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Halifax, May 9
8:30 p.m.
Fading light filtered through the window as Cathy finished her story.
Allan watched her in silence while he constructed a framework of questions.
“Is Trixy your sister’s real name?”
Cathy stared at her hands. “Her real name is Cynthia. She legally changed it to Trixy to piss off Mom and Dad.”
“When was this?”
“Three years ago, maybe. Just after she got into prostitution.”
“When you say ‘to piss off Mom and Dad,’ I gather there are problems between them?”
Cathy emitted a long breath. “Where would I begin?”
She rose and turned on an overhead light. For a long time, she stood with her back to him, arms folded. She seemed very far away. Allan sensed other issues at play.
“Should I talk to them?” he asked.
When Cathy turned around, he saw the anguish in her face. She took a step toward him and then abruptly stopped.
“No!” she blurted. “You mustn’t tell them about this.”
At once, she put a hand to her mouth. Surprise registered in her green eyes. Perhaps, Allan thought, at her sudden outburst. She seemed to stare through him for a brief time. Then she turned sideways, looking at the floor. In the silence her body was stiff and still.
Allan scrutinized her. To him, Cathy Ambré had the troubled look of someone who internalized a lot of personal conflicts. Reflexively, his eyes were drawn back to the needle tracks in her arms.
He said, “Your parents deserve to know about their daughter.”
“Why? They don’t know her, or even me, for that matter. We have our lives, they have theirs.”
“Both you and your sister don’t get along with your parents?”
Cathy shook her head. “It’s mostly my father.” She faced Allan. “Do you have kids?”
“I have a son.”
“I bet you have high expectations for him?”
Allan nodded. “Of course.”
“Neither one of us exactly lived up to Dad’s.” Her eyes grew distant, sad. “When he found out Trixy was into prostitution, he tried to give her money to stop. When she wouldn’t, he disowned her.
“My turn came a few months ago when he found out about my problems.” She winced, as if wounded. “Dad put me out. I made a bad choice, and he put me out for it.”
As Allan listened, he heard something other than her words—a trace of embarrassment buried in her tone. He wondered if drugs were the bad choice Cathy had made.
He said, “I’m sure your father loves you very much. I bet it was hard for him to do what he did. Sometimes allowing your child to hit rock bottom is the only way they’ll seek help for themselves. If, in fact, they truly want help.”
A flush colored Cathy’s face. She opened her mouth slightly, giving him a long, contemplative look.
Allan waited out her silence. He sensed her absorbing what he had just said. For a strange instant, he expected her to tell him something. But then she quickly looked away, and the moment passed. She sat down again and leaned back in the sofa.
“I don’t need any help,” she muttered, shaking her head.
All too familiar, Allan thought. The inability of an addict to admit they have a problem or to see the impact their illness has on the lives around them. Part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders, make her listen to his own experiences about the women and kids he’d seen throwing their lives away.
“Do you see your parents at all?” he asked.
“Mom calls. Once she stopped over. Dad never does.” She gazed at the coffee table. “I know he’s ashamed.”
“Why would a father be ashamed of his child?”
She looked up, a fresh look of hurt in her eyes. “I messed up things in my life. Big time.”
“How?”
He knew the question was perfunctory, the answer already obvious to him.
Cathy was silent for a moment.
“I’ll keep the story short,” she said. “I got mixed up with a guy I shouldn’t have. We were both in university. He seemed like a good person. But like Trixy used to say, ‘most men seem nice on the surface. It’s once you get to know them that tells the real story.’
“He was deep into drugs. Marijuana. Hash. Heroin. Being young and naïve, I soon began experimenting. Then I couldn’t stop. The drugs left me in a state of mind I had never experienced before. Nothing else mattered. My grades began to slip. Then my attendance.
“I went to my boyfriend’s room one night and found him in bed with someone else.” Her nose wrinkled. “The look on their faces was priceless. Shock. Guilt. Embarrassment. Caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
“I was speechless and sick to my stomach. He was stuttering through an explanation when I threw his room key on the bed and walked out.
“I lost him and won a drug habit I couldn’t kick. Everything seemed to spiral out of control after that. I never finished my final year. It’s surprising how fast things can happen.”
