Cut to the Chase (11 page)

“Maybe, but I think finding the way out of the deep, dark pit is a solitary journey.”

* * *

Later Monday afternoon, Hollis heard Elizabeth and Candace come home. Before she had time to clean up and talk to them, Candace pounded up the stairs and banged on the door.

A wave of apprehension swept through Hollis. Candace normally phoned, unless she'd been invited upstairs.

Candace, carrying Elizabeth, who still wore her pink outdoor jacket, rushed into the room. She set Elizabeth down unceremoniously. MacTee, carrying a stuffed toy, hurried to greet them and diverted Elizabeth, who wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his fur.

“Detective Simpson left a message. They're coming round after supper. It can't be good news. If it was, they would have said so. Will you keep Elizabeth out of the way while I talk to them?”

Hollis opened her arms and hugged her friend. It was pointless to say that it might be a mistake, that maybe that wasn't why they were coming, that DNA testing usually took much longer.

“Of course.” Hollis squeezed her again and stepped back. “I'm sure you don't want to cook. Let me make your dinner.”

Candace stood with a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were running an old movie tape or seeing something in the far-distant past.

With hours until the detectives arrived, it was time for a distraction, an alternative plan. “Elizabeth must be psyched about Hallowe'en tomorrow. At her day care they've probably talked about dressing up and everything that makes Halloween fun.” She waited for a response but none came. “The Hallowe'en decorations in this neighbourhood are amazing.” She grasped Candace's arm to pull her back to reality. “Why don't you take Elizabeth for a walk? Two blocks east on Belsize Drive, there's an electrified display, a white ghost that rises out of a huge orange pumpkin. It scares MacTee, but Elizabeth will love it.”

Candace shook her head as if to close down whatever she was seeing in her mind's eye. “Sorry, I missed what you said.”

Hollis repeated her suggestion.

“Good idea. I'll park her in her stroller and walk fast or even jog. Exercise is exactly what I need right now.”

After supper, just as Hollis volunteered to give Elizabeth her bath, the doorbell rang.

Candace slid off the kitchen stool, straightened, threw back her shoulders, muttered, “Here goes,” and headed for the door.

MacTee responded to the pealing doorbell as he always did. Golden retrievers love visitors, but do not like to meet newcomers without presenting a welcoming gift. He searched the floor for something to offer. His gaze fixed on one of Elizabeth's dolls that had fallen under her high chair. He scooped it up and trailed after Candace.

In the bathroom, Hollis ran the bath. Elizabeth permitted Hollis to lift her in. Hollis wished she were in the living room with Candace, but it was important to adhere to Elizabeth's routines and attempt to prevent transmitting their anxiety to her. After a happy ten minutes while the toddler filled and emptied various containers and allowed Hollis to wash her face and neck, Elizabeth eyed her speculatively. Not having bathed her before, Hollis didn't recognize the warning signs until a deluge of water splashed over her. She pulled back in surprise.

Elizabeth giggled. “Again?” she said and scooped more water.

“No.” Hollis stayed her hand. “Time to get out. I'm sure you know you're not supposed to do that.”

The child's guilty smile spoke volumes.

Hollis finally hoisted Elizabeth into her crib, kissed her goodnight and headed for the living room. When she walked in, Rhona stood up, said hello and introduced Ian Galbraith before she perched again on a sofa.

Hollis had expected to see Zee Zee, the Ethiopian-Canadian detective who had been Rhona's partner the last time Hollis had met her. She'd found it easy to talk to the two women and wondered how it would be dealing with this man.

Candace, face pale and eyes wide, was slumped on the other sofa.

Hollis didn't need a GPS system to figure out what she was about to hear, but until the words were spoken, she'd hope she was wrong.

T
he
DNA is Danson's,” Candace said in a voice totally lacking inflection.

“I'm so sorry,” Hollis said.

