The K Handshape (3 page)

“Have you found her?”

I nodded. “Do you mind if we come in? I’m Detective Sergeant Morris and this is Detective Constable Johnson.”

“I’m Nora Cochrane. We can go into the kitchen. Joy is just finishing her breakfast.” She tapped the child on the shoulder and when she looked up at her, Nora pointed to her own mouth in a gesture that was universally recognizable for food and pointed down the hall.

“You don’t have to be careful about what you say. She won’t hear you. She’s deaf.”

She took the child by the hand and stepped back so we could come in. The living room and dining room were open concept, with a plant-filled divider separating them from the hall and the stairs.

“Don’t worry about your shoes,” said Nora. “We’re back here.”

We followed her into the kitchen where she stowed Joy in a chair. She put a spoon in her hand and shoved a bowl of cereal closer to her. Then she turned to face us.

“Is Deedee dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Nora bit her lip hard. She was a tough-looking young woman, mannish in her red plaid lumberjack shirt and spiky black hair. A tattoo of a skull and crossbones decorated one side of her neck and she had several studs, one in her nostril, another in her lip. The kind that always made me wince.

“I knew it. I knew something bad had happened. Dee would only ever not come home if she was dead or unconscious. What happened? Was she in an accident?”

“No, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but we are treating this as an equivocal death.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“We found her body in the lake at Memorial Park. She appears to have been strangled.”

Nora gaped at me. “That’s fucking ridiculous! Who the hell would do that to Dee?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Seeming to sense the disturbance in the air, Joy suddenly made a guttural noise deep in her throat. She made some rapid hand signs which Nora responded to slowly and awkwardly, reinforcing her movements with words.

“Mommy at work. Joy finish brekkie now. There’s a good girl. See Mommy tonight.”

The child didn’t look convinced but she went back to spooning her cornflakes into her mouth, her eyes steady on Nora.

Behind me, Constable Johnson shuffled his feet. I could sense his discomfort with the whole situation but he’d have to get used to it if he was going to make it as a police officer. Heartbreak came with the territory.

“Where’s Leo Forgach?” Nora asked.

“He jumped into the water to help get Deidre’s body out and he’s currently at the hospital. He’ll be all right. He’s got a touch of hypothermia.”

“Yeah? I’m surprised. Him and cold water are compatible.”

Nora’s shoulders were shaking and I would have tried to comfort her, but I had the feeling she was one of those people whose grief converts into anger in a second. I thought it was wiser to keep my distance for a while. She looked up at the clock on the wall.

“I’d better call work and say I won’t be coming in. Somebody’ll have to stay with the kid.”

“Is there anybody else who can help out? I know this isn’t easy for you.”

She glared at me. “Don’t give me that fucking cop speak. You don’t have a fucking clue what I’m feeling.”

Johnson made a scolding noise. “No need to carry on like that, miss. Detective Morris is only trying to help.”

She flung him a look that would have shrivelled the soul of a stronger man.

“What isn’t
easy
, as you put it, is that I’m the one who has to turn my life inside out now. The kid’ll be dumped on my lap and I’m just the fucking babysitter, for God’s sake. Well, let me tell you, I’ll do it for today but that’s all. He’s going to have to find somebody else. I’m not going to lose my job for anybody.”

The words were ugly and sounded abysmally selfish but I could feel her panic underneath. I tried again.

“Miss Cochrane, I wish I could have told you the news in a softer way but there is no blunting the truth. Deidre Forgach…”

She interrupted me. “Larsen. Her name was Larsen. She changed it years ago. She took her mother’s name.”

“Deidre Larsen was most likely murdered and at the moment we don’t know who did it. We intend to find out. If you can answer some of my questions now, I would appreciate it.”

Joy growled and made signs at me. Nora managed a smile. “She wants to know why we are going bam-bam. She’s a sensitive little brat. She picks up feelings like a radio antenna.”

She signed something back to the little girl. “I told her we were just discussing something and we’re friends.” Some of the tension in the room relaxed and Joy grinned at me.

