by Joan Boswell
She’d always loved men with generous, workmanlike hands. Hollis dragged her eyes away from him and glanced around the room.
Bookshelves crammed to overflowing filled the walls. Framed diplomas hung one above the other on the one space not occupied by shelving. Piles of books and papers threatened to collapse a flimsy table set in front of the window. It curved in the centre, as if the weight was too much to bear. It was such a typical academic’s office, it was a cliché.
“Where did this come from?” Professor Andronovich demanded. A frown had replaced his smile.
“Why?”
“It’s a serious, even a frightening, letter. Tell me about it.”
“Serious? What does it say?”
“First, I need to know who you are and how you obtained this paper.”
No help for it. “I’m a painter, recently moved from Ottawa. I found this in a book.”
“In a book.” He sat back. “That is an enigmatic remark meant to mislead me. What book? What does this letter have to do with you?”
Anxiety and alarm jolted through her. She didn’t want to confess that Gregory, the owner, might be dead or that the police suspected that her friend’s brother, who had disappeared, had murdered Gregory.
“It was in a book belonging to a friend of a friend, and we’re worried about…” she paused. Maybe better not to say they were afraid for him. “…about what it may mean.”
Professor Andronovich pulled a pad of legal-length, yellow-lined paper from his desk drawer. “Although I will write you a translation, your explanation is fuzzy to say the least. I’d like to know exactly where this came from.”
Should she tell him? No, she shouldn’t. Candace would not want the professor or anyone else to hear that there was a possibility that her beloved brother might be a killer. While Candace desperately wanted to know Danson’s fate, she wouldn’t want the message shared with anyone but the police.
“When I see what it says, I’ll know if I should tell you or anyone else,” Hollis said. A stalemate.
The professor considered her thoughtfully before he bent his head over the paper, scribbling away and pausing occasionally to reread what he’d written. Finally, saying nothing, he passed the pad to Hollis.
She read the message.
I cannot overstate how vital your job is. It is a critically important assignment.
Memorize the contents and destroy this letter.
1. The plan’s success rests on anonymity. I cannot emphasize this enough.
2. Not only must you find out ‘who’ and ‘what’ he has, you also must make sure all information is destroyed, along with the investigator.
3. It must appear to be an accident. There must be no police investigation.
4 Five and Seven must be protected at any cost. The others are expendable, but Five and Seven are not.
5. Do whatever you judge to be necessary.
You have done this before and always very well, but we feel you may have lost your edge after the unfortunate Super Bug incident. Put that behind you. Focus on the task at hand.
Do not fail us.
She sorted through the words. The investigator must be Danson. Why else would Gregory be in his house? And Danson had disappeared. Had Gregory accomplished his mission? Why hadn’t he destroyed the note? Had something happened to him before he was able to memorize it? She still didn’t know his surname.
Super Bug—that might provide a lead. She realized the professor was speaking to her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I asked if you planned to tell me what this is about and where you found this paper?” Professor Andronovich said.
“No,” Hollis sighed. “I can’t. It’s complicated. Thank you for translating it for me.” She stood up and reached for the original.
“You’re meddling in dangerous matters. If it didn’t sound wildly improbable, I’d say that this,” he flapped the paper, “is a directive from unknown person A to unknown person B to do two things: to kill someone and to protect the identity of at least two or more other people.” He too rose. “If that’s the case, I hope you’ll contact the police immediately.” He examined her face and must have concluded he needed to say more. “I’m assuming, and it may be a false assumption, that you aren’t one of the bad guys. If that’s true, I have to advise you that whatever mess you’re in, get out now. This could be very dangerous.”
It touched her that he would be so concerned about an unknown woman who’d wandered into his office with a mysterious paper.
“Thank you for the warning and for caring. I’m sure it’s nothing as serious as that. I promise to go to the police if I think there’s any danger.”
Professor Andronovich reached into his desk drawer, extracted a business card and extended it. Before Hollis could take the card, he said, “You look anxious. I have an hour and a half before my next tutorial. Would you like a coffee?”
Now that was a surprise, a pleasant one. “I’d love a coffee,” Hollis said, accepting the card.
In the cafeteria, they collected thick white china mugs filled to the brim with steaming coffee before they found an unoccupied and relatively clean table. After small talk about the university and its growth, the professor leaned toward her.
“Why don’t you call me Willem and tell me about yourself,” Profess Andronovich said. He placed his elbows on the table and waited.
Willem. It had a lovely sound and matched his expressive, concerned face. “That’s an open-ended invitation. I will if you agree to reciprocate.”
“Agreed,” he said and sat back. One hand toyed with his cup, the other rested on the table.
“First, tell me why your name is Willem—isn’t that Dutch?”
“Good diversionary move. Long story, but one of my ancestors fleeing the Russian revolution ended up in Holland and married a Dutch girl. Ever since, we’ve had Willems in every generation.”
This was an opportunity for a segue to uncover more personal data. “Do you have a Willem?”
A faint grin on his face told her he realized what she really wanted to know.