“They,” Candace pointed at Rhona and Ian, “have asked me to go to the morgue and see if I can identify his effects or. . .” she took a deep breath, “his body. I suppose it should be Poppy, but I'm not going to ask her to do it. Until there is absolutely no doubt that it's him I'm not going to tell her.”

Given Poppy's indifference, up to that point, Hollis wondered what effect the news would have. Poppy might well rationalize the tragedy. Perhaps she was being callous? Surely no mother, no matter how detached, deals well with a child's death.

“Good idea,” Hollis said.

Candace wasn't listening. She was reading from an internal script that didn't require answers. “These officers tell me his face has been...” she gripped one hand with the other and pulled them against her as if to hold herself together, “…badly disfigured. He's such a handsome man.” She eased to her feet as if every joint, muscle and bone protested the action. “I suppose I'd better do it now. The job won't get any easier the longer I leave it.”

“I'll take good care of Elizabeth,” Hollis said. Looking at her friend's stricken expression, she thought ahead to what Candace was about to face. While the procedure at the morgue would be familiar—anyone who watched any TV knew how it went—the reality would be something else. Until the last possible moment, Candace would hang on to the hope that the body would not be Danson's. Even when denial was no longer possible, one part of her brain would reject the truth.

* * *

“You're sure it's him,” Candace said as Ian piloted the car to the morgue.

“It would be great to say no to give you hope, but DNA matches are hard to argue with,” Rhona said.

This part of her job upset Rhona, no matter how she hardened her heart and tried to distance herself. The next-of-kin's meaningless, time-filling conversation as they steeled themselves for the ordeal they were about to face broke her heart. She preferred silence, but some people chattered. Others seemed frozen in a time warp where they wouldn't have to confront what lay ahead of them.

When the moment came and the attendant drew the sheet away to reveal the person they had known, many could only nod. Words deserted them. The body's reality shocked them, no matter what their relationship with the deceased had been.

Rhona knew it would be even worse for Candace, because the corpse was faceless. Without recognizable facial features, she would only have the man's hair, ears and general build to examine and decide that this once had been her living brother. If the sheet was pulled down far enough to reveal the bloody finger stumps, it would add to the horror.

Candace did not initiate conversation on the walk to the morgue. The squeak of her running shoes, the clump of Ian's brogues and the clicking heels of Rhona's cowboy boots accompanied them down the tiled hall to swinging doors that creaked open and allowed them in the viewing room. An attendant wheeled the body out.

Rhona heard Candace's sharp intake of breath as she viewed the devastation that had once been a man with an intact face and hands with fingers.

“If the DNA matches, I'll have to take your word that it's Danson, because I can't...” Candace faltered, shivered and turned away.

“We have his effects at the station. We'll show them to you now,” Rhona said.

Ian drove. No one spoke until they'd entered the building and proceeded to a room furnished with a steel table and molded plastic chairs. Ian left to retrieve the effects.

“Why don't you sit down,” Rhona said and gestured to the chairs.

Candace didn't hear or the words didn't register.

Rhona repeated the offer.

White-faced, with slack facial muscles and unfocussed eyes, Candace stared at her. She continued to stand.

Ian, carrying two bags, returned. “I'm sorry,” he said. No matter how many times this happened, he empathized with the survivors. Their body language always brought back memories of the day he and his mother had identified his brother. The black bottomless sorrow in his mother's eyes and voice had imprinted themselves indelibly on his mind.

Two labelled clear plastic bags were on the table.

Rhona again invited Candace to sit down, but she shook her head. The two detectives also stood.

“These are the clothes he was wearing,” Ian said pointing to the larger bag.

Rhona bent forward, withdrew and unfolded a grey poplin windbreaker, beige plaid flannel shirt stained with dried blood and tan cargo pants. She laid green, diamond-patterned socks beside well-worn, blue and white Nike running shoes.

Candace shuddered but didn't avert her eyes. Rather she snapped to attention. Her eyes cleared, and her jaw firmed.

