by Karen Long
“The ones you pick up when you want a…sexual encounter.”
Eleanor felt a wave of anger, undoing in an instant the remorse she’d felt. “You mean that you noticed a card with a yin/yang symbol on it pinned to the board and suspect that I’m going to attend the party, give the number a call, arrange for a sexual encounter of some disapproved of flavour and then get myself kidnapped and murdered. Is that right?”
Laurence said nothing. The already over-heated car was now sweltering. Laurence flipped on the air conditioning.
“Perhaps next time I want to arrange a consensual one night stand I should invite you along to monitor the situation?” she hissed through pinched lips.
“I’m your partner! I care about your safety,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t say that I was judging you,” he added lamely.
Eleanor focussed her attention on the city and let the silence settle between them.
Chapter Three
“Listen bru,” said Dieter, peering into the vivarium. “Everything you have said so far is correct.”
Laurence stood immobilised in front of the glass, staring at the snake’s eyes. Eleanor watched him, fascinated to see whether his knowledge of snakes or people would determine Laurence’s next move.
“The eyes are predominantly black, with a thin orange iris surrounding… hang on, almost surrounding the iris,” said Laurence, carefully.
“Cor-rect,” replied Dieter, pleased.
Laurence took a couple of steps to the left, observing that the one-and-a-half metre green snake followed his movements with its head and top eighteen inches. “That’s a white belly… Shit I just can’t remember whether green mambas have green or white undersides.”
“Problem bru. Problem,” replied Dieter sagely. He smirked at Eleanor. His deeply lined and bronzed skin indicated a lifetime of snake hunting in the veldt. “You gotta make a decision man. You want the information? Name the snake and you get it.” Dieter was having a fabulous time. Having agreed that he had been to collect the snake from a small apartment near to the college, he refused to further any more information, unless Laurence could correctly identify the green snake that was watching him curiously from the inside of a glass-fronted vivarium, in the back room of Toronto Zoo’s reptile house.
“You’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities, either –” Dieter raised his eyebrows “– it’s a Natal green snake: harmless. Or, it’s a green mamba, which is listed pretty high on Africa’s most deadly list. So which is it?”
Laurence had taken this challenge to a ridiculous level of competitiveness. Eleanor could see what looked like small beads of sweat appearing on his neckline.
With a decisive gesture Eleanor reached for the bolt and drew it, her eyes locked onto Dieter’s. It took her less than a second to register his reaction. She then slid opened the glass partition and reached for the snake, gently cupping its head and body with her hands and lifting it out.
“Your partner knows her snakes then,” said Dieter admiringly. Laurence had instinctively taken a step back.
“Sorry, I have no idea what type of snake this is,” she said, fascinated by the creature’s head. “Your pupils told me it was safe.”
“They did?” laughed Dieter.
“No dilation. No fear,” she said rubbing a finger gently across the snake’s back. “And as Head Herpetologist the chances of you endangering anyone’s life in a stunt like that were pretty much zero.”
Eleanor saw Laurence smile and handed him over the snake.
“Ah man! You are too good,” he laughed, wagging his finger at Eleanor. He handed her a piece of paper from under an empty coffee mug. It contained an address, contact name and a description of the snake identified as a ‘Natal Green Snake’.
“Can you remember entering the apartment?” she asked.
“Well give or take,” he said. “Don’t be looking for forensic observation here because I tend to focus attention on the scaly stuff, not people or places.”
“I understand,” Eleanor responded. “Was there anything about the apartment that struck you as interesting or unusual. Apart from the snake of course.”
“The girl who’d kept the snake had a couple of skulls in her room.” He grimaced and shook his head “They looked pretty old to me but I’m sure there are tight regulations about having ’em just knocking round your bedroom.”
“Why, what sort of skulls were they?” Eleanor asked.
“Oh babies… human babies.”
“Pick up your car?” asked Laurence, as he pulled onto the Expressway. Eleanor was lost in her own thoughts and didn’t seem to be listening.
“Look, I’m sorry. I was…” he began.
“Rude, intrusive, judgemental?” Eleanor offered, managing a tight smile.
