The Kissing Fence

by B. A. Thomas-Peter

  McKinnon spoke again. “Mr. Koren, I wonder if you could come to our office in North Vancouver. You could help us with an investigation.”

  “Look, I have a business to run—”

  “Mr. Koren, we’re speaking to your employee right now. When you phoned her, we picked up your number and phoned you back using this line. You’ll also know of another employee who died in a fire at his home.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So we would appreciate your co-operation.”

  “Sorry, I’m trying to keep the business running. We’ve had a lot of disruption. When shall I come?”

  “This morning, if you can,” said McKinnon. “We are on East Fourteenth Street?”

  “I know it.”

  “Thank you, sir. Just ask for me, Constable McKinnon in the IHIT, and I’ll come down for you.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  William put the phone down and tried to keep his mind from jangling long enough to plan all that he had to do before going to the police station. The sooner he could get Cathy back to the office, the sooner he could get on with things. He began thinking of the questions they might ask. The thought emerged suddenly: What might Cathy be saying? Dennis might have said something to her about his discovery. She also knew about his connection with Uri. He could only believe she would say nothing. They could say nothing about Uri. Nothing.

  * * *

  “Thanks for coming,” said McKinnon. “I should have said we’d pick you up, but you coming here saves us a lot of time.”

  William followed McKinnon into a barren room—three chairs, one table—and sat down. “That’s all right. Glad to help,” he said, relieved the RCMP had not shown up at the warehouse.

  “Sorry about the surroundings.” McKinnon smiled. “Our headquarters isn’t here; we just borrow rooms when we get involved in a case. This is all they had.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “So, we have Cathy with us now, and I need you to confirm some information that she has given us.”

  “Okay.”

  “She said she has worked with you for more than thirteen years.”

  “That’s true,” said William. “She has been very loyal. Been with me from the start.”

  “Can you describe the role she’s been in?”

  “Well, she’s the information hub for me and the company. She’s my admin assistant, but she also runs the diary for me, receives information about deliveries, in and out, takes messages, opens the mail, brings together files.”

  “How many employees do you have?”

  “Under twenty, but it can vary with the season and how busy we are.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  “We import high-end sports equipment, mostly from Asia and Europe, and distribute all over Canada.”

  “Is that a competitive market?”

  “Oh sure. It’s very competitive.”

  “How has the company been doing?”

  “Well, we’re still in business. That says something. Do you mind me asking what this has to do with Cathy and Dennis?”

  “Just background. We always have to start these investigations with family and business to understand what we can follow up and what we can ignore.” McKinnon smiled again. “I’ll bring it back to Cathy. How much contact does she have with the other employees?”

  “Not that much, really. She communicates with Dennis”—William hesitated, having forgotten Dennis was gone—“the warehouse manager, quite a bit, because she gets the notification of comings and goings that he has to manage in the warehouse. Otherwise she sees me every day and sometimes the people we contract in for payroll, health and safety, bookkeeping and so on.”

  “Can you tell me about the relationship between Cathy and Dennis? How did they get on?”

  William thought of avoiding this one by pretending to be ignorant, until he remembered the conversation with the two women police officers. It was bound to get back to McKinnon. “Well, that was a problem,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “I’m sure she told you this, but they were involved.”

  “Romantically?”

  “I’m not sure how much romance was involved, but yes, I think so.”

  “And why was that a problem for the company?”

  “It’s never a good thing to have that going on. It was becoming a distraction for them at work.” William felt his face flush with hypocrisy. “In fact, that was why I went to see him at his home on the afternoon of the fire.”

  “You went to see him at his home, on the weekend?” asked McKinnon.

  William thought that was a strange thing to ask. McKinnon would have known that he had called Cathy for Dennis’s address. “I explained this to two officers, from West Vancouver, I think. I was concerned about her and I wanted to speak with Dennis about bringing that relationship to an end, or I’d have to let him go.”

  “How did that go?”

  “He said he wanted to get back with his wife and children anyway, so he offered to resign. I agreed to pay him something and give him a reference. That was it.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “About half an hour. I had a glass of whisky with him and we shook hands. It didn’t take long.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me about that meeting?”

  “The timing was a little awkward. You must know there was a flood at his house. Water everywhere, in the kitchen. He was busy dealing with it when I arrived and didn’t hear me at the front door, so I went round the back. Lights were on and the door was open.”

  “Did he say what had happened?”

  “No. I don’t think he did.”

  “How did you get on with Dennis?”

  “He was a good worker, ex-army, reliable and doing well, until this. He’d been with us for about eighteen months or so and fit in well. I liked him.”

  “Do you know if he gambled, had debts or was in any kind of trouble?”

  “Money was a problem for him, I think. He was supporting his wife and children. He didn’t live with them. It couldn’t be easy. He liked a drink, but it wasn’t a problem at work. He smoked but I don’t know of anything else. Nothing that showed at work.”

