I SLEPT MAYBE only four hours that night. The next morning, I was in a bad mood, and hadn’t had coffee yet. Vijay called back. Told me he tracked down and talked with the husband. He was in the hospital with stage 4 cancer. They had a good conversation, he told me. I listened to what he found out.
I’d bought some off-brand coffee from the store around the corner and prepared it in the French press. I was still a little angry at the markup on grocery items at convenience stores and was just about to pour a cup when I heard a knock at my door. This always surprised me, since, again—back door, up a stairwell, quiet street near the park.
It was Gail Waterman. I let her in and poured her a cup of coffee. It was a He-Man mug, but she took it anyway. I showed her to the drawing room and asked if she wanted to sit. The place was a mess, so I cleared away some art supplies from the old futon.
“I wanted to thank you, Mr. Virtue, for finding my little girl.”
“I was glad to help.”
“You went above and beyond. You even caught the two responsible for her condition.”
“Yeah, that was unexpected. But it sounds like they even gave up some of their contacts as part of the investigation. Still, I hope the Crown doesn’t go easy on them.”
“Same.”
“Is … is she going to be okay?”
Gail looked down and shook her head. “She’s still unresponsive. Her legs were broken in the fall, there were internal injuries, and she’s in a vegetative state. I just don’t know.”
“It’s hard. I wish I’d been able to—” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what I wished. This was a terrible business.
“You did everything you could. And you didn’t come through unscathed, either. I hope your injuries weren’t too severe.”
“Oh, this stuff?” I gestured at my head wounds and my black eye. “I’ve had worse. Sometimes I get shot.”
“I remember the news article.”
“Oh yeah. The art show.” I tapped my chin. “Was it the Vancouver art show?”
“No, the one in Kitchener.”
“Okay, just checking.”
She sipped her coffee, avoiding my gaze. I could see she wanted to say something else. Something other than “thank you.” And she wanted me to say something. I was pretty sure what she was fishing for, but I let it hang there.
Instead, I mentioned the call from Vijay. “I got a call this morning from one of my associates regarding this case.”
She looked at me. “Really? What was it about?”
“I was curious as to why your husband wasn’t very hands on during your daughter’s disappearance.”
“He’s a very busy man. He’s away right now, and I didn’t want to burden him with the problem.”
“Still. A daughter’s disappearance. I would think he’d drop everything to get his little girl back.”
She shrugged and stared at me.
“My associate tracked him down in the hospice wing at James Hubert in Toronto. A private cancer clinic for rich folks.”
I got a dark look from her. “You should have asked me, instead of going behind my back.”
“In my defense, my associate made the call without my knowledge or permission. But now that they’ve talked, I know a little more about your family situation.”
“And?”
“I thought it was callous of him to ignore his daughter’s disappearance. I had no idea he wasn’t told.”
“Like I said, I didn’t want to burden him with the problem.”
“He was quite surprised when he found out.”
“I should have told him,” she said. “But I didn’t want him to suffer. I thought it would be best to wait until we had a resolution.”
“Fair enough. While he was in touch, my associate also found out about Liz and Molly. That Molly is your daughter, but Liz was his from an earlier marriage. After his first wife died, you and he got married, and Molly was born. They’re half-sisters.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? I love both my daughters.”
“I don’t doubt it. But your husband, one of the tech billionaires K-W is so famous for … he kept a soft spot in his heart for his first daughter. He told my associate about his plans for his estate following his death. That Liz would get most of his money and holdings. And that you would be the caretaker of the estate until she’s 25.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“If Liz were to die, you’d be the beneficiary of your husband’s estate. But only if your husband died before Liz did. If Liz were to die suddenly, there’s no telling what your husband might do to change his will. He’s already been a little … selective with his money, hasn’t he?”
A hard stare from Mrs. Waterman. “Ask your question, Mr. Virtue.”
“You said you love both your daughters. Do you want me to try to find her?”
“Who?”
“Your other daughter. Molly.”
And there was the look. “What are you talking about?”
“That call from her yesterday … she hadn’t escaped her kidnappers. She was never kidnapped.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. It was a lie. An obvious lie. The kind of lie a husband says when he comes up for air after motorboating his secretary, only to see his wife in his office doorway.
“I know the girl I found is Liz. But, I can’t say what happened exactly. Maybe Molly set her up to be kidnapped. Maybe Molly started disguising herself as Liz to hide from the kidnappers. Since they both hung out at the same places, it’s possible the kidnappers got confused, and taking Liz was just a mistake. They seemed panicked by what happened, too. Maybe that’s how she overdosed: the proper dosage for Molly was too much for Liz’s drug-free metabolism.”
I paused. Any friendly facade had slipped away. From either of us.
“Molly called me from Liz’s phone, pretending to be Liz. It’s possible she stole her phone before Liz was taken. Or it’s possible she found the phone after her sister disappeared.”
Gail Waterman listened, but her eyes were cold.
“And maybe you didn’t know about it either—maybe you really thought it was Molly until you got a close look at your step-daughter in the hospital. Or maybe you were aware of the mixup and needed to get Liz back—before her father found out.
“And now that Liz is back—and alive—she’ll inherit all that money. You’ll be the caretaker. What’s the eventual plan? Kill your husband? Pass Liz off as Molly and vice versa? Take Liz off life support after your husband dies?”
“Go to hell.”
“Yeah, yeah. But Molly’s still missing. And obviously alive. Do you still want me to find her?”
“I want nothing more from you, Mr. Virtue. Your work was satisfactory. You found my daughter. She’s alive. Neither of my daughters is missing. We’re done here.” Gail Waterman shoved past me and headed past the kitchen, towards the back door. She yanked the door open.
I called out to her before she could leave. “What happens when she wakes up? Your entire plan fails if she wakes up.”
She stopped, turned, and came back into the drawing room. From her purse, she withdrew a fat orange envelope. She threw it on the table, then grabbed the painting off the easel.
“I’ll take this one. Here’s twenty thousand dollars. Hopefully, you’ll keep everything professional. And discreet.” With that, she shoved her way back to the door, clumsily smashing the canvas against the wall.
“Liz had better not die,” I called to her. She didn’t respond, but turned to look at me. “I’ll be checking in on her. If I find out people are still calling her Molly, I’ll be very disappointed. So will your husband.”
“Good bye, Mr. Virtue.”
“And by the way, there’s an implicit Artist’s Reserved Rights Transfer and Sale Agreement on that painting—” But she wasn’t listening anymore. She wasn’t there anymore.
I sighed and sat down on the futon with my cup of tepid coffee. I looked at the envelope of money I wouldn’t be spending. Both of my professions felt soiled by that payoff. Maybe I could hide it under the floorboards for the next tenant to find. Or maybe I could give it away to some charity.
It was days like this where I wasn’t sure which job I hated more.