by Warren Court
The woman looked at it and then up at Temple. “Her name is Barbara, I think. I don’t know her last name.”
“She was a good friend of Sidduth’s?”
“Yes, I think.” Farzana looked away.
“What is it?” Temple said.
“She was bad. Bad influence on my daughter.”
“Drugs?”
Farzana nodded and choked up. “She started going to parties, coming home late. Going out with boys. I saw her in a car one time with a boy. He was bad.”
“Was it a black kid, the boy?”
Again Farzana nodded her head. “Her grades started to fall. The more we pushed, the more we yelled, the worse it got. The high school phoned us. They said she hadn’t been there for weeks. They wanted to know if everything was okay.”
“What did you tell them?”
“It was none of their business. It was our shame.”
“They could have helped. They have programs.” As the words left his mouth, Temple was reminded of the battle his parents had had with his sister. They had pushed at first, yelled, locked her in her room. Then they switched tactics and given her leeway, treated her like an adult. That had only pushed his sister out the door faster.
“I’m sorry,” Temple apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you did all you could.”
“Do you have children, Detective?”
“No. But my sister… She was just a kid when she disappeared.” The words sounded strange coming out. He had never told anyone that before, except for Wozniak. Not even his closest friends in high school knew what had happened to her.
“Will you find my daughter?”
“I won’t stop.” She gave him a funny look. She had no idea he was without badge and gun and this point. Temple took the photo back from her, turned it over, and removed the picture without asking. “Let me ask you something, Mrs. Nair. When you were first questioned by police last year, a Detective Tasnady was leading the investigation. Do you remember him?”
“Yes. He was harsh.”
“Because he knew you were hiding something.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything.”
Here we go again, Temple thought. “He questioned you about the six-day delay between the disappearance and your call to the police.”
“Yes.”
“But it wasn’t just one question: he was harsh with you about that. Just as I was. He kept asking you questions. He didn’t believe your story any more than I did. About deportation.”
“Yes,” she said, and looked away.
“I want you to tell me what really made you afraid. Afraid enough not to call us for six days.”
Farzana Nair gulped and looked at the wall for a long time. Finally, she turned back to Temple. A tear ran down her cheek. “There was a man. He came to see me at the restaurant.”
“He threatened you.”
“He smashed things. He turned a table up with all the dishes and glasses on it. We were closing up. He punched a boy who worked for us. He said...” She had to pause. “He said if we called the police he would come back and kill me and my husband and my younger daughter.”
“He came to visit you before your husband and Aruna disappeared?”
“Yes, about two days before, I think.”
“Was it the man your husband was arguing with on the phone?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
“Did he have a tattoo on his neck right here?” He pointed to his own neck.
“No.”
“But you could identify him if you saw him again.”
“Perhaps.”
Temple stood up to leave, and then paused. He was going to say something about the cousin coming out of her house early in the morning, only a couple of days after her husband had been found dead but stopped himself. In addition to trying to find Sidduth, he was also trying to find the murderer of Prajoth and his daughter. Maybe they were connected to the same person—Coconis. Maybe not. Temple wasn’t sure any more, but his instinct told him to keep that card close to his chest for now until he had time to look at the cousin again.
Temple knew that Tasnady was a good detective; even a mediocre one would have questioned her about that six-day delay in phoning the police and would not have been satisfied with her answer. Temple was sure the squeeze had started back then: pressure had been applied to Tasnady and he had whitewashed his notes on the interview he had had with Mrs. Nair last fall. Temple couldn’t entirely fault Tasnady for bending to the pressure to back off the case. Temple didn’t know what his situation was—wife, kids in college, a pension to protect, all that. And what did Temple have? Why had he elected to potentially throw away his career on a family he didn’t know, on a grieving mother whom he had to drag things out of in order to advance his investigation? How long could he fool himself in to believing that he was going to find the eldest Nair daughter alive? Or that, by locating her, he would gain some closure in the case of his own sister’s disappearance, because he knew it wouldn’t. And how effective would he be in finding his sister if he got kicked off the TPS—or, worse, put in jail?
Temple tucked these thoughts away for the time being and pulled into the school parking lot. Luckily the uniform at the door was the same guy, as he no longer had his tin. The uniform just nodded his head and failed to notice that the metal detector did not go off as a weaponless Temple passed through it. The receptionist eyed him coldly as he entered the office. He wouldn’t have to flash a badge at her, either, to get her to comply. He slid the photo he’d taken from the Nair residence across the desk and pointed to the blonde girl.
“First name is Barbara,” Temple said. “I want her last name, address, phone number.” He took out his notebook and pen and looked expectantly at the woman.
She hesitated a second and then turned to a computer monitor below the desk that Temple could not see. She punched at the keys. “Barbara McBride. Last address we have on her is 16 Fintona Boulevard.”
Temple wrote it down and thanked her, then nodded at the vice principal’s office. “Did he make bail?”
“Yes.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“He’s suspended as a teacher.”
