Woman Chased by Crows (23 page)

“Anything relating to Anya Daniel? Whose real name is . . .” she checked her notebook, “. . . Zubrovskaya.” She looked up. “You knew that?”

“Yes, she told me her real name.”

“She's missing.”

“Kidnapped?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Just the way you said it, Detective, ‘missing.'”

“I'm hoping she left town voluntarily. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“None.”

“Surely she talked about people, places, friends . . .”

“She didn't have any friends.”

“Acquaintances then. People in the ballet world.”

“I don't think she kept in touch with anyone.”

“Would there be anything in your office about her? I mean anything worthy of an assault and robbery?”

“I have notes, files, the usual records one keeps. You can't look at them, of course.”

“Not without a court order. Anything special about those files? Anything worth stealing?”

“She was an interesting subject.”

“Did she ever talk about smuggling?”

“I can't breach . . .”

“Yes, Doctor, I know, but your confidentiality may have already been breached if those files were stolen. And why would anyone steal them unless there was something interesting in them?”

“I don't know, Detective, I don't know.”

“Did you ever discuss her case with anyone?”

“No.”

“Your husband?”

“Of course not.”

“Without breaching your doctor/patient responsibility, can you tell me if there's anything in those files that might have motivated someone to attack you? Or your patient? Or anyone else?”

“Could you get the nurse for me? I've got a terrible headache.”

“Of course.”

“Constable Maitland, thanks for coming in, I won't keep you. I bet you and your family have plans.”

“Nothing too special, Chief, we were going to take the kids to a movie.”

“That's special, trust me.” He saw Maitland make a quick check of his watch. “Be out of here in a minute.”

“It's Mrs. Emery, right? She making noises? I didn't . . .”

“Never mind her. I'll deal with Georgia Emery. You drove Anya Daniel home, right?”

“Yes, Chief. Straight home. Walked her to her door. She gave me a doughnut.”

“Well sometime after that she flew the coop. We don't know where she went. Nobody saw her leave. You get any sense she was planning anything?”

“Oh cripes!”

“Oh cripes?”

“I didn't think much of it at the time. But I should have. I was thinking about getting home.”

“What happened?”

“We stopped to get her a coffee and she talked to a man. Just for a second. I asked her if he was someone I should check on; she said he'd be gone soon.”

“What'd he look like?”

“Heavy set, maybe six feet, wasn't smiling.”

“You hear what she said?”

“I think she said she was going to Grova's pawnshop. She needed cash for her vacation.”

“She told him she was going to the pawnshop?”

“Wait. She said, ‘Tell your
boss
I'm going to Grova's pawnshop.'”

“Aha! Okay. Thank you, Constable. Thank you very much.”

“You know what it means, Chief?”

“Haven't a clue, Charles. Haven't a clue. That's why we have detectives. Go. See a movie with your kids. Say hi to your wife. Emily, right?”

“That's right Chief.” Maitland smiled. “About Mrs. Emery . . .”

Orwell waved his hand. “Don't give it another thought, Constable. I'm looking forward to speaking to the woman.”

Whatever Dr. Ruth's assailant had been looking for couldn't have been found without an inventory and code key. Other than furniture and equipment, the office was a jumble of sealed boxes labelled with cryptic notations, dates and letter/number combinations. The doctor's desk drawers had been pried open, the wood was splintered. A few of the boxes had been roughly torn open and nothing but crumpled newspaper remained. The report from the detectives who investigated the attack said that a couple in the office next door heard loud noises and pounded on the wall. They then saw a large man leave in a hurry and pile into a car parked on the street. No second man, no license plate number. The car was described as “black, or dark blue, a Chevy or Ford, or maybe a big Toyota.” Not much help.

Even if Stacy could locate the files relating to Anya's sessions, she was legally prohibited from opening them. It was a dead end. At least for now.

What next?

“Hey, it's Stacy. How's it going?”

“Oh, well, you know: shitty, crappy, like that. Sitting on the floor in my kitchen. Trying to decide between getting shit-faced or finding out what that crud is under my stove.”

“Jeeze, I hate to drag you away.”

“Oh yeah?” She ached all over. “What's up?”

“Our ballet dancer is in the wind. I'm trying to figure out where she went.”

“She on the wanted list?”

“I don't know what the hell she is. You heard anything about stolen jewels mixed up in this?”

“Jewels.” Paulie's crap was still scattered on her kitchen table.

“Diamonds mostly.”

“Diamonds.” She waved her hand across the clutter as if to make it all disappear. “Mostly.”

“Supposed to be a big ruby, too.”

“You're kidding me, right?”

“Your partner ever say anything?”

“You know what? I don't think that shithead ever told me . . .” She picked up one of Paulie's Adidas sneakers and fired it at the wall. Bam! “. . .
anything
!”

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah. Oh yeah. I'm just great. You know any lawyers?”

“Not down there.”

“The only ones I know are either court-appointed or charge a thousand bucks an hour.”

“You got a problem?”

“What I got is all of my asshole partner's unfinished personal shit to take care of. He left me in charge of his . . . his fucking
legacy
!” She started to laugh. “I thought it was just his pension plan. Turns out I'll be dealing with . . . oh who the fuck knows
what
I'll be dealing with.”

There was silence on the other end while Stacy waited for Adele to pull herself together.

“Okay, okay, I'm cool. All right, from the top. You're looking for the ballet dancing lady, right? You think she's down here?”

“Here's what I know: she left me a message saying she was going away for a while. And one of our constables overheard her say she was going to Grova's pawnshop. That name turns up in my notes from when I interviewed her.”

“She got any Toronto connections?”

“She knew Nimchuk.”

“And he's dead.”

“And . . .” There was a brief pause. Adele heard notebook pages flipping. “. . . she told us Mr. Nimchuk was involved with stolen jewels.”

“Really?”

“Detective Delisle never mentioned gems at all?”

“You're saying he might have been up there looking for stolen jewels?”

“It's a possibility.”

“Who do these jewels belong to?”

“Near as I can figure out, they were part of the Russian state treasure, and probably belong to the Russians.”

“You're shitting me, right?
Crown
fucking jewels?”

“I
know
: Not a hundred percent credible, but getting more and more interesting.”

“What's your next move?”

“I was thinking I'd come down there.”

“Oh yeah? You've got something, haven't you?”

“Nothing I can put my finger on, but
something
's going on. If I'm going to poke around in your town, I'd feel better if I had you backing me up.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“I'll be at Paulie's apartment. Broadview and Danforth. Call me on my cell when you get here.”

“It'll be early.”

“That's okay. I'm going there now. With all the crap in his joint I might as well spend the night. Saves me having to clean under my stove.”

“Chief? Mrs. Emery on one.”

“Thanks, Dorrie. Mrs. Emery, it's Orwell Brennan. How are you?”

“Frankly Chief Brennan, I am outraged.”

“My goodness. Well, I'm certainly sorry to hear that, Mrs. Emery. Is there anything I can do?”

“Of course there is. You can fire that policeman who harassed me last night.”

“Let's see now, I have his report right here. That would have been Constable Maitland.”

“I don't care who it was. He was obnoxious, rude and intrusive.”

“That doesn't sound like Charles Maitland. He's a very polite young man.”

“I do not care to be badgered in my own home.”

“Oh, was he inside your house?”

“He was on the front porch. What difference does that make?”

“Just trying to get a clear picture here. So Constable Maitland came to your door. Did he knock or ring the bell?”

“Who cares?”

“What I'm getting at is, he didn't kick in the door or anything like that, did he? You answered the door?”

“I told him to leave. He wouldn't.”

“Dear me. How long did he linger?”

“Far too long. And he was impertinent.”

“Do you have any idea why he was there?” Silence. “Because I have a notation here that he was responding to a call from one of your neighbours, that they heard shouts and the sounds of something being broken.”

“It was none of their business.”

“Perhaps not, but evidently they were concerned enough to make a phone call. Can you tell me if it was the Whiffens or the Conrads who called? Oh, I have it here. Doris Whiffen made the call.”

“Meddling old busybody. I'll deal with her, too.”

“I think I'd better have a chat with Mrs. Whiffen as well, find out why she was so upset.”