It took me a while to get everything sorted. I sent Leo home in a taxi, then I got hold of Jessica, who agreed to come over right away. Things in the kitchen were looking better, as Nora had found some frozen lasagne that she heated up in the microwave. While Joy was eating, I took the opportunity to ask Nora if she knew Zachary Taylor.
“Never heard of him,” she said curtly.
If he had visited Deidre, it obviously hadn’t been when Nora was around.
Finally Joy finished, licking her plate clean with evident relish. Nora didn’t scold her for that, thank goodness. I indicated I was leaving and she ran over to me and flung herself into my arms, wrapping herself around me like a baby monkey clings to its mother. That was tough. I don’t have children of my own, won’t now, and to date I’d felt that my relationship with my goddaughter, Chelsea, was satisfying the need-to-nurture drive without any of the downside that mothers have to put up with. It was funny about Joy, though. Something had clicked between us that I couldn’t quite explain. Generally I get along well with kids, but this was different. Perhaps it was just the circumstances. My knowledge of her situation might have been communicated in some way. Whatever it was I felt a real pang of loss that I had to leave her.
“Tell her I’ll be back,” I said to Nora. It was a foolish thing to say, as I wasn’t sure when I would see them again, but it popped out of my mouth. Joy insisted on accompanying me to the door and stood waving Horace’s foot at me as I got into the car.
As police officers, dealing with situations that are sometimes unbelievably horrific, we are constantly reminded not to get subjectively involved with our cases. Everybody, not just the supervisors, tries to keep an eye out for each other, picking up on the telltale signs of stress. That was true when I was a front-line officer in Toronto a couple of years ago; it’s still true now at the Centre. Officers who are in the detection of child pornography department, for instance, have a limit of about two years. After that, you have to move on to something easier to handle, like homicide or assault. You know when those crimes seem like piece of cake in comparison, you probably stayed too long. I’ve never done a stint in the pornography department. Don’t want to and admire those who can stick it out.
But here I was, up to my neck in subjectivity, planning in my head when I could come back, how I could learn some basic sign language. Speaking of subjectivity, I was getting anxious about having no contact or information about Paula and decided to go to her house. She and Craig lived in a beautiful house right on the lake. They’d built it from scratch and the house was designed to make maximum use of the waterfront, with deep windows and a wraparound balcony that faced the water. Craig had inherited money from his parents, and as far as I could tell, didn’t see any need to add to that income by working. He spent his time studying his portfolio, keeping fit, playing golf in the summer, and skiing in the winter. He was handsome, if you liked perennial boyish looks, vague blue eyes, and a soft mouth. I couldn’t stand the guy, a feeling that was returned in kind. He and Paula had met when she went to give a talk at a drug addiction centre. Craig was a recovering cocaine head and presented himself as reformed and repentant, a combination some women find irresistible. I’d never have expected Paula to be taken in by easy manners with a hint of wickedness but she was. He pursued her ardently until he had her then lost interest almost as soon as they were married. He was jealous of our friendship and constantly tried to undermine me in her eyes. Thankfully not succeeding. I knew enough not to badmouth him to her but I was hard pressed not to at times. They’d been married for eight years and I suspected Paula was long over being in love with the guy but they had a child and she was loyal to a fault. Although I say it begrudgingly, Craig was a good father to Chelsea, attentive, playful, but firm when need be. Without those redeeming qualities I would have been happy never to be in the same vicinity as him. Oh, I should mention he hit on me at their wedding reception. Paula does not know this.
I had to ring the doorbell twice before he answered. He was in singlet and shorts and sweating.
“Hi, Chris. I’m just in the middle of my workout.”
“I came to see how Paula is doing; I didn’t hear from her.”
He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh God, I forgot to call you. My cell was out of juice and I intended to call you the moment I got in but what with one thing and another it fell off my radar. So sorry.”
“What happened? Where is she?”
He had made no attempt to ask me in and frankly that was fine with me but it was awkward standing on the doorstep.
“She’s at the hospital. They decided to keep her in.”
“Why’s that?”
“During the prep for the biopsy, they discovered her heartbeat was irregular. They had a name for it — atrial fibrillation. Apparently it was up to 140 beats a minute.”
“My god, that’s high.” He started to wipe his face with the towel he’d draped around his neck. He did look worried.
“I know. They were afraid she might have a stroke. They want to control the heartbeat and find out what’s causing the problem, so there you have it. She has to stay in until they bring it under control.” He frowned. “It’s going to be tricky with Chelsea but her grandma has agreed to come up and stay. She’ll want to see Paula anyway.”
