Final Act (14 page)

“
Ward
reminds me of one of those sly cartoon characters who slinks behind the scenes and rubs its hands together when discovering the down and dirties.   I wouldn’t put a spot of blackmail past him, or if cornered, something more drastic.
  Any idea what the argument was about?”

“None, but I’m going to do some more digging.  Somebody in the company must know something.”

The
ir
conversation ceased
when
the waiter placed the colourful fall beet, orange and apple salad in front of Kate and the hardier antipasto salad with salami, pepperoni, Asiago cheese, tomatoes, with oregano, parsley and parmesan whipped in balsamic vinegar and oil in front of Roger.  They tucked into their
food
, shared the basket of warm sourdough bread and finished with Costa Rica Shade Grown Organic coffee.  Both gave dessert a miss.  

“Catherine’s fainting spell bothers me. 
She u
sed to be an actress so I’m not sure it was genuine. 
She became agitated when I mentioned the Production team, I think she knows something. 
She’s a repressed woman and you know what can happen with repressed personalities.
  I’m going to pick up with her where I left off as soon as possible.  Maybe drop by this evening.”
 

Kate’s cell rang.  It was her brother. 
Damn, she
forgot to cancel
.

“I heard you were seen trolling the neighbourhood in a Ford sedan?  Tell me it’s not true.
”

“Can’t do that, James.”

“
Unfortunate. 
Mom’s in the kitchen cooking up a Mexican storm and asked me to give you a call to see if you would be joining us?”

“Give her my regrets.  I don’t know when I’ll be free, I’m on a case.  I
was
going to drop in earlier this morning
to let her know but no one was home.”

“A case
, okay, that
explains the Ford.  You’ll be missed.  Take care.”

Kate and Roger strolled back to the precinct where they spent the rest of the day and the best part of the evening
writing reports, doing background checks, and scheduling appointments.

***

Camira
went to the kitchen and took down
her
favourite mug, fill
ed
the kettle
and
began to make tea. 
Standing on the stool in the pantry, she took down the one possession she had of her mother’s – a white, china teapot,
with
a
thin worn
circle of gold on the lid and spout. 
She reserved its use for
special occasions only. 

Surely being terrified qualifies as a special occasion, she thought, as she poured boiling water in the teapot.
She glanced at her watch.  Hanya should soon be here. 
She reached in the cupboard for
her cousin’s
favourite mug
.  It was
a large white one with an eagle emblazed on one side and
on the other,
‘
women chiefs can he
al your griefs
’
, in bold script
.
  She took her
own cup of brewed
tea into the living room and sat in
the leather recliner.
 
 

It was
her
favourite room, her bedroom coming in a close second. 
Black leather
sofa,
side chairs
, recliner and ottoman
stood in stark contrast to the white
accent pieces
;
the pictures on the wall were black and white prints framed
with
black or white painted wood. 
Hanya
once
ask
ed
her
why she chose not to add an
other
colour
to her cozy nest
.

Her reply was simple
.

After
career in modelling followed by one in the
theatre,
I need the relief of starkness
.”

As
she
reached for the TV remote,
she thought of
the question the
tall, good looking P
olice
Sergeant
had
asked her –
did you notice anything different on the night before the Director’s murder?

The question conjured up the image of
the dark figure getting into the cab.
She had left the theatre after the performance to meet John, her modelling agent. 
He was down from Toronto and
they made plans to get together after the performance. 
S
he was looking forward to
being brought up to date on the modelling and entertainment world.  No one could deliver more
scandalous, witty gossip
better than John.
 

And
, she wanted to share her good news with him
.  S
he had been offered the role of
Maggie the Cat
in an American
PBS
production
.
They
had
sat
together talking about their futures
over a bottle of champagne
until
well
after midnight. 