“How about protective?” he countered.
“How about a polite truce, while you work out your last few weeks?’ she added, softly. “I hear you’ve requested a transfer.”
“Yes,” he said, uncomfortably. “I thought…” his voice tapered as he pondered.
“I don’t need an explanation,” she said as gently as she could. “It’s not too late. How about we visit Parminder Kaur and see if she can provide us with some info on Giselle?”
“How about I do that after I drop you off. You’ve been on for eleven hours and don’t look great,” he said firmly but with obvious relief.
“I look fabulous, you’ve just got to lower the bar a little.”
He stared at her for a moment and then nodded, “Ok but last call. You got pain killers?”
“I’m good,” she said emphatically. “You’re heading for Rowton Drive, off Jervis.”
There was very little daylight left by the time they reached Ms. Kaur’s apartment complex. The streetlights were beginning to hum into life, drawing moths, beetles and opportunistic little brown bats, in a kaleidoscope of avoidance and detection. The buildings were uniformly red brick, and generally three-storey apartment lets. There were no well-kept front lawns to indicate the presence of families or elderly settled residents. Rather, a multitude of trash cans, each bearing an anti-raccoon device, ranging in sophistication from a house brick to an elaborate locking mechanism, clustered around the entrances. By the sound of the squeals and rummaging, not all of the devices could claim any degree of effectiveness.
Parminder Kaur peered at them suspiciously, for a moment or two, before letting them in.
“Apologies for the lateness of the hour but we have been following up an incident and were hoping you could help us with our enquiries,” said Laurence, holding up his badge reassuringly.
“An incident?” said Parminder nervously. She was a slightly-built woman in her early twenties, dressed in an eclectic mixture of brightly coloured sari, draped languorously around her shoulders and waist, accompanied by a T-shirt and jogging pants. She smiled at Laurence’s gaze.
“I’m trying it on for my aunty’s wedding. I’ll be wearing something more appropriate on the day.” She giggled lightly and invited them into the kitchen, where a delicious sugary almond cloud was battling the deeper tones of cumin and ginger. Eleanor looked at Laurence’s glazed expression, fully expecting him to start dribbling.
“Wow,” said Laurence with heartfelt pleasure.
“Badam burfi and vegetable samosas,” cooed Parminder, pushing laden plates towards them. “You must try them both for me.”
“You’re a student at the catering college?” asked Eleanor, beginning to succumb to the enticing aromas.
“Was,” replied Parminder nudging a plate of samosas towards her. “I graduated this summer and work at the ‘Orient Express’ now.”
Laurence nodded his approval. “That the one over towards Tommy Thompson park?”
“You know it?” she said.
“You reported a snake to Toronto Zoo last year, when your room-mate disappeared,” said Eleanor.
Parminder nodded, making a little moue of disgust. “Giselle, my room-mate, just left it here and I
wasn’t going to feed it. So I called the zoo. A guy came and collected it.”
“Did Giselle ever contact you, or come back to collect the snake?”
“No, she didn’t,” said Parminder frowning. “Oh my God! Is that why you’re here? Is she ok?”
“We don’t know,” replied Eleanor. “Have you received any communication from Giselle’s friends? Any correspondence?”
Parminder shook her head and sucked in her lips thoughtfully.
“Giselle would appear to me to be a rather odd choice of room-mate for you,” said Eleanor slowly.
Parminder nodded and rolled her eyes expressively. “I come from a very traditional family and I was only allowed to live away from home if I could find a female room-mate, preferably someone from the same background. But I couldn’t, so Giselle fit the bill nicely. My parents only ever visited on an evening when she was out working and all her stuff made it seem like I lived with a girl.”
“Did she ever bring anyone back to the flat with her?” asked Eleanor.
Parminder shook her head vigorously, “No, never. I laid down rules about that and she stuck to them.”
“When Giselle left what did you do with her belongings?”
“I got introduced to Angela a few weeks after Giselle disappeared. She needed to move out of her place and so I sub-let because I just couldn’t manage the payments myself.”
