Cut to the Chase (25 page)

“I get them. One by one I get them,” Katerina said. Her voice rang with conviction and triumph.

An alarming statement. Who was she getting and why? Hollis felt uneasy. Since Katerina had responded to her and not the detectives, she posed the question. “Who? Who do you get?”

A sly expression crept across the woman's face. “Them. Soon I get them all.” She glanced down at the tangled purple skein on the ground, yanked the strand coming from the ball she carried in her pocket to her lips and bit through it. No longer attached to the purple mess tangled with fallen oak leaves, she pulled her knitting close to her chest, moved back to the bench and scooped up her flowered bag. “Go now,” she mumbled and edged away.

“How do you know her?” Rhona said to Hollis.

“Her son, Spike, is a bouncer at the Starshine club where Danson worked. When I talked to him, he asked me if I'd come and make friends with his mother and try to get her help, because she needs it. He says she's crazy and obsessive and suspicious of nearly everyone.”

“Well, he's got that right. Did he tell you her story—why she's upset?”

“After she and her two boys came to Canada from Russia, her younger son dropped out of school, got involved with the Russian mob and was killed by a drug addict. She'd had great hopes for him, and his death toppled her over the edge.”

“Killed by a drug addict,” Rhona said thoughtfully. “Do you know her surname or where she lives?”

“Her son said she comes to the park every day. I don't know her name, and I know him as Spike.”

Rhona made a note. “Why are you here?”

“I upset her when I spoke to her earlier in the day. I wanted to make amends,” Hollis said as she patted MacTee, who had sadly watched the sausage lady's departure.

“Who is Willem?” Ian asked.

Oh my God, the Katerina situation had wasted precious minutes. “He's a Russian linguistics professor at the University of Toronto. I asked him to translate something I found in Danson's apartment. He did but he told me to give it to you—that it could be dangerous.”

Rhona crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Not again. Why didn't you?”

Hollis couldn't meet Rhona's gaze. “I thought it would lead Candace and me to Danson or at least give us some clues as to his whereabouts. I planned to turn it over to you if Willem hadn't found out what the note meant in twenty-four hours.”

“I can't believe that after your experiences you'd do this again,” Rhona said.

“Truly, I intended to, but, as I was talking to Katerina, Willem phoned me from his office. He started off normally. Then I heard him being attacked and he shouted, ‘phone 911' and the line went dead. I made the call and headed for the university. When I arrived, a staff person who viewed me suspiciously briefed me on events. She claimed Willem left peacefully with two men. When she told this to the police, I suppose they thought the call had been a prank, because they left.” She didn't confess that she'd hung up when she'd been told to stay on the line.

Rhona was already on her radio.

Ian shook his head. “Where is this paper?”

Hollis scrambled in her bag, extricated the translation and handed it to Ian, who read it and passed it to his partner.

Rhona zipped through the note and glared at Hollis. “You thought this wasn't important enough to give to us,” she said.

It was not the time or the place for Hollis to allow anger and outrage to seep into her voice. She might have been wrong, but her intentions had been good. “When we started our search for Danson, there was no police investigation. It was after Candace viewed that horrible body and you informed us about his car that we really believed something terrible had happened to him. I was doing my best to explore every possible angle.”

“Initially, maybe that was okay, but you should have given us this,” Rhona waved the paper, “the moment you found it.” She smoothed and folded the translation in thirds before tucking it in her bag. “By withholding this evidence, you may very well have sealed Danson's fate.” Without waiting for Hollis to respond, she continued. “Now you know how serious the matter is, you must give us any other information, and you must stop investigating.”

“I'm frightened for Willem.” Hollis frowned. “This was my doing. I feel horribly responsible. Do you know who or what the Super Bug mentioned in the translation refers to?”

Ian, who'd been following the conversation while stroking MacTee, intervened. “Don't you realize that even if we know, we can't discuss it with you? Why don't you take this lovely dog for a walk and forget your amateur detective work?”

