The Arx (9 page)

“Where are they now? Your parents.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is this a session? Are you messing with my head?”

“No,” she laughed. “I’d just like to know a little more about you.”

“My dad was killed on the job about twenty years ago.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“He stopped a car for speeding and the driver blew him away and took off. The car was stolen and they never caught the guy. I guess that’s when I finally made the decision. I couldn’t just stand by and let people get away with stuff like that.”

“And your mother?”

“She never really got over Dad’s death. She died a few years ago. Stroke. I just went to see them both yesterday.”

Rebecca stared at him.

“At the Columbarium,” Frank smiled at her confusion.

“Colum what?”

“It’s a sort of mausoleum where you can put the ashes of your ‘loved ones’.” He held up his fingers like quotation marks. “It’s like a wall of little cubbyholes with urns inside.

“I’m not into any of that, but it’s what my mother wanted, so that’s where they are. You can put flowers and little mementos or pictures if you want. There’s a glass door and they give you a key.”

“Well, that’s a new one on me,” Rebecca smiled. “It’s nice that you actually go and visit them once in a while.”

A pigeon swooped down and pecked at the ground in front of them. Rebecca broke off a crumb from what was left of her Japadog bun and tossed it toward the bird.

“So what about before?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said your father’s death clinched your decision to become a cop. Does that mean you had other things in mind before?”

Frank stared at his drink. “Yeah, I had a couple of ideas. They weren’t all that serious.”

“Like what?”

“You sure this isn’t a session?”

“Don’t get defensive, Frank. It’s just a friendly conversation.”

Frank made one last swirl and took a drink. He turned to her. “You promise you won’t laugh.”

“Of course.”

“For a while I wanted to be a singer – you know, like Sinatra or Michael Buble or something.”

Rebecca smiled.

“You promised,” he reminded her.

“I’m just trying to picture you in a sequined suit at the Tropicana in Vegas. Look, I think that’s wonderful Frank. I knew there was more to you than I could see on the surface. So you’re a musician?”

“Used to play piano. Haven’t touched one in years. Don’t even own one anymore. I was just a kid. You know how it is. You figure it’ll probably never happen, but it gives you something to dream about.”

She smiled at him. “You’re a funny guy, you know, Frank. You come on with this cliché macho cop persona, but you’re not a typical cop at all, are you?”

“Hey, being a man doesn’t mean you’ve gotta be ignorant – not all the time, anyway…” he laughed.

“But I’ll bet not many of ‘the boys’ at the squad are like you.”

“I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted.”

Rebecca smiled at him. “Be flattered.”

“How come I’m doing all the talking here?” he said. “I should have a chance to dig into your past. When did you first realize you hated your dog?”

Rebecca laughed.

They talked for a while about her parents, both dead and buried in Montreal, where she grew up.

“At least they didn’t live to see what happened to Gloria,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Do you mind talking about her?” he said.

She looked down at her feet. “No, it’s okay.”

“Were you two close?” he asked.

“I’ve always been a bit of a mother to her. I guess I’m a typical social worker, with the mothering instinct. She was the type of person that needed someone looking out for them. I guess I blew it as a mother.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Frank said. He had the impulse to take her hand, but he was afraid of how she’d react. “Sometimes stuff just happens.”

For a few minutes they watched the traffic go by.

Finally Rebecca spoke. “I know I’ve been hard on you. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the help; it’s just that I’m worried about you.”

“I can take care of myself. Anyway, I’m not just doing it for you. Like I said, I hate to see people get away with stuff like that – and I feel like I owe it to Gloria.”

“What do you plan to do next?”

“There’s not much to go on, and we don’t have any resources. I’ve used up most of my favours at the squad, and I don’t think I got any new fans after that last visit.”

There was a cracking sound and he opened his clenched fist to reveal a crushed plastic cup. He glanced at Rebecca sheepishly. She said nothing.

“Give me yours,” he said. He stood up and held out his hand.

He tossed the cups in the garbage and returned. “We start with the usual: who knew Gloria, who had access to her apartment, who had a motive… and we hope something turns up.”

Gloria's Apartment

“You’re getting to be a regular here, Frank,” Judy smiled the next day as he stuck his head in the office door.

“I just come to see you,” Frank teased her.

“Why, you’ll turn my head with such talk,” she laughed. She nodded toward the hallway. “She’s expecting you.”

He headed down the hall and into Rebecca’s office. She had her hair in a ponytail. For a few seconds he was hypnotized by her long neck and the curve of her jaw. The hairstyle changed the character of her face completely, making it younger and more innocent. It wasn’t a look Frank normally went for, but on her he found it striking.

Judy brought them coffee. When she was gone Rebecca closed the door.

“The guys came and did their thing?” Frank said, scanning around the office.

“What? The bug sweep?” She smiled. “I could have told you – we’re clean as a spring rain.”

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” he said, pulling a small notebook from his jacket pocket. He clicked his pen open, leaned back in his chair, lifted his feet, and was about to set them on her desk. At a glare from Rebecca he flashed a smile and put them back down.

“Let’s look at connections,” he said. “If some individual, or more likely some group, is behind all the kidnappings, there must be a common thread that joins them. We find that thread, we’ll be a lot closer to understanding what’s going on.”

“Okay…”

“So,” he said. “We list the things the mothers of the kidnapped children have in common.”

“Sure.”

Frank positioned his pen on the notebook.

“Marital status?” Rebecca suggested.

He waved his hand dismissively. “We already know there’s no commonality in marital status.”

“Don’t you think we should include everything? We can eliminate things that don’t apply later – but at least we know we’ve covered everything. I’m no detective, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you’re right.”

“We don’t have to do it that way if you don’t want…”

“Your way is fine. Let’s get on with it. So, marital status. What else?”

“Race? Religion? Social position?”

“Sure.” Frank scribbled in his notebook. “Then there’s where they live, where they work.”

“And the husband’s employment,” put in Rebecca. “And clubs, professional organizations…”

Frank scribbled hurriedly.

“This whole business seems to revolve around babies,” he said, “so it might involve hospitals, doctors, gynecologists, pediatricians.”

“I might be able to help with that,” she said.

They continued and compiled a comprehensive list.

“Great,” Frank said when they were finished. “Maybe you can have a look at the medically-related stuff and I’ll check on everything else…”

“Sure,” she answered.

Frank turned a page in his notebook. “The other thing we need to look at is motive. Why – why would somebody want to kidnap Ralphie? It usually comes down to money. Somehow somebody’s getting paid.”

“Like you said before,” Rebecca said. “Baby smuggling.”

“That’s the most likely motive. There’s childless couples out there that would pay a fortune for a baby, no questions asked.”

“I hate to even suggest this,” Rebecca said, “but how about organ harvesting. Find a baby with the right genetic makeup and sell them to somebody desperate for the organs.”

“You’ve got a sick mind,” Frank smiled. “But you’re right. Let’s start with the baby smuggling angle. It seems the most likely. If it doesn’t pan out, then…”

“Frank,” she interrupted him.

He glanced up from his notebook.

“Are we sure?” she asked.

He frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, about all the kidnappings being connected?” she said. “If they’re not, we’re wasting time we could be spending looking for the killer…”

“We’re sure.”

She stared at him.

“Okay?” he said, his thumb poised on the clicker of his pen like it was the plunger of a detonator.

She gave a tiny shrug.

Some of the tasks Frank had assigned himself proved easy. The mothers’ marital status, race, and current address were in the reports he’d copied earlier. There was no correlation among any of them.

Employment was harder; he no longer had a cop’s ability to access police files, but he managed to fill in the blanks on all the women. It was disappointing. Other than one or two superficial similarities, none of the victimized mothers seemed to have anything in common.

He called Rebecca and they agreed to meet and compare notes at the same cafe where they’d first gotten together.

Frank got there early, and chose a table distant from any other patrons. He studied Rebecca’s movements as she approached: the swing of her hips, the bobbing of her hair, once again down and flowing over her shoulders. She smiled and waved as she spotted him.

“I might have found something,” she said once they’d ordered coffee. “It might or might not be important.”

Frank glanced around them to make sure no one was nearby, then nodded. “Fire away.”

“I made a list of the gynecologists and pediatricians for the cases you gave me,” she said. “Gloria’s pediatrician works for a private pediatric clinic, but she volunteers for a non-profit organization.”

“Yeah?”

“Guess what the non-profit organization does?” she teased, stirring her coffee.

Frank shrugged.

“They help childless couples adopt.”

Frank raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t prove anything,” she said, “but it makes you think.”

“Definitely.”

“The place is called ‘Child Connect’. I did a little checking on them.”

“Wow, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“It’s kind of exciting isn’t it, detective work?” she smiled. “Imagine going undercover – like in some kind of spy novel.”

Frank narrowed his eyes at her. “This isn’t TV,” he said. “When things go down in this business, people get hurt.”

She shrugged. “Anyway I didn’t find much. I figured I’d leave the heavy-duty detecting to you.”

She passed him a slip of paper. “Here’s their address and website. The pediatrician’s name is Dr. Monica Gilford.”

Frank glanced at the paper and put it in his wallet.

He put his hand on her sleeve. “You should be careful when you do this research.”

“You’re being a bit paranoid, Frank.”

He leaned forward and whispered. “Look, we’re talking about multiple kidnappings, and maybe even murder. We don’t know who the conspirators are, or how big this thing is.”

An opera aria blasted from her purse. She fished out her cell phone, stood up, and walked away to take the call. A few minutes later she returned.

“The police have released Gloria’s apartment,” she said. “Want to have a look?”

Frank studied Rebecca’s face as she unlocked the door to her dead sister’s apartment. Her mind was elsewhere, and her eyes were clouded with tears.

"You sure you want to do this?" he said. "I can look by myself."

"No," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm fine. I want to be here."

Stocker had formally closed the case, and the police no longer had any interest in it. The apartment was a mess, clothes thrown in heaps on the floor, cigarette butts in the ashtray.
Did she even smoke?
Frank tried to remember. Plates of half-eaten food lay scattered around. Frank felt his face flush red; it looked disturbingly like his own place.

The door knobs, door jambs, and mirrors were still stained black with fingerprint dust.

“You’re the expert,” Rebecca said. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Evidence,” Frank said, smiling.

“Great – I’ll keep that in mind.”