Do or Die (20 page)

*   *   *

Eddie, the older son, was a law student. From that, as well as from Paul's account of him, Green expected a fight. Eddie was the last one to be picked up, because the police had trouble finding him. He did not show up for the afternoon shift at the construction site where he had a summer job, and the police
had to stake it out. Eddie arrived late, dishevelled and out of breath, and nearly panicked at the sight of the squad car. Now he was falling all over himself to be helpful.

“You guys have a tough job, I know that, sir,” he gushed even before Green had finished his caution. “Your hands are tied, the criminals get all the breaks. I really wanted to be a cop when I was a kid, but my father wanted me to go to college. He thinks I'm going to be a corporate lawyer and make lots of money, but actually I'm going to be a prosecutor. You guys work closely with the Crowns, right? Is it a good job? I mean, do they feel like they're doing any good?”

“It's a busy job,” Green replied. “And so's mine. Maybe when the case is over, you can come down, and I'll introduce you to one of the Crown Attorneys. But for now, let's try to get home some time today, okay? I'll cut to the chase and save us some time. Tuesday evening, June 10. I know you and Paul had a fight with Jonathan Blair over your cousin Raquel. I know you assaulted him, I know you dragged your cousin away under protest. That was six-thirty. Can you give me an account of your actions from then on?”

Eddie Haddad had grown ashen. His enthusiasm had fled along with his rosy vision of the future. He sat quite still as he regrouped his forces. Finally, he wet his lips. “Paul and I took Raquel to the house, then Dad drove us all to the airport. Afterwards, we went back home.”

“How did Raquel react?”

Eddie shook his head. “Mad. I was scared she'd cause a scene—she usually does—but she didn't. Too scared of Dad, I guess. Of what he'd tell her father back in Beirut.”

“Did you agree with sending her away to Beirut?”

The young man looked up at him, the conflict between old and new clearly reflected in his face. He was the handsomer of
the sons, with thick wavy black hair, rich eyes and a luxuriant mustache. He was recovering his composure and with it his charm. He'll make a good lawyer, thought Green. Thinks on his feet.

“Raquel was wild. Some things are good about the West, but not the freedom. It's just an excuse to do whatever you want without caring about others or about the future. There has to be rules. There has to be respect. Everyone thinks Lebanon is just a crazy place where everyone kills each other, but even after all the civil war it's still a beautiful country, the most progressive in all the Arabic world. We have universities and museums, the people are educated. And we have our values—family, loyalty, respect for your parents, respect for tradition. Raquel should have stayed in Beirut, but my Dad thought it was less dangerous over here. But he couldn't make Canada like Lebanon. She was losing her Lebanese traditions and values. And once a woman starts losing her values, you can't ever get her back.”

Green leaned back in his chair. “You really believe that stuff?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie replied. “Call me old-fashioned, but look where things are going. There can be only one boss in the family, and that's the man. If the woman disagrees with the man, then pretty soon the kids don't listen to him either and everybody fights and goes in different directions. There are divorces, the kids suffer, they grow up wild. It doesn't work, you'll see.” Eddie pointed to Green's left hand. “You're married. Does your wife do what you want?”

Green smiled, deciding to play along. As in fishing, there were times to let the suspect run. “Not usually.”

“You fight a lot?”

“I guess so. But we usually reach a compromise.”

“Compromise? What's a compromise? Where neither of
you gets what you want, right?”

Green remembered Sharon's face when he'd asked her to leave the house the day before. To be the boss, to be obeyed unquestioningly—how seductive! Yet how wrong!

“But your way, Raquel doesn't ever get what she wants.” Eddie grinned. “You think Lebanese women don't know how to get what they want out of their husbands? Or any woman? They're all the same, they all learn to play the game. And in return they get protection, security, the status of their husband.”

“But Raquel obviously wanted something very different— a career, the right to make her own decisions.”

“She could have a career. Lebanese women have good careers, the best in all the Arabic world.” Eddie shook his head in exasperation. “We don't hide them behind veils in Lebanon, sir. At least not the Christians.”

