The Taken Read online

  “What?” said Emily.

  Hazel cupped the phone. “I’ll explain in a second.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Yeah, as soon as he can.”

  She passed the phone back to her mother. Andrew and Glynnis were standing in the hallway behind her now. Andrew was drying a wineglass. “What’s going on?”

  “We had a bit of a scare at the detachment on Tuesday. A gift that we weren’t expecting.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t think you want to know,” she said.

  Martha had stepped away from the sitting room and was standing in the hallway behind her mother. She quietly took Hazel’s hand. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Hazel said. “Sean MacDonald is a trained scene-of-crime officer and he’ll know what to do.”

  “Scene of crime?” Emily said, rather incredulously.

  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Is he going to blow up your presents or something?” Martha asked.

  Hazel squeezed her hand. “No. But he’ll tell us if I can open them.”

  Glynnis made some more camomile tea while they waited, and they sat in the kitchen together, stiffly. “Most of that stuff in there is from us,” Andrew said. “And the rest is from people you know. The Chandlers came by with something. Your deputy dropped a couple of things off.”

  “You saw him? Wingate?”

  “I did,” said Glynnis.

  “And he said the gifts were from him?”

  “He said they were from your staff. Nothing was ticking, as far as I can tell,” she said.

  “Well, I still think we should wait for MacDonald.”

  “Never a dull moment,” said Andrew.

  The sergeant arrived ten minutes later, and she took him aside and explained her concerns. He nodded seriously. He held his kit bag up. “I got a chemical swiper thing in here,” he said. “And some litmus strips.”

  “You’re going to test whether my gifts are too acidic, Sean?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just get to it. Don’t blow up the house.”

  He vanished into the sitting room, and she stood apart from the others, waiting. She couldn’t untense her hands. After a few minutes, she took a couple more steps backward down the hall. Glynnis poked her head out of the kitchen. “You want us to wait outside?”

  “Or in Fort Leonard, maybe?” called Andrew.

  “I’m sorry, okay? Just better safe than…”

  “Than what?” asked Glynnis.

  “Never mind.”

  MacDonald whistled while he went over the packages. Five minutes turned into ten. Finally, he was done and he emerged into the hallway.

  “No strange lumps, no wires sticking out, no oilstains, nothing stinky or rattly. No animals or bodily fluids. I’d say you’re all clear. Unless you don’t like fifteen-year-old Glenfarclas.”

  “What?”

  “Ray Greene sent you a nice bottle.”

  She frowned at him. “How do you know that?”

  “I had to open the packages. But I resealed them. Nice to get something from your old deputy, huh? No hard feelings.”

  “All right, thank you, Sean. You can go now.”

  He smiled at her – he loved doing SOCO stuff and the opportunity so rarely came up – and she told him to wait a minute. She went back into the kitchen and sliced him a thick piece of the vanilla cake Glynnis had made, and put it on a plate and brought it back to him. “Just leave the plate with Melanie when you’re done.”

  “Should I frisk it first?”

  “Sure, you do that.”

  She asked Martha to help her bring the gifts downstairs. Knowing that there was something from Ray had put her off opening the presents more than the possibility of finding a body part or a bomb had. Some nerve: not a word for months, and then a birthday present. It pissed her off.

  Martha put the gifts on the table downstairs and helped her mother arrange the room. It was still a mess from earlier. When she was done, she said she’d leave her alone and maybe see her in the morning. Then she stood at the door to the stairs, looking forlorn and lost.

  “What is it, honey? Why the faraway look?”

  Martha shook her head instead of speaking, a worrisome prelude to tears. But she settled herself down and said, “That was weird, huh?”

  “Yeah. A little. That why you’re upset?”

  “Well, yeah. I don’t like to think of you being in danger.”

  “Aw, sweetie, that’s so nice of you. But don’t you get all -”

  “And… well, also… it’s just… look at all the people who care about you. Who love you. Those guys upstairs, and that guy coming from the police station to make sure you’re safe. All these people sending you gifts.”

  “Maybe they’re just all afraid of me. They’re appeasing me.”

  “I know,” Martha said distractedly. “It’s just…”

  “It’s just what, sweetie?”

  Martha leaned against the wall beside the door. The whole room was between them. “You have so many people in your life. So does Dad. You’re both just… naturally likeable. I wish I had that talent.”

  “No one sees themselves the way others see them,” Hazel said. “You could never see yourself the way I do. And for your information, I don’t feel that loveable myself.”

  “Well, obviously, other people disagree.”

  “Maybe you just need to get out and be around people more, hon. You can’t have people in your life if you’re hiding from them.”

  Martha nodded, her tongue stiff against the inside of her upper lip. Hazel had known it was the wrong thing to say the instant it was out of her mouth. Her daughter stood up straight against the wall. “So I’m living under a rock? What do you know about how I spend my time?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you -”

  “I go to the gym, I go out with friends, I go to the library. You think Toronto is the kind of place you strike up conversations with people on the street? And then they come home for a cup of Lemon Zinger and you’re BFFs?”

  “You’re what?”

  “Never mind.” She turned and opened the door sharply. Hazel crossed the room quickly and put her hand on her daughter’s.

