Among the Departed

by Vicki Delany

  Kyle burst out laughing, and Nicky looked just plain embarrassed. Mrs. Nowak only looked confused.

  “Do you remember the woman’s name?” Winters asked.

  “Not off-hand. Thing is, you see, she wasn’t around when I went to her house to ask if she’d seen Dad. Car gone. House locked up. The police called on her. No one home.” Kyle paused and looked into the watching faces. He let a few moments pass, enough time to build the tension, and then he shrugged. “She came back three days later. Had been to Prince Rupert visiting her sister. So she said.” The sentence trailed off, full of innuendo. “If he had one special friend, I bet there were more. I always thought so.”

  “Stop that. You’re being ridiculous,” Mrs. Nowak said. A vein had started to pulse in her forehead. “I don’t know what you think is so funny. Your father was a loving husband and good father. He never looked at another woman in all the years we were married.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Kyle said, with the trace of a sneer.

  “I’d like you to leave, Sergeant Keller,” Mrs. Nowak said.

  “Winters.”

  “This is too painful.” She got to her feet. Tears carved rivers through the wrinkles and folds in her face. “I’m going to lie down. I can’t bear any more.”

  She walked out of the room. Neither of her children made a move to help her.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Kyle said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

  Winters and Smith looked at Nicky as the front door slammed behind Kyle Nowak. “Ms. Nowak,” Winters said.

  “Please,” she said, in a deep slow voice. “My name is Nicky.”

  “Nicky. What do you think happened to your father?”

  “Someone killed him. I have not the slightest doubt about that and never have. Someone killed him. He would never have left me here. All alone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “That was perfectly dreadful,” Smith let out a long sigh when they were in the car.

  “Part and parcel of the job. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought you, Molly. You do know these people.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I knew them, but that was then. Everything’s changed. Nicky seems to be doing good, though. I’m glad of that.”

  Winters gave her a long look.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Your impressions?”

  “A totally screwed-up mother and son for one thing. Nicky looks like she has her act together. I wonder if she’s a model. She might know your wife.”

  “I doubt that. Are you going to see her again?”

  “Sure. Unless you think I shouldn’t. Because of the case I mean.”

  “Go ahead.”

  As they’d been leaving, Nicky suggested they get together for a drink or dinner. “So this trip won’t be a total waste of time,” she’d added.

  “Your mom needs to have you here,” Smith said.

  “I doubt that very much. I don’t like her and she certainly doesn’t like me. I only came because you, Sergeant Winters,” she said with a flirtatious wiggle of her fingers, “made it sound like we were going to reach some sort of closure. Instead it’s all opening up again, like a raw, open wound. Here’s an idea, why don’t you join Moonlight and me? I’m sure your wife’ll let you out for one night. Not too jealous is she?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He’d hustled Smith back to their car.

  Smith drove down the steep, winding streets into town. Strands of mist swirled around the mountaintops across the river, and a few drops of rain hit the windshield. She turned on the wipers. “Mom wants me to come around tomorrow and can tomatoes. I guess summer’s over.”

  “I guess it is. Drop me back at the station, Molly. I’ve got a lot of reading to do. I’ll have to find the name of Nowak’s lady friend and pay her a call. It’s possible, but unlikely, they ran off together and she got cold feet and came back.”

  “You’ve probably thought of this already,” she said, slowly, testing the waters.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What if Mr. Nowak hasn’t been on that mountain for fifteen years. Suppose it’s fourteen, or ten. How long does it take for a body to be reduced to bones?”

  “Around seven years, I think, depending on conditions.”

  “Maybe he really did run away, and was coming back, months or years later. Maybe he drove up to the mountain to think things over and got lost or had an accident.” She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. A black cat dashed across the road in front of them, and she barely had time to notice it and swerve to avoid a collision. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “That’s a thought,” he said. “Not necessarily one I want to hear because it means more angles to investigate. But good thinking nonetheless. I’ll call the park and see if they have any record of abandoned cars over, what, a five- to seven-year period.”

  She felt ridiculously pleased with herself and concentrated intently on the road in front of her. No point in putting the Sergeant into the ditch moments after he’d handed out a rare bit of praise.

  They walked into the police station, Winters to get back to his desk, and the mountain of files on the Nowak case, Smith to close out her shift.

  Jim Denton stopped them as they came in. “Guy’s been calling you, Sarge. About five times already. I told him you’d call back, but I guess he figured I was lying.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “Nowak case. Wants to know what’s going on.”

  This morning’s Trafalgar Daily Gazette had featured a prominent article on the front page under the heading Nowak Found at Last? Other than the somewhat sensational headline, the article had been down to earth and quoted the police department without speculation. A picture of the family in happier times was on the third page. Winters did not miss his old nemesis Meredith Morgenstern, who could be guaranteed to not only spice up the story but drop in a lot of insinuations before ending with a hint of police misconduct or ineptitude. Meredith had, at last, been fired from the Gazette, but promptly found a job with a Toronto tabloid, where she was no doubt messing with the minds of Toronto’s Finest.

  “Did he leave a name or state his interest?”