The
root of her terror
began
innocently enough,
outside the restaurant,
on the sidewalk.  Waving goodbye to John,
and
heading for her car, her eye caught a sudden movement to her right.  Turning her head, she saw a
dark figure
, ten feet in front of her,
emerg
ing
from
the alleyway leading from the
theatre.  She
w
atched the shadowy figure
cross the street to a parked cab.  The stance and walk of the person
seemed
familiar
but she couldn’t put a name to the body
.
 

That coat, that god-awful coat.  Dark, shapeless, made it impossible to determine if it was a man or a woman
.

She
had
yelled hello and waved as the person
was leaning into the
cab. 
At the sound of her hello, the person
stood, lifted the hood of the jacket over the top of his or her head, turned and stared at her. 

She
couldn’t see the
face.  The figure stared with the intensity of burning logs for what seemed forever. 
Not one word
was
spoken.  And then, swiftly, with the precision of a retracting switchblade,
the
dark figured
turned and got
into the cab. 
She didn’t think anymore about it until last night
, until the
detective asked his question.
 

In an effort to remain calm, she told herself
the figure that came out of the alley
way had been a
drunk
who pissed on the
alley
wall. 
The lie wouldn’t stick.
The walk across the street wasn’t
the walk of a
drunk
.
She spent a restless night, brooded over breakfast, and then it came to her.  She knew that stance. 
She knew who it was.
No one would believe her, she couldn’t prove anything, but she sensed she was in danger and called H
anya
.

She aimed the remote at the huge
black and white
print of the Eiffel Tower.  The frame moved silently across the metal tracking to reveal a flat screen TV. 
She
had
turned on the 24 hours news when
heard the d
oorbell
.
 
She laid
the
tea
on the side table, walked down the hallway with a lighter heart, and
open
ed
the door.

***

Hanya
, standing outside
Camira’s
door
, was puzzled by the lack of response
to the door bell or her loud pounding.
 

I don’t believe this
,
she’s
not at home
. 
Why would
she go out? 
She knew I was coming over.

Indulging her hurt feelings,
she turned and stomped towards the elevator but stopped short of pressing the down button
.  R
eason
had
won out over
emotion
s
. 

No, she wouldn’t have gone out
.
S
he’s taken something to calm herself down and
is sleeping. 
 

She pulled her cell phone out of her p
urse and dialled Camira’s number.  Her
answering machine clicked on after four rings.

Now what?
 
I’m not leaving until I know she’s in there. 

She got on the elevator
,
pressed the second floor button
.  A few minutes later she
walked down the
floor
corridor reading the apartment numbers
and stopped
outside
211. 

This is where
Jimmy Creighton, the building’s super
,
lives.
I’m certain this is where I came when Camira’s apartment had started to flood.
 

While she waited for
someone
to answer the door, she thought about the
night of the
flood
.
They were just about to sit down to dinner when they noticed
water
lapping its way from the kitchen to the dining room table.
  They followed the water trail back to
the broken pipe under the kitchen sink. 
Camira
had
tried to reach Jimmy
, the Super,
on the phone but there was no answer. 

“The deaf, lazy sod
is lying on the sofa again with the volume cranked
on the TV
.  Would you mind pounding on his door
,
Hanya,
it’s Apt.
211
,
while I
start mopping?”

And that was how she first encountered Jimmy.  Leaning once more on his bell, she wondered if
there
was
a building regulation that doesn’t allow
anyone
to open their doors after 9:00
pm.
 
She
jabbed the bell again.   Forty seconds
later,
Jimmy stood
in the doorway wearing a faded red t-shirt and plaid p
yjama
bottoms.   

“Well, hello Rev. Hanya,” he said
. “W
hat can I do for you at this time of night?”

“I’ve been pounding on
my cousin’s door
and ringing her phone for the last ten minutes but there’s no answer. I’m worried
; she knew I was coming to see her. 
I need to know she’s okay.
  Would you please let me in the apartment?
 

“I can’t be letting
you
in just because you think she should be home. 
I
got
ta
respect
the
tenants’ privacy
.
”