Final Act (2 page)

Sonya
.  She was reason she became a cop.  Beautiful, talented, funny Sonya, her best friend.  They grew up together, lived side by side, shared their secrets, their likes and dislikes, smuggled booze and partied, stole out of their homes late at night and drank in the park, laughing their way back home again.  Shared their dreams. 

Sonya didn’t live past 17.  Abducted and murdered, in broad daylight, on a warm summer afternoon on her way home from the park.  A neighbour saw her with an ice cream in her hand two blocks from her home.  Kate had been visiting her grandparents in the country and they had plans to celebrate their birthdays – two days apart – when she got back home. 

Sonya was found in the ditch that surrounded the abandoned lot, not far from the downtown bar scene, two days after she had gone missing.  Rape, tortured, strangled, and wrapped in a tarp and discarded by garbage.  The police found the killer four hours after her body was discovered.  He was a drugged up unemployed husband and father of two.  The do-gooders lobbied the prosecutor to seek a shorter sentence.  The man had no advantages in life, had been sexually abused as a child, compassion was needed.  He got off with manslaughter, three years later he was back on the street.

Kate refused to go to Sonya’s funeral, to school, or to come out of her room.  Her parents tried to talk reason to her behind the closed, locked door but eventually gave up.  Her brothers would bring daily trays of food and leave them outside her door. She ended her exile a week after the funeral.  Came out of her room one morning, dressed, ready to go to school.  Spoke to her parents and brothers as if nothing had happened.  ,

Four months later, she had a boyfriend, one year later; she was in University, her eye on a law degree, two years later living with Alan, a med student.  She was determined to become a prosecutor.  Throw the liars, murderers, and scum of the earth in jail for as long as they system would allow.  In her last year, she and Alan went their separate ways and she made her decision.  Sending criminals to jail from the courtroom wasn’t hands on enough for her.  She needed to spit in their eye, wrestle them to the ground, put on the handcuffs and grill them until they broke. 

Kate could feel a headache coming on.  It wasn’t going to be pretty either if she didn’t get some medication into right away.  She ran to the bathroom at hangover
speed,
opened the medicine cabinet
,
grabbed
the bottle of extra strength, and swallowed two tablets dry.  The bathroom drinking glass was in the dishwasher.  Ducking her head under the tap, she managed to w
ash away the residue dry powder.

She knew she had to get out, out
in the fresh air, or her day off would be wasted a deluge of self-pity
. 
A natural athlete since the age of six - walking, running, swimming, hiking
her way
through adolescence into adulthood
–
she
d
ecided to
walk through Point Pleasant Park and follow up with an intense workout at the gym.  If that didn’t help get her mind off her problems, then nothing would.

She pulled on a pair of black jeans, a red wool sweater and socks, laced up her walking shoes and
grabbed
her hat, mitts and scarf and gym bag out of the closet.  Gym bag hoisted to her shoulder and bouncing against her back, she left the condo and made her way to her car in the underground parking lot.

Sitting behind the wheel of her black Beamer, she revved the engine, charged up the exit ramp, turned left, tires squealing. 

1:45pm

Jeffrey Stone was
used to getting his own way.  He wasn’t winning this one and didn’t like it anymore than the other ones he had lost but he knew he had to tread carefully.  It wasn’t someone he was willing to toss aside the first chance he got for it was his docile, compliant wife, Catherine, who was refusing to do his bidding.  He took a deep breath
switched to
the role of the confused, but albeit, supporting husband.

Catherine, however, was ready for him, stood her ground, refusing to move back to New York city because of his opportunity to direct Hamlet on Broadway.  If the offer had come three years ago, she would have packed up and followed him.  Not now.  Not with what she now knew. 

“I’m not going, Jeffrey, and it doesn’t matter what strategy you choose
to
chang
e
my mind, it won’t happen.”

“Why, Catherine?  Why won’t you go?”

“Because I have my own life, my own friends, and I’m not putting them aside as I’ve done for 35 years.  I gave up everything for you, Jeffrey, remember?  You were a young stage assistant when we met; I was the hit of Broadway.  I didn’t begrudge it, giving up my career, taking a back seat, playing the role of hostess to your ambitions – and damn good job of it too.  It wasn’t a sacrifice because I was in love.  You were my
passion but not anymore.
”

Colour drained from his face
.  His hands shook.

“If I’m not your passion anymore, Catherine, then tell me who or what is?”

“I owe you nothing.”

“I’m going to meet the Board of Directors and will change at the theatre.  Think about what you’re doing Catherine, think very carefully.  I’ll call you from New York.”

H
e turned and stomped out of the room.
She stood rooted to the spot, relief coursing through her veins.  She did it.  The depth of her contempt, hatred for him allowed her to stand her ground.  She was through with him.  Her lawyer would have someone at JFK when his plane landed later tonight to serve him with the divorce papers. 

She wasn’t going to let him off easy.  The bastard would be getting away with too much as it was.  If he fought, she was ready for him; she had the proof locked away in her safe.  The front door slammed.  Slammed shut on what had once been her life.  A wasted life expect for the children - grown now with families of their own. 