Watching the young man flush with excitement and pride, it occurred to Green that if Eddie Haddad had driven a stiletto into Blair's ribs two days earlier, it was highly unlikely that he would be sitting in the interrogation room today debating the philosophical rights of women. Can anybody be that smooth? That much in control? And if so, how was he going to break him?

“I don't claim to be an expert, believe me,” Green began chattily. “But one thing I've learned about Middle Eastern traditions is that honour is very important.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“The honour of the family has to be protected, and if damaged, it must be restored.” Green avoided the word “avenged”. He wanted to tiptoe quietly.

“The honour of the family is what keeps society in check. Everybody belongs, everybody follows the rules. It stops lawbreaking, treachery, sexual promiscuity and other ills that would make society fall apart. So it must be upheld. It is just
another way of enforcing the law.” Eddie waved an expansive hand. “In the United States, everyone is talking about the breakdown of the family and the spread of violence. Drugs, murder—they're everywhere in the ghettoes.”

“I know,” Green smiled sympathetically. “But don't Middle Eastern cultures believe that if someone dishonours your family—kills one of you or even seduces your women—they must pay? And until they pay, the family lives in shame. Surely that encourages violence.”

Eddie's eyes flashed. “It also encourages women not to stray and men not to fool with them. It makes a man think twice before killing you.”

“Ah yes, the deterrent factor.” Green smiled. “Doesn't work very well. Humans are weak beings, prone to temptation. In the heat of passion, rules are hard to remember.”

“You remember well enough if you're going to get a knife in your gut!” Abruptly, Eddie paled. For a moment he cast about, trying to recover his voice, then he forced a laugh. “You got me, Inspector. Just a philosophical debate, of course. In Canada we trust our laws, and we leave our knives on the shelf.”

“Do you own a knife?”

Again a forced laugh. “Just an expression. No, I don't own a knife.”

“Your brother said you had a Bedouin knife.”

Eddie frowned. “My brother's an idiot. I haven't had that thing in years.”

“What did it look like?”

“I hardly remember. Silver, covered in fake jewels. Really gaudy. I bought it from a bazaar here in Ottawa, and Dad confiscated it.”

Green laid the knife on the table. “Is this it?”

Eddie was startled. He stared at it. “My God, is that the
one—the murder…?”

“Is that your knife?”

“No.” Eddie pushed it away hastily. “I'm sure it's not. Those tourist knives all look alike.”

“It was found in your garage.”

“Well I don't—I didn't—I don't know what it was doing there. I haven't seen mine in years!”

“It was hidden along with your shirt.” Green laid the shirt on the table.

“That's not my shirt! Who the hell said it was my shirt!”

“Are you denying it's your shirt? Remember, all this is going down in your sworn statement, and I'll find out the truth anyway. The lab is already running tests on the traces found on the shirt. We can determine incredible things these days. You've heard of DNA testing?”

The charm had all but vanished behind the glassy eyes and ashen skin. The thick mustache he had probably grown to make himself look older quivered at the ends.

“It's not my shirt! I didn't buy it, I didn't hide it. I don't know anything about the knife. I was at home when Blair was killed, and someone is trying to frame me!”

“Who?”

“I don't know.” He was near panic. “I don't know! That's your job, not mine. Find out!”

*   *   *

Reviewing the interviews with Green afterwards, Sullivan chuckled. “You had fun.”

“Yeah, I opened up some chinks in their armour, but we still can't place any of them at the scene. Besides, I'm not sure who to arrest.”

“Me neither. Got a favourite?”

Green drained the last of the tepid cola from his glass. It was the middle of the afternoon, and they were almost alone in the police cafeteria. Green had tried to eat a tuna sandwich, but his stomach was in knots. Phone messages from Jules, Weiss, the deputy police chief and Marianne Blair herself lay on his desk downstairs.

