Ear-Witness (15 page)

“What?”

“He's ...on the news a lot, on TV. And in the papers.”

“You're kidding! What's his name?”

“Gordon March.”

“Gordon March is your father! He's almost famous.”

“I know,” I said. “Why would he want to be bothered with me?”

It was eight o'clock at night, and Raffi hadn't come back from being in the line-up. I was in my room, flipping through my math text, trying to convince myself I was learning something. Mom was at work.

When the phone rang, I jumped. “They did it,” Mom said. Her voice was small, like a little kid's. I could hardly hear her. “They arrested Raffi. For the murder.”

“No!”

“Yes,” she whispered.

We were both quiet for a while. “Do you think he did it?” I'd never asked her that before, but it seemed like a good time for it.

She didn't answer, but I heard a small sniff.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“I don't know. I can't believe he did, but ...” She left the sentence dangling in the air, which is something she does a lot. I'm supposed to read her mind, I guess.

“But what?”

“The cops have a witness who saw him leave the building that night.”

“That's just Mr. Orellana,” I said. “He saw some big guy come from around the back, that's all.”

“No, this is someone else, some guy who identified him from a line-up. Raffi didn't see him, but it wasn't Mr. Orellana, this person knew his name.”

“Oh,” I said.

She sighed. “It gets worse, Jess. His fingerprints were in Tammi's apartment.”

“No. That can't be true. I don't believe it.” I didn't, but I had this terrible sinking feeling, as if I was under water, and somebody was pushing me down.

“He'd hardly make it up,” Mom said. “Listen, I can't leave here yet, there's no other supervisor to cover for me. I'm still looking for someone, but...”

“What else did Raffi say?” I asked.

“Nothing. Some cop was right on top of him, hurrying him up.”

“Does he have a lawyer?”

I could hear her sniffing again. Then I heard the soft scuffing sound a tissue makes when you pull it from the box. “I never even thought of that. We'll have to get him one.”

“We?” I said. “I don't like the sound of that
we.”

“You,” she said. “He's your father.”

“Oh no you don't! I'm just the kid here!”

She blew her nose, and I winced. “You have to,” she said. “Who else do we know?”

“How come all of a sudden you're dying for me to talk to him, after years of making him sound like some kind of a louse?”

She didn't answer.

“I won't do it,” I said. “I'm not that two-faced.” Then I stopped talking. Completely.

“I was afraid I'd lose you,” she whispered.

“Lose me?” I said. “What are you talking about? You'd forget me on the streetcar?”

“You'd want to live with him.”

“Mom! I wouldn't.” Then I stopped myself. “He did want me to live with him, didn't he? I'd forgotten all about that. That was what the big fight was about.”

I could hardly hear her now. “He has so much money,” she said. “And you thought he was so wonderful.”

Suddenly, I was furious. “So now I'm supposed to call him? After three years of refusing to talk to him? To ask for a favour?”

“Don't yell,” she said. “Everybody on the street will hear you.”

I shouted, “I couldn't care less!” Then I crashed the phone down without saying goodbye, something I'd never done before. After that I threw my math book at the wall. I hadn't done that before, either.

Half an hour later I hauled the phone book from its shelf and looked up my father's number. The kid who answered told me I had reached the March residence. Then he wanted to know who I wished to speak to

“Mr. March,” I said.

“Who should I say is calling?” he asked.

“Jess,” I said. “Jess March.” Then I waited.

My palms slipped on the receiver and my heart thundered under my ribs. Maybe my father wasn't going to come to the phone at all, maybe he'd get the kid to make an excuse. Besides, if he did come, what then? What can you say to someone you haven't seen for three years, and it's your fault, and you're only calling because your mother made you?

“Jess? Is it really you?” My dad's voice sounded like it was his birthday, and I'd just given him the best present of his whole life.

“It's me,” I said.

“You couldn't know how happy I am to hear from you!”

“Me too, I said. My voice got a little fractured then, but maybe he'd think I had a cold. “I'm happy too. I wish I'd phoned before.”

“It's a tough spot to be in, between two parents.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“So, when can I see you? Soon, I hope.”

“I need help,” I said.

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“I don't know.” Then I said the most perfect thing, and I didn't even plan it. What was so amazing was that I didn't even know it was true until the words popped right out of my mouth. “I think about
you all the time,” I said. “I mean, I'm calling because I want something, but ...”

“You couldn't say anything nicer than that,” he said. “Now, what's the problem?”

I told him everything.

My father's office used to be on Bay Street near the Old City Hall, but he'd moved. Now he was up near Yorkville, but it wasn't hard to find. Two days after we talked on the phone, a Saturday, I took the Queen streetcar as far as University, transferred to the subway, got off at the museum and walked.

The street was in an area where people used to live. The houses were still there, but almost all of them had been turned into fancy restaurants, or art galleries, or offices.

