Читать книгу Fifth Son - Barbara Fradkin - Страница 7

Sharon Green had staggered through the front door an hour earlier, her head pounding and her feet on fire. Hospital budget cuts were going to do her in. Psychiatric nursing had always been emotionally draining, but as the patients got sicker and their inpatient stays briefer, it was the physical exhaustion she noticed most. She had spent much of her shift trying to wrestle a three hundred pound depressive out of bed into a bath, and she felt rancid from head to toe.

Hannah’s bedroom door was closed, but the pulse of rock music shook the entire house. Something the girl had in common with her father, Sharon observed, surprised yet again by how similar they were, despite having been apart all Hannah’s life.

Sharon knocked on Hannah’s door and waited for an invitation, well aware of her tenuous status as stepmother. A grunt answered her, but in her frazzled state, that was enough. She peeked in.

“I’m ducking into the shower,” she said. “Would you please watch Tony for a few minutes?”

Hannah was sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing something which she snapped shut at the sight of Sharon. She smiled, not at Sharon but at Tony, who was squirming in her arms.

“I’ll take him out,” she said unexpectedly. “I want to mail a letter anyway.”

Sharon knew better than to question the motive for this minor miracle. It was enough that Hannah was volunteering to do something helpful.

Two minutes later, Sharon peeled off her clothes, then stopped at the entrance to the bathroom with dismay. It looked as if a hurricane had hit. The walls dripped moisture, the window and mirror were steamed up, three soggy towels lay scattered on the floor, and Hannah’s school clothes were in a lump outside the shower where she had stepped out of them. Sharon gritted her teeth. Resolutely, she opened the window, picked up the towels and tossed them into the hamper. She resisted the urge to fold the clothes; instead she scooped them up, carted them to Hannah’s room and tossed them on the bed. A gold chain slipped out and fell to the floor.

When she retrieved it and saw what it was, she hesitated. Mike would not be thrilled, but Hannah had been entirely raised by his ex-wife with, as the ex-wife was fond of pointing out, no help from him. If Ashley had seen fit to give Hannah an elaborate gold crucifix, who had the right to protest? Sharon turned the cross over and saw there was an inscription, delicate and worn, but still legible.

“To Derek, with all our love, Mother and Dad.”

She frowned. Hannah was a petite girl with elfin features and sparkling blue eyes. Sharon knew she had already cast her social net wide in the four months she’d been in Ottawa, but Sharon hadn’t realized she’d snared a boy in that time. Snared him so thoroughly that he’d given her a precious piece of personal jewellery.

Sharon put the crucifix on the dresser and headed into the shower. She said nothing when Hannah returned, waiting instead until the girl wandered into the kitchen an hour later, drawn by that unerring instinct of teenagers and pets for the impending arrival of food. Sharon offered her a carrot stick, which Hannah ignored.

“So who’s Derek?”

Hannah’s eyes flew wide in surprise. “What?”

“Derek. The boy who gave you the pendant.”

“Pendant?” Hannah seemed genuinely puzzled, then outrage replaced the surprise on her face. “You searched my room!”

“No, I cleaned up the bathroom.”

“But it was in my pocket!”

Sharon leaned against the counter, sensing that she was handling the situation all wrong. She sought for a way to salvage the scene. “Hannah, I wasn’t trying to be nosy. It fell out, and I wouldn’t mention it but—”

“Then don’t!”

“But it’s obviously something very meaningful from the boy’s parents, and I don’t think-”

“He gave it to me!”

“I know he did, and I’m sure his heart was in the right place.”

But Hannah was having none of it. She turned red, as if her very freedom were being challenged, and took a deep breath to launch into her counterstrike. At the very moment of that counterstrike, Green walked in. Hannah took one look at him and flounced out of the room. The whole house shook when her bedroom door slammed.

Green drew Sharon into his arms and kissed her black curls. “So how was your day?”

“Hellish,” she replied, snuggling into the warmth of his arms. He smelled of raw earth. “And that was before I came home to that.”

