Among the Departed

by Vicki Delany

  Or was the other face the true one? Expensive clothes, well groomed, made-up. Charm and sex appeal. Then she was beyond pretty, she was dazzling.

  Underneath that façade, Winters suspected, lay a hard, brittle woman.

  She had no police record but Winters would bet money she was a prostitute. Or had been so at one time. She sized men up as if she were inspecting beef in the supermarket, and only if she found them acceptable did the smile switch on and the flirting begin. Unlikely she worked the streets: she dressed well and cared for herself and showed no outward signs of the drug abuse that got most hookers through their days and nights.

  He didn’t know if he should be flattered that she was still trying to charm him.

  “Forgive me, Sergeant,” she said in a low voice. “But I had a late night and Mom didn’t give me much advance warning you were coming. I’m afraid you find me as I am. Warts and all.” Her smile was all innocence while she waited for him to tell her she looked beautiful as she was.

  Instead he thanked them for seeing him and took a seat.

  Mrs. Nowak, dressed in a faded housedress and once-fluffy slippers, bustled about with tea things and packaged cookies. When she’d placed the tray on the coffee table, she went to the dining nook and turned a chair around so it faced the living room. They were sitting in a square. Kyle on the couch, Nicky and Winters in armchairs, Mrs. Nowak in her own chair.

  Every one of them alone.

  It was a sunny day, but the curtains were still drawn and the house, as well as the family, was wrapped in gloom.

  Winters asked them to go over, one more time, the events of Sunday, April 12, fifteen years ago.

  “Why don’t I make a recording, and play it every time you come around?” Kyle snapped. “Then you don’t have to keep wasting our time.”

  “You think the investigation into your father’s death is a waste of time?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m getting sick and tired of telling the damn story is all.”

  “I can understand that, but bear with me. Your father didn’t go to church with the family that morning, correct?”

  “Yeah. He bowed out. I guess he was just ahead of the rest of us. We don’t go any more either.”

  “Did he usually go to church with you?”

  “Every week,” Mrs. Nowak said. “Every Sunday.”

  “Why did he not accompany you that day?”

  Mrs. Nowak spoke to her lap. “He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Of course I believed him. Trust is the foundation of marriage.”

  “When he disappeared, did you wonder then about him missing church?”

  She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and full of grief long-held. She sniffled and dug in her pocket for a tissue. “I wondered then about everything I had ever believed and everyone I had ever held dear in this life.”

  Nicky looked at her mother. Kyle shuffled his feet. Neither of the children made a move to console her.

  Had this family been so unloving, so distant, before tragedy ruined their lives? Molly said the Nowaks had seemed like a normal family, but what thirteen-year-old paid attention to group dynamics not involving teenagers? She had painted Nicky as a good athlete and student. It was unlikely she would have turned into an iron-shelled, hard woman pretending to be soft and adorable if her father had remained in her life.

  “Kyle, why were you so sure your father was having affairs with women from the church? Everyone I’ve spoken to, including Father O’Malley, says there’s no truth to that.”

  “Father O’Malley,” Kyle snorted, “is a pervert.”

  “Do you have reason to believe that?”

  Kyle shrugged. “Aren’t they all buggering little boys?”

  His mother gasped.

  “No,” Winters said, “they aren’t. But if you have reason to believe so, I will investigate your claims. Did Father O’Malley ever interfere with you, or attempt to do so?”

  “Nah. I never let him get near enough. Okay, I don’t know anything about that. I just mean that when it came to matters of men and women the good Father was clueless.”

  “I never heard a single whisper about Father O’Malley’s behavior,” Nicky said. “You can put that idea to rest. Kyle’s just trying to stir the pot. Like always.”

  Kyle didn’t reply.

  “Father O’Malley’s always been a perfect gentleman around me,” Nicky added with a secret smile at Winters. “Even now that I’m all grown up.”

  No doubt he was expected to make a comment about how well she had grown up.

  “Newsflash, Nicky,” Kyle said. “Fags don’t flirt with women.”

  “We’re getting off topic here,” Winters said. “Did your husband smoke a lot, Mrs. Nowak?”

  “I didn’t approve. I didn’t allow him to smoke in the house, but his den was his private space so he would go there for a cigarette or out onto the deck if the weather was nice.”

  “He went through about a quarter-pack a day, I’d guess,” Nicky said. “He always smelled of tobacco. I can’t stand the smell of it. It makes me think of Dad, every time.” Her whole body shuddered. “Sometimes, it’s more than I can bear.”

  “He went out to buy cigarettes but never got to the store on the corner?”

  “That’s right.”

  The corner variety store was gone. Torn down and replaced with a duplex when the owner retired. He was dead now, but his statement to Paul Keller lived on, saying he had been working alone in the store that Sunday afternoon and had not seen Brian Nowak, whom he knew well.

  “Any chance he might have gone someplace else to buy his cigarettes?”

  “Where else would he go?” Nicky said, “Without taking the car? I suppose he could have walked into town, but even if he had, no one saw him.”