“I’m going to have to get her dressed. I’ll see if Mrs. Somerset can take her for now. She runs the daycare. It’ll be better for her there.” She beckoned to the child, who got out of the chair. Nora picked her up and held her close for a moment but Joy squirmed to be put down. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Nora said to us. “Help yourself to coffee if you want. It’s on the stove.”

The door closed behind her. Johnson exhaled ostentatiously. “Boy, why do dykes always have to prove they’ve got the biggest balls?”

I felt like snapping at him that dykes weren’t the only ones but he was too easy a target. We were all upset.

CHAPTER FOUR

Joy was picked up by a babysitter who had been quickly apprised of the situation and whose shocked face immediately provoked a wail of anxiety in the child. Protesting, she was however carried off.

“She’ll have to get used to it,” said Nora. “Life’s shitty for kids most of the time anyway.”

While she’d been getting Joy ready, I’d had a chance to take in the setting, always helpful. The kitchen was bright even in this dreary morning light, with white cupboards and daffodil yellow walls. It was as tidy as you’re going to get with a three-year-old around and there was lots of evidence that Joy was the centre of the universe, the fridge adorned with crayon pictures, stick figures doing the important things they do in a child’s life. I could see through an arch, blocked off by a baby gate, into the main living area. It too was pleasant with good light, comfy-looking furniture, crammed bookcases.

Nora came back into the kitchen. In spite of her “I’m so tough” attitude, she looked really distressed and I thought her interactions with the child had been very affectionate.

“Do you want some coffee, cuz I do.” she asked.

“Sure, thanks.” I answered.

The constable shook his head. I would have dearly liked to have got rid of him but you’re supposed to have a second person present if you are conducting any kind of official interview. It would have been better if he could have faded into the background, but his
dislike of Nora was palpable and it hung in the air like a bad smell.

She busied herself making the coffee, not looking at us. “Have you got in touch with Deedee’s mother yet? She might even tear herself away from saving the planet and come up here to take care of the kid. Not that Joy knows her, really, but she is family. She should do something.”

“I expect Dr. Forgach will take care of that.”

“Are you kidding? From all I’ve heard, you might as well ask Israel and Palestine to form a government. Those two don’t talk. Period.”

“I gather the family was not close,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Not close” in this case seemed to mean utter alienation. Nora got two mugs out of the cupboard, slamming the cupboard door as she did so.

“Deidre’s mother, Mizz Larsen, is what you might call a career woman. She’s an environmental lawyer in the Big Smoke. She travels all over the country suing people who cut down trees and shit like that. I’ll give her this, she’s not a hypocrite. She’s always made it clear she’s not going to be doting grannie, especially since Deedee deliberately produced a handicapped kid. I’ve been on the scene since the week after Joy was born, and in two plus years, I’d say Mizz Larsen has visited twice. No, I lie. She came last Christmas. That makes it three times.” She poured out a dark aromatic mug of coffee and handed it to me. “Do you take milk?”

“Just black.”

We were both acting as if Constable Johnson wasn’t in the room. I wished he was a smoker and would go outside for a few minutes. To my delight, he obliged.

He touched the phone on his shoulder. “I’d better call Sergeant Chaffey and report in.”

“The reception should be better outside,” I said.

“Be right back.”

He shambled awkwardly out of the room, aware that Nora was scrutinizing him with hostility.

“Give him another five years and he’s going to have a butt the size of a barn door,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear.

I let that go, wanting to take this opportunity to establish a better rapport with her. She was thawing toward me at least.

“Nora, I’m going to sound like a TV cop but I have to ask this question. Did Deidre have any enemies that you know of? Anybody she might have quarrelled with?”

She stared at me for a moment. “You saying you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Two years ago, Dee was one of the most hated women in the Sunshine Town. You must have read about it. Big headlines. Even got down to T.O.”

“It’s not ringing any bells at the moment.”

Nora went into the living room, opened a drawer in a desk by the window, and returned with a file folder. She dropped it on the table. “Here. Take a look at this stuff.”