“And what was that?”

As she gave him a brief summary, his expression grew rueful. “Boys,” he muttered. “I was hoping for a little more training time before we faced boys.”

“She’s a pretty girl. But she’s got the attention span of a flea, Mike. I’m sorry, but she’ll dump this poor Derek next week, and then he’ll be out a valuable crucifix.”

“Then next week we’ll mail it back to him.”

She swatted him, chuckling. “Coward. There’s an important principle at work here, which I think Hannah should learn.”

“When I was a kid, I hated to be told I was wrong.”

“What do you mean, when you were a kid?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Touché. The point is, I usually knew. And if people gave me enough space...”

“What’s enough space?”

“Till tomorrow?”

In fact, an hour was all that was needed. Hannah didn’t emerge from her bedroom for dinner, but when Green tapped on her door afterwards, he was greeted not by silence or cursing but by a surprisingly subdued “Come in”. He found her sitting on her bed, writing. She didn’t smile, didn’t even glance up, but at least she was calm.

“So where is this crucifix?”

She flicked her black nails at the dresser. “I think she put it up there.”

Green picked up the delicate chain and turned it over in his hands. The gold was ornately carved, and the inscription on the back was in old-fashioned Gothic script. Sharon was right; there was no way this was a proper gift for a girl. He remembered his own first clumsy attempt at impressing a girl. He’d stolen his mother’s Queen Elizabeth coronation spoon, the only silver finery in his parent’s humble home, and given it to blonde, untouchable Susan Fielding in his Grade Five class. Susan and her friends had all laughed at him.

“I guess this guy Derek really likes you.”

She snorted. “You’re both as bad as Mom was. Always jumping to conclusions, thinking there’s got to be sex at the bottom of everything.”

“So he doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t even know who the fuck Derek is! A kid I know found it and gave it to me.”

Green liked the sound of that even less. “Found it?”

Hannah cast him a sidelong glance. “Spoken like a true cop. That’s right, Mike. He rolled poor Derek on his way home from church and ripped it right off his neck.”

“What are you planning to do with it?”

“Nothing. I can hardly give it back to the kid. It would hurt his feelings.”

As opposed to Derek, who is probably in deep mourning, Green thought, but wisely refrained from comment while he considered the situation. It was a strange choice of words Hannah had used. What boy would give a girl someone else’s crucifix and expect her to say nothing? Slowly the answer came to him.

“This is one of your special needs kids, isn’t it?”

“The detective strikes again,” she muttered. When he didn’t rise to the bait, she nodded slightly. “He’s a nice kid. I know he’d never steal it.”

“But if Derek lost it, he’s probably looking all over for it.”

“Kyle was so proud when he gave it to me.”

“Hannah, there must be a way. We’ll enlist his parents’ help if we have to. Do you know where he lives?”

“Some two-bit town called Ashford Landing.”

For a moment, Green was struck dumb. Until today, he’d barely heard of the two-bit town. To have two unrelated events occur in that same place on the same day seemed an impossible coincidence. He tried to hide his excitement as he closed the crucifix in his palm.

“Come on, let’s look up Kyle’s address. I feel like a drive in the country.”

She suddenly came alive, leaping off the bed and snatching the chain from his grasp. “No way I’m turning up there with my father!”

“I’ll let you do the talking if you like.”

But she was backing away, shaking her head. “I see Kyle tomorrow. I’ll give it back to him.”

“But we need to make sure it’s returned to Derek. We need Kyle’s parents.”

“He’s not stupid, you know.”

“He’s a child.”

She rolled her eyes. Sensing her resistance had more form than substance, he turned towards the door. “I’ll even let you listen to your own music in the car.”

* * *

He had occasion to regret that gesture as they barrelled down Highway 416 with Nine Inch Nails cranked up to top volume. Even Green’s spunky new Subaru seemed to shudder. Any conversation was out of the question, which perhaps was the reason for the volume in the first place. Hannah sat rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out the side window.