Hollis promised nothing. Instead she said, “You will keep Candace in the picture? She's frantic to know what's happened to Danson. Myself, I feel horrible about Willem. He was doing a good deed, and he's gone.”

Rhona sized Hollis up in a way that told her the detective had noted her failure to promise to stay out of the case. “We will let you know any news that relates to Danson or Willem,” Rhona said.

Hollis accepted the remark and headed for her truck, where she flipped on the all-news radio station to get the time. Was Vancouver three or four hours behind? Prairie, Mountain and Pacific—three hours. When she returned from work, Candace had promised to phone Vancouver and demand that Poppy answer their questions.

T
hat
woman,” Ian sighed as the car hummed to life. “Now we have work to do.” Rhona was already on the phone. “Get the surname and phone number of the bouncer at the Starshine nightclub,” she instructed. Call finished, she shifted and said, “We're visiting Katerina at home when we know where she lives.”

“Katerina?” Ian sounded surprised.

“Yes, I think she might be our killer.”

“She's mad I agree, but a killer—that's a stretch.”

“Maybe, but we should check it out. First, I'm giving the Eastern European experts this translation. I don't know what Super Bug means, but I'm sure if anyone knows, they will.” She punched in more numbers on her cell phone and passed the information along.” Seconds after she hung up, it rang again. She identified herself and reached for her pen and notebook. “Got it,” she said and snapped the phone shut.

“Okay, we have it. An apartment on Carlton Street, along with her phone number and her son's numbers at home and work. We may need his help. I'll call him.”

“If he warns her we're coming, she'll leave,” Ian said.

“If Hollis is right, he's worried about his mother and will cooperate. I'll call him.”

After identifying herself, Rhona told Spike what they wanted. She listened, nodded and pursed her lips. “I suppose that's true. We'll wait outside.”

“What did he say?” Ian asked.

“He wants us to wait until he gets there. He says his mother hasn't let anyone in her apartment for a long time. He doubts his mother will unlock her door but says that if we have a warrant, the manager, who lives in the basement apartment, will open it for us. His mother fears police and having them enter her apartment will unhinge her. He says he needs to be there, because when his mother's upset she only speaks and understands Russian. He'll translate and try to calm her down. It will take him about forty minutes to get here.”

“I can't believe you think that woman would have murdered the men,” Ian said.

“She has the motive—a druggie killed her son. With her warped view of police, she wouldn't believe they'd do anything about it, so perhaps she took on the task of avenging his death.”

“What about getting the search warrant?”

“Definitely.” Rhona flipped her phone open. Once she'd established the seriousness of the request and its urgency, she set the machinery in motion to speedily obtain a warrant. They reviewed the case on the drive back to pick up the document.

“Everything seems connected to the Russians, doesn't it?” Ian said.

“Not everything. We know Gregory must have been in the mob or connected to it because he was killed in their distinctive fashion. We don't know if he wheedled his way into Danson's apartment because he wanted to recruit Danson or to spy on him or to stop him. From the translation, I'd guess Gregory was ordered to kill Danson, and that may explain Danson's disappearance. That fits together.” She paused.

“What doesn't fit the pattern?” Ian said.

“Why they would go to the trouble of driving the car to Niagara Falls? Why would they want us or the family to think that he'd either committed suicide or run away?”

“Maybe Danson was working for them. His cover had been blown and they were going to set him up somewhere else?” Ian ventured.

“I don't think they work like that. As far as we know, Danson didn't speak Russian, didn't have access to any confidential information and wouldn't have been useful to them. No, I think we're missing something.” Rhona shifted to look at Ian and yelped. “Damn hip, it should be better by now. I'll listen to the instructor next time.”

* * *

After her confrontation with the detective, Hollis was glad to arrive home. She and MacTee climbed the stairs, and she knocked on Candace's door.

“Tee, Tee,” she heard Elizabeth shout. When Candace opened the door, Elizabeth scooted out and wrapped her arms around MacTee.