I tried not to be irritated that he’d phoned Mrs. Jackson and had supposedly forgotten to call me but I pushed the feeling away. He’d made his point.
“Did they say what was causing this?”
“They think it’s a result of the rheumatic fever she had as a kid. Somehow, don’t ask me why, it’s been missed up to now. Maybe the stress of having this biopsy aggravated it.”
Half-heartedly he stepped back from the door. “Do you want to come in? I’ll be done in a minute. I find doing a good hour on the treadmill relieves stress.”
“I think I’ll whip over to the hospital. Where’s Chelsea now?”
“With Suri. We’d already planned that she’d have a sleepover tonight to give Paula a bit of space… Oh Chris, maybe you could take her some clothes and toiletries. She wants her own PJs and a robe. She wasn’t expecting to be kept in and they stuck her in one of those ugly hospital gowns. I myself won’t be able to get there until tomorrow.”
“Quite right. You’ve got to get rid of all that stress first.”
He gave me a nasty look but didn’t say anything. I think we were both afraid to let go of all controls given the circumstances.
“I’m going to finish my workout. You know where the bedroom is. Let yourself out.”
He turned on his heels and trotted off in a miasma of sweat, disappearing down the stairs to the basement, where he had his state-of-the art gymnasium.
I shucked off my shoes and ran upstairs. Having grown up in a cramped post-war prefab in downtown Toronto, Paula had always wanted to design her own “Barbara Stanwyck” bedroom. The kind where there’s a monstrously large and high bed, piled with fat white pillows, only scarlet silk lingerie is allowed, and the butler brings up morning coffee in a silver pot and hands over letters on a plate.
I too have always wanted to have letters brought to me on a plate; it sounds kind of delicious. Now what I get are mostly bills or begging letters and they arrive in the afternoon anyway so I have to fish them out of my letter box when I come home. The butler has long been pensioned off.
I went into the bedroom. What Paula did have was the space, white walls, and furnishings, a king-sized bed, currently unmade with the fat white pillows piled in a heap on the floor. There was a chaise lounge, complete with a turquoise angora throw for the days when the weather was inclement and you wanted to read your mail. Outside a long balcony ran the length of the room. Nobody had thought to collapse the sun umbrella and it flapped in the wind, dripping rain from the edges.
There was a walk-in closet off to the side and next to that an ensuite bathroom with Jacuzzi tub, two sinks, and a bidet. I checked out the closet first, which contained a dresser as well as a clothes rack. It seemed uncluttered, which wasn’t how I remember Paula to be. Since Chelsea was born, she’d tried to be tidy, but she had a messy fallback she couldn’t overcome. I found a carryall tucked in one corner and did a quick scout of the drawers for underwear and nightclothes. Even though Paula and I had been best friends since we were teens and had shared bathrooms and swapped clothes, I felt a bit squeamish going through her private things. The first two drawers I opened were empty, and with a bit of a shock, I realized why the closet appeared tidier than usual. There were none of Craig’s clothes hanging up, only Paula’s. Uh-oh. I went into the bathroom for a robe. There was a slinky red silk one hanging on a hook behind the door. I grinned. Barbara Stanwyck lives. I folded it and put it in the carryall. The marble countertops were bare of any “stuff” and I opened the medicine cabinet to see if I could find a toothbrush. There wasn’t much in there. No razors, no manly deodorant, only a stick of Secret anti-perspirant. So Craig wasn’t sleeping up here. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but Paula hadn’t mentioned it. Usually we shared every minutia of our mutual lives, from buying new shoes to ideas about repainting the living room, changing the cat’s food, and so on. I grimaced at my own reflection in the mirror. Paula had learned to keep details about her life with Craig close to her chest. He had probably moved his bedroom down to the basement where he could get up and relieve his stress on the equipment whenever he needed to. There was also a separate entrance into the basement where he could come and go as he pleased. Oops, that wasn’t a very charitable thought, but then does the leopard change its spots?
I went back into the bedroom. There were a couple of books on the night table. One was a recent release by one of the pioneers in the study of serial killers that I’d recommended to Paula. Underneath that was a paperback novel that had recently won the Giller Prize. The bookmark indicated she hadn’t finished it so I popped it in the bag.
I straightened up the bed and replaced the pillows. As I let myself out, I could hear the whirr of the treadmill and the thump thump of Craig pounding away.