The blackness was absolute once they turned onto the back road towards Ashford Landing. They passed the Pettigrew farm on the left, and a kilometre further south, Hannah suddenly pointed to a blue number sign as they flew by.

“That was it.”

Green pulled on the handbrake and executed a emergency skid turn that had Hannah hanging onto her seat. He grinned at her. “Cop school. Never have much chance to use it.”

As he nosed the car down the narrow lane towards a farmhouse twinkling in the distance, he felt that peculiar excitement that came with being on the scent. He didn’t know the connection yet, but this boy’s farm was right next door to the Pettigrew’s.

When they approached the house, they were greeted by a pair of shaggy black dogs of dubious lineage, whose loud barking brought a middle-aged man to the door. Green shouted an introduction and waited until the man had banished his dogs back inside before getting out of the car. The man’s wary scowl broke into a smile as he turned his attention to Hannah. He had that sun-burnt, grizzled look that Green associated with the Texas desert, but when he opened his mouth, he was pure Ottawa Valley.

“You’re Ky’s teacher! He talks about you all the time, loves school for the first time ever.” He ushered them inside through a narrow, slanting hallway that smelled of pumpkins and into an old-fashioned living room. Lace mats covered the heavy wooden tables and quilts protected all the chairs. A modest needlepoint picture with the words “Bless this house” hung framed over the dining table, and the only adornment in the living room was a large wooden cross hanging in the centre of the main wall.

“Mother!” the man shouted. “Ky! Look who’s here.”

A stout, greying woman of about fifty emerged from what Green assumed was the kitchen. She looked considerably less enthusiastic at their arrival, and Green saw her silently taking in Hannah’s blue hair and multiple body piercings. Her thin lips pursed.

Kyle bounced into the room like a goofy, overgrown puppy, smacking into furniture and grinning from ear to ear. Apart from the childlike gaze in his pale blue eyes, Green thought he looked like any vibrant, attractive young teenager. His sun-bleached hair, deep tan, and burly chest hinted at hours hefting hay bales in the field.

“Ky, sit down,” his mother snapped.

He subsided on the sofa, his puppy eyes fixed on Hannah. The mother turned to Green with stiff formality. “How do you do, I’m Edna McMartin. My husband Jeb, and you know Kyle.” She whipped the quilt off the sofa under the cross and waved a stubby, ringless hand. “Please sit down. Jeb, perhaps you can fix our guests some tea?”

Hearing the forced enthusiasm in her tone, Green shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs. McMartin, but we don’t want to intrude. My daughter—”

Hannah silenced him with a glare that would do a veteran teacher proud, then turned solemnly to Kyle. She uncurled her hand to reveal the chain. “Kyle, this is very beautiful and I thank you very much for giving it to me—”

Edna McMartin stiffened. “Eh?”

Hannah kept her eyes on Kyle. “But when I looked at it carefully, I realized it belonged to someone else.”

The mother snatched it from Hannah’s hand, and Kyle shrank back on the sofa as if hoping he could disappear.

Edna looked appalled. “Where did you get this!”

“I think he found it,” Hannah replied.

The mother leaned across and glared at her son. “You steal it? You know how I feel about that.”

“He found it,” Hannah repeated, but Green could hear the quaver in her voice. She’s handling herself beautifully, he thought with surprise and pride, but that accusation has shaken her.

He stepped in to help. “It’s not a question of theft, rest assured. We just think the boy who lost it would probably like it back. Do any of you know who Derek is?”

Edna turned the crucifix over to read the inscription, then shook her head sharply. “Nope. Never heard of a Derek.”

“Anybody named Derek in the area?” Green persisted.

“I just said there wasn’t.”

The father had been frowning thoughtfully. “Wasn’t that the name of the oldest Pettigrew boy?”

“Oh, but he’s been gone for years. No.” The mother handed the crucifix to Green with an air of finality. “Kyle must have found it in the city.”

At the mention of Pettigrews, Green’s mind was already racing ahead, but he tried to sound gentle. “Did you find the chain in the city, Kyle? Or out here?”

