Cut to the Chase (33 page)

Candace, clutching a bag of groceries in one hand and guiding Elizabeth up the stairs with the other, reached the top step as Hollis and the dog descended. Hollis thrust out her arms for the groceries, leaving Candace free to fumble in her shoulder bag for her key.

“Tee, Tee,” Elizabeth shouted and swarmed forward to grab the dog's neck.

MacTee surreptitiously licked her. This was his alternate form of greeting when he didn't have a toy to present. Elizabeth shrieked. “Kiss, Tee kiss me.”

Candace herded them inside, flicking on lights as they moved to the kitchen. She unpacked hamburger buns, meat and a pre-washed salad bag along with a Spanish onion and a tomato. She waved at the collection, “Want to stay for a hamburger and a salad?”

“Love to, but not tonight. I'm feeding Willem before I embark on a special mission.”

“Willem's back. That's great. What happened at the hospital? What mysterious mission are you on?”

Hollis brought her up to date on Willem's condition, on his information about Super Bug, her own stamp collection investigation and about Charles Smith's house. “It's time Poppy came clean about her stamp collection and told us why Charles Smith gave it to her. Why hasn't she told you about it? And most of all, why did Danson go off to see someone about the stamp?”

“She has the key to all this, and she isn't talking. It's as if she's protecting someone and ignoring the fact that by doing that she may have put her own son in grave danger,” Candace said. She unwrapped the hamburger, tossed it in a bowl and added seasonings. Forming patties as she talked, she said, “What do you think you'll find tonight?”

“Probably nothing. Don't get your hopes up. The house may be unoccupied. It may even have been sold. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that, Jacob, Charles' son lives there.”

Candace, ready to slice tomatoes, stopped with the knife suspended above the cutting board. “Hollis, have you considered that if this was the man Danson talked to before he disappeared, you may be in danger if you confront him?”

Hollis had weighed this possibility. Having read the will with its strange wording, she understood that Jacob might be dangerous. She could think of no other reason for hiding the child's identity. It partially explained why Poppy had been uncommunicative. However, she believed she might uncover a vital clue leading her to Danson and was willing to gamble that she wouldn't come to any harm. She ripped a sheet from the memo pad beside the phone, extracted a slip of paper from her pocket and copied the address.

“If I don't return by nine thirty or ten, phone Rhona Simpson, she's the detective I know, and bring her up to speed.” She smiled. “It's great to have a detective on call in case anything bad happens.”

“She'll be mightily pissed off that you haven't shared this information; that you've trotted off on a wild goose chase on your own.”

“Maybe, but let's face facts. The Toronto police have not found Danson. Moreover, because they suspect him of killing Gregory, they may have marshalled their forces to locate him. I'm worried that if they think he may be hidden or hiding at Jacob's, they'll marshal the heavy artillery. If Jacob has kidnapped Danson, he's a bold guy, and if he suspects the police are closing in on him, I'm afraid that if he hasn't already killed Danson, this might compel him do it. I want to find Danson, not collar this guy. You're right. If Jacob does turn out to be bad news, Rhona won't be pleased that I didn't tell her about him.”

Elizabeth stopped further conversation by falling. She'd been leaning on MacTee, and he'd walked away letting her crash to the floor. Her mouth opened on impact, and she howled.

Candace wiped her hands on her apron before scooping Elizabeth into her arms. “Sweetie, dogs aren't like chairs or tables. You can't lean on them, because they move. MacTee didn't mean to hurt you. He's sorry. Give him a pat and tell him you love him.”

Elizabeth stopped crying. “Tee, see Tee,” she said. After Candace set her down, the toddler wrapped her arms around the dog.

Upstairs in her own kitchen, Hollis found the table set and tomato basil soup simmering on the stove.

“Thought it was time I did something,” Willem said with his half-smile. “Since liquids are my option, I rummaged around and found soup.”

Hollis added bread and grated cheese to the meal.

