My Temporary Life (27 page)

I shout, scream. I try to make my words as forceful as my still swollen mouth will allow. “Fuck, Macklin, tell me. Where is she? What’s happened?”

He turns back, and for a moment it looks like he might answer, but he just shakes his head and turns away, telling me to go home, once more.

The doctor is quick and businesslike, just like the first time he examined me. He changes my bandages, and tells me to check in with a doctor in a day or two, and if I feel dizzy I should probably have an x-ray taken. I coldly thank him for his help, and as he leaves, another officer motions for me to follow him. I’m led back upstairs, to another room in the police station, and then to a counter where a plastic bag containing my personal belongings is given back to me. I take my wallet and put it in my pocket, along with the key to the motel room and Michael’s business card.

I mentally try to remember what else was in my possession, when Ellison appears, and hands me a set of keys. “These are yours too. The car is rented in your name. You can have it back. It’s outside.” He points towards the door down a hallway, motioning for me to leave.

It seems too simple. How do you lock someone up, beat them up, and then just let them go? I pause, not quite able to take in everything that’s happening.

They must have found Heather and Emily with the car. Why would they not need it? They must need it as part of their case against her. Nothing makes sense. It feels like something else is going to happen. It’s just too easy. “I don’t understand.” I look at Ellison, waiting for him to explain.

“
You should go. You’re free to go now.” He points towards the door, imploring me to leave.

I leave. I walk away, right outside to the parking lot. My eyes squint as they adjust to the glare. It’s a bright, cold day and there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground. The rental car is parked right in front of me, at the edge of the lot. I walk around it, inspecting it, trying to get it to tell me what has happened. It’s dirty and unlocked. I open all the doors, looking for something that will tell me, give me a clue. The seats are empty. The glove compartment is empty. It’s just an ordinary car that needs to be washed.

I slide behind the wheel, being careful of my bandaged leg, and turn the key. I slowly ease the car out of the lot, carefully looking at the building that I’ve just come from. As I look back, I see someone at a window, standing there, staring at me. Postman perhaps, but I can’t be sure. I drive onto the main road and point the car in the direction of the motel.

CHAPTER 26

“
You’ve been evicted, Mr Malcolm. You’re no longer welcome here.” Claude sees me coming towards the office. He’s standing at the door waiting, not letting me in. “I told you. I don’t like cops. You’re trouble, lots of trouble, and we don’t need that here.”

He looks tired, like he’s been up all night. His hair is rumpled and his red eyes have bags under them. I think of him and his girlfriend, who I still haven’t seen, being questioned by the police. I wonder if Claude has seen Heather; if that’s how they know she’s here. As I get closer to him, his eyes widen when he sees my bandaged head, and sighing, he reluctantly steps aside, letting me walk into the office.

My body collapses into one of the old chairs in front of his counter. There’s an old Coca Cola sign on the wall that’s showing 10:05 AM. I glance at it while he closes the door and takes one last look outside, as though he’s looking to see if anyone is watching us. “Claude, what day is it? How long was I in there?”

“
It’s Sunday, and you look like shit.” He pauses, wiping the sides of his mouth with the back of his hand. I’ve been in the police station for almost three days. I must have been passed out for longer than I thought. I put my head down in my hands, and try to figure out how I lost the last three days of my life.

Somewhere between hearing Macklin say I was free to go, and driving to the motel, I started making a plan. The only thought in my mind the whole time I was locked up was Heather, wondering where she was. Now that I’m out, I know that the police aren’t going to give me any information, so I have to do it on my own. I know where I have to go next. I don’t know what I’m going to do there, but I know where to go. I just need a little more help from Claude first. I need a little bit of breathing room. I pull out my wallet, and take out a credit card. “I need my room, Claude. I need it for one, maybe two more nights.”

He interrupts me before I finish. “No, no, I can’t do it. You have to go. Even the cops said that. You have to go.” His pleas sound real, as his French-Canadian accent becomes stronger, but he keeps staring at the credit card.

“
Claude, this is what I want you to do. I want you to go to your machine behind the counter, and punch in a cash advance. I want you to take out one thousand dollars. Then, you need to give me five hundred of that money, and you keep the rest. Will your machine let you do that, Claude?”

He keeps shaking his head, speaking in French now, and saying, “No”, over and over. I’m a risk. His forehead is sweaty, and he’s nervous, shifting from one foot to the other, but, he keeps staring at the credit card.

I hand it towards him, willing him to take it.

“
Two days, that’s it. Tuesday morning, you’re out of here, no longer, and if the cops come back again, then all bets are off, and I’ll have
them
kick you out.” He grabs the card from my hand, and takes it over to the counter.

I listen as he punches the numbers into his machine then opens the safe and counts out the bills. He gives me back my card, with my share of the cash, all the while trying not to look at me. I push down on the sides of the chair, and stand up, feeling the soreness all over my body. As I turn to leave him, I have to ask, have to know. “Tell me, did you tell them about Heather? Did you recognize her? They must have asked you, Claude.”

He answers immediately. “I’ll tell you what I told them. I saw a woman in the distance, that first night in the car. After that I didn’t see her no more. I can’t give a fucking description, because I don’t know what she looks like. And no matter how many times that crazy son of a bitch cop asks me, I still don’t know who she is, or what she looks like ‘cos I didn’t fucking see her.”

He’s yelling now. There’s desperation and frustration in his voice. He sounds like a man telling the truth. I turn away from him and hobble towards the door. As I make my way through, I suddenly have a thought and stop the door just before it closes on me. “What cop, which one was it?”