“That was one terrible day,” Candace said, leaning on the door frame. “I can't concentrate on anything. My boss asked me a question three times before I registered that she was talking to me. I'll lose my job if I don't get my act together. All I want to do is phone Rhona Simpson to see if they've found anything.” She scrunched her lips and shook her head.

“It's terrible when you can't focus,” Hollis said.

“I'm not the only one affected. When I picked up Elizabeth at day care, they told me she'd been behaving badly. Apparently she wouldn't settle for her nap, wouldn't play with any one and bit poor little Caroline when she came over and tried to hug her. They asked me what was wrong. I told them we were worried about my brother who was missing.” She shook her head again. “No one who doesn't know our family circumstances would understand why that would upset Elizabeth. I'm sure they thought it was a lame excuse. They must have given Elizabeth grief, because she sulked all the way home.” She looked past Hollis at Elizabeth and MacTee. “Good thing you brought MacTee. He distracts her. What happened at your lunch with Willem? Come in and tell me.”

“Willem tried to uncover the paper's meaning. Thugs abducted him while I was on the phone with him.”

Candace covered her mouth with her hand.

“I called the police, told Rhona and gave her the paper. It's time to face up to the fact that we're dealing with a serious situation. I'm here to say again as forcefully as I can that we must talk to Poppy. Please phone and pin her down and make her commit to a time when we can have her undivided attention.”

“Poppy? What's happened that you need to talk to her?”

When MacTee moved, Elizabeth lurched forward and fell. She began to howl.

“Not the best time to talk,” Candace said bundling Elizabeth into her arms.

Elizabeth snuffled. “Bad Tee,” she said.

“No. He didn't mean to do that,” Hollis reassured her. Better give Candace a chance to pull herself together? “Elizabeth, I've made a flock of chickens. They need names. Would you come up and tell me what you think I should call them?”

“Tikens?”

“Paper birds Hollis made,” Candace explained. “Like the dog outside her door.”

Elizabeth's brow wrinkled.

“Remember the birds, the parrots, that we saw up there a week ago?”

“Tikens.” Elizabeth wriggled free and headed for the stairs.

“Call Poppy. Demand that she tell us what she knows about the stamp and who might have placed the notice in the paper,” Hollis instructed.

Upstairs, Elizabeth admired the chickens.

“What will we call them?”

“One, two, three, seven?” Elizabeth offered.

“Maybe, but those are numbers. We don't usually call things by number,” Hollis said, although she could think of exceptions. Her great-grandfather, the eighth child in his family, had been Octavius.

“Can't know,” Elizabeth said.

Hollis had planned to name them after particularly delicious chicken dishes—marsala, korma, cacciatore, Creole, tandoori, tetrazini. Elizabeth no doubt didn't know that the meat and poultry she ate came from formerly living animals. This wasn't the time to enlighten her. “We'll think about it and come up with good names,” Hollis said.

Elizabeth had joined MacTee, who stared fixedly alternately at his dinner dish then at Hollis.

“Elizabeth, do you know what MacTee wants?”

The little girl bent down and picked up the bowl. “Dinner, Tee wants dinner,” she said.

“You are such a smart girl. Would you like to scoop the kibble into his dish?”

Elizabeth did, and as Hollis set it on the counter, Wagner thundered through the room.

Although she used her phone frequently for outgoing calls, she had only given the number to her mother, Candace and Willem. Where was the damn phone? Her coat and shoulder bag hung beside the door. She scrabbled in her coat pocket and realized the sound was coming from her bag. “Don't hang up, don't hang up,” she mumbled groping in the bag then dumping the contents on the floor and lunging for the phone.

“Hello,” she said and waited anxiously to hear who was calling.

“It's Willem.”

“Where are you? Are you okay?” Suspicion gripped her. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

What if he was lying? What if the thugs who'd frog-marched him away were standing over him? What if they'd made him tell who had given him the information about the Super Bug? He'd called her on her cell. That was good. At least no one would be able to trace the number.