The Taken (25 page)

There were twenty names covering all five apartments from 2000 to the present. Most of the tenants were long-term and their start and end dates were in full-year increments. Three rental terms ended prematurely, but there was no Colin Eldwin or Nick Wise or any other name that could resolve to Eldwin. But one of them was a “Clarence Earles,” and it seemed as good a place to start as any. Wingate called Mrs. Eldwin to give her an update and to take the opportunity to ask if her husband ever used pseudonyms.

“That’s
why you’re calling?”

“We need to tick off all the boxes, Mrs. Eldwin. I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there trying to
find
him?”

“This is part of it.”

“Why would he use a pseudonym?” she asked. “He’s never published anything anyway.”

“What about when he gets hired to write something?”

“You mean
How to Use Your New Garage Door Opener?
I don’t think those ‘texts’ get signed, Officer.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to calm her down. “Can I ask you if the name Clarence Earles means anything to you?”

“Clarence Earles,” she repeated, flatly. “Does it mean anything to
you?”

“They’re his initials, Mrs. Eldwin.”

“ That’s
your lead, Detective? You found his
fucking
initials? Did you find them carved on a fucking
tree?”

“Mrs. Eldwin, please –”

“Why don’t you put out an APB for Clint Eastwood, then? Or Carmen fucking Electra? Surely a girl with tits that big must be hiding something.”

He forced himself to continue over the sound of her furiously sucking on a cigarette. “Ma’am, did you ever live on Washington Avenue in Toronto?”

“Yeah, I did. For ten years with Chris Evert. You know, the gay tennis player? Did you know I led a whole secret life with a lesbian tennis star who shares her initials with my husband? Hey, with me as well. Isn’t that something?”

“Mrs. Eldwin,” he said firmly, but she interrupted him.

“FIND MY HUSBAND!”
she shouted. “Don’t call me with code words, addresses, trails of breadcrumbs, or smoke signals until
you know where he is, do you hear me? That’s
your
job. You fucking … useless … piece of –”

He hung up.

He found Hazel feeding Mason a sunflower seed through the bars of his cage. “Um, I don’t think she knows anything. Claire Eldwin.”

“Okay,” she said, watching the mouse eat.

“She might be crazy, that one.”

“You think so?”

“She thinks Chris Evert was gay, for one.”

Hazel squinted at him. “She wasn’t?”

“No. It was Martina Navratilova. Evert was straight.”

“They weren’t lovers?”

He sighed. “No, they weren’t. Evert married another tennis player. I think.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Tennis fan,” he said. “Anyway, she never had a place on Washington.”

“When was this Earles person in that apartment?”

Wingate unfolded the fax from his pocket. “January to August 2002.”

She took the sheet from his hand and studied it. “The rental was for eight months.”

“So?”

“So Earles moved out the beginning of September 2002.”

She waited for him to cotton on, but she’d lost him.

“That’s when the Eldwins moved to Mulhouse Springs. He rented that place for eight months and then got out of town.”

“How can you be sure it’s him?”

“Paritas sent us there for a reason. And the initials, the time
frame … it all fits. That, or we’re being shined on for no reason at all.”

“That’s a possibility,” he said.

“Even so, between the choice of acting on what we think we know and doing nothing, what choice do we actually have?” She cracked a sunflower seed between her teeth and took the kernel out to feed the mouse. He took it from her between the bars with his tiny, pink paws. When he sat back on his haunches, he looked like a little old man eating a sandwich.

“So,” he said. “January to August 2002. That’s our starting time frame.”

“Right. We have a house, a picture of a sweater, and an eight-month window.”

“There must have been thirty homicides in Toronto in the first half of 2002.”

“No,” she said, and she came away from the cage. “It’s not a murder, James. That’s why we’ve been deputized.
We’re
investigating a murder, but whatever it was in 2002, that’s not how it was ruled. You get it? It was something else.”

“But some of this is pretty contingent, Hazel.”

“Something you can see right in front of your eyes doesn’t require a leap of faith.”