“Soak the bread in the soup until it's soft enough to eat. If you cut the cheese in tiny bits you'll manage it too, and it'll provide the protein you need.”

They sat down and ate companionably.

“Time for me to go home,” Willem said. However, his tone of voice made it a question not a statement.

Hollis had risen to spoon ice cream into two bowls. She spoke over her shoulder. “Not as far as I'm concerned. However, if you think you should go back and get on with your life, I'll understand.” What she didn't say was that she would be quite happy if he stayed for an indefinite period.

“It isn't that. I must be a nuisance. I'm not used to being dependent.”

“You aren't.” She brought the dishes to the table. “I worry about the thugs who beat you up. If they had instructions to kill you, somebody is not going to be pleased to discover they blew it. I don't want them coming back to finish the job.”

Willem's warm hand covered hers. “I don't either. The mob must have realized that if the unidentified body is Super Bug's, the police would identify it eventually. The danger may be past. Once the mob bigwigs know the police have identified him, they won't be interested in me.” He squeezed her hand.

Hollis wanted him to hang on to it forever.

“Can't hold hands and eat ice cream,” Willem said with a second half-smile and released her hand.

“I'm going out tonight to follow a lead that may take me to Danson.”

“Why don't you let the police do it?”

“Because I'm afraid they might go the assault route with sirens, guns, loud hailers—the whole nine yards.”

“My god, why would you think that? If the police would react that way, there's no way you go,” Willem said.

“I don't think it'll be that dangerous. I've already left the address with Candace. If you don't hear from me by ten, you both have my permission to phone Detective Rhona Simpson and tell her what's happening and where I've gone.”

“I wish you wouldn't go, but in the short time I've known you, I've become perfectly aware that you'll do whatever you have to do to locate this guy. All I can do is wish you luck,” Willem said.

“I'm taking MacTee. There's no better way to incon-spicuously assess a neighbourhood than to have a dog. When we walk dogs at night, we take a flashlight to see what they've done.”

Willem wrinkled his nose.

“Sorry, more information than you needed. Anyway, I've often thought burglars should employ dogs when they case a house or a neighbourhood. A well-dressed thief accompanying a dog would attract no attention whatsoever.”

“Maybe that's what they do. Who knows how they zero in on a target.”

Hollis wrote the address and left it beside the phone. She removed MacTee's leash from the hook beside the door. When she did this, he shot into his anticipatory dance. He leaped in the air with four paws off the floor and rebounded when they hit the floor.

“Too bad he doesn't like going out,” Willem said.

Hollis had googled the address. It was uncanny how you could examine a house right down to the location of the garbage cans. This too must help thieves. It saved them wandering around wondering where the doors and windows might be.

Although she'd reassured Willem and Candace that this was a routine reconnoitre, the tightness in her shoulders and dryness in her throat told her she'd lied. If visiting this house was the last thing Danson had done before he disappeared, she must be careful. At least she could be found if anything happened to her. Being found and being safe were not the same thing. Bodies were found—she didn't want to be one of those.

Her beat-up truck could draw unwanted attention if she parked it near the house in the upscale neighbourhood. Instead she left it in a strip mall several blocks away on Avenue Road. There were two take-out restaurants in the mall, and since it was Friday evening, the stores were open. Her truck would be unremarked. After she locked it, she wondered if leaving it here was a bright move. What if she had to run for her life?

Run for her life—it sounded like a B movie. “I'm in high drama mode,” she said to the dog who paid no attention. She hadn't said biscuit, dinner, walk or bed—those were the words he listened for. Instead of paying attention to her, he sniffed his way from bush to bush surveying the record of the dogs who had preceded him. Friday must have been garbage collection day—empty recycling bins littered the street and gave MacTee more tantalizing smells to investigate.

Forty-seven Cormetto street lurked well-back from the road. In this affluent north Toronto neighbourhood the houses had been built on large lots. A street light revealed it to be a two-storey brick centre hall plan with an attached single car garage. It resembled many other houses she'd passed on her walk down the street.