  Denton handed over a scrap of paper. It contained a name and phone number. “That’s all.”

  Winters shoved the paper at Smith. “Call this guy will you? If he has information for me, I’ll talk to him. If he’s wanting to satisfy his curiosity, tell him to read a mystery novel.”

  She made the call from the constables’ office.

  The phone was picked up before the end of the first ring. His name was Greg Hunt and he interrupted as soon as Smith said, “Sergeant Winters has asked me…”

  “Is he there?”

  “Yes, but he’s busy at the moment, sir,” Smith said. “I’ll pass any information on to him that you have.”

  “Information. I don’t have information, Constable. Only questions. Is it Brian Nowak you’ve found?”

  “May I ask what your interest is, sir?”

  “We were friends. I never believed he’d walk away from his life without a word to anyone. If what they’re saying in the papers is true, then it looks like I was right.”

  She punched the password into the computer, and entered Greg Hunt’s name. He lived outside of Trafalgar, on the other side of the river. Not far from her mother’s house. It was a nice road, quiet, overlooking the water, some big houses. “We have no cause of death at this time,” she said.

  He let out a long breath. “Will you keep me informed? I… I want to know, that’s all. He was a good man… a good friend.”

  “Did you speak to the officer in charge at the time of Mr. Nowak’s disappearance, sir?” A few more key strokes and she knew he was a Realtor, owned a family business.

  “No, I had nothing to tell
him. I still don’t.”

  Dawn Solway came into the office and tossed herself into a chair with a sigh. Smith lifted an eyebrow. “You were friends, you said. Did you hear from Mr. Nowak at any time after April 12, 1996?”

  “If I had, young lady, I would have told you people.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll let you know if there are any developments.” She hung up and turned to Solway. “Nosey parker. Thinks the chief’s office should have him on speed dial so he can be first with all the gossip.”

  “Wanna go for a stroll, Molly?”

  Of a similar age, the only two women in the Trafalgar City Police, Solway and Smith weren’t really friends. They went their own ways and didn’t socialize outside of work. But they liked each other and could always be trusted to speak up for the other. “I guess,” Smith said, taking a glance out the dirty window. The threat of rain had failed to materialize and the sun was trying to force its way from behind a cloud. “I’m going off now, anyway. What’s up?”

  “Something on my mind.”

  “We can’t talk here?”

  “The walls have ears.”

  Smith looked around the office. A row of chairs were pulled up in front of computers, pop cans and empty coffee mugs haphazardly scattered about. Filing cabinets lined the walls, and stacks of paper were piled on very available surface. Someone’s dress-uniform hat sat in an open drawer. A TV was mounted high on the wall. It showed the front door, where the chief was coming in, a big smile on his face.

  “Okay,” she said, curiosity building. “Let me tell John what I found out and I’ll join you.”

  “Thanks, Molly,” Solway wiggled the mouse to active her computer.

  ***

  “You haven’t been around to the house for a while,” Solway said.

  “Just got busy.”

  “Don’t get too busy to train, Molly. It’s easy to start forgetting and you never know when you’re going to need it.”

  Last year, fresh from a retraining course, the two women had set up a training schedule. It had frightened Smith to realize how much of what she’d learned at police college had already started slipping away. Solway rented a house in town that had a big basement she’d converted into a home gym. For about four months, they’d worked out together once a week, not just on a fitness regimen, but practicing self-defense techniques and police maneuvers. It had been a while since Smith had been over.

  “No excuse, I know. Next week for sure.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Solway said. “Francesca’s coming for a visit.”

  They were walking down Front Street. Solway was the beat officer this afternoon, and she suggested they walk and talk at the same time.

  “Who’s Francesca?”

  Solway threw her a glance. “I told you about her. My girlfriend.”

  “Oh, sorry. You didn’t tell me her name.” Only Smith knew Solway had a girlfriend. She kept her private life completely private, and as far as Smith knew there weren’t any rumors floating around as to Solway’s sexual orientation. Other than those who assumed any woman wearing a uniform and carrying a gun was by definition a lesbian. Solway’s girlfriend was in the U.S. Navy, stationed in Seattle. She was a lawyer. Smith wasn’t too sure, but didn’t gays get kicked out of the U.S. military if they were found out?

  “That’s nice,” she said. Up ahead a boy with a shaved head, multiple piercings, overlarge jeans held up by copious chains, and a tattoo of a snake curling around his neck, dodged traffic to get out of the path of the oncoming police.

  “Looks like Ronnie Kilpatrick’s back in town and up to no good,” Solway said. “Bet if I stuck my hand into his pants pocket, I’d find something interesting.”

  “And get it bitten off. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are rats living in there.”

  Ronnie Kilpatrick, small-town, small-time troublemaker and drug-dealer, ducked into the used CD shop. “I’ll check on him later,” Solway said.

  “Is there a problem with Francesca visiting?” Smith asked.

  “We’ve decided to get married.”

  Smith stopped walking. “Wow! That’s great. Congratulations. When? Can I be a bridesmaid? I’d give you a hug but I guess that wouldn’t appear to be too professional.”