“He doesn’t understand distances,” said his mother. “For him, there’s the school, the bus and home.”

“Where did you find this, Ky?” Hannah asked him quietly. He sneaked a glance at his mother, then shrugged.

“At the farm or at school?”

“Don’t know.”

Green leaned forward. “Do you think you could show me tomorrow when it’s light out?”

Kyle shrank back. “I have to go school.”

“What good is all this?” the mother said. “It’s just an ordinary crucifix. Look, the inscription’s almost worn away. Someone was probably throwing away some old family junk. Happens all the time when people clear out these old places they’ve lived in for generations. Kyle loves garbage, Mr. Green. Dollars to doughnuts, that’s where he got it.”

Once Green and Hannah were back on the main highway, and he didn’t have to feel his way through the narrow back roads, he reached across and turned down the Nine Inch Nails.

“Would you do something for me tomorrow?” he asked. Hannah cast him a wary glance.

“Kyle trusts you. Would you come out here with me after school and get Kyle to show us where he found the chain?”

“Why?”

“It’s part of an investigation.”

“And why should I help you with an investigation?” He could have said it was because an unidentified man was dead, and there was a very real possibility this chain belonged to him. But instead, he tried to think like a teenager. “Because it might be fun.”

* * *

At eight o’clock the next morning, Green parked his car in the underground parking lot of the police station and made a mad dash for the elevator, clutching a bagel in one hand and a cup of Starbucks highest octane coffee in the other. When he disembarked on the second floor, he was relieved to see Brian Sullivan still at his desk, scrolling through his emails. Sullivan was an impossibly early riser and liked to get his investigations rolling before most of the world was even awake. Green signalled towards his office as he strode by.

The Major Crimes Squad room bustled with activity as the new shift checked in and reviewed the fruits of a night on the streets. In his office, Green was greeted by a pile of phone messages and post-it notes as well as a full voice mail box. The implications were clear; a middle management inspector abandoned his desk for an entire day at his own peril.

He was flipping through his phone messages for dire emergencies when Sullivan loomed in his doorway. He was already shrugging his jacket over his massive linebacker frame, and he grinned at the sight of Green’s overflowing desk.

Green silenced him with a scowl. “How did the ID go on the Ashford Landing John Doe?”

Sullivan shook his head. “Robert Pettigrew wasn’t home last night. But the autopsy’s set for ten, so I’m sending over the new detective. Might as well get her feet wet. I’ve got Bob Gibbs trying to track down the dentist who used to work that neck of the woods. I’m just on my way out to see Robert Pettigrew again. Ident’s cleaned up the photo, so he should be able to identify it.”

Green took the crucifix out of his desk. “I’d like to see if he can identify this, too. Apparently one of the older brothers was named Derek.”

Sullivan reached to take it, but Green pulled it away. “I’d like to do it.” Seeing Sullivan’s raised eyebrow, he explained about Hannah’s involvement and the fragility of their key witness to the discovery.

Sullivan surveyed Green’s desk. “Suit yourself, Mike. But I’d say you’re good for at least two hours here, and this can’t wait.”

“Half hour tops. Then I’ll be set to go.”

True to his word, half an hour later Green logged off his computer, rounded up Sullivan, and together they set off. Robert Pettigrew lived on the tenth floor of a shabby apartment block in Alta Vista which would have been tolerable had it been on the north side overlooking the grassy shoreline of the Rideau River. Unfortunately, his minuscule apartment faced west over four lanes of Bank Street and the Billings Bridge Mall parking lot. Stale grease permeated the hallways.

The moment Robert Pettigrew opened his door, Green was struck by his resemblance to the dead man. In front of them stood a younger, handsomer, clean-shaven version, but the blue eyes and the sharp cheekbones were the same. There could no longer be any doubt that the man on the slab in the morgue was a Pettigrew.