“I've never seen him dressed like that.” She pointed an index finger at each item of clothing. Her voice rang with conviction. “My brother hated plaid shirts like that. He said they marked you as middle-aged. Same thing for that jacket. He wore blue jeans, never cargos. He had extra-wide feet and always bought New Balance.” She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something disgusting. “I can't ever imagine him buying socks like those.” Her eyes narrowed. “He was a cool guy. Unless he was trying to disguise himself, he would never, ever dress like that.”

Her adamancy startled Rhona. “Thank you for telling us.”

Candace lunged forward and grabbed a shoe. She yanked its tongue back and peered inside. “Eight narrow,” she said and slammed the shoe on the table. “My brother did not wear eight and couldn't have squeezed his feet into this narrow shoe.” She spoke firmly and with authority. “He wore twelve extra-wide. I know about the extra-wide because both my toddler and I need wide shoes. They're hard to find.” Candace challenged the detectives. “You think I'm insisting these things don't belong to my brother because I don't want it to be my brother. I know what he wore. He wouldn't have worn those clothes, and he couldn't have squeezed his feet into those shoes.”

“I'm not disagreeing with you,” Rhona said. “We'll show you what this man was carrying.” She opened and gently decanted the second bag's contents.

The first two items were a black comb with missing teeth and a ballpoint pen with a chewed end that transformed it from a standard to a poignant item. Rhona could picture the owner chewing pensively as he mulled over a problem or waited through a company's punch one, punch two and listened to “please stay on the line your business is important to us.” Loose change. Subway tokens, a subway transfer, chapstick and a half-empty roll of Lifesavers. That was it.

Candace stepped closer to the table, bent over, and peered at the items. “No wallet, no keys?” she asked.

“No. This is everything,” Rhona said.

“If someone mugged him, that person could have cleaned out the apartment. We found no evidence that anything had been disturbed.” Candace pivoted, paused and eyed the two officers.

Rhona suspected Candace had something to add but was wondering if it was wise.

“We're on the same side,” Rhona reassured her. “If you know anything that will help our investigation, you should tell us.”

Candace still hesitated.

“We don't care how you discovered whatever it is you know, but you must share information,” Ian added.

Candace straightened, folded her arms over her chest and looked from one to the other. “Okay. Here goes. I have access to my brother's online banking. He withdrew money on the last Friday before he vaporized. No one has used his credit card. Although I don't believe the body in the morgue is his, I do think something bad has happened to him.” She paused as if waiting for the detectives to comment, but they didn't.

“The chapstick from the person's effects would have traces of saliva. The comb might have hair—why don't you retest?” Candace asked.

“Candace, there is no doubt that after what you've told us we have serious questions about our identification. We will run the DNA tests again after we receive the dental report. I hope for your sake that we'll cross Danson off as the unidentified victim.”

“How long will that take?” Candace asked.

“A few days,” Rhona said and added, “I know that will seem like forever to you, but we must be absolutely sure.”

“If that is Danson, may I ask how he was killed? Did his murderer do that to his face and hands before or after he died, and where did you find the body?”

“I'm sorry, but we aren't at liberty to tell you,” Rhona said. She hated doing that—not knowing was always more excruciating than receiving the worst information. “I'd like to know more about your brother's life, but until we have the corroborating dental information, I'll wait to interview you. In the meantime, please make notes about the connections in his life that might help us in our investigation.”

“We've already done some of that. Hollis and I checked out his apartment.” Before the detectives reacted, Candace added, “We used gloves and replaced everything.”

Rhona didn't smile. This wasn't a moment for levity, but it amused her just the same. Both Hollis and Candace would have known that if Danson had been a victim of foul play, the apartment would be sealed. If she was a betting woman, she'd wager Hollis had copied documents that she thought might help them find Danson or his killer. From experience, she knew Hollis wouldn't be content to sit back and allow the investigation to take its course.

“You do know that in a criminal investigation you could be charged with interference if you continue your investigation?” Ian said.

“Of course,” Candace said, her voice lacking conviction.