“Giselle’s belongings?” repeated Eleanor.
“Well it wasn’t my stuff, so I put it in boxes and took it down to the basement. The landlord lets us keep our bikes down there and it seemed like a good place but…” her voice trailed off. “I think the raccoons must have got in there because all the boxes were trashed. Everything was open and dumped all over the place. It was such a mess, so I just gathered together what was left, put it into some boxes and took it up to the loft.” She looked uncomfortable.
“But you don’t think it was raccoons do you?” asked Eleanor carefully.
Parminder shrugged. “Look I don’t know. I must have left the door unlocked or open when I took my bike out.”
“Go on,” said Eleanor leaning towards her.
“There were some things that had been taken.”
“What was missing?”
Parminder began to fidget. “I don’t really know.”
“Was it a pair of baby skulls?” asked Eleanor.
“Oh my God! How did you know?” she asked uncomfortably.
Eleanor was nibbling on a samosa and let the accompanying silence run.
“I wrapped them carefully and put them in one of the shoe boxes but they were gone. Raccoons tend not to take the box,” she added. “So I guess they were stolen.” Parminder leaned back, her arms spread on the table.
“May we see the rest of Giselle’s belongings?” asked Eleanor.
Parminder looked relieved. “Of course.” She carefully unwrapped the sari and folded it. “Don’t want to get it messed up.”
Laurence pushed the ceiling panel open and shone his torch around the loft space and noted three cardboard boxes shoved towards the eaves. There was little else of note in the cramped and dusty space. Piles of mummified scat surrounded the cold-water tank and torn out lagging material attested to its efficiency as both loft and nesting insulation. There was a broken lamp, several fans and some suitcases, all heavily covered in dust.
“The three boxes in the corner, that all of Giselle’s stuff?” asked Laurence trying to work out the best way of removing them. He was balanced precariously on a pull-down loft ladder and didn’t want to have to pass them down to Eleanor.
“Yes, can you reach them?” asked Parminder from the landing.
“Uh-huh,” he replied hooking his fingers around one and dragging it towards him. He cautiously opened the flap to look at the contents. Clothing, shoes, female underwear and a shell collection in a small lacquered box, were placed neatly on the top layers. Not wanting to disturb the contents further, Laurence folded the boxes’ flaps over and backed down the steps, holding the box above his head.
“That looks pretty heavy,” said Eleanor reaching for it. She saw Laurence hesitate for a moment and turned to Parminder. “How did you manage to get this up in the loft on your own?” she asked.
“I had a friend help me,” she answered.
Eleanor nodded. “I can’t imagine you doing this on your own,” she said, firmly grasping the corners of the box and taking the weight. “Have you any objections to us taking Giselle’s belongings to the station?”
Parminder shook her head. “You haven’t told me what the incident is yet?” she asked quietly.
Eleanor looked at her carefully for a moment or two before replying. “We’ve found a body.”
The traffic had been unusually heavy on their way back to the station. A couple of streets had been closed for an open-air gig and street party and the detour was snarled with parked cars and over-large vehicles. Eleanor felt heavy and tired and wanted to have a long soak and think about the day. Laurence had lapsed into a brooding silence, which suited her perfectly. As she studied the excited revellers scurrying between cars, carrying cans and bottles, she pondered the reasons Parminder Kaur could have had for lying to them.
The department was virtually empty when Eleanor and Laurence finally manhandled the three boxes into their office.
“Now, or the morning?” he asked, reaching for a box of latex gloves.
“Tomorrow,” she answered, waving him on. “I’m tired.”
He nodded and left the room with a wave.
Eleanor flicked off the lamp, grabbed her keys and bag and had almost made it to the door when curiosity overwhelmed her. She made a firm decision not to stay for longer than half an hour, as she pulled on the gloves. The first two boxes yielded nothing more exciting than a rather gaudy collection of women’s low cut tops and slim fit jeans, though a hairbrush and a bag of rollers held sufficient long auburn hair to promise DNA analysis. There was a well-plundered box of industrial strength condoms and a large make-up bag filled with both prescription and non-prescription drugs. Eleanor carefully bagged these without analysing the contents, which could wait. In fact all of this could wait. She was exhausted and desperately needed to drive home and sleep but that last box had to contain something interesting, something that would shed a little light on Giselle’s life, preferences and contacts.