“Not a Willem, and not a wife, so, for the moment, there’s no prospect for this generation unless my sister chooses to be a single parent and have a male child.”
Caught out, she knew she should feel embarrassed. Instead she felt a surge of pleasure. He was single. Inside, she laughed at herself. Half-an-hour after meeting him, and she wanted more. Time to keep her end of the bargain and provide a synopsis of her life. Carefully, she omitted saying where she lived or mentioning Candace or her family. She did share the leap she’d taken when she decided to try to make it as an artist.
“Brave move.” He paused. “We may be birds of a feather.”
Now that was a happy thought. Didn’t birds of a feather flock together?
“I’m restless too. I may go to law school.”
Hollis felt her eyebrows rise.
“You’re surprised. You should have heard my parents.” He grinned. “To quote them, ‘After the years you spent in school, why would your give it up when you have tenure and a secure future?’” His smile faded. “I understand. They’ve worked hard for everything. Typical immigrant story. They pinned their hopes for the future on me. My sister too, but for them a successful son was the be-all and end-all. To witness me tossing aside my professorship will be incredibly difficult for them.”
“How did you explain yourself?”
“I gave them the ‘greater good’ speech.”
Willem intrigued her more with each word he uttered. She watched expressions flit across his face. The love he felt for his parents was evident.
“What is the greater good speech?”
“That when I died, I wanted to believe I’d contributed to making the world a better place. I’d have a much better chance to do that as a lawyer than I ever could as a linguistics professor.”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“Nor did they.”
“Most lawyers that I know want to do something quite different. I have to say, the general opinion is that many lawyers are scuzz bags. What kind of law would you practice?”
“There’s a huge need in the immigrant community. Most lawyers who defend Russian immigrants don’t speak Russian, and they’re forced to use translators. Those they hire don’t always get it right.”
“How do you know?’
He pointed out the window. “We’re not far from the courts in old city hall. I work there part-time as a translator. Many Russians have court-appointed lawyers, and they aren’t well defended.”
A chill spiralled up her spine. Had she chosen the wrong person? Would she have been better off to have gone to the Balalaika? She’d entrusted the paper to a man who frequented the courts and believed accused Russians deserved better lawyers. Could the Russian mob be supporting his bid to return to law school? Thank goodness she hadn’t told him the paper’s background. She wished she hadn’t revealed so much about herself. This wasn’t the moment to let him know his confession had alerted her to the possibility that he might be on the other side, whatever that was.
“Will you do it, or is it a pipe dream?” she said.
“There’s nothing to stop me. I’m not in debt, not married and not too old. No reason not to do it.”
“Convincing arguments. What did they say?”
Willem shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say they weren’t happy. They like having a son who’s Herr Doktor Professor.” He grinned. “The only thing they would accept as a valid reason to change careers would be a decision to become a real, a medical, doctor.”
“That isn’t likely to happen?”
Willem threw his head back and laughed a deep, contagious laugh.
Before he could enchant her further, she pulled her jacket from the back of the chair and stood up. In an instant he was behind her ready to help.
Jacket on and belongings collected, Hollis held out her hand. “Thank you for your help.”
“I’d like to see you again, but I don’t know how to reach you.” He paused. “Your expression tells me the feeling isn’t mutual.”
Having someone read you accurately was disconcerting. Although his references to his court work had alarmed her, she did find him attractive and would like to go out with him.
“My life is…” she searched for an appropriate word and found one she’d used before, “complicated.” She dug in her handbag and extracted an old business card with her Ottawa address. “This is out-of-date, but my cellphone number is the same,” she said and gave it to him.
“I accept that. Will you call me if you need anything else translated or need any help?”
She nodded.
“You do know that there are thousands and thousands of Russians in Toronto, and the Russian Mafia is also here?” he asked.
Again she nodded.
“They are not a force to be trifled with. Amateurs should stay out,” he said.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“I have many connections in the community. Believe me, I know,” he said. “From your reaction or rather your lack of reaction, I think you know something about this message. I’m concerned. You shouldn’t try to solve this puzzle, whatever it is, by yourself. Go to the police.”
Although she thanked him again, she made no promises. If she’d inadvertently walked into a hornet’s nest, she’d have to do her best to avoid trouble. One way would be not to tell him any more and not to see him again. On the way home, she reviewed what she had told him. At least she hadn’t said where she lived and hadn’t mentioned any members of the Lafleur family.
Before going home, she pulled into the Loblaws parking lot on St. Clair Avenue and rushed inside to load a cart with easily prepared food she could share with Candace and Elizabeth. She’d remembered her carry bags, proudly refused plastic and helped the clerk pile frozen pizza, lasagna, macaroni and cheese, along with several desserts and salad bags into the black cotton bags. This stock should provide a few meals.
She and Candace, holding Elizabeth’s hand, arrived at the house simultaneously.
Elizabeth brandished a drawing. “Tee,” she said proudly.
“She painted a portrait of MacTee,” Candace explained.