“He broke the law,” Temple said. “He shouldn’t have lied to us, shouldn’t have helped a drug dealer get away from us. All we wanted to do was talk to the kid. I don’t think I’ll be back, if that’s any consolation.”
The woman said nothing. Temple left the office and stopped to talk to the uniform.
“Solomon Quinte—you know him?” The uniform nodded. “Good. You see him around here, you bust him and then call me.” Temple gave the cop his phone number.
“You got it,” he said.
“Little shit is selling pills to these kids. They don’t need that in here.”
“No, they don’t.”
“So why don’t you start doing your fucking job?” He turned and walked back to his car.
Temple drove by the house on Fintona Boulevard, parked half a block down from it, and sat in his car. He called Dalupan.
“Hey kid,” he said, and he smirked when he heard Bill Rush’s voice and mannerisms come out of his own mouth.
“John—thank god.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Mendoza. He’s awake, wants to see you. Urgently.”
“You saw him?”
“Yeah, an hour ago. You should get over there.”
“I will when I can.” Temple hung up. He was getting traction on the case: the wheels were gaining purchase and he didn’t want to lose his momentum. If Mendoza knew who the shooter was, chances were Marinelli was on his way to the hospital too to get the information out of him. Mendoza wouldn’t dummy up for Marinelli and then tell what he knew to Temple, who technically couldn’t do anything with it.
Temple got out of his Buick and walked back to McBride’s house. The house was a small bungalow with an attached garage. Nice neighbourhood, not unlike Temple’s Guildwood
. There was a dark blue Kia Rondo in the driveway and the garage door was open, revealing a white Honda Accord tucked inside. Nice cars. Temple rapped on the door.
Barbara McBride opened the door and Temple saw her swallow hard and almost start to close it again. But she didn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Crystal—I mean Barbara. I wanted to talk to you some more about your hobby,” Temple said, and he grinned.
“Barbara? Who’s there?” said a man’s voice behind her. Temple saw an older man, probably her father, approaching, carrying a folded-up newspaper. He wore a serious look on his face.
“It’s okay, Daddy. He’s here to see me.”
“Let me in,” Temple said. Barbara hesitated again, then opened the door wider and stepped back. Temple stepped in.
“Barbara?” the man said.
“It’s okay, Daddy. He’s a cop.”
“Mr. McBride, I’m Detective John Temple,” Temple said, and extended his hand.
“I’m confused. What do you want with Barbara? Why are you here? Has something happened to Helen?” the father said.
“No, nothing’s happened. I was talking to Barbara the other day about the disappearance of one of her friends, Sidduth Nair.”
A look of realization flooded Mr. McBride’s face, and he stepped forward now and shook Temple’s hand. Thank god Barbara had announced him as a cop. If he had said it himself, the father might have asked for identification, which, of course, Temple did not have to provide.
“That’s a terrible thing to happen. The whole neighbourhood is in shock. We don’t know the Nairs, but still, Sidduth has been over here a couple of times. Nice girl. She’s missing.”
“Yes, unfortunately. I can’t really go into details but I just wanted to ask Barbara here a few more questions.”
“I don’t understand. When did you speak to her the first time?”
“Yesterday,” Temple said.
“When I was at work, Daddy. He came to see me,” Barbara said.
“Oh, right. I see. Well, come in, Officer.”
“It’s Detective, but please call me John.” Temple wiped his feet on the rug at the door. Barbara led him through the house to a small sunroom at the back that looked out onto a fenced-in backyard. There was a huge bull mastiff tied up to a spike in the centre of the yard and he let out a couple of disinterested woofs when he saw Temple.
Mr. McBride hung at the doorway to the sunroom.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Barbara alone. I want her to be candid with her answers.”
“Why? What was Sidduth mixed up in, Barbara? I told you she was on the wrong track—I have an instinct about these things.”
“Dad, please. This won’t take long.” She turned to Temple. “Will it?”
“No, just a few follow-ups,” Temple said. Reluctantly, Mr. McBride closed the door and left them alone.
“Work?” Temple said to Barbara. She sat down in a deep wicker chair and Temple took a seat on the couch.
“I have a job. McDonalds.”
Temple gave her a sly look. “Right,” he said.
“You won’t tell them, will you, about the other thing?” By “other thing” she meant the fact that she was in the employ of a criminal biker gang, hiring her body out to men at $100 a half hour.
“Not unless you don’t answer my questions,” Temple said.
In loose-fitting track pants and a grey T-shirt, messy hair, and no makeup, she was a far cry from the made-up hooker who called herself Crystal, the first call girl that he and Mendoza had questioned in the Marriott, but it was definitely her.
“You’re a material witness to a homicide and attempted homicide against a police officer,” Temple continued. “My partner.”
“I wasn’t there. Nothing like that happened when I saw you. You can’t pin that on me.”
“I know, but now Wade is dead, too.”
“Who?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Barbara. The biker who escorted you to our hotel room at the Marriott.” Her hard façade dropped fast.
“Denny is dead?”
“Throat slit ear to ear.”