“Of the three, I'm less inclined to suspect the father. He has the family honour to protect, of course, and I'm sure he can be ruthless, but I don't think he's the type. If this is a revenge killing, then it needs a hot-head. It's premeditated but fanatical, and it needs someone with a passionate allegiance to a cause. The father strikes me as a pragmatist, not a fanatic.”

“One of the sons?”

Green shrugged. “Ideals certainly burn more purely and fanatically in the young. On that basis, Eddie is the more likely. Paul is a typical sulky Canadian teenager. He's rejected his parents' values, and like most North American kids, he thinks his parents are in the stone age. Besides, he's not smart enough. But Eddie seems to have bought that ‘honour in the family' code. He's a deeper thinker, worried about the state of the world. He wants to be a crown attorney to uphold the law. Yeah, he suits the profile.”

“But?”

Green toyed with his spoon, making slow spirals in the plastic tabletop. He grinned wryly. “Yeah. But. I'm not sure he has the nerve. He's all talk. Could he walk right up to a man, face him square and drive a knife through his ribs, all because the guy is screwing his cousin?” Green shook his head. “These are scared kids. Both of them denied the shirt was theirs.”

“Come on, you can't expect them to admit—”

“I know. I didn't expect anybody to break down and
confess, but it would have been nice if I'd gotten just an inkling. Enough of a fumble that we had something concrete to go forward on. But they all acted so bewildered, each hinting it must have been the other. It was either very clever, or true.” He sighed again. “We'll have to let all three of them go, Brian. We haven't got enough to hold them on. Their lawyers would walk all over us.”

“We'd have the support of the guys upstairs here.”

“Fair weather friends, believe me.” He sat back, tossing the spoon aside in disgust. “Fuck it. Tell the Haddads not to leave town, and check their alibis. Get as many men on this as you need. Check the airport, phone records, neighbours, friends. They're protecting each other, but someone has to know something. And check the activities of Eddie and Paul. If either has militant connections, I want to know.” He sighed. “What else should we do?”

“I ordered a trace on the knife,” Sullivan said. “Maybe they're not that common over here.”

“Good thinking. Who'd you put on it?”

“Gibbs. You know how he loves shopping through the yellow pages.”

They both laughed. Shy, diligent Constable Gibbs gave new meaning to the word “thorough”.

“While he's hunting, make sure he finds out when the shops are open so—”

The intercom interrupted them, paging Inspector Green. Green slid down in his chair, hoping to escape notice.

“That will be Adam Jules, wondering why I haven't answered anyone's calls. Answer for me, will you, and tell them I'm out on the road.”

But when Sullivan returned from the phone some minutes later, he was tight-lipped and pale.

“Carrie MacDonald's place was hit a couple of hours ago. Turned upside down.”

Horror slammed him. He had forgotten all about her police protection! He forced his lips around the words. “And Carrie?”

“Dead.”

Carrie MacDonald's apartment
building was ringed with squad cars by the time Green and Sullivan arrived. Revolving splashes of red flashed off the yellow plastic tape stretched all around the front yard and lobby. Curious neighbours and passers-by had already begun to gather. Green barrelled through the crowd to the policeman at the door.

“What the hell happened?” he roared.

“Dispatch got a 911 at two forty-six from the occupant of 106, sir,” the officer replied. “She reported a break-in—”

“What about Carrie! Oh, goddamn it, I'll see for myself!” Green rushed down the hall, ducked under the tape at the entrance to her apartment and started across the living room.

“Hold it, Mike!”

He swung around, startled. Lou Paquette from the Ident Unit was standing in the corner of the room, sketchbook in hand. He stared at Green incredulously.

“Do you mind? Look at this place! You kick one paper out of the way and I might as well kiss the scene good-bye. Check with me, for fuck's sake.”

Green paused in his tracks, breathing deeply to restore calm. It would do no good to show his feelings. Glancing around, he realized the enormity of his error. The room was in chaos. Papers and clothing littered the carpet. Cushions had been tossed from the couch and chairs overturned. Seeing
Green's expression, Paquette nodded.

“It was either one hell of a fight or someone was looking for something.”