Hollis bent down and examined the wild scribbles. “Terrific,” she said to Elizabeth and peered up at Candace. “I bought a ton of quick and easy food. Let me bring dinner down.”
Candace nodded. “That would be very welcome.” She ruffled Elizabeth’s hair. “The detectives are coming tonight at eight. I was out of the office, and they left a message. I hope it’s good news, but I’m not optimistic.”
Should she share the contents of the note that Willem had translated before or after the police came? Maybe after. If Danson was a suspect, this note could be damning. She wouldn’t keep it back forever. That would be tampering with evidence. However, she’d wait until she heard what they had to say.
Upstairs, she collected MacTee, and they walked through the neighbourhood meeting and greeting other dog-owners out for an after-work walk, along with children returning from school and day care and men and women straggling home from the office. Toronto, at least in this neighbourhood, was a walking city. Although it was November and the shadows were long as the days shortened, it remained relatively warm. Pedestrians trotted along with jackets half-zipped, savouring the mild late afternoon. MacTee, always friendly, allowed her to talk to his many admirers. It was a welcome respite from the tensions of Candace’s home.
Back from the walk, she prepared a salad, microwaved the pizza, set both on a white plastic tray and went downstairs. This time she made sure MacTee, the canine babysitter, accompanied her.
“Tee, Tee,” Elizabeth shouted. She hugged the dog, clutched his collar and dragged him to the refrigerator. “See, see, Tee,” she said to him. “See. It’s Tee.”
Candace and Hollis exchanged amused glances. MacTee did not respond. Having his portrait painted did not impress him. However, when Elizabeth offered him her half-chewed carrot, his tail wagged rapidly. After he’d munched it, he and the little girl began their usual games.
Hollis busied herself portioning the pizza and adding a balsamic dressing to the salad.
Candace uncorked a bottle of red wine. “Let’s have a drink.” She moved to the oven and turned it on at its lowest setting. “Leave the pizza in here for a few minutes. I need to unwind and fortify myself for whatever the police are going to say.”
The two women perched on the kitchen chairs, raised and clinked glasses.
“To better days,” Hollis said. She sipped. “Nice wine, not too rough.”
Candace exhaled, pushing the air out noisily. “I hope they come right at eight. I want to get this over with. I’m running out of ‘coping’ steam.”
“Not knowing is always hard. Any knowledge, no matter how horrible, is better than uncertainty.”
“After that terrible visit to the morgue and the endless hours during which I thought it was Danson, I’m not sure about that.” Candace gulped a large mouthful of wine and made a rueful face. “I’d better not suck it down, or I’ll be stoned when they get here. Seriously, I’m not so sure knowing is better. I continue to hope Danson will turn up with a rational explanation for everything that’s happened.”
“Since we don’t know anything for sure, that could happen,” Hollis said. She reached for the bottle and topped up Candace’s glass.
“Did you find out any more today?”
“I did. I trekked over to the University of Toronto linguistics department, and a professor of Russian translated the note.”
Candace set her glass down with a thunk that sloshed wine over the rim. A worried frown creased her forehead, and she bit at her upper lip. “What did it say?”
“Nothing very helpful. Didn’t bring us any closer to knowing who Gregory was or what he was doing.”
Not exactly true, but it seemed wrong to give Candace th
e translation until the police visit was over. She could only absorb so much information at once. Time for diversionary tactics.
“He was one cute guy,” Hollis said.
“The professor?” Candace said with a note of incredulity in her voice.
“They aren’t all old and stodgy, you know. He was about my age, and we went for coffee.”
Candace had risen, ripped paper towel from the roll, and was mopping up the spilled wine crumpled the paper. “My God, that was fast. Did he ask you out?”
“How did you know?” Hollis gave what she hoped was a mischievous smile.
Women and sometimes men always obsessed about their single friends meeting the “right” partner. To this point, Candace, who was also single, had not evinced any interest in Hollis’s dating life; however, it was a gambit that usually worked, and again it was doing the job.
Candace raised her eyebrows as she tossed the balled up paper towel at the waste paper basket. “And?”
“I put him off, but I have his card.”
“Why did you do that if you thought he was attractive? Single men our age aren’t that plentiful.” Candace looked at Elizabeth, who was draped over MacTee. “Believe me, I know.”
Was this a reference to Elizabeth’s father, the never-mentioned man, or to the general lack of men in Candace’s life? The opportunity couldn’t be ignored.
“What happened in your life?”
Candace shook her head. “Long story, and dinner awaits before Elizabeth has a meltdown.”
Good lateral move. Obviously an off-limits topic.
Elizabeth protested when Candace bent to pick her up.
“You can play with MacTee after we eat,” Candace said. She pointed to the dog, who had positioned himself next to the high chair. “He’s going to sit right beside you.”
Mollified, Elizabeth allowed Candace to hoist her into her high chair.
Time in the oven had not improved the pizza.
“Olives,” Elizabeth said joyfully when Candace set her plastic plate in front of her. She carefully picked up and ate each morsel. Once she’d stripped the olives, she lifted the slice and chomped into it.