My father's building had big new windows where there had probably been smaller ones and there was a whole lot of wood on the outside that looked unpainted, only it was shiny. The brass sign beside the door said
Gordon March
on one line, and
Barrister
underneath it. Underneath that there was a little white button and a sign that said
Push Bell for Admittance
. When I lifted my hand towards it the door flung open and I was squashed in a huge hug and half lifted, half danced inside.

My father held me away from him and looked me over, but it was such a nice look that I didn't mind at all.

“You are the spitting image, the spitting image,” he said, “of my favourite sister, Vera. You remember Vera? She's the gorgeous one.”

“You're the spitting image of my dad,” I said.

My eyes were watering, but just a little. “Allergy season,” I said.

“Runs in the family.” He blew his nose on a big white handkerchief, and I laughed because he honked just like a Canada goose going north, just like he always did. “Some things never change,” he said. “C'mon and see my great new place!”

The first floor had a waiting room for clients, secretaries' desks loaded with computer stuff, a whole wall of big grey filing cabinets, a big photocopier in its own little room, and a kitchen that was bigger than ours at home. On the second floor there was a bathroom with an old-fashioned tub, now full of plants; a room Dad called his “conference room-slash-library”; and in the front, looking out over the street, his private office.

A chocolate-brown leather couch and some matching chairs were grouped around a coffee table at one end of the room, and at the other there was a wooden desk so shiny you could see yourself in it. Two pictures in matching stand-up frames faced where Dad sat. The one of me was so old, I was still wearing a pony tail. In the other one a blonde woman sat with her arm around a boy.

“My wife,” Dad said. “And her son, from her first marriage.”

lust to be polite, I had another look. The kid looked like trouble.

There was one file folder, a bright red one, lying on the desk. Dad picked it up and settled in his chair. “How about we talk business first,” he said. “Then after that, we'll talk about ourselves. Maybe get some lunch. Deal?”

I squeezed my hands together. “Deal,” I said.

I spent about an hour with Raffi yesterday. And after that I spoke to the Crown Attorney. She has a file like this with all the police evidence in it, and she's the one who'll be against us in court.”

He sighed, and looked across at me. His face was sort of sad. “I hope you aren't expecting miracles,” he said. “I can't wave a magic wand and get him released.”

He was watching me, which was something he'd been doing a lot of ever since I got there. Finally I said, “You think he did it, don't you?”

He hesitated. “That's an impossible question to answer right now.”

“You think he did it, and you don't want to tell me.” I said. “Because you know I'll be really upset.”

“What's important Jess, is what the police and the Crown Attorney think. Let me tell you about the evidence against him. Perhaps between us we can find some flaws in it.”

“OK” I wiped a tear away with my thumb. He saw that too.

“First, there are the two eyewitnesses,” he said. “People who independently saw someone leave your building that night.”

“Mr. Orellana is one,” I said. “But he only said it was someone big.”

“Here we are. Statement of Roberto Orellana. I'll read it.
The person
I
saw was big like the black man who visits
Mrs.
March. He came from around the side of the building. It was three o'clock in the morning
. The other person,” Dad said, turning over some more pages, “— where is that statement? — the other witness wasn't able to pinpoint the time, but he saw a man leave the building through the front door some time during the night...”

“Through the front? And the other guy said from the side?”

“Yes. I pointed out that discrepancy to the Crown Attorney, but if she thought it was important, she didn't let on. Anyway, this second witness later identified Raphael Morgan, Raffi, as the person he saw that night. He picked him out of a line-up.”

“Who was it who saw him?” I said.

Dad had his finger holding a place in the file, and he turned back to it. “Here we are,” he said. The second witness. Ronald Roach. That name sounds familiar.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Are you OK, Jess? Is this stuff getting to be too much for you?”

“Ronald Roach
is too much for me,” I said. “Ronald Roach is ...” For a moment I didn't know where to start. I just sat there flapping my hands around. Then I remembered. Dad was there at the beginning.

“You know him,” I said. “He cut Natalie's hair off. In front of my school.”

“Him!” Dad said. “He's still in the area?”

“He was away for a while but he came back. He's in one of my classes.”

Dad frowned. “He was in detention. Then he was supposed to live with some relative up north, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, now he's living with his father just down the street from us and he's been giving me a really hard time. He just
hates
me. I had to report him to the principal because he was harassing me, and since then ...” I did a few more hand flaps, and shook my head. The truth is I was totally flipped out, but in a kind of good way, because I was beginning to smell what the Roach had done.

“Start at the beginning,” Dad said. “What was he harassing you about?”

So that's what I did. I told him the whole story about that: the fat-girl words, even the worst ones; the hate stare in the hall when I was with Kelly; the trouble the Roach was in at school; how Raffi talked to him; the whole thing. The more I said, the madder Dad got.

“I'd like to punch that little jerk's lights out,” Dad said. “I will, too, but I'll do it legally. From what you've said it seems like this is all verifiable, through the principal? How you've felt personally threatened? The whole thing?” he asked.