The maintenance man and Mr. Good Neighbor waited in the hall. Sonia and I walked into the dark kitchenette. I felt for a light switch.
No dishes in the sink. Walls bare except for a framed master’s degree from Carleton University. Cheap table and chairs, a paisley love seat, and a small television.
“What are we looking for?” Sonia said.
“The other case I was working. The target was murdered. This woman, Dana Essex, she’s a part of things.”
“Meaning she’s your client,” Sonia said.
“And my friend.”
Passing behind me, Sonia said, “Is there anyone you won’t lie to, Dave? Because I’d really love to meet that person.”
I opened the bedroom door. A mattress and box spring rested on the floor, the box spring still in its plastic. A hamper. A closet full of muted tones, olives and oatmeals and tans. Behind the door, a pressed-wood bureau. I opened the top drawer and rifled through.
“Panty sniffing?” Sonia asked.
I moved to the hamper and lifted the lid.
“Of course,” she said. “Why sniff the clean ones?”
I moved to the washroom and checked under the sink. In the closet, I pushed aside a peacoat and some bulky rain gear.
“She’s gone,” I said, “and she left on her own steam.”
“Underwear and toiletries,” Sonia said to herself, nodding. “Is that what you hoped?”
“I hoped I’d find her,” I said. “But after my run-in with Nagy tonight, I think the best thing she could do is get away, lie low. Wait till I sort this thing out.”
“Since when are you detailed to Homicide? And what exactly happened with Nagy?”
“Thanks for your help,” I said, moving to the living room.
Books dominated the space. Crates of them were piled against the lengths of wall not taken up with bookcases. One case was dedicated to fiction, one for criticism and philosophy, the middle case double-stacked with slim handbound chapbooks and multivolume anthologies. A single space amid her Ishiguros where When We Were Orphans had sat.
“Find her?” the neighbor said as Sonia and I exited. He looked a tad disappointed when I told him no.
“You can lock it up,” I told the maintenance man.
He did. He shuffled his feet. “There’s the matter of the, ah, money.”
I looked at Sonia. “Nagy took my last forty,” I said.
She held up three twenties. “Anybody have a ten or two fives?” Then sighed, “Of course not,” and handed it over.
Outside I thanked her and walked to my car. She followed me.
“You don’t get to do that,” she said. “Ask me for help and then not tell me what it’s about. Should VPD be looking for this woman, to make sure she’s safe?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She seized my arm. “Tell me.”
“Sure,” I said, “after you tell me why you wanted Chambers followed.”
She bit her bottom lip and moved as a pair of bicyclists came down the center of the road, tires hissing on the rain-soaked pavement.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I figured it out a couple days ago. You weren’t worried for Chambers. You didn’t suspect he was corrupt. You knew. You saw the same thing I saw. You saw him tune somebody up.”
She wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“You have firsthand proof he’s strong-arm muscle for Qiu, and you weighed that against what it would cost you career-wise to speak out against him. Not enough sense of justice to stand up, just enough to send your ex-boyfriend on some half-assed errand, to see if I’d do what you wanted without you having to say a word.”
“You have no idea what it’s like,” she said, her voice breaking.
I said, “Chambers arranged to bump into me in the street. He offered me ninety grand from Qiu to end all this. I took the check, Sonia. Couple hours ago, Nagy held a knife on me and took it back. Guess Qiu thought if I hadn’t cashed it by now, I was holding it against him as proof of a bribe.
“Truth is,” I continued, “I was on the fence until I figured out the game you’ve been playing. Then, honestly, I was inclined to take the cash. If the Sorenson case hadn’t got in the way, I might’ve done it. Now I’ve got a gangster and a beat cop and a couple of goons to watch out for, on top of the homicide dicks who probably think I knifed her or know who did. So thanks, Sonia, next time just put a gun to my nuts and—”
She struck me on the face with the baton. The steel crossed the bruises Nagy had left, sending a shriek of pain through my skull. One eye lost focus. I looked up to see Sonia backstep, sobbing, then turn and run to her car. I watched her taillights disappear over the hill.
My head knew what I’d said to her was true. My heart told me something else. That of all the people I’d driven away from me—and that list would be Dostoevskyan in length—here was someone who I’d spurned when she’d needed me most. You can be right and still find yourself sinking, and your rightness will not raise you up.