“
The boss, the chief, the one with the crazy eyes, the one that looks like he’s always ready to kill you.” He pulls the door from me and closes it, leaving me out in the cold.

The room is messier this time. Clothes are strewn about, suitcases turned upside down, and papers are lying on the floor in disarray. I take a long look around, wondering if our belongings gave the police any clue to where Heather had taken Emily when a thought strikes me. Her stuff is here, all of it. Her suitcase, her toiletries, her reading books, it’s all here. If Heather had intended to snatch Emily from the library, if it were premeditated, she would have taken something with her. It would have been easy for her to sneak some clothes or belongings into the trunk of the car while I was sleeping or in the bathroom, but she didn’t. I smile as I look through her things, confident that nothing is missing. Whatever happened at the library, she didn’t plan it. It just happened.

When I was in the cell, I thought about trying to get back to Vancouver, back to the safety of my numbers, to pretend that none of this happened. There are desperate thoughts that go through your head when you’re locked up and have no answers. I only have to look at Heather’s things, to look at her suitcase, her clothes, to know that I have to stay. I have to find out what’s really happening, and to do that I have to find her.

I quickly shower and change, and make my way back out into the cold. The snow has fallen again, and there’s a build-up of it covering the ground. I can hear Claude, scraping the sidewalk around the side of the building, out of sight from my room. There’s a small laundry room with a storage area beside it that’s part of the motel, directly across from me. I can hear the washers running from behind the door that’s slightly ajar. I quickly cross the parking lot and take a look inside. There are three well-used washers with dryers beside them and a small table, presumably for folding clothes on. At the back of the laundry area, there’s a door. I push it open and see that it leads to a small utility area. There are blocks of fuse panels and breakers, making a slight buzzing noise. On the back of the door there is a key. I quickly put it in my pocket and make my way back to the front door.

I can still hear Claude scraping the snow from the other side of the building. I try the key in the lock of the laundry room door. It easily turns it. I have options now, and I put the key into my pocket, looking around, making sure I haven’t been spotted.

I jump back into the rental car, and as I leave the parking lot, I see a woman sitting in the office, furiously sucking on a cigarette. It must be Claude’s girlfriend. I wonder how much money he told her he’s taken from me this time. I drive away quickly before she can turn around. I assume there will be some alcohol consumed tonight, thanks to my generous donation.

I lay the business card on the console between the seats. The address below the business name says that it’s a mile and a half off the main highway on the north end of town. It’s Sunday, so he may not be there, but I want to see the place, see where he works. I want to see the man who is responsible.

It’s easy to find. There are signs immediately as I leave the main road. They keep changing. They read, ‘Adrian Landscapers, proud sponsor of minor league baseball’. Or, they say, ‘Adrian Landscapers, proud sponsor of minor league hockey’. There is even one that says, ‘Adrian Landscapers, yearly benefactor of the Adrian Scholarship for Scholastic Achievement’.

It’s a large fenced yard, and the main gate is half open. There are piles of lumber, and sacks of soil, and what looks like grain or feed, stacked neatly around the perimeter. There’s a young man on a forklift, moving pallets slowly from one area to another. I park outside the fence and walk in, rubbing my hands to keep them warm against the cold.

“
I’m sorry, we’re closed. Unless it’s salt you need.” Another young man is behind the highest pile of sacks of salt I’ve ever seen. He’s sweating from whatever work he’s been doing, and smiles a kind, confident smile at me. “First snowfall of the year, we can help you out with salt, if you’re worried about the snow.”

Our Vancouver winters rarely require large amounts of salt to melt the snow and ice, but as I look at the huge pile of sacks in front of me, I realize what he’s talking about. “Actually I’m looking for Michael, if he’s around.” I smile back. “And I’ll bet he’s your dad, isn’t he?”

He keeps smiling, but stares at the marks on my face, as though he wants to ask what happened, but is afraid to. “Yep, Dad’s here, up in the office as usual.” He points towards the main building, and a set of outside steps. “I’ll take you up if you like.”

I can see the other boy now, on the forklift, and realize that my truck driver friend, from what seemed like a hundred days ago, was right. They do look like each other. They’re young, eager-looking boys. “You know what? You keep going with your work. I’m sure I can find my own way.” He nods and walks back around his piles of salt sacks, leaving me to make my way to the stairs.

The building is old, and I try to imagine Heather coming here, meeting Michael. I think of the story she told me, the story of him beating up a man, while the other men watched, afraid. I knock on the door as solidly as I can, thinking about how far we’ve come from that night at the lake at the end of the world.

The man quickly opens the door and seems a little taken aback at my appearance. It doesn’t last though, and he quickly recovers giving me the same kind, confident smile his son gave me in the yard. To my surprise, he’s a slight man, and I tower over him. “Hello, come in. I saw you talking to Tom down below. Is there something I can help you with? I’m Michael Adrian.”

I shake his hand firmly, letting him lead me into his office. “I wanted a quick word, but I’m not sure I have the right man. Is there only one Michael Adrian?” I ask stupidly.

He laughs back at me. “No, I imagine there’s a bunch of us, but I’m the only one around here. Been here all my life, almost sixty years now.” His grey hair is combed back and he’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, and when I look down he has house slippers on his feet. “You’ll have to excuse that.” He sees me eyeing his slippers. “I take some liberties when I work here on Sundays. It makes me feel like I’m at home.”