Opening a can of soda and washing down three painkillers she repacked the first two boxes, lifting them stiffly onto the trolley they’d borrowed from reception and dragged the third onto her desk. This box had a different smell to the others, which had a dusty aroma mixed with the damp earthy tones of mould setting in. She peeled back the cardboard flaps and inhaled the heavy, volatile notes of a patchouli-based perfume. An oil-stained towel had been folded over the contents and Eleanor peeled it back to reveal the source of the smell. A small turquoise scent bottle, with an expensive gilt stopper, had been leaking. Its contents had saturated the towel and left a large brown stain on a pack of photographs beneath. The photographs were not of a uniform size or paper type and were held tightly together by a pink ribbon and the oily perfume, which had seeped through them. By gently lifting the edges of the photographs she was able to make out the image of a strong-featured, attractive woman with friends. It wasn’t clear whether the woman was Giselle but the pair of earrings and matching necklace she wore in the photograph were in the second box. Madame Angela had been right: if this was Giselle then Mackenzie’s Polaroid neither confirmed, nor disproved they were the same person. Not wanting to lose any valuable images by trying to separate them further, Eleanor placed them in a paper evidence bag.
The wall clock was inching past midnight now and Eleanor had to stifle a yawn. There were only a couple of items left, a manila envelope containing seven birthday cards, a city museum guide from two years earlier outlining a special exhibition of ‘Animals in Art’, and wrapped in a fluffy balled up sock, was a wooden snake. With extreme care, Eleanor gently extracted it. The snake
had been hand carved from a single length of bowed wood, every vertebra held in place by a small metal clasp. She’d owned a similar one herself as a child. When you held the snake by the tail, it would writhe and whip round in imitation of the real thing. This snake was considerably older than hers and by the detail on the carving she had no doubt that it was valuable both financially and culturally. With great care Eleanor placed the snake in an evidence bag and tidied up the last box.
Chapter Four
Toby approached the main gate of his house with the usual degree of trepidation. He was acutely aware that there was a fine line between security and invitation and had let the fascia take on the dilapidated appearance of the ‘down at heel’ over the past few years, in order to deter possible intrusion. The six-foot-high gate, that allowed access through the dense ring of privet, was barred with a small but effective titanium bolt. Before he unlocked the gate he took a quick look up and down the street, checking that no one was watching. Stepping onto the footpath that led up to the front door of ‘Crowthorne’, he gave a final visual sweep along both sides of the street and methodically re-secured the bolt.
The house was an early red-brick Edwardian detached, bearing a single magnificent gothic turret to the east wall. Built in the professorial belt in the Annex region of the city, it had been purchased by his family for sixteen hundred dollars in the late nineteen forties. Toby, an only child, had inherited the house, a collection of World War One memorabilia and the space to house his collection.
Despite the overwhelming heat of the city in high summer, the interior of the house was always cool and Toby sighed pleasurably as he placed his jacket on the coat stand by the front door and made his way towards the kitchen. “Honey! I’m home,” he trilled. The kitchen was unusually small, a six-seater oak dining table set for two, squatted heavily in the middle of the room. Toby placed his briefcase on the end of the table and rolled up the sleeves of his white day shirt, gratefully loosening his cravat. For a moment or two he stood completely still and let his surroundings calm him. His day had been filled with niggling irritations and frustrations and he’d have to spend several hours after supper going through the mountain of paperwork he’d received regarding the late Mr Forester’s bequest to the museum. According to the solicitors who were handling the estate, the collection comprised, ‘an eclectic mixture of East African artefacts acquired legitimately by the late Mr Forester, during his years there as cultural attaché’. There were over three hundred objects of varying significance and value, each one having been assigned a number, photograph and description by Mr Forester. It was this understandable enthusiasm for cataloguing, which would make the upcoming theft more challenging for Toby.