No lights burned in the house.

She checked out nearby houses. Lights shone toward the rear of the nearest house on the right. A porch light glowed above the front door of the house on the left, next to 47's garage. Flyers strewn on the porch suggested the owners had been away for some time.

Although no one appeared to be home, the darkened windows might mean that the occupant had drawn the curtains tightly. Caution was required. She released MacTee's leash and encouraged him to accompany her up the drive. Instead he wandered off on a tangent, and she let him go, knowing he'd be fine and not wanting to call him until she'd finished her surveillance.

What if Danson was imprisoned inside? If he was and she rang the doorbell, she'd alert his captor. What would she say if someone answered the door? If it was spring, she could say she was canvassing for the Cancer Society. Snowsuits—she'd claim to be collecting for needy children. But she wasn't going to ring the bell. Instead, she'd circle the house to see if any lights shone from the windows. If the house was totally dark, it would be time to discover if Danson was inside.

Toronto's glowing night sky reflecting from low-lying clouds didn't provide much illumination. What if she stepped on something or bumped into a metal garbage can? What if there was a dog? She gave herself a mental shake. Enough of the “what ifs”.

It was stupid to bumble along in the dark. Time to risk someone seeing her flashlight's beam and calling the police. She flicked it on and slipped along the side of the garage to survey the back of the house.

No lights, no noise. It seemed unoccupied, but that didn't mean Danson wasn't inside.

Something moved in the deep shadow near the back door. She jumped, directed her light and confronted a masked face. One of the millions of raccoons that inhabited Toronto. Their adaptation to city life had swelled their numbers to the point where statisticians claimed they outnumbered humans. Not what she wanted to see. She retraced her steps and stopped well away from the beast.

There was a pause while she peered through the darkness and listened for the dog. She couldn't see or hear MacTee but willed him to stay away from raccoon territory. MacTee hated the masked marauders and responded by barking and chasing—the last thing she needed.

Standing in front of the house, she hesitated. How could she let Danson know a friend, a rescuer, was outside? As the cold seeped through her thin-soled shoes, she remembered one of Candace's conversations with the police. She'd told them about the nail polish on the key and about another signal she and Danson shared.

What had she said? The sensation that information was almost but not quite within her grasp drove Hollis crazy. She tried word associations. Little boy, danger, door. Closer. It had something to do with the door, with Danson coming home when Candace was alone. What was it?

* * *

Five o'clock. With Gregory identified as the Super Bug and the multiple drug addict murders solved, the two detectives anticipated a long-awaited, free weekend.

“Planning anything special?” Ian asked. A breakthrough, she thought. He'd asked a personal question. To date their relationship had been businesslike, and he'd revealed little about himself and shown no interest in her life, although she'd shared bits and pieces.

“I love biking on Toronto Island, but in November when the weather man calls for traces of snow, it's not an option. Doing absolutely nothing, vegging out sounds good. Saturday paper, a little shopping, maybe a movie. What about you?”

Ian nodded. “Probably much the same.”

Definitely not a breakthrough in their relationship. Their desks clear, they collected their coats.

“Should we call Hollis again?” Ian said.

“I have my cell phone.”

“You'll be off-duty.”

“True, but I can connect her to help if she needs it. I'm uneasy about Hollis. These connections to the Russian mob are bad. If she had a clue about them, she'd back off, but that isn't her style. If Danson's disappearance is mob-related, she's in over her head and in danger if she muddles around and upsets them. They don't take kindly to nosy people.”

* * *

Shifting from one frozen foot to the other, Hollis glimpsed MacTee's shadowy form sniffing closer and closer to the dark house. She had to act before he picked up the raccoon's scent. What had Candace said? She searched frantically through her jumbled thoughts seeking a replay of the conversation. It had been when the police had discussed keys—that much she remembered.

Then it came to her.

When either Candace or Danson approached the house, they whistled a specific tune to tell who was at the door. It had been a children's song.