Wingate pulled a chair out from the desk behind him and sat. He stared at the mouse cage. “So it looked like a natural death,” he said. “Or an apparent suicide. Or maybe it was an accident that wasn’t an accident – someone messing around with the brake cables, you know? It’s not hard to set it up. Someone falls out a window, leaves the gas on, tips over a candle.” He disappeared into himself for a moment. “We’re not talking about a missing person here though, because that suggests foul play
and there’d still be an open file. If I kill someone and then want to get married and move away, I don’t want anyone asking questions. I want to be sure the body is in the ground and the file is closed.”

“That’s right. So we have to find that file and reopen it.”

“That’s a needle in a haystack, Skip.”

“At least we have it narrowed down to a haystack.” She pushed herself off from the coffee table. “Let’s get back down to Toronto. Make an appointment to see them first thing tomorrow and sit down with them, show them some respect, get them onside.”

“We’re the ones who’re going to have to get onside,” Wingate said. “If there’s a case, it’s theirs.”

“Maybe I’ll let you do the talking.” He smiled uncomfortably at her. “Being the prodigal son’s got to be worth something,” she said.

Cartwright was waiting in the hallway by Hazel’s office door. The door was closed. As Hazel approached, her secretary seemed to move to block her. “Skip?”

“Melanie?”

“I just want to say I asked him to wait somewhere else, but he insisted on going into your office.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t think it was right to insist.”

Hazel leaned in and lowered her voice. “Is it that goddamned Willan with his fucking surfboard?”

“Who?”

“It’s
your
job to keep people
away
from me, Melanie.”

“I did what I could,” she said.

Hazel put her hand on the doorknob, straightening and pushing her shoulders back. She opened the door and the man sitting in the chair on the guest’s side of her desk turned and it was Ray Greene. She jerked to stillness and stood paralyzed in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to start people talking by waiting around somewhere they could see me.” He stood up and turned to face her. He was in a dark blue suit, civilian uniform, and she saw he’d lost a good fifteen pounds. She couldn’t speak. “Did you get my bottle?”

“I did,” she said. “That was thoughtful of you.”

“I hear not all your gifts were as welcome.”

“No,” she said, and she finally entered the room, closing the door behind them. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I’m not totally out of the loop.”

“The fact that you’re sitting in my office speaks volumes to that. You didn’t pour yourself a drink, though.”

He smoothed down the front of his jacket. “I didn’t want to take liberties. But if you’re offering –”

She took her seat behind the desk and reached down into a drawer to her left. It had been almost six months since she’d spoken to Ray Greene, and apart from his gift, she’d had no proof he was still in Westmuir. She had just the one glass and she poured and pushed it over to him before shaking her coffee cup over the garbage can and putting a shot in it. He held his glass up to her in an awkward, incomplete gesture and then drank it back. She put her mug down untasted. “You’re not here to ask for your job back.”

“No,” he said.

“You’re not the kind of person to butter someone up with a twenty-sixer and then show up hat in hand, are you?”

“You know me that well.”

“I guess I do. Then what is it?”

“I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Shit,” she said.

“Willan’s going to put me in as the CO of the amalgamated Westmuir force. Port Dundas is going to be headquarters.”

“When?”

“January one.”

“Fucking hell.”

He looked down into his empty glass. “I don’t like amalgamation any more than you do, Hazel, but standing on principle is just another way of doing nothing and being nothing. And I need to work.”

“You couldn’t work under me, Ray, you think it’s going to be easier with the reins?” He hadn’t made eye contact again, not since he’d tried to toast her. “Jesus,” she said. “Are they just going to pasture me or are they hoping I’ll resign in a snit?”

“They’re hoping for a resignation.”

“And if I don’t?”

Now he looked up. “Then you’ll have me backing you. I don’t want you to quit.”

She pushed the meat of her palm into her forehead. “I can’t handle this right now. There’s too much going on –”

“I can come back –”

“Why’d you say yes? There’d have been a brand new desk anywhere you wanted in the OPS. You could have gone to the big smoke if you wanted to. Why come back here?”