  “One more thing. When you told Cathy about Dennis, how did she take it?”

  William noted that McKinnon already knew it was he who had told Cathy about the death. Maybe Cathy had told him. He said, “She was pretty strong, not as upset as I thought she’d be.” As he said it, he wished he had not. “She can be emotional, but she seemed to be shocked and numb rather than upset. She just went very quiet. I drove her home and she said nothing.”

  McKinnon stood and said, “Thanks very much for coming in.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. I’m going to ask you to stay here for a minute while I get one of my colleagues to take a formal statement from you. We need the detail for the investigation. I just wanted to meet you myself and get a little background. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “No, thank you. Any idea when Cathy might be ready to go? I could give her a lift to work if it won’t be too long.”

  McKinnon seemed to be frozen. “I’m afraid Cathy won’t be coming back to work. I thought you understood.”

  “Understood what?”

  “Cathy’s been charged with the murder of Dennis Mansion.”

  William sagged under the weight of that word. “It can’t be. It couldn’t be Cathy.” It was more than he wanted to give away.

  McKinnon was quick to spot it. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve known her for so long. I can’t imagine her doing something like that.”

  “It’s a shock when people we know do bad things, but there’s always a reason. Anyway, I’m sorry it’s come as a shock to you. I should ha
ve made that clear at the start. Just wait here and my colleague will be along shortly. Thanks again.”

  There was nothing for William to say. McKinnon left him alone in the barren room.

  How the police came to believe Cathy might have killed Dennis was a mystery. He understood enough of police work to anticipate their interest in intimate partners, but she would be free if they knew what he knew. If that emerged, everything would be lost. His daughter, Julie, the business, everything was at risk. Cathy might go to prison, perhaps for life, to prevent it from coming out. The realization emerged that she would have to go to prison if he was to be saved from being seen for what he had become. He felt sick. It was not simply that he could choose between giving up all he knew to save Cathy or live with being responsible for her conviction, but it was all that he had done to her without really being aware. That she had wasted her aspirations and affection on him had evaded consciousness.

  A decade ago, he would not have cared even if he had been conscious of it. She had never let on that her marriage had failed as a result of their affair or that she was in such financial hardship as to be pimped out by her husband, as and when it suited him. Then, somehow, the worst of all things was the recent torrid encounter at her apartment. It was easy to respond to her need, her sense of being lost and wanting to anchor herself to something warm in the way that she had always needed, but it was not something she had control of. He allowed himself to take what was on offer because there was nothing precious or fragile in his keeping of Cathy.

  He looked around, taking in the scuffed walls and scratched table of the room. It was a room for police, criminals and lawyers to do the business of hiding or uncovering schemes and grubby ambitions of the weak—peeling the pretense of truth and righteousness from the proud and selfish. He had left behind those people from his childhood who would recognize this room for what it was. They might say that those who pushed God from their hearts would find themselves here. They were right, and here he sat.

  William stopped abruptly. He had not thought of God without swelling anger for two decades. The faith that had destroyed his parents’ marriage and his father, whom he was only now beginning to understand, could still not be forgiven, and yet the light it shone on him now meant something. It was shame, he thought. Obligation to others and being part of a community had been lost to him since leaving Grand Forks and the Kootenays. He had succeeded in business by allowing his pride and anger to excuse all that he had done. Not since he was known as Dmitri Korenov had any of the values of the Doukhobors meant something. He had dispensed with it long ago with the resolution to serve himself as the English Canadians had helped themselves to everything his people had achieved.

  His phone rang. The number was unfamiliar but it would be Uri. William took a breath and put the phone to his ear.

  “We’ll have to be quick. There’s been a problem.”

  Uri was measured. “What problem, William?”

  “Cathy has been arrested for the murder of Dennis. She is being interviewed now. I’m at the police station, waiting to be interviewed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, but why is this a problem for our relationship?”

  It was always exasperating dealing with Uri. William said, “I have no idea what she will say or what Dennis may have told her, and she’s being interviewed right now.”

  “Sometimes you make things right by doing nothing. Let nature take its course. It’s unfortunate for Cathy, but she got involved with Dennis, and this is what happens.”

  “I can’t just let her go to prison.”

  “Of course you can. You will protect yourself, your family and your partners. We can rely on you.”

  “I’m still concerned about everyone being dragged into this if we don’t help her somehow.”

  “You mustn’t worry, William. If we help her, we draw attention to ourselves. We have a partnership with Cathy too, and she understands what has to be done. We did this without you knowing, when she came to the warehouse while we were there and saw us.”

  “She never said anything.”

  “Of course not. That was part of our agreement. She has a family; her children are important to her, so no need to worry.”

  William reeled at this threat to Cathy’s children and understood it applied equally to Kelly and Julie. “Right.”

  “And, there is no evidence. We rely on each other for this. It’s true, isn’t it?

  “Yes.”

  “That’s how we work. You understand now, the way we do things is important. Even if Cathy says something, you will say you don’t understand what she is saying. There is no paper, no records. She doesn’t know my name. There is nothing, so don’t worry.”

  “Okay. I better go now. They’ll be coming back soon.”

  “We will talk again when you have finished. I’m glad we can rely on you. Bye, William. Don’t worry.”

  William erased the call history on his phone and slipped it into his pocket. The hope of redemption was gone with Uri’s cordial menace. There was never an option of doing right by Cathy. It had been foolish to consider it.

  The door swung open. Two RCMP officers arrived, a man in uniform and a woman in civvies. They introduced themselves, taking the seats at the table, and explained what was to happen. They were professional, businesslike. William struggled to concentrate on what they were saying. He looked and nodded, leaving autopilot in charge, his mind elsewhere.

  “Mr. Koren?” The woman added volume to her voice. “Are you all right? Do you understand what we are saying?”

  “Yes, yes, I understand. Sorry, I’m not concentrating very well. It’s been a shock. Can I see Cathy?”

  The woman hesitated. “Why would you want to see her? She’s been charged with the murder of one of your employees. Anyway, she’s being interviewed.” Her brow was furrowed. Her scrutiny bored into him.

  “Does she have a lawyer? If she doesn’t have a lawyer, maybe—”

  “She’s been given every opportunity to see a lawyer and one is coming.”

  “Look, I just feel a little loyalty to an employee who has been with me a long time. That’s all.” William’s explanation raised something about his relationship with Cathy, which he knew was dangerous ground.

  “Perhaps we should get on with your statement, and then we’ll see about Cathy.”

  12

  September 1, 1966

  It was nearly over, but despite the relief he would feel stepping out of captivity, it was a mournful moment. The hunger strike among Doukhobor prisoners at Agassiz Mountain Prison had taken a toll, including Pavel’s friend and companion from New Denver. Paul had slipped away without a tussle after a hundred days of protest. Pavel had never understood why Paul had died and he had lived. In this time of departure, remembering Paul brought the guilt of surviving, and now he was leaving the essence of his friend inside the prison. He remembered saying goodbye to Paul at the chain-link fence when he had aged out of New Denver on a cold day nine years before, saying he would eat enough for everyone. The irony of his death was shuddering.

  There was so much confusion inside the prison at the time of the strike. Even now Pavel struggled to remember what it was about. Elders offered conflicting messages. Their leader, Sorokin, was said to have sent messages discouraging—or was it encouraging?—co-operation with the police, but no one had seen physical evidence of the messages. Another faction, working with the RCMP, encouraged people to unburden themselves through confession. Some had confessed to crimes they had not committed as well as crimes they had. Others told tales on their brothers, believing assurances from the police that there would be resolution of their problems. Somehow they had been fooled into believing that laws, procedures and decisions of the courts in Canada would be put aside, as if all of it were at the discretion of someone who could be persuaded by what was right. Perhaps, Pavel thought, it is what people have to beli
eve when so much of what has happened to them feels unjust.

  They had gone on hunger strike with the expectation of provoking a government inquiry into these false promises in return for confessions, but it was never likely to succeed. The hunger strikers knew this at the beginning, but as the days went by, the confidence of the righteous gripped them all and squeezed any doubt from them, until Paul had died. At the time it seemed they might all die for the cause, but now, standing at the edge of liberty, the purpose was unclear. What was that sacrifice serving? A question clouded the joy of Pavel’s liberty. What was Paul’s sacrifice for?

  Some of the women, Nina among them, begged the men to give up the hunger strike after Paul had died, and they did. Otherwise more would be dead and unable to stand at the gates, waiting for freedom.

  Finally the gate opened. Pavel offered Paul a last, silent farewell and walked out of Agassiz Mountain Prison. Over the threshold a clear vista in front of him appeared to go on forever. He was like an infant, insignificant, standing at the edge of a field of corn. Away from the smell of cabbage and the sweat of men, the air was fresh.

  At the end of the driveway Nina emerged from a car that had stopped nearly a hundred yards away. She began walking toward him. His focus narrowed. All he could think of was the time he had wasted away from her. He wanted to lift his legs and run but they had not recovered their strength since the strike. It was all he could do to carry a small case and walk the hundred yards to greet her.

  They came together carefully, allowing an embrace and gentle kiss. “This is done now,” she said. “And we’re still young.”

  “I don’t feel so young.”

  “You will.” She smiled at him, took his bag and his arm and walked away from the gate.

  Nina’s uncle had driven her to collect him. He sat stiff at the wheel without acknowledging Pavel.

  As they reached the car Nina said, “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later.”

  The rear door swung open, they both slid in and slowly the car pulled away.