabbergasted, Jocelyn followed him. “What was all that? Is it about Louis?” she asked as she entered Gordon’s Nissan.
Gordon shook his head.
“Well, things are under control. I’ll take care of Miriam’s business, and Louis seems able to manage on his own. He didn’t stutter even once. What a big change in the young man since we first saw him!”
“Yes. He’s still scared, but keeps up his spirits. He’s a nice boy.” Gordon stopped at a red light. “I gave him credit for trusting me. I don’t know if I’d have done the same in his position.”
“You’re very mysterious.”
“There’re things I can’t tell you,” he said, sighing, as he resumed driving. “Not yet, I mean.”
“Great. I wanted to be left out of the loop. I was drawn in again because of what happened to Miriam.”
“Right. I’ll tell you what you need to know. And everything that may concern your safety.”
“Oh, that bad?”
“It could be. Don’t know yet.” They arrived at the entrance of the University Hospital, and Jocelyn opened the door on her side.
“You’ll need a ride home,” Gordon said ma
tter-of-factly. Jocelyn’s car had refused to start in the morning, and she’d asked Gordon to pick her up. “If something urgent happens and I can’t, I’ll call you.”
Jocelyn nodded and climbed out of the car.
Gordon drove to headquarters, anguished by what Louis had told him.
He entered the Investigative Response Unit without looking around, opened his cell to see the schedule for the day. He checked it against the calendar that spread on top of his desk, in case something new had been added in his absence. Nothing, he realized with satisfaction. Nobody was around, and that was another plus. He needed time to concentrate and meditate on what Louis had told him. The boy normally spoke in a precise language, but the sentence “He pays people where you are” had been blurted in a rush. Could it be true? Was the use of plural casual, or did it indicate the presence of more than one person? But then…how could he ever find out who was involved? Should he talk to his boss? What if somebody working directly with the sergeant had crossed the line? Gordon massaged his temples, as if drawing more blood to the brain could help him find a solution to his problems. Was it possible that one of the officers was or had been paid off? A leak among the ranks? It would be terrible…
Primo’s cheerful voice called him back to reality. “Got plenty.” He waved a stack of printed sheets. “These are copies of the bills paid by Camilo Estorbar for electricity over the last year. About thirty-five thousands kilowatt hours a month! I’ll get the ones for natural gas in a couple of days, but got information about the land line installed by the telephone company on that property. A regular flux of calls in the last month; many more people calling in than vice-versa. I’ll get all the invoices tomorrow.”