  “Mrs. Nowak,” Winters said, “I know how hard this is for you, but I’m sure you understand why I have to ask. Your husband withdrew ten thousand dollars from his investment account shortly before he left home. You said at the time you had no idea what he intended to do with the money or what happened to it. Is that correct?”

  The woman shot a glance at her son. Then her eyes fell back to her lap.

  “My mother knows nothing about that money,” Kyle said. “She didn’t then and she doesn’t now.”

  “I could have used ten thousand dollars,” Mrs. Nowak said. “He left us with nothing. Nothing.”

  “It’s not as if he planned on being killed, Mom,” Nicky said. “You’ve got to stop blaming him.”

  Kyle stood up. “I’m sick of this. Nothing but the same crap over and over and over for fifteen years. Do you think if we remembered something we wouldn’t have told you? I’m going downstairs. I have work to do. I’ve been offered a gallery showing in Vancouver, you know. Time for you to leave, Winters, my mom doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. Can’t you see how hard this is on her?”

  Winters glanced at the woman. He could see. She was like a dog, a small starving dog who’d been beaten too many times. She huddled into herself, wrapped in a tattered sweater, red, chapped fingers tearing at the damp tissue. She was little more than bones held together by a thin layer of skin. Her face was gray, her cheeks had fallen in on themselves, her blue eyes were so washed out they were the color of the sky on a cloudy day.

  “People remember your husband,” Winters said, getting to his feet. He wanted to leave having said something comforting. “Very fondly. People like Lucky Smith, Father O’Malley, Greg Hunt.”

  “Who?” she asked. Kyle stared at Winters.

  “Greg Hunt. The realtor?”

  “Don’t remember him,” she said.

  “He was your husband’s friend.”

  She said nothing.

 
“Good bye, Sergeant,” Kyle said. He opened the door and made shooing gestures.

  “Wait,” Nicky said. “What happens now?”

  “The RCMP is ready to release Mr. Nowak’s body.”

  “We know that. We’ve made the arrangements. The funeral will be on Monday at Sacred Heart. I meant what happens about finding the person who murdered my father.”

  “Unless further evidence comes to light, I’ll be winding down the investigation,” Winters told her. “We have no reason to believe your father died as a result of foul play.”

  “Of course it was foul play,” Nicky shouted. She jumped to her feet. “And you know it.”

  “Goodbye, Sergeant,” Kyle repeated.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “I thought I told you not to come.”

  “So ye did. But I figured I would anyway.”

  The park was high over the city and offered a spectacular view down into the blue and green bowl of mountains, town, and river.

  “Set up a telescope here, and a chap could watch everyone. See who’s sneaking into whose house soon as the husband leaves for work.” Joey Stewart made a circle out of his fingers and held his hands to his right eye as he pretended to survey the town.

  “You were right: going after the cop was a bad idea. I’m going to stay until my father’s funeral on Monday, leave first thing Tuesday morning. That has nothing to do with you. Go home and wait for me.”

  “I’m not good at waiting, you should know that.”

  “Sure you are. You wait outside a mark’s house for hours until it’s time to snap pictures of the wife and kids.”

  “Yeah, but that brings a payoff. I don’t sit and wait for you to call, Nicole. Get that idea out of your pretty head.”

  “Fuck off, Joey.” She stood up and unconsciously brushed the dust from the park bench off her cream pants.

  Joey Stewart, her business partner, had shown up that afternoon. Not stupid enough to ring the doorbell, he’d parked down the street and sat in his car waiting. When she’d come out in pursuit of a decent cup of coffee he followed her into town. She hadn’t even known he was there. By the time she’d parked her own car outside Big Eddie’s and was waiting to cross the road, he pulled up beside her, rolled down the window and said, “Get in.”

  Not wanting to either go into Eddie’s with him or make a scene, she had.

  “Sit down,” he said now.

  She sat.

  “The way I see it,” he said, in a tight voice that emphasized his Scottish accent, “is that your wee holiday’s costing me money. I put Leung off for one week but won’t be doing that again. You said you were coming here for a couple of days. Well, time’s up. We’ve had some new calls, and I’ve made appointments for early next week. You can come back with me—today—or, if you want to stay on in this pleasant wee town, get to work.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, Nicole felt a frisson of fear. He was an ugly little bastard, about as tough as they came, but she’d always figured she was tougher. She refused to let him intimidate her, or boss her around, and they’d made a lot of money together over the years. She’d never stopped to think how he might take it if she decided to leave the partnership.

  “You are not my boss.” She pushed the fear aside and let contempt take its place. She looked into his face. “Don’t you forget it.” She’d taken drama classes in school, thinking she’d become an actress one day. That dream, like all the others, disappeared along with her father. She never had appeared on stage, but her job was acting all right. “I told you, I’ll be home on Tuesday.”

  “We’re partners, Nicole. We run a business. Our product just happens to be your body. And as you have it with you, use it.”

  “I’m not turning tricks here, in my hometown. Forget that. Everyone knows me.”