  “Hey – wait… I’m sorry, Martha. Honestly. I hate saying the wrong thing. I only want you to be happy and feel loved.”

  “I know,” said Martha, quietly. She was already embarrassed that she’d shown her vulnerability to her mother. She was always see-sawing back and forth between appearing strong and being helpless. She hated it. “I should let you get some rest.” She still hadn’t looked her mother in the eye.

  “Do you accept my apology?”

  “I do,” said Martha.

  “Will I see you in the morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  She let her go.

  When the door closed, Hazel went over to the couch and sat down. She pulled the gift that had to be the bottle over toward herself and opened the card attached to it. The card said We can still raise a glass, right? Hope this is still your brand. Ray. She felt less pissed off after reading the card, but the discomfort remained.

  Her mother had bought her a beautiful blouse; Glynnis and Andrew a matching pair of slacks. The gift from Wingate was a copy of Great Expectations. Sweet man. She’d never read Dickens. Nor had she ever had great expectations – it was nice that he thought it still possible.

  The final gift was from Robert and Gail Chandler, a long, purple silk scarf. It was gorgeous. She wrapped it around her neck and then pulled Greene’s bottle toward herself and stared at it a long time.

  It had been more than thirty-six hours since her last Percocet and her nerves had been crying out for solace ever since. But the adrenaline that had been roaring through her since the visit to Willan had done some of the work she’d counted on the pill to do. To painkill, yes, but also to numb, to reduce the noise in her head. After her birthday evening, though, she could feel the noise returning. The burn in her guts, the dizzin
ess, the shakes. She recalled the small object wrapped in tinfoil that she’d had in her pants pocket yesterday. She went to the closet and found it still in the pocket of the black slacks she’d worn yesterday. She unwrapped the pill and held it in her fingers. How could something that small take such a hold of a person? She lifted it to her mouth and touched her tongue to it. It was bitter, like aspirin, and she thought she could feel it sizzling. In a day or two, it would begin to get easier: she believed this now. She was on the dividing line between one life and another and she need do nothing to cross it; the line was coming toward her. On the other side of it was a manageable pain, a clearer head, maybe even her own pillow and sheets. And, more importantly, she was going to need a clear head from here on in. There was a chance to save the man in the video; a chance to save “her,” whoever she was.

  She went into the bathroom and flushed the pill down the toilet. It turned in smaller and smaller circles, arrowing in on something like it was supposed to do in the body, and then it was gone into the grey tube in the middle of the bowl as if down a throat and she pictured it streaming end over end into the sewer. From one bottomless place to another. It was progress.

  17

  Friday, May 27

  She was in early on Friday morning and called a meeting with Wingate, Sergeant Geraldine Costamides, and Kraut Fraser. These were her most senior people now and she was going to need them. After confirming that nothing had changed on the website, she ushered them all into the office and closed the door behind them.

  “Where are we with the prints from Eldwin’s house?” she began.

  “I had to send the mouse down to Spere,” said Fraser. “It’s going to take more than powder to get a print off that thing.”

  “Why?” She noticed Wingate was looking down at the ground.

  “Well, your cubscout there was standing in a room full of things Eldwin’s touched, including a keyboard -”

  “- how’m I supposed to smuggle a keyboard out of Eldwin’s house?”

  “Anyway,” Fraser continued, “there are about two hundred imprints of the guy’s index finger all on the same spot – click click click! – a giant smudge where his thumb spends half its life, and a latent of half a pinky. Then there’s a partial print of the palm, from the base of the thumb. So Spere’s going to have to collect and collate digitally. He told me he’d have an answer by the end of the day.”

  “Fine,” said Hazel, and she shot Wingate a look. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s focus on our next move.”

  “Which is?”

  “Geraldine, I have a job for you if you’re up for it.” Costamides turned her attention to her. Hazel didn’t get much chance to work with this sergeant, as Costamides preferred to work nights, but she liked her. “How’d you like to eat crow on behalf of your commanding officer?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I browbeat Gordon Sunderland’s young deputy into cancelling yesterday’s instalment of ‘The Mystery of Bass Lake.’ I’d like you to go back over there and employ your charm in shaking loose the chapter that didn’t appear. And any others they’ve received since we visited their offices on Wednesday.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  Hazel knew she could. It was Gerry on whom the job of wrangling difficult favours often fell. She had a certain way of holding herself – solid and sad all at once – that made it hard for people to say no to her. The irony was that, unlike most people, Costamides did not have the face she deserved. She was one of the most joyful, vital people on the force. Hazel thanked her, and Costamides left right away for the newspaper’s offices.

  “I’ll check up on Spere,” said Fraser, and he left too.

  When the door was closed, Wingate said, “Sorry about the mouse. I didn’t know it would be that hard to get fingerprints off -”

  “I told you not to worry about it,” she said, and she sat behind her desk.

  “I’m sure Gerry will get you what you need from the Record.”

  “Yeah. She will.” She pulled the cellphone off the table and pocketed it. “In the good old days, I would have had Ray handle it. He could be subtle.” She shook her head sadly. “You know he sent me a bottle for my birthday.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “I guess that means I should call.”