She may have been too much in love to see what was now obvious, she may have thrown years away for someone who wasn’t worth it, but one thing she had been was a good mother. 

She heard the front door slam and a sigh escaped her.  She was alone. 
She dialled the number she knew by heart and even though there was no one around to hear her, she spoke in a whisper.

“
He’s gone and won’t be back.  He doesn’t have a clue.  Now’s the time to put the second part of our plan into action.”

2
:45pm

Kate sat in
her favourite w
aterfront cafe and ordered lunch. 
She felt much better, though it had taken a longer walk and a lot of shopping before her black mood turned to gray and was now skim milk white - only tinge of blue hanging about.
 

She
had been
lucky enough to get a parking spot on the waterfront.  She
had
made her way through the p
ark
dodging
adults and children, park workers, dog walkers and their canine companions, bikers, cyclists, artists, runners and the plentiful, mostly cranky, re
d squirrels, although they came nowhere near her crankiness. 
At the
Sailor’s M
emorial, she left the boardwalk and hit the wooded trail.

Brilliant l
eaves covered the path
drifting downward from the trees in a steady flow thanks to last night’s heavy frost.  Walking ever deeper in the woods where the ground was still frozen, she focused on the sound of the leaves crunching under her feet.  The pain in her head finally eased, she quickened her pace and ten minutes later, she heard the screech of the
gulls
.
  Turning right, away from the sea, she climbed the hill further into the woods.  She wasn’t ready for civilization
yet
.

An hour later, s
he made her way back to the waterfront, walked purposely past her parked car, and started to climb the large paved hill leading to
Spring Garden Road, the
s
treet filled with
b
outiques
, designer shops, craft stores and a Mall filled with goodies you find anywhere else in the city.  If the layout in the storefront window attracted her, she went in and bought.  Her last stop was at
La Elegant
,
where
she spent too much
money on
a
red origami silk blouse and black Squeeze jeans
. 

She was glad she stopped when she did as she had to swing her purchases from one hand to another to make it back down the hill to the waterfront.  The waitress interrupted her reverie and placed the one dish meal of
curried fish fillets with carrots, potatoes, onions and tomatoes
in front of her
. 

Twenty minutes later, h
er long legs
stretched out
under the table
,
sipping a cup of expertly brewed tea,
she felt the last of the morning’s anxiety dripping into the dregs of the tea. 
She was ready to resume control.
 

Control. 
She smiled at the word. 
How many times had
Roger
called her a control freak
?  Too many to count – at the precinct, in the car, on the way to interview a suspect, while jamming at a bar, celebrating an arrest, and once at an autopsy.  His broad, handsome black face would break into a smile and he would begin his rant
–
you’re more highly structured than
a mechano set, Kate, lighten up, for God’s sake.

H
e had no room to talk. 
She had no doubt about what he was doing with his Saturday.
In his garage, f
ace under the hood of his
beloved
Mustang
,
or
at the race track with his buddy Randy, putting their cars through their paces.
Structure, love of control, fresh air and exercise versus
gas fumes
– no contest.
Control
it is.

Hoisting her parcels, she strolled back to the car, dumped the packages in the trunk, popped one of her favourite CD’s into the surround sound system and
listened to the brilliant guitar playing of J
im
i
Hendrix
.  She made her way to the trendy north end of the city.  It wasn’t always trendy; it had been one of the areas to avoid if you didn’t want to be mugged and the like. If she knew how and why neighbourhoods spiralled upwards, she’d invest what remained of her trust fund stash in real estate, but it would be a waste
.  S
he
’d sucked at forecasting winners and chances are she could predict a
winning
lotto
ticket
before cashing in on the real estate market.

Pulling up in front of June’s hair dressing shop, she couldn’t believe her luck.  She had called on her cell from the cafe to see if she had any openings and bingo, a cancellation.  Opening the door to the salon, the familiar smell of shampoo, perm solutions, and scented candles wafted in the air.  F
ifteen minutes later
she was caped
, looking at her reflection in the mirror while
the
scissors
chopped down
her
heavy mass of chestnut curls.
The sounds of
the
magical jazz pieces of Scott Joplin
filled the salon. 
 

J
une Grayson, a widow, a
quiet, thoughtful woman, had been managing her fly away curls since her university days.  They had a unique relationship, neither one infringing on the privacy of the other, both comfortable with silence.  Hair
cut,
she left her usual generous tip and drove to the gym.

4:15pm

She cued up for the machines and 60 minutes later, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, she headed for the exit.  There was just enough time to drive home, shower, change and meet her friends for pre-dinner drinks. 
S
he bounced her way towards the exit. 

And there
, on the other side of the glass door,
stood
the stalker.
She pushed open the door
;
he closed in
; t
hey stood toe to toe.   

“Hi Kate.  What are you doing here on a Saturday?  Caught your workout, impressive.
”
 

He made a show of looking at his watch. 

“
Close to c
ocktail hour.  How about joining me for a drink?”

Kate wondered how he knew her name then quickly realized the
vulture
had
h
ung
around the front desk
picking up name droppings.