Woman Chased by Crows (18 page)

After Yuri blew his brains out, after Grégor dropped her in a heap, after her years of rebuilding, strengthening, learning to be fearless again, there was her time in wilderness, with only the likes of Sergei Siziva for a partner. He was unworthy, but he didn't make mistakes. One night she chided him for dancing like a city bus, going from stop to stop. “But always on time,” he said. “And not like a Moscow driver. I wait for you.”

Yes, give him that. He wasn't brilliant, but he was on time. He couldn't fly, but he saw to his responsibilities: he lifted, presented, caught and held her.

And now? Still seeing to your responsibilities? Still there to catch me? It is good that you are so predictable. I will make it easy for you. There will be no more running, Sergei. I will present myself. All I have to do is fly, and you will be waiting, like a city bus.

An ambulance was pulling up to the emergency entrance. A pregnant woman was making a lot of noise as the
EMT
wheeled her through the sliding doors. The woman's husband stayed outside to grab a smoke. Inside it was the usual parade of pre-dawn emergencies. A big man with a bandage on his hand and an Elvis hairdo was discussing his condition with an overworked intern, two young men with bruises and bloody noses were explaining how they got that way to an
OPP
constable, a sad woman with an alarming cough was huddled in a chair. The pregnant woman's husband finally pulled himself together enough to come inside. His wife bellowed at him, “Where the hell did you go?” Stacy took a deep breath and headed for the elevator.

The officer posted outside Dr. Ruth's room was happy to be relieved.

Stacy settled herself on two chairs across from the hospital bed, hoping to grab a little sleep and be nearby should the patient's condition change. Good luck with that. Why the goddamn robins had to start chirping like happy idiots so early was beyond her. The sky was still dark, there wasn't any moon. Maybe they were just happy that it stopped raining. Then the patient made a small noise and Stacy went to get a nurse.

Family disputes, especially ones fuelled by alcohol, were Constable Maitland's least favourite calls. He'd rather chase a maniac down a dark alley, at least he'd have a good idea where the danger lay. With domestics you never knew. A mousy little woman, quietly sobbing in the kitchen, picks up a cleaver and tries to behead her asshole husband. A drunken man fires up a chainsaw and starts dividing the family assets down the middle, starting with that ugly fucking sofa. A wife has trouble working the slide on the pump-action shotgun, her husband laughs at her until she gets it right. At least this one didn't end with a trip to the hospital or charges laid. He should be home before his kids finish breakfast. There was time for one last check on the dancer lady.

She was standing in the doorway of the florist shop, smoking a cigarette and looking at the arrangements. Or maybe checking reflections. She spotted him the second he pulled up, turned to face him.

“You were my guardian angel all night?” She had a half smile.

“Part time, yes, ma'am.”

“It was a comfort, Officer . . . ?”

“Maitland. Constable. Charles.”

“Thank you, Constable Charles Maitland. I am going home now. You are relieved.”

“Going straight home, ma'am?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I'd be happy to drive you.”

She gave him another smile, broader this time. “How thoughtful,” she said. “Perhaps we could stop for just a moment. I need a cup of coffee.”

“Be my pleasure.”

“Pleasant young man. I would be honoured to buy you a coffee as well. Perhaps a doughnut?”

Maitland laughed. “Don't eat 'em,” he said.

“I do.”

Timmies was already doing good business, the parking lot was filling up, a few truckers outside slurping large double-doubles and passing around a box of a dozen assorted, unkinking stiff spines, hacking their first butts of the day.

“A medium coffee with cream and sugar,” she told the woman. “And for you, Constable?”

“No thank you, ma'am. I'm hoping to get some sleep.”

“Thanks to you I had a nice sleep,” she said. “And three of the honey-dipped ones.”

On their way to the door, she stopped, put a hand on his arm. “One moment please,” she said. She headed for a man standing by the window, stared at the back of his head until he turned to her, a big man, he towered over her, but she stood her ground, her smile was tight and polite, her eyes were bright, her voice when she spoke was clear and precise.