  He reached out one hand and grabbed her chin. She tried to pull away but his grip was tight. His fingers dug into her skin and pressed on the bone. “Like I said, your body is our business. Me, I can always find another cunt to put to work. Might not even have to put up with one who doesn’t know the proper use for her mouth. You, Nicole, cannot find another body.” He twisted his hand so her neck turned. “Get my meaning?”

  She lashed out, aiming her long red fingernails at his face. He pulled back and she merely brushed the stubble on his chin. He let go abruptly and laughed. “Consider that a partner’s meeting. No need to take the minutes.”

  A white Jack Russell darted out from a clump of bushes. Its short hair was standing on end and its teeth exposed. A low growl came from its throat. A young girl ran up the path, waving a leash. “Scissors, come here. Stop that. Bad dog.” She was tall and thin and pretty with long brown hair, dressed in running shoes, shorts and a T-shirt that did nothing to conceal the burgeoning curves of her body. She grabbed the dog’s collar and fastened the leash. “Sorry about that. He’s usually quite good.”

  Scissors growled.

  “That’s okay,” Joey said, giving the girl a big smile. “I like dogs.”

  “It’s usually quiet this time of day so I figured I could let Scissors off the leash. I’m sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I’m Joey.” He held out his hand. “Just visiting. Nice town you’ve got here.”

  “Becky. Becky Lopez.” She shifted the leash to her left hand, and shook Joey’s. “Pleased to meet you, Joey.” She glanced at Nicole, who ignored her. “You’re from England, right?” Becky said. “I’d love to go to England one day.”

  “Great place for a holiday.”

  “See you around maybe.” She tugged at the leash.

  “That would be great. Bye now.”

  “Bye.” She walked away, pulling a reluctant dog behind her. They disappeared down the path to the parking lot.

  “Pretty girl,” Joey said.

  “That dog has a hell of a lot more intelligence about people than the girl does. It knew you were a miserable bastard from a mile away.” Joey had been talking to Becky, but aiming his words at Nicole. She didn’t much care. There were plenty of girls in the world; the cities were full of them. Runaways, druggies, kids looking for adventure. Joey might like to think he was the brains of their operation, but without Nicole he’d be lucky to manage a string of twenty-dollars-a-blow-job street hookers.

  “I’m thinking of starting a line in kiddie traffic,” he said. “Perverts like that innocent, fresh-faced look. Think Becky’d be interested? The mud on her knees was a nice touch.”

  “What you do with your hobbies is none of my business. You get busted for using underage girls, I won’t bother to visit you in jail.”

  “Until that happens, I want you back at work.”

  “I came to you with an idea. You didn’t like it.”

  “Not the cop, no.”

  “I’m not hooking in this town, Joey. Forget it. We need a little thing called anonymity. If that word’s too big for you, look it up in the dictionary. This town, everyone knows everyone. And this week I’m the star of the show. I can’t tell you how many old ladies have come up to me on the street to tell me they’re happy to see me again.” And, they always added, so sad about your father, but you and your family must be glad to have his body back.

  “Did you bring much of the white stuff with you, Nicole? You’re staying longer than you’d expected. Not running out, I hope.”

  She tried to keep her face impassive, but he knew he’d struck home. She was almost out of cocaine, and didn’t know where in Trafalgar she could get more. They practically sold marijuana out in the open at the Happy Tobaccy, but anything harder than pot was a different story.

  She dug in her purse and pulled out a cigarette. Her hand shook as she lit it.

  Joey smiled.

  If she was going to get through the days leading up to her father’s funeral, and the funeral i
tself, she had to be able to have a hit when she needed one.

  “Thought so,” he said, “I’ll see what I can do for you. We’ll drop the escort service line, go for the temporary girlfriend thing. See, Nicole, I’m thinking we can do better in this town than back in the city. Not only will the marks be wanting to keep the pictures away from their wives, but everyone else in town too. Does the local paper have a gossip column?”

  “Damned if I know.” Despite herself, she was thinking it might not be a bad idea. They had, a couple of times in Vancouver, picked on a man who refused to give in to Joey’s blackmail. Publish and be damned, one fellow had said. Joey sent the photos to his wife’s office. They’d never heard what happened after that, but hurriedly found a new apartment and re-opened the escort agency under a different name and phone number.

  What would it hurt? Hang around a couple of bars, pick up men.

  “Okay,” she said. “But I don’t want you approaching them until I’ve gone. In case something backfires. My father’s funeral is on Monday and I intend to be there, with my head held high. Get it?”

  “Sure.”

  “We don’t have a place to use, where we can set up properly. I assume you brought the mobile equipment.”

  “Sure did.”

  Joey liked gadgets. He had a nice collection of tiny cameras. The sort that would fit into the stone of a necklace or fasten to the mirror in a car. The pictures wouldn’t be all that good, but one or two pics of a man spread-eagled on a hotel bed stark naked, his prick like a flag pole, or the back of her head buried in his lap in the front seat of a car would go a long way toward loosening his wallet.

  “Besides.” She ran the idea over in her mind, liking it more and more. She took a long drag on her cigarette. “Time to shake up this stuck-up town. If they want to gossip about the Nowaks, I’ll give them something to really talk about.”