Chapter Six

For the first time in their shared history, Ray Hobart actually knocked on Dame’s door.

“Just a minute!”

Dame, of course, was on the can. And by the time she flushed the toilet and washed her hands, her landlord was in the front hall, wiping his shoes on the mat.

Baby steps, she reminded herself. “Why don’t we have a seat at the kitchen table?”

They both sat down, and Dame lifted the screen of her laptop.

“All right. I’ve got a few questions I want to ask, just so we can put together a strategy to meet your particular —”

“Where’s your father?”

Dame cleared her throat. “Well, like I said on the phone, I’ll be doing most of the administrative stuff. The preliminary interview kind of falls under that category.”

“Oh,” Ray said.

“So, when exactly did you first —”

“It’s just —” Ray looked back at the door as if Dodge was about to walk through it. “I think maybe I’d be more comfortable talking to — you know — a real investigator.”

Dame sat back in her chair and looked Ray up and down. “You were born in the States, weren’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Michigan, probably — and you lived there until your teens.”

“Look, I appreciate —”

“You went to U of T to be an engineer, but you didn’t quite jive with the profession and decided to be a high school teacher, instead. I’m guessing math? Physics, maybe? You recently started playing the guitar again, you have a six- or seven-year-old kid at home, and this morning you had breakfast at Sausalito.”

“How — how did you know all that?” Ray fumbled. “Did you look it up online, or …”

Dame shook her head. “You never take your shoes off when you come into my apartment. Canadians don’t really do that — we’re too polite. Plus, I can hear a little of that Michigan accent in your vowels — that flat, nasal a sound — but it’s subtle, and I’ve noticed that in anything you’ve written to me — like, say, an eviction notice — you still put the u in all the funny British places, so I’m guessing most of your American habits were bred out of you by a more local secondary education.”

“Okay, but what about U of T?”

“You’ve got one of those Iron Rings on your baby finger that engineers are always so proud of. And I know you got it in Toronto because every other engineering school in the world uses stainless steel. Real iron leaves a little black mark on your finger” — she pointed — “like the one you’ve got there.”

Ray looked down at his hand.

“I know you’re not currently an engineer because no firm is going to hire you with that haircut. Plus, every time I see you, you’ve got that white line on your butt from leaning against chalkboards. I figured high school math because it’s up your alley.”

Dame reached across the table and turned her landlord’s hand over at the wrist. “My ex played guitar. You’ve got blisters on your fingertips, which means you’ve just started, but most fortysomething beginners are a little more tentative in their playing. Your fingers already know what they’re doing — they’re just not as tough as they used to be. And you’ve wrapped one of those blisters in a Pokémon Band-Aid which tells me there’s probably a little kid in your life, but if not — no judgement. I’m down with Pikachu.”

For a brief moment, Dame thought of another little kid. A kid with curly hair who liked Spider-Man, not Pokémon. She pushed the memory out of her head and cleared her throat.

“As for breakfast this morning, Sausalito’s the only place around here that does a decent savoury French toast. They’ve got that really good onion-pepper compote and I could smell the garlic, arugula, and coffee on you when you took off your jacket.”

All of a sudden Ray looked very tired.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do we start?”

Dame smiled. “Do you have a picture of your wife?”

He took out his phone and tapped the screen a couple times. He slid the device across the table. “That’s Aki.”

Dame picked up the phone and looked at the screen. The woman in the photo looked young and happy. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup or jewellery and her dark hair was cut short. She was dressed casually, in a striped T-shirt and jean jacket. There was something about her that seemed oddly familiar.

“Could you send that picture to me?”

Ray nodded.

She slid the device back. “So, why do you think she’s having an affair?”

He leaned forward. “She went back to work last fall — just over a year ago — and for a while, everything seemed okay. But then —”

“Why was she off work?”

“She wanted to stay at home with Hank.”

“Your son?”

“Henry Yukao Hobart.” Ray smiled a little to himself. “When Aki and I got married, we always said it would just be the two of us. But after she turned thirty, I guess she heard that clock ticking.”

Dame knew exactly what that clock sounded like.

“It took a few years, and more trouble than we were expecting, but eventually we got lucky.”

“And things were still okay?”

“For sure. I mean, the kid’s a maniac, but we love him. We were happy. At least, I thought we were.”

“So, what changed?”

“I don’t know. A few months ago, she started coming home late from work —”

“Where does she work?”

“The Brickery. It’s this bakery and coffee shop in Kensington. She works there a few days a week. Her friend Val owns it.”

Dame took this in for a moment. “Okay. So, she started coming home late from work.”

“Yeah. Usually, Aki goes in early and does the first bake around four a.m.”

Dame let out a low whistle.

“She’d usually be home before lunch, but lately …” He let it hang in the air for a second. “She said she needed to stay late and help Val up front with sales, but whenever I stopped by to see her, she wasn’t there.”

“Did you confront her?”

He sighed. “She said she was running errands for Val.”

“Well …”

“It’s not just that. There’ve been so many things that don’t add up.”

“Like what?”

“Well like, she changed her phone password. For the last six years it was always our son’s name, but when I tried to get into her phone a couple weeks ago, I couldn’t do it.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you messing with her stuff.”

Ray sighed. “You said Dodge doesn’t do a lot of cases like this anymore.”

“Domestics? No. Not really.”

“Do you have any experience with this kind of thing?”

Dame took a deep breath. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“So, what happens now?”

She shrugged. “Is Aki working tomorrow? At the Brickery?”

“Yeah. Sunday’s the long morning shift.”

“Maybe stay out of Kensington, then. At least until we get some things figured out.”

“Makes sense.”

Dame conjured her father’s usual caveats. “Just so you know, we expect you to provide accurate information regarding the investigation, and we’re not responsible for unproductive investigation time due to inaccurate information.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll give you weekly updates every Thursday, unless circumstances dictate otherwise. So basically: don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

“I can live with that.”

“Daily billing rate is four hundred and fifty dollars plus expenses.”

“Four fifty? That’s more than Felski was charging.”

“Plus, there’s a nine-hundred-dollar retainer.”

“Nine hundred dollars?” Ray ran his fingers through his long hair. “Can I just subtract it from the rent you still owe me?”

Dame shook her head. “Unfortunately, no” — she couldn’t resist — “we’ll need your first and last payment upfront.”

Ray sighed and took out his wallet. “Is cheque okay?”