The K Handshape (42 page)

I’d called ahead to Paula to say I was delayed. Mrs. Jackson opened the door but Chelsea was right behind her. I scooped her up and held her so tightly in my arms she yelped.

“Auntie Chris, where’ve you been? We’ve been waiting all day long. Since I got up. Mommy isn’t well and she’s lying down but I’ve been playing with Grandma all the time.”

“And you can tell I’ve run out of ideas,” said Marion with a grin.

“No, we’ve been having lots of fun,” said Chelsea loyally. But Mrs. Jackson looked worn out, and I could see a very energetic six-year-old had taken its toll.

“Paula’s in the living room having a rest.”

Over Chelsea’s head Marion frowned. I gathered Paula hadn’t had a good day.

“Anything happen with that other business?” I asked.

“Not a thing.”

Chelsea looked up at us. “I know what you’re talking about.”

I tweaked her nose. “You do, do you, Miss Clever Clogs?”

“Daddy has gone away for a holiday because his nerves were shredded.”

I gaped at her. “Is that what he said?”

“Yes. He’s been so busy, he said he needs a rest too. Mommy is getting her rest but she had to go to the hospital. He doesn’t have to
do that.” She paused. “I think he could have rested here just as well, don’t you, Auntie Chris? There’s a couch downstairs he could use.”

“True. Anyway, let’s go see your mother.”

She skipped ahead of me, calling out, “Mommy, Auntie Chris is here. I think she’s had a hard day. Her nerves look shredded.”

I looked at Marion and we both burst out laughing. “I guess that’s the word of the week, is it?’

“Seems that way, thanks to my son-in-law. It’ll be more than his nerves that are shredded if I get hold of him.”

I went into the living room. Paula was stretched out on the couch and she looked so wretched and ill, I felt a rush of fear. However, she pushed herself into a sitting position when she saw me and waved a mock fist in the air.

“What kept you? No, no, let me guess, you were working, even though today is Sunday and most folks can get the day off. Or are you in it for the overtime?”

This was a running joke at the office. Profilers don’t get overtime. Our hours are Monday to Friday, nine to five. What you do over and above is up to you, just don’t turn in a requisition. I think if we added up and charged for accumulated extra hours, the province would go broke.

I gave her a hug. She seemed to me even thinner and fragile although she’d only been in the hospital a couple of days. She had dark circles under her eyes and her lips were cracked and dry.

“Do you want to see the drawings Grandma and I made?” Chelsea asked.

“Of course I do, what do you think I am, a Philistine? Go get them.”

She raced off. “I’m going to put the kettle on,” said Marion. “And I saved the pancake batter. I can whip you up some pancakes in minutes. Do you want coffee?”

“You bet.”

She went out to the kitchen, tactful as ever. I seized the opportunity.

“Any word from Craig?”

“He sent an email. Probably didn’t want Mom to answer the phone. He said he’ll be away a week maybe less but he has to get away. His nerves are…”

I stopped her. “Let me guess, his nerves are shredded.”

She gave me a wan smile. “Chelsea told you that, did she?”

“The word came up more than once.”

“Chris, how could he do this? I feel like I’ve been living in a dream and I just woke up. He is a self-centred bastard and I couldn’t see it. I know nobody liked him but I kept kidding myself that he was different with me, that I was the only one who understood him. And he adores Chelsea, that counted for a lot.”

I didn’t think this was the time to point out that a man who adores his child doesn’t just take off on her when her mother is ill.

She looked away. “He’s been seeing somebody. I got into his cellphone — yes, I know, but being a detective comes in handy sometimes. There are at least a dozen calls. Easy to trace. There’re all to a Miss Waneta Bloom, great name eh? She works at the golf club. I called there this morning and they said she’s off on sick leave for a week.”

“I guess her nerves are shredded.”

She laughed but tears filled her eyes. Chelsea came bouncing down the stairs with a bundle of papers in her hand.

She immediately started to spread them on the floor. I thought she’d noticed that her mother was crying but chose to ignore it.