“Because this is what I know.” She waited for him to deliver the rest of the speech. How he could be put to best use here, how they’d be able to work out their differences and be effective
together. But that was all there was, and she had to admit, she understood. He wasn’t just police, he was Westmuir police and probably six long months hung up drawing early pension was enough to convince him that taking over Westmuir was a good portion even if it meant coping with her resentment, her anger, perhaps her insubordination. Willan had calculated it would be her dinosaur moment, but she was already pretty sure she wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

She was silent, not allowing him the release of a reply to his astonishing news. His shoulders were halfway to his ears, as if he might disappear into his suit jacket. Finally, she said, “Are you ready?”

“No,” he said plainly. “I want it to be two years from now, when all the growing pains are over.”

“Suddenly you’re an optimist, huh? Two years?”

He appeared to find something in his glass and lifted it to his lips. A thin rill of Scotch ran down the side into his mouth. “Hazel, I know this is not the way you imagined the future, not at all. But there were a lot of ways this could have shaken down and this is one of the not impossible ones. I want you to consider the upside.”

“I already see it, Ray.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to shove this in Chip Willan’s face and I’m going to give you a stomach ulcer. And then, when I do retire, on my own clock, you can throw me a giant party.”

“If you’ll stay, Hazel, you can even choose the flavour of the cake.”

“Mine will be chocolate and yours’ll be crow.” She looked to the clock on the wall. “I presume you can find your way out?”

He seemed surprised that their conversation was already over and he stood awkwardly, as if a person of importance had just entered the room. He’d come ready to battle with her and she’d denied him that – he looked confused, as if he’d bought something he’d not meant to buy. But, after a moment, he got up and took his overcoat off the back of the chair. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you any longer.”

“I guess we’ll be talking,” she said.

“I guess so,” he said. “Thanks for seeing me.”

She let him get to the door, and then she said, “Did I have a choice, Ray?” She saw him stiffen with his hand on the knob and she braced herself. But then he took his hand off the door and turned square to her.

“Do you mean, why weren’t you consulted?”

“Sure, start there.”

“Would
you
have consulted you?”

He had her there. “But why punish me? I’ve done so much here. I’ve been an asset. I don’t deserve to be squeezed like this.”

He came back to the chair he’d been sitting in and leaned against the back of it. “You’ve never deserved anything but to be on the case. That’s who you are. You’re a brilliant detective, but you should never have been put in charge of anything. You became so-called ‘interim’ out of loyalty to the force, to ex-Inspector Drury, to the people the OPS has left waiting for another shoe to drop. But would you ever have chosen to be CO? Is it what you really wanted?”

“No,” she said, unable to look at him now.

“I left because when I was underneath you I couldn’t do anything about your …
lesser
instincts. There were cases here that almost got away from you entirely with no one to balance you
out. You can’t be a maverick and a leader at the same time, Hazel – no one can. But without the pressure to wonder what a more sensible version of yourself would do in a given situation, you might actually feel
free
for the first time in years. It’s not a bad situation if you look at it more closely.”

“I’m sure almost anyone would be honoured to work under you, Ray. But think of how it looks for me.”

“It looks like survival, Hazel. Those who work for you can keep
coming
to work. Direct your pride toward them and you might see it differently.”

“Watch it. You’re not my boss yet.”

He stood his ground, wondering if he’d detected a softening, even a tiny one. He couldn’t be sure. He let go of the chair. “How’s your case coming?” he asked.

“Slowly. We’re up the creek with a paddle.”

“At least you have a paddle.” He smiled warmly, glad to be ending on a slightly better note than it appeared they would. But she was frozen, as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hazel?”

“We’ll be talking, Ray. Thank you for coming in.”

He looked confused, but then decided he wasn’t going to push his luck. He murmured
okay then
under his breath and saw himself out. She noticed her hand was shaking. Cartwright was standing in the doorway. “You have calls.”

“Anything pressing?”

“Maybe one.” She handed Hazel a pink sheet. The message said:
Stop at A & R Electronics on your way out of town. GP
.