Robbie introduced himself with a moist handshake and a nervous laugh. When Sullivan explained the purpose of the visit and produced the photo, he blanched and sank onto the sofa.

Sullivan took the lead. “Do you recognize the man?”

“No. Yes. Well, it looks like my father when he was younger.”

“Is it one of your older brothers?”

Colour began to return to Robbie’s face. “I haven’t seen my brothers in many years. Ohmigod, let me think.” He stood abruptly and carried the photo over to the light. While they waited, Green absorbed impressions about the room. It was neat and uncluttered, but the furniture was heavy, dark and worn, the carpet on the floor stained and threadbare. There were no pictures of family, or smiling children, or even his father. On the wall was a single framed print of Van Gogh’s Sunflower—a splash of cheer in an otherwise bare and melancholy room. The room had a makeshift feel, as if Robbie had never wanted to live there.

Slowly, Robbie shook his head. “I thought it might be Tom, because he lives on the streets, and I imagine washing facilities would be somewhat limited.”

“The streets here in Ottawa?” Sullivan asked.

“Toronto. Last I heard he was living in a cardboard box under the Gardiner Expressway.”

“How old would Tom be?”

“Well, he’s twelve years older than me, so that makes him forty. In fact—” Robbie looked surprised, “his fortieth birthday was just last week.”

“But you don’t think it’s Tom?”

“It’s hard to tell from this, but Tom has a scruffier look, like he’s been battered a thousand times. He’s an alcoholic.”

“The photo’s been touched up, so that might not show,” Sullivan said. “Did Tom ever sustain any broken bones, because those can be identified in the post mortem. As can scars or tattoos.”

“I only saw him every few years, usually when he was in trouble. I confess I never looked very closely.”

“What about your other brothers? I understand there are five of you?”

“One’s dead. Died in a car crash fourteen years ago.” A spasm of pain crossed Robbie’s face. He withdrew a photo album from the bookcase beside the TV. “I haven’t seen the other two since I was eight, but I do have some pictures we can look at.” When he flipped open the album, the two detectives crowded around him, curious to get initial objective impressions of their own. Robbie leafed slowly through the pictures of smiling clusters of boys surrounding birthday cakes, perched atop tractors, posing with prize calves. Not exactly the cursed and tragic family that Sandy and the villagers had described yesterday, Green thought.

“I haven’t looked at these in a long time,” Robbie said. “It always feels surreal to me, like someone else’s family.” He gestured to a photo of a smiling blonde woman showing off her dress. “I can’t believe my mother ever smiled like that. As a child, all I remember are long stares and silence. Hours and hours of silence. Anyway...there’s Tom.” He stopped at a photo of a teenage boy, handsome in the slick, big-haired style of the eighties. He had a saucy grin on his face and a possessive arm around a girl with stunning black hair cascading to her waist.

“Good-looking guy,” Sullivan observed.

“Yeah. Dad always said Tom had a mesmerizing way with women, which somehow passed me by.” He managed a smile that warmed his mournful eyes. “Although I don’t think he’s had much more luck keeping them in the long run than I have.”

“What about Derek?” Green interjected, unable to restrain his curiosity. “Any pictures of him?”

Robbie flipped through some pages. “His university graduation picture is the last—ah-hah!” He spread a page in triumph. A proud, self-conscious grad smiled out of the picture. The deep-set blue eyes were almost identical to Tom’s, although the hair was lighter brown and the jaw line softer. But the striking difference was in the personality. Tom shone through as cocksure and sensual, Derek as quiet and deep in thought.

Sullivan held the photo side by side with the dead man’s, and they all studied it in silence. “How old would Derek be now?” Sullivan asked.

Robbie narrowed his eyes to calculate before replying forty two.

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

Robbie shrugged. “I’ve never heard from him. I was only eight when he went away to graduate school in California, and we had no real relationship. My parents heard from him every now and then, but I don’t know when was the last time.”

“Perhaps we might ask your father if he’s heard from him lately, and if Derek mentioned coming home?”