So that was about it. I ate Marion’s delicious pancakes with more gusto than I really felt, played with Chelsea a long round of Snap, put her to bed with a story, then spent the rest of the evening with Mrs. Jackson and Paula. I told them what had happened, not holding back on the scene in the field. It was a good distraction for both of them.

“Surely they’d know people would be distraught at Joy’s disappearance,” said Paula. On all of our minds was the horror of anything like that happening to Chelsea.

Finally, Mrs. Jackson asked if I’d stay the night and I agreed. I phoned Gary to ask him to look in on Bertie and Tory. Paula found me some PJs and a toothbrush and at about ten o’clock we all went to bed. At Paula’s request I shared the king-sized bed with her but it wasn’t like it used to be when we were teenagers. There was no giggling together, no sharing of secrets. She took a sleeping pill and fell asleep quickly. In spite of my fatigue, I stayed awake for almost an hour longer, re-experiencing over and over the image of a large young man filled with anger aiming a long-barrelled rifle right at my heart.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Paula woke up early. She had been moaning in her sleep, which in turn woke me up so we lay talking for quite a long time. Some of it was rehashing the situation with Craig, but some of it was serious reflection about what would happen if she did have cancer and if that meant a death sentence and what would happen to Chelsea in that case.

We must have been talking for almost an hour and daylight was just happening.

“I don’t have to ask you to take care of her, I know you will,” said Paula.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard.

“Chelsea will be getting up soon, I’d better look lively… Thanks Chris. When we were teenagers did you ever imagine we’d end up as two old broads lying in bed together sharing deep thoughts about the meaning of life?”

“Hey, who are you calling an old broad? I’m three months younger than you. Call yourself an old broad if you like but don’t include me.”

“Can you hold your pee for eight hours the way you used to?”

“You have to be kidding?”

“Old broad! Have you noticed some of your eyebrows are migrating to your chin?”

“On occasion.”

“Old broad! What’s the best definition of a really old broad?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. What is it?”

“If a man asks to see her tits, she lifts her skirt.”

I dumped a pillow on her head and got out of bed.

“Speaking of holding your pee, I’ve got to get to the bathroom.”

“Another characteristic of an old broad, you build your trips according to how many bathroom stops there are along the way.”

We did old broad jokes right down to the kitchen, sharing them with Mrs. Jackson who had one of her own.

“Old broads know if they can’t be a good role model to the younger generation, they can at least be a dire warning.”

Chelsea soon joined us and we had to stop as everything needed explaining. But we actually had fun and when I left I was happy to see some colour in Paula’s face and a sparkle in her eyes.

The office meeting was scheduled for nine-thirty so I raced back to my apartment long enough to change my clothes and give Bertie and Tory a couple of rubs they were mad about. I brought the papers with me that Barbara Cheevers had handed to me in Tim Hortons, which seemed a lifetime away.

As usual, Janice greeted me with a cheery, “Coffee’s freshly made.”

“No calls for now, Janice, unless they are urgent.”

“Does that include, ‘this is her mother and it’s urgent’ calls?”

“Bless you, Janice, I leave that to your judgement, but it especially includes those kind.”

“What if your friend phones? Shall I just talk to him myself? I don’t mind a bit. He sounds like Sean Connery.”

“Keep your hands off, that call should most definitely come through.”

I poured a cup, carried it to my office, and turned my “busy” sign around.

Barbara had photocopied all the records from Sunshine Lodge as far back as the changing of the locks three years ago and she had added some notes of her own.

January 14, 2001: Locks changed on outer doors and each individual apartment.
(Before that we
had open access to the building which the residents preferred but when we had what seemed to be a rash of petty thefts, the city decided for security reasons to change its policies. Each resident was given a key to the outer door and a separate key to their apartment. The superintendents had a master key for both the outer doors, front and back, and the apartments. The superintendents at this time were Mr. and Mrs. John Nicholls. They had been with the city in the Sunshine Lodge for twenty years. In March 2001 they retired and went to live in Florida.)

On the page was a list of complaints that had been made to the superintendents. Nothing that stood out, a litany you might expect.