“Good morning, Ivan, or Igor, or whatever your name is. The next time you report to your boss, tell him I am going to Grova's pawnshop. I need to raise a little cash. I have decided to take a vacation. Somewhere quiet.” She gave him a little wave as she turned away. “No need to see me home. I have an escort.” She took Maitland's arm.

“Is that someone I should be keeping an eye on?”

“Do not bother, Constable Maitland. He will not be in town much longer. Are you sure you would not like a pastry? They are still warm.”

“Well . . .” he said.

“Go on,” she said. “You deserve one after your night's work.”

“Started to come to a couple of hours ago. The doctors are still with her. It looks like she's going to be all right.”

“That is very good news indeed, Detective. Any idea when she might be ready to answer questions?”

“They've got a bunch of things they want to check. She's still groggy. The doctor says maybe I can talk to her in an hour or so. I'll stick around.”

Orwell was in his cubbyhole office under the stairs. He could hear bright morning conversation coming from the kitchen and smell bacon and fresh coffee. “You get any sleep?”

“I'm fine, Chief. Will you be coming to the hospital?”

“It's your interview, Detective. I'll catch up with you later and you can fill me in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After they let you talk to Dr. Ruth, take another run at Ms. Daniel. She can tell you all about the crown jewels of Russia.”

“Just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Having a blast, Chief.”

“Good. I figure you've got until about noon Monday before we're invaded by people with bigger badges.”

Orwell hung up the phone and took himself upstairs for a shower and shave and an outfit appropriate to an occasion demanding a measure of ceremony. His beloved first-born, and her fiancé . . .
Gary
, right, were announcing their engagement with the entire family in attendance (a rare event in itself): Leda, the budding stage star, and Diana, the smart big-city lawyer, and of course his lovely wife, who, it appeared, had forgiven his numerous lapses and was preparing to feed him a decent breakfast. Definitely worthy of a suit and a white shirt and a tie of righteousness. Red paisley, that was the ticket.

“Change your tie,” Erika said.

“Why?”

“Change your tie.”

“Why?”

She met his eyes. “I don't think she's happy in the city.”

“It's what she always wanted,” he said. “Classy law firm, nice apartment, lots of shoes.”

Erika riffled through his tie selection. “She's lonely.” She chose a dark blue with a small diamond pattern. “Bend your knees.” She lifted his shirt collar and deftly arranged the tie around his neck. “She doesn't have any friends. Just a bunch of lawyers. And they work her too hard. She's too thin.”

“She tell you why she's up here?”

“She's consulting.”

“She might wind up doing more than consult.”

“Good. She can have a few decent meals for a change.”

“There is that.” Marvin Gaye sang out from his pocket. “Yes, Staff?”

“The Daniel woman's gone back to her apartment, Chief. We watching her all day?”

“I don't think that's necessary. Stacy will be talking to her this afternoon sometime, try to get an idea if there's any real danger.”

“I'll arrange a regular drive-by.”

“Anything else?”

“Looks like Constable Maitland ruffled some feathers last night.”

“How so?”

“Mrs. Charles Emery has lodged a complaint. Quote, I want that officer punished, close quote.”

“For what?”

“Evidently Constable Maitland was rude.”

“He didn't break any furniture, did he?”

“No, Chief.”

“Why I don't like single officer patrols. What was he doing up there?”

“Domestic, Chief. Neighbour reported loud noises and screams. When he got there he was told by Mrs. Emery that nothing was amiss. He inquired how she had sustained a black eye. She told him to ‘expletive off.'”

“Did he say if Mrs. Emery had been drinking?”

“Detected the smell of liquor, yes sir.”

“She's probably a little embarrassed. Give her some time to cool down. See if he can drop by later. I'll have a chat with him. And if the Queen of the Knoll calls again, I'll talk to her.”