The simple words expressed the grief of a life scarred by mistakes not yet resolved. Allan felt sorry for her.
“I noticed the track marks,” he said.
Cathy seemed to flinch. As if by reflex, she touched the scars in the crooks of her arms.
She said, “I finally kicked the habit. I don’t take anything now.”
“You just up and quit? Cold turkey?”
Cathy’s stare was as level as her voice. “Yes.”
It came to Allan that something was being withheld, something she didn’t want him to know. She was speaking with a cop, after all.
“Still have the cravings?”
She looked down, fidgeting again. “It was hard at first, but they’re not as bad as they were. Some days are better than others.
“I have to do this for myself and for Trixy. I know what a burden I’ve been on her. She’s been my savior through this ordeal.”
“It’s still hard to do without professional help,” Allan said. “Even a doctor never treats his own illness.”
Cathy squared her shoulders and looked him in the face. “I can do it. I will do it.”
Allan detected conviction in her tone. “I hope you will.”
“This isn’t really about me,” she said. “This is about my missing sister.”
Allan tried to detach himself, become an investigator again.
He said, “You’re right.” He paused. “Did you ever have any problems with a dealer?”
“No.”
“Do you owe any of them money?”
Cathy shook her head, and then a look of wonder crossed her face.
“You’re thinking I had something to do with Trixy’s disappearance. That a dealer did something to her because of me.”
“It’s nothing personal. I have to explore all avenues.”
Cathy’s lips became a tight line. “No. I don’t owe any money.”
“Vice has already found out that Trixy was dropped off by Call A Cab at ten forty-seven at the corner of South and Barrington. Do you know if that’s the location she usually takes up shop?”
“Yes, it is.”
Cathy’s eyes suddenly became moist. She rose from her seat, walked to the kitchen, and pulled a Kleenex from a box on the table.
When she returned, she said, “I know something happened to her. When I call her cell, it says the person I am calling is not answering or is out of the service area. If she had her phone shut off, it would go directly to her voice mail.”
“Vice will be checking to see if any calls were made on her phone since her disappearance. Is it possible that your sister went to a friend’s house? Have you done a telephone search?”
“I called all the friends that I know she had. No one saw or heard from her.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against her?”
Cathy shook her head.
“Does Trixy have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“How about a john? Has she ever talked about having problems with any of them?”
“No.”
“Do you know if she works under a pimp, or does she buddy up with other women?”
“She works on her own.” Cathy leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her fingers tore the ends of the tissue. “Trixy’s a free spirit. She’s not easily manipulated.”
“She’s never had a pimp?”
“She would never allow herself to become trapped in that lifestyle or become dependent on one.”
“Has a pimp ever approached her?”
Cathy narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips. “There was one. But she never called him by name.”
“To work for him?”
A nod. “She turned him down.”
“Was she threatened for it?”
“Not threatened. He tried to induce her with expensive jewelry. He told her he could protect her.”
“No name at all? Not even a nickname?”
“I don’t think Trixy knew who he was. She never mentioned him again.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Six months, maybe.”
“On the missing persons report, you state that Trixy has no medical or psychological problems?”
Cathy lifted her chin. “That’s right. She’s very levelheaded.”
“Vice has all your sister’s financial information,” Allan said. “They’ll track any transactions or withdrawals from her account.”
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Cathy’s words took on a hopeless inflection. “I know something bad happened to her. I don’t think she’s coming home.”
All at once, she crumpled forward in one convulsive sob. Allan pulled her close. In his arms, she felt light, fragile. Her body shook. She clung to him in quiet despair.
“It’s going to be all right,” Allan whispered in her ear. He pulled back, holding her arms. “You hang in there. Over ninety percent of missing people eventually show up on their own.”
He watched Cathy attempt to recapture her composure. He saw a woman who was frightened and alone. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out his card and gave it to her.
He said, “You can call me anytime. My phone’s always on.”
As he stood, Cathy looked up into his face.
“Will you let me know when you find out anything?” she asked.
“Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”
Allan walked to the door. He turned and looked at Cathy one last time. From across the room she stared at him through puffy eyes.
“Hang in there,” he repeated softly.
When he stepped into the hall and closed the door, he could hear Cathy’s muffled keening.
Leaden, Allan walked away.