Mrs. Sweeney, apt. 201, says her toilet keeps overflowing. Plunged it out. She keeps putting paper towels down.

February 17, 2001: A call from Mrs. McGinnis that her husband was breathing funny. On checking, I found Mr. McGinnis in the middle of an apparent heart attack. Called 911 and he was removed to hospital.

March 1, 2001: Miss Burman found in the hallway. She had had a stroke. Removed to hospital. Two malfunctioning televisions were replaced and a new stove installed in apartment 333.

March 2001 to March 2002: New superintendents Mrs. Pereira and son.

Either the new supers had had a trouble-free year or they hadn’t bothered to keep a record of the light bulb changes and TV fixing. However Barbara had attached, on a separate sheet, a report from the social worker, a Miss Avril Bentley. The report was handwritten on yellow lined paper. I got a bit of a jolt from that.

February 22, 2002: I received a complaint from Mrs. Pereira that one of the residents was harassing her son by making inappropriate remarks and touching inappropriately. I was unable to determine exactly what constituted these actions except that Mrs. P. said the resident was “acting sexy.” Miss Cohen, the woman accused, is an elderly woman. I questioned her as delicately as I could but she denied doing anything amiss and she was very upset at the suggestion. All I can say about her is that she is in the habit of wandering down to the common room in her nightclothes. However, Mrs. Pereira is still upset about the incident and has tendered her resignation.

April 2002 to December 2002: Unable to find a suitable replacement. We are using Reliable Cleaning Services.

That grabbed my attention. This must be the woman that Grace had mentioned.

Miss Bentley wrote:

I spoke to Mrs. Salamonica as best I could but she is very confused. I also reported it to her son who is her guardian. He saw no reason to involve the police as his mother is having delusions on a regular basis and should be placed in a long-term facility as soon as possible.

May 15: Done.

January 2003 to June 2004 Norman Evans: Norman resigned in May citing personal reasons. He has returned to Nova Scotia. His long-time partner apparently has died from AIDS.

April 29, 2004: Mrs. Maria Salamonica has complained
to me that a man entered her apartment and “tickled her all over.”

July 2004: Mr. and Mrs. L. Desjardins hired. Some doubt about their suitability but beggars can’t be choosers.

So there was one complaint of sexual harassment, no, that’s not right, two, if you include the super and her son, but I couldn’t conceive of an old lady with Alzheimer’s continuing on to a life of crime.

There was a phone number on the sheet and I keyed in Avril Bentley’s number.

She answered right away. Her voice was lightly accented, British.

I explained who I was and why I was calling.

“Oh my yes, I remember Mrs. Salamonica. It was most distressing. Poor woman was in the grip of Alzheimer’s and her family were in complete denial. She would say the most outrageous and inappropriate things and they would just laugh at her.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Hmm. Let me see. There was one time when we were having a do in the common room, somebody’s birthday, I believe it was, Mrs. Salamonica suddenly called out, ‘Hands up all those here who are getting laid on a regular basis…’” Miss Bentley gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I mean to say, the average age in the room must have been eighty. And such a vulgar term. Heaven knows where she heard it.”

This was an old broad indeed.

“That was the last straw as far as her son was concerned,” continued Miss Bentley. “He had her put in a long-term facility the same week.”

“Do you think there was any credence to her story about a man coming into her apartment?”

“None at all. I’ve seen it happen so many times now. Some people with Alzheimer’s lose control of their libidos, shall we say. They will, er, touch themselves, constantly and in public. It can be quite embarrassing. Maria was like that.”

“Was she upset when she made her report to you?”

“She was but then she was prone to cry about everything. The news on television, the state of Africa, you name it… I assure you, Sergeant Morris, if I had thought for one moment that what she said was true I would have been on the blower immediately to you people.”

“May I ask how strict a control you kept on the keys?”

She made tut-tutting sounds. “We are as careful as we can be but with elderly residents it’s very difficult. They give out a spare key to family members who forget to return them if the resident moves on. And we can’t possibly afford to change the locks every time a resident loses a key or if they move on.”