The young man seemed to think a long time before answering, as if debating the wisdom of disclosing family matters. “My father can’t speak,” he said finally. “He’s had a serious stroke that left him without speech and paralyzed on one side. I think he understands a little, but he can only say one or two words with great effort.”

Sullivan had stopped taking notes, no doubt regarding the father’s health as irrelevant, so Green jumped in before he could change the subject. “When did this happen?”

“About three months ago. He’s still in hospital; the doctors at first thought he wouldn’t survive, and later they said he’d never be able to go home again. That’s why I sold the farm. I work here in the city, and I couldn’t manage the farm. Anyway, I always hated the place.”

Green could see Sullivan starting to fidget. Sullivan was a no-nonsense, straight-ahead type of investigator who liked to stick to the point, gather the facts and move on. No dallying, unless he was playing a suspect on the line, and no wandering down side alleys. Green, however, felt there was a strange mystery in this family. The earlier photos painted a picture of a close, happy family who loved to celebrate together. But something had happened to change all that, and suddenly the eldest son moved to the opposite side of the continent, never to return, another son became a drunk, a third had died in a car crash, and a happy home had turned to silence. Now, twenty years later, had that prodigal son returned? What had drawn him back, and what—or who—had he encountered upon his return that he had ended up dead?

“Any special reason why you hated the place?” Green asked gently.

Robbie had been gazing at the picture of the farmhouse, taken years ago when the porch was straight, the trim white and the gardens lush with flowers. “Because my parents hated it. Because all they ever did was scream at each other, and my brothers left me all alone to cope with them.” He snapped the photo album shut and thrust it back in its slot. “I never cared to see my brothers, detectives, because they never cared for me. I hear from Tom about once a year, always when he needs me to bail him out of some mess. Bad debts, or a failed business scheme, or a bar brawl. I’m not a rich man. I’m a produce manager for Loblaws, I have two ex-wives and one little girl, and as you can see, I barely have a place to live. I’ve lent Tom money half a dozen times and never seen a penny back, plus he’s never once come up to help me with Mom or Dad.”

His face was growing red as the pent-up anger spilled out. “But then last week, out of the blue he calls me and freaks out when I tell him I sold the house. He hasn’t been back to visit or help out, but suddenly he’s swearing at me and saying I had no right to sell it, and he had important stuff in the basement there, and...” He broke off as a thought occurred to him, and he waved at the dead man’s photo in disgust. “That’s probably Tom, coming up to get his important stuff and being so goddamn drunk he fell off the church.”

“What was the important stuff?” Green asked.

“Who the hell knows? I told him there wasn’t a goddamn thing worth having in that house when I sold it. Just a bunch of old boxes full of junk.”

Green removed the crucifix from his pocket and held it out. “Do you recognize this?”

Robbie checked himself, as if embarrassed that he had lost control, and he took the chain with a puzzled frown. “Did you find this on the body?”

“No, but it was found in the vicinity. Derek is an unusual name, and the engraving looks old.”

“I don’t recognize it, but I hardly remember Derek, let alone what he wore.”

When Green asked if any of the rest of them had been given crucifixes by their parents, Robbie shook his head. “I believe my parents used to be very religious, but they weren’t much for jewellery, especially expensive stuff like that. We had no money to spare. I know Derek had to work two jobs and win a scholarship to go to university.”

Sullivan had already closed his notebook and was edging toward the door, but Green took the photo album out again and began to examine the photos of Derek with his magnifying glass. No sign of a crucifix. Perhaps it was under his shirt, rather than being worn as a fashion statement, as they were today. He felt vaguely dissatisfied that he couldn’t connect this loose end, but he was still convinced that it connected somewhere. Patience, he told himself as he rose to join Sullivan at the door. When Hannah found out from Kyle where Derek had lost his crucifix, that might shed some light on what had led him from his childhood farm house to his death in the church yard. It was only once they were back in the car heading across Billings Bridge towards downtown, that Green remembered.

“Jesus, Brian. There was another son. We forgot the fifth son!”