I opened the file, which was stuffed with newspaper clippings. The
Orillia Packet
had a front-page feature.

An Orillia deaf woman admits she deliberately conceived a child who had a 90 percent chance of being hearing impaired.

Deidre Larsen, 25, who is deaf, admitted to our reporter today that she deliberately conceived a child with a congenitally hearing-impaired man so that she would have a child who was deaf. “Why not? Deaf Culture is just as good as any other, if not better,” said Larsen. “My daughter will be brought up to understand ASL. Or in our terms, sign language.”

Larsen’s mother, a prominent Toronto lawyer, contracted measles while she was carrying Deidre and the girl was born profoundly deaf. She has attended deaf schools since she was two years old and graduated with a B.A. from Gallaudet University in the States, the only university in North America exclusively for the hearing impaired. “I have been asked many times if I am trying to make a point,” said Larsen, speaking through an interpreter. “I suppose I would answer yes to that. Deaf people have undergone centuries of discrimination from the hearing world. We are not dumb; we are as capable of raising children as a hearing person is.
Better probably. We have our own culture which is as good as any that the hearing world has. We are no longer trying to merely fit in; we can stand alone. Let the hearing world fit in to us.”

When questioned about the child’s father, Larsen refused to elaborate. “A friend obliged but he is not in any way involved with the child.”

The child’s name is Joy, and she seems a well-cared-for, contented infant. She smiled and reached out to this reporter, making her own strange noises. Her mother communicates with her by signs.

Larsen lives with another woman, Nora Cochrane, who shares child-rearing duties with her but who is not herself deaf.

Just as I finished reading, Johnson returned. He carried a waft of cigarette smoke with him. I saw Nora give him a look of disdain.

“I’m needed back at the station, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

“Why don’t you go ahead then? Tell Sergeant Chaffey I’ll contact him as soon as I can.”

To heck with procedures. I wasn’t going to get anything out of Ms. Cochrane while the constable was hanging around. I decided to go semi-official.

“How will you get back, ma’am?”

“I’ll figure it out, Constable, don’t worry.”

He flushed and I realized I’d sounded sarcastic. I hadn’t meant to be. I think Nora’s attitude was rubbing off on me.

He left and the air lightened. I could swear Nora muttered under her breath, “What a prick,” although poor Johnson had done little to deserve her contempt.

“Well? Do you remember the story now?” she demanded. I thought she or Deedee must have enjoyed the notoriety because there were a lot of other clippings, including letters to the editor. Readers were weighing in at a disapproval ratio of four to one as far as I could tell. All of the letters were angry, expressing disgust at her action and pity for the child. Leo wasn’t mentioned in any of the articles and I wondered how he’d managed to avoid the press.

“I wasn’t in the country when the story broke,” I answered Nora. I was in fact in the Hebrides having my own life turned upside down but I didn’t tell her that.

The story had been pushed off the front page by the news of a suicide bomb attack in Afghanistan which had taken the life of a United Nations soldier, but there were a few more letters and an analyst or two debating the welfare of a child whose parents couldn’t hear them.

“You called her the most hated woman in Orillia?”

“That’s right. You should have seen the hate mail. We had to move, change the phone number, you name it. We were getting so many calls. Vile, scary calls, I can tell you. Men and women. She must have had fifty or more emails. All along the same lines: how could you do that to your child, you will go to hell for this, blah blah blah. What really incensed people was the way that bitch wrote the article implied Dee and I were lezzie lovers, which we’re not.” For the first time, Nora grinned. “She isn’t, I mean. I live here strictly as a friend. I get free rent and she gets my ears. So far it’s worked out well. You saw Joy. She’s a happy little kid.”

“Who outed Deidre?”

Nora fiddled with her eyebrow ring. “She did it herself. Called the newspaper and asked if they wanted her story. She went after the publicity. I don’t think she expected quite such a reaction but as she says somewhere in there, she was trying to make a point. She’s what you might call a militant for Deaf Culture.” Nora made wobble movements with her hand. “And I mean, militant.”

“How did Deidre support herself?”