Barbara slumped further down into the wicker chair. Temple gently placed the picture of Barbara and Sidduth and the other girls on the coffee table and slid them towards her.
“We were in school together,” she said.
“Cut the shit. You were friends. Where is she?”
“I don’t know what happened to her.”
Temple watched her face for the telltale signs she was lying. Prostitutes became professional liars after a certain amount of time in the trade. They became competent hustlers, even the ones who still lived with Mom and Dad. But usually the lies were in connection with their job. Like the line Barbara was evidently feeding her parents about her sole source of income coming from flipping burgers. This was different, though, and now she couldn’t hide the tells. He saw a blush creep over her face, and she touched her cheek when she looked at the photo. Happier times.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Temple said.
Barbara nodded her head.
“Who?”
Barbara said nothing.
“Was it Coconis?”
“No. Steve was alright. He always looked out for us. He had a gentle soul; I could tell. His heart wasn’t really in it.”
“And now he’s gone too. I talked to Zurawska. You know her?”
“Yes. She was always jealous of us. Afraid Steve was going to go for one of us.”
“But you had Wade.”
“Please. Denny was alright, but… Who killed him?”
“Don’t know yet. I need more, Barbara.”
Barbara started to cry. There was a Kleenex box on the end table next to the couch and Temple tossed it to her.
“Start from the beginning. How did you get into all this?” Temple said.
“We liked to have a good time, you know? Sid and I.”
Temple nodded. “Have a good time with pills you bought from Solomon Quinte?” he said.
“How do you know about…?”
“I’m all over your little world, Barbara, yours and the Villains. I won’t stop until I run it down. I know Solomon started selling drugs to Sidduth. She got hooked. Then she fell in with the Villains. Did you introduce her?”
Barbara looked down at the rug, ashamed. She blushed again.
“Why’d you do that to your friend?” There was no answer.
“’Cause you were hooked on drugs, too? You got freebies if you brought in more girls?”
“Something like that,” Barbara said.
“What are you on?” Temple said.
“The usual. Coke. Lots of coke in this job.”
“Heroin?”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“And Sidduth too?”
“Of course. You can’t be a Villains girl without being on H. They get you wrapped around their fingers.”
“Even the good guy, Coconis? So you and Sidduth started working the circuit—hotel rooms, conventions. Politicians?” Temple said.
Barbara now looked frightened as Temple approached the heart of the matter.
“The mayor,” Temple said.
“He liked her,” she said. “He called her his little Indian girl. He liked it rough.”
“You ever go with him on a date?”
She nodded. “He wanted to tie me up. I said no fucking way. He’s such a pig.”
Temple said, “You are what you eat. What happened to Sidduth?”
She shook her head and started to cry. Finally she said, “I don’t know. She just disappeared one night.”
“Was the mayor one of her clients that night?”
“I was supposed to go. I told Wade no fucking way. He hit me. I still said no. I was more afraid of the mayor than Wade or Coconis or any of those guys.”
“So they sent him Sidduth instead?”
She nodded again and looked guiltily at the floor.
“Forget that, Barbara. I’m not here to wash away your sins. You and her were involved with people you don’t understand.”
“How’s Sergio?”
“Mendoza? You know him?”
“Yup. He didn’t remember me, I don’t think, but he busted me once.”
Yes, he worked sex crimes, Temple thought. And now he was awake, wanted to talk to him. “Who would have brought the next girl? Her working name was Jillian.”
“I don’t know. I was Wade’s girl. He always took me. He wouldn’t let anyone else near me. I don’t know who took the others since Coconis left. If you call me for a date, I call Wade and he comes by and picks me up where ever I’m at. It’s not like we work out of an office or something.”
“Wade’s gone now, Barbara. So’s Coconis. This would be a good time for you to make a break from this life,” he said.
She said nothing.
“Think about it,” he said.
Back in his car out in front of the McBride house, Temple dialled the police officer in India again.
“Sub-Inspector Krishnan. Sorry to wake you again. This is Detective Temple from Toronto. I want to know if you have anything for me.”
The man was half asleep and Temple felt bad, but he hadn’t heard from him in two days. He wanted to push him.
“I had an assistant of mine feed those fingerprints into our computer, Mr. Temple. They have not come back yet.”
“What can you tell me about the Nair family? Did you search her records? I sent along a photo and the full name of the mother, too.”
“Yes, I got that. That was easier to retrieve. She was attacked once, before she emigrated to your country.”
“What are the details?”
“It was a local matter. A man threw acid in her face.”
“Good god,” Temple said, feigning surprise. He wasn’t.
“It’s quite common here. A man was charged, brought in, and questioned. The family decided not to press charges.”
“Why not? He maimed her for life. She looks okay now, but you can still see the damage.”
“This also is quite common. Money is exchanged; the family forgets the matter.”
“And the victim doesn’t have a choice? Does any of that money fall into her hands?”
“I don’t know the particulars in this case, but usually the money goes to the girl’s father. He has been shamed.”
