Part 13 (1/2)
”Woman tells a good story,” he said. ”You?”
”Dr. Ruth's had a concussion. They won't know how bad it is until they get some specialist up here to have a look. She probably won't be answering questions for a while.”
”But she's going to live?”
”Hard to get a straight yes or no out of her doctor,” Stacy said. ”She's in a coma. Don't know how deep or when she'll wake up. She's alive, for the moment.”
”G.o.ddammit!” said Orwell, who rarely cussed. ”G.o.ddammit all!”
”Yes, sir.”
”What about her office?”
”Hard to tell what's gone until she's awake enough to tell us what was in there. Place was trashed worse than that apartment.”
”Two break-ins on the same night? We're way past coincidence now, Detective.”
”How did Ms. Daniel react when you told her about her doctor?”
”Haven't mentioned it yet. She's nervous enough. Besides, I'm enjoying the tale too much.”
”The Staff Sergeant has a.s.signed Constable Maitland to keep an eye on her tonight. He's parked across the street.”
”Good.”
”Want a breath mint, Chief?”
”Give me a couple,” Orwell said. ”I'm probably going to have another smