Cut to the Chase (34 page)

She ran through a roster. First, nursery rhymes, but it hadn't been one of those and understandably so. What if Danson had been bringing a friend home and he'd had to whistle baby stuff? It had been something to do with animals. A sense of panic. Animals. Horses, cows, dogs, cats—none of the above. More than one animal. No, Candace had said they'd been living in Quebec and chose an appropriate song. Something in French. French songs? “Au Claire de la Lune”? “Alouette”. That was it—the song about plucking feathers from a lark.

Nothing happened when she pursed her lips and blew. The cold had stolen her whistling power. She wet her lips, inhaled and started again. This time a thin, almost inaudible, sound quavered forth. Whistling wasn't going to do it. She'd have to sing and sing loudly.

Her mind flashed back to grade school when the music teacher had gently suggested that she mouth the words to a song the class was performing in the Christmas concert. Ever since, self-consciousness about her voice had kept her from singing in public.

But there was no public here. She wasn't making her stage debut. There appeared to be no one home in the Smith house or the house next door. If there was a chance that Danson was inside she needed to risk all, fill her lungs and bellow.

When she finished several verses accompanied by appropriate references to tête, bec and ses yeux she stood still and listened. First, she heard the hum of distant traffic, the wind swishing in nearby trees, then it came—the faintest whistled rendition of “Alouette”.

Absolute shock.

While she'd hoped Danson was inside, in her heart she'd believed this was an exercise in futility, because his protracted silence meant he wasn't here or he was dead. It took seconds for her mind to process reality.

He was alive.

“Danson, where are you?” she shouted before she could stop herself. Singing was one thing, but what if calling out alerted Jacob that she was there?

“In the garage,” he replied in a faint voice.

How could this be when she stood in front of the garage door? He couldn't be gagged, or she wouldn't have heard him. He must be ill.

“Are you okay?”

“No. But I'm alive,” he said in a voice so quiet, she strained to hear.

She rushed to try the door. Grasping the handles, she strained, then said, “I can't budge this. If I break a window, I can get in the house and let you out.”

“No.” His voice was stronger.

“What?”

“No.” His voice grew stronger. “There's no time to spare. Jacob broke into the safe an hour ago. He told me because he wanted me to know he'd found the vital information he needed. Since I would not longer be useful to him, he was leaving me here to die. Have you got a phone?”

Sadistic bastard.

Hollis reached into her purse, clutched her phone and pulled it out.

“Phone 911. Don't stay on the line. Go home. Now. As fast as you can. Make sure Elizabeth is okay. Guard her with your life then call the police.”

“Elizabeth? What does Elizabeth have to do with anything?”

“Jacob found her birth certificate. She's inheriting from Jacob's father. If she dies, Jacob gets more. He said he'd get rid of her. Throw her from an overpass was what he said.”

“I'm gone,” Hollis said as she called to MacTee and headed down the street, wishing she hadn't parked in the strip mall. They broke into a run. At Avenue Road, with MacTee right at her heels, Hollis zigzagged across the street, narrowly avoiding honking cars and screeching brakes. In the parking lot, she opened the passenger door, boosted MacTee in, ran around and flung herself in the driver's side.

Time for the cavalry.

It took seconds to punch in Rhona's number. When the detective answered on the second ring, Hollis, backing out of her parking space, gave her the address where Danson was imprisoned and told her the danger Elizabeth might be in before she hung up. She didn't have time to answer questions.

Careening down Avenue Road then down Yonge Street she made herself slow down. Being in a crash wouldn't help anyone.

As she drove, she sorted through the implications of what Danson had said. Poppy had the stamp collection. Likely Poppy and Charles Smith had been lovers. Okay, that was fine. Given what she knew about Jacob, his father must have believed the stamps would never get to Poppy, unless he gave them to her himself. Why had he done this three years before? Unless he'd known he had some dreadful disease.

She braked hard to avoid a car that had turned left from the right lane. MacTee catapulted to the floor. Stupid drivers.

Where did Elizabeth fit in the picture? If he'd left money to Elizabeth, why wouldn't he have left something for Candace? This didn't make sense. Before she could worry the problem further, she reached the house.

Friday night. Not a parking space to be had. She felt like abandoning the truck on the street, flashers on to alert motorists, but she couldn't risk others' lives. Instead, she backed up and jerked into Candace's driveway, pulled up behind Jack's van, which was parked in front of the garage, and threw herself out of the truck. With MacTee at her heels, she raced around the house, unlocked the door and pelted inside, colliding with Candace, who was coming up from the basement holding a mop and a pail.

Scrambling to her feet, she sprinted for the stairs without stopping to help Candace.

“What's wrong?” Candace shouted after her.

The door to the apartment was open.

Hollis tore inside. Had Jacob already abducted Elizabeth? Too awful a thought.

“Elizabeth. Where are you, Elizabeth?” she called.

“She should be in her crib. Jack said he'd watch her while I checked out the flood in the basement,” Candace said coming in behind her. They ran to the baby's room.

“My god, she's gone,” Candace cried.

For Hollis, everything suddenly fell into place. Jack was Jacob. He'd been living in the house since he'd appropriated the identity of a lacrosse player when he read Danson's e-mails and took Danson's keys. Before Hollis could digest all of this information, she heard Willem's shouts and Elizabeth's screams.

“Upstairs—the fire escape,” Hollis said, already moving toward the door and the stairs. Surely Jack wouldn't throw Elizabeth from the fire escape? He'd realize the game was up and back off. But he didn't know she'd blocked his van, didn't know she'd found Danson, didn't know she knew who he was. Why hadn't she cottoned on sooner? When she'd asked him questions about his job or the lacrosse team, he'd always taken time to reply. Now she realized he'd needed to reorient himself to his acquired personality. When she noticed that his van had Ontario, not Quebec plates, she should have followed up.

Upstairs, Hollis and Candace confronted a bizarre scene.

R
hona
was on the way to the Metro store on Eglinton Avenue when she received Hollis's call. She pulled over, phoned in and had the dispatcher send cars and officers to rescue Danson and to block Elizabeth's abduction.

Shopping could wait. She screamed into a U-turn and headed south to Belsize Drive. It wouldn't be long until the street swarmed with police cars. Just as she'd feared, Hollis hadn't shared the information which had brought things to this crisis.

* * *

Jack stood with his back to the open fire escape doorway. His arms wrapped under Elizabeth's arms as he anchored her to his chest. Willem clutched Elizabeth's legs. It looked as if they might pull her in half.

Elizabeth continued to scream.

“Let her go,” Willem shouted.

How was he able to hang on like that with his broken ribs? He must be suffering excruciating pain. In two strides, Hollis flew across the room and head-butted Jack's stomach.

“Fuck,” Jack gasped. He released Elizabeth.

His sudden action caused Willem to fall backward with Elizabeth on top of him. Hollis lay on the floor, where she'd dropped after attacking Jack.

Candace swooped in, enfolded the toddler in her arms and crooned comforting sounds to the frightened little girl.

Hollis scrambled to her feet and heard a scream and a thud.

Either the rusted railing had given way, or Jack had jumped. The rusted iron had always made Hollis nervous, made her edge downward with her hand on the substantial brick wall rather than the railing.

Hollis moved first. She stepped onto the fire escape landing. The railing was gone. Reluctantly she peered down. And saw nothing. November's blackness encased whatever horror lay below.

Not for long.

Sirens wailed ever closer. Footfalls echoed as someone ran into the backyard.

Powerful flashlights flicked over Hollis's truck, the van and rested on Jack lying spread-eagled on the paved driveway.

As Hollis watched anxiously, a police officer bent over him, straightened up and spoke to other officers crowding into the yard.

The door bell chimed.

Back in her kitchen, Hollis knew she must look as shell-shocked as the others did. Candace continued to rock Elizabeth, who'd stopped crying and squirmed to get down.

Hollis's cell phone rang. She fished in her pocket and pulled it out.

“Hollis, Rhona here.”

“Did you get Danson?” Hollis asked.

Candace jolted as if the word Danson had been a bolt of electricity directed at her body. “Danson,” she echoed.

“They're there now. What's happening where you are?” Rhona replied.

“We stopped him. Elizabeth is fine.”

“I'm on my way. You have some explaining to do,” Rhona said.

Hollis didn't like her tone. This would not be a pleasant encounter, but it was true, she had withheld information. It was sheer good luck that had saved Elizabeth. She should have gone to Rhona, and she would have if she'd had any clue that Elizabeth was threatened.

“Danson's alive,” Candace exclaimed joyfully. “He's alive. That's wonderful.” She flipped to Willem who stood next to her and flung her arms around him. “Alive, Danson's alive,” she sang and squeezed Willem, who gave an involuntary gasp.

Candace released him. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” His white face indicated he was anything but okay. “Where's Danson?” he said to Hollis.

“I don't know. Maybe the hospital. Rhona is on her way. She'll tell us,” Hollis said.

“Where was he?” Willem persisted.

“Jack, who isn't Jack—he's Jacob Smith—imprisoned him in his father's garage. He's been there since he disappeared. Right before I got there, Jack cracked open the safe he stole from Poppy and told Danson he was leaving him to die in the garage.”

“Thank god we never gave up, that we kept searching.” Candace stepped forward and threw her arms around Hollis. “Without you, Danson would have died. Hollis, how will we ever thank you?”

Hollis returned the hug. “Candace, a lot of it was luck. When Rhona gets here, she's going to be damn angry.”

The bells peeled again. Before the sound died away, thunderous banging reverberated up the stairwell.

Hollis disengaged herself. “I'd better let them in before they break the door down,” she said and headed downstairs. When she opened it, a bluecoated covey of bodies surged past her.

“We have the child—she's okay,” Hollis said, and the men stopped.

The lead officer went upstairs to confirm what she'd said. She followed.

After the site had been secured, the officers wanted to interview Hollis, Willem and Candace. Hollis, who'd been working through the details in her own mind, welcomed the chance to sort it all out.

“We'll do it downstairs in my apartment,” Candace said in the tone of voice that suggested there was no alternative.

Willem took a minute to gulp painkillers. The tussle with Jack had taken its toll.

Candace's living room proved small for the group. The officers, Candace, Elizabeth, Willem, Hollis and MacTee positioned themselves, and Hollis began.

“Candace's brother, Danson Lafleur, has not been seen or heard from since Saturday, October…”

Poppy's arrival interrupted her speech.

“Danson's okay,” Candace shouted to Poppy.

“What are these police doing here?” Poppy demanded.

At this point Rhona arrived.

The situation reminded Hollis of English comedies, where people entered and exited and created chaos.

One of the officers stepped forward as if to take charge. Candace held up her hand in the universal signal to wait.

“It's a complicated story. Hollis will tell us,” she said.

Hollis began again. She didn't give every detail, didn't talk about Gregory or the Russian connection. After she'd sketched in the background, she pointed to Poppy.

“This is Poppy Lafleur. She is Candace and Danson's mother. If I'm right in my assumptions, she's also Elizabeth's mother.” Candace gasped but said nothing.

Elizabeth, hearing her name, smiled. “Poppy, Poppy, Poppy,” she said.

Poppy nodded. “You're right. I was too old, too selfish to bring up another child. Candace and I agreed that it would be better if Elizabeth thought I was her grandmother.”

That was one thing successfully figured out. Now for the rest of the story.

“Elizabeth's father was Charles Garfield Smith,” Hollis said.

Again Poppy nodded.

“He gave Poppy his valuable stamp collection when she told him she was pregnant. Once Elizabeth was born, he made elaborate provisions for Elizabeth in his will but didn't name her, because he recognized that his son, Jacob, aka Jack, might be a psychopath who would kill her.”

“Charles was a good man. I miss him. He often talked about his son. He did everything he could but said it was hopeless, that as a little boy Jacob tortured animals and related to no one. He'd raised Jacob alone, and he felt guilty about him.” Poppy sighed. “I should have realized Jacob would stop at nothing.”