  “Maybe you should,” said Wingate. “Maybe if…”

  “Don’t finish that thought.”

  He didn’t. “You know,” he said quietly, “back in Toronto, people didn’t get as close as you guys do up here. We didn’t live on top of each other.”

  “It’s probably better that way.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said. “I like the sense that everything matters here. I like people taking things personally.”

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to take things personally in Port Dundas, James. Be careful what you wish for.” She was looking at the computer screen. The dripping SAVE HER was revealing itself anew. An awful lot of planning had gone into what they’d seen over the last seven days, almost as if the people who had uploaded this material knew their audience better than it knew itself. Hazel entertained, for just a moment, an inside element, someone within these walls who was communicating, either on purpose or unwittingly, with the perpetrators. But what made better sense was that the people who were driving this macabre charade had a strong grasp of investigative process. They knew it would not take long after the mannequin was found for the police to make their way to the website. And at that point, they’d have the attention of the OPS for as long as they wanted it. It made her feel like there was a ghost sitting on her shoulder. That made her think of what was sitting on her other shoulder. “I don’t think I told you I met with Commander Willan. You know, Mason’s replacement?”

  “You didn’t mention it. What’s he like?”

  “Stalin with a surfboard.” She sighed. “He sees me as the rope bridge all you young folks are going to walk over to get to the promised land of efficient policing. He basically called me a dinosaur.”

  “All the dinosaurs I’ve known were the best police, Hazel.”

  “The dinosaurs may be good police, James, but they can never solve their own extinctions.”

  Wingate found himself riven by the image of his superior officer looking crestfallen behind her desk. She seemed more defeated now than all the times he’d visited her at home, when she’d been in nearly unbearable pain, looking tiny on her couch in a terrycloth robe. “Skip? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “Because you seem -”

  “I know,” she said. “Apart from having a man trapped in my computer, live animals and body parts appearing on my desk, a CO who thinks I’ve outlived my usefulness, and expensive gifts coming from missing friends, I also happen to have a pill problem. And it appears I’m to quit in the midst of all this nonsense. So, I’m slightly less than okay.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Just do your job and don’t think about me. We need to get in front of this.”

  “I should have thought through what I was doing at Eldwin’s.”

  “You did. You’re not a dinosaur, remember that. Now go back to your desk and have a good think. At the rate things are going for that man in the chair, we all need to get on our game.”

  18

  Sergeant Geraldine Costamides had been successful, as Hazel knew she would. She returned to the station house looking slightly shame-faced, which meant that she’d spun a particularly good story for the benefit of Becca Portman and managed to shake loose everything they needed. There were two unpublished chapters now. Costamides made copies of them and passed them out to Hazel, Wingate, and Fraser. Then she stood at the lectern, her glasses hanging around her neck. She cleared her throat. “Are we ready? Everyone tucked in with their hot milk?” “Go ahead, Gerry,” said Hazel.

  Costamides lifted her glasses clear of her long chin and settled them on the bridge of her nose
. She curled the pages she held in her hands and clacked the bottom of them against the lectern before laying them flat. “The Mystery of Bass Lake,” she began, “chapters four and five.”

  Nick Wise had been sitting at his kitchen table, the newspaper open in front of him, his pen hovering over the page, when his doorbell rang. Ah, he thought, “damaged,” but then there was the sound of a car driving off and he laid his pen down and went to the door.

  What he saw on his front stoop froze his blood. Wise looked hurriedly up and down the street, but there was no one and he quickly stepped around the form and got his arms under the greasy tarp. There was a note pinned to it with a fishhook, but it would have to wait until he got inside. He struggled with the weight and finally got it into his living room, rivulets of sweat running off his chin. Then he went back to the door and shut it hard, turning the lock and putting on the chain.

  He stood in the hallway looking at the grey thing staining his fireplace rug. He’d moved away to make sure she’d never find him again, but here she was. The bitch. He leaned over the tarp and unpinned the note. It said, “If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours.” He put the note aside and slipped his finger under the edge of the wet tarp and slid it back. It fell away from its contents with a wet slap against the floor and there she was, at least, there was most of her. She lay headless on his floor, immutable as an eternal verity. He reached behind himself and pulled a chair toward him. “What am I going to do with you?” he said. Brackish water was damaging his floor. She stank. He sighed heavily. “Fine. Wait here.”

  He went out the back, across the big lawn to the garage, and got into his car. The old house was almost two hundred kilometres away, but obviously, whatever plans he had for a quiet afternoon were shot, so he might as well drive. Two hours later, entering the city, he felt like the past two years had never happened: he was still in that city, still living that life. He drove in along the lakeside highway, up past the no-longer-new baseball stadium, through the bustle of Chinatown, and up into the university district. There, he turned onto Cherry Tree Lane, drove under the chestnut trees, and parked. Perhaps there had once been cherry trees here. Maybe the street was misnamed. He stood on his old front porch under one of the hundred-year-old chestnut trees and turned to take in the view he’d had for so many years: the two little parks, the old church. But there was no time for nostalgia: he had a mouldering body lying in his front room.