  Solway didn’t look overly enthusiastic, as a woman announcing her engagement should. “It’s not so simple for us, you know.”

  “Are you going to be quitting? Moving to the States?”

  “No. Francesca’s leaving the Navy. She decided some time ago that she wants to go into private practice. Family law.”

  “Good afternoon, dear.” Jane Reynolds, one of Lucky’s dearest friends approached them. She leaned heavily on a cane. “Give my love to your mother. I haven’t been around for ages.”

  “I will,” Smith said.

  The officers continued walking. “She’s going to move here, to Trafalgar, and once all the immigration papers are done and she’s passed the bar exams, she’d like to open an office.”

  “Sounds perfect. Why are you looking so glum about it?”

  “I like to keep my head down. Keep a low profile.”

  “Yeah,” Smith said with a laugh. “That’s why you have a job in which you walk around town armed to the teeth.”

  “Geeze, Molly, don’t you get it?” Solway snapped. She stopped walking and turned to face Smith. “You and Adam, there are rumors, you know, you’re thinking of getting hitched.”

  Smith shifted. “He might be thinking. I’m not.”

  “Theoretically speaking then. What do you suppose will happen when you announce the happy news? You’ll come to work sporting a nice ring, and Barb and the clerks will make a big fuss, and your mom’ll throw a party and get weepy, and you’ll start sending out invitations. The guys’ll take Adam to a strip club and try to get him drunk.”

  “Yeah,” Smith said, seeing where this was going. “That’s about the size of it. For us.”

  “For Francesca and me?”

  “Probably not, eh?”

  Solway continued walking. “I’m thinking of quitting, Molly, leaving Trafalgar. I don’t think I can take the dirt.”

  “Come on, Dawn. Don’t you think you’re overreacting? This is Trafalgar, maybe the most liberal town in all of B.C. Geez, look at that guy up ahead. He’s wearing a dress. Well, I guess it’s a sarong, but no one’s pointing fingers and laughing.”

  “I admit, this is a great town. And if I were anyone else, I’d have no problem marrying the woman I love and settling down here. We’re thinking we might like to go for in vitro one day, and I know that would be accepted. But the police?”

  Smith chose her words carefully. “I think you’re judging them prematurely. Most of them are a great bunch of guys and are as much a part of Trafalgar as anyone else.”

  “Most of them. What about the likes of Dave Evans? He even has trouble with you, and you’re the straightest woman on earth.”

  “Which proves my point. Evans needs to get in digs at me because he doesn’t like women. Period. At least women he can’t screw. But when push comes to shove, I’ve never felt that he didn’t have my back. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “I don’t know, Molly.”

  “Whatever you decide, I’m here for you. But I think if you do quit, you’ll be feeding into the hands of those who want to keep the police a straight male club. You did okay on your last performance review, didn’t you?”

  “Better than okay.”

  “I’d like to meet Francesca. And when you’re ready to announce your engagement, you can be sure I’ll make a big fuss.”

  “Thanks, Molly. I’m not totally convinced, but I’ll think about it. Excuse me, sir, but are you not aware dogs are prohibited in this area.”

  He was standing at the corner, waiting for the ligh
t to change. A long-haired black dog on a leash sat patiently at his feet. “What the hell does that mean?” the man said, so quickly and aggressively Smith knew he was perfectly aware he was disobeying the by-law. Solway pointed to the painting on the pavement. A dog inside the universal symbol of a red circle with a line though it. Smith hummed “here comes the bride” under her breath and walked away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eliza had brought a book and sat beside the cash register, reading. Summer tourists were gone and winter ones yet to arrive, and traffic through the gallery was slow. This month she featured a handful of artists from the nearby town of Nelson, including Carol Reynolds, who painted street scenes of typical Kootenay homes and backgrounds, beautifully and realistically detailed. Reynolds’ paintings were popular and several had little red stickers on them indicating they’d been sold.

  Eliza had been reluctant to take on any shifts in the store, retail was hardly her thing, but she found she liked sitting in the pale well-lit space surrounded by art and enjoyed engaging in conversation with potential customers who wanted to talk about the work.

  She looked up as the bell over the door tinkled to announce an arrival. “Kyle, this is a surprise.” She slipped a bookmark between the pages and put the book down. “What brings you here?”

  “Thought I’d check the place out.” He glanced around. The gallery was long and narrow with wooden floors painted off-white and light cream walls. Carefully placed lighting illuminated the paintings, and a round glass vase full of deep red roses sat on the counter beside the cash register. Classical music, Beethoven at the moment, played softly in the background.

  “I’m happy to see you,” Eliza said, “but I did say if I decide to show your art it will be at my location in Vancouver, not here.”

  “Yeah,” he studied a painting. Not by Reynolds, it was a watercolor of Kootenay Lake, the ferry in the distance and a sailboat in the foreground. “Paint-by-numbers,” he said with a sneer.

  “Few people are going to want your art hanging on their living room wall,” Eliza said, defensive toward the picture, which she’d been ambivalent about in the first place. “Your art we will be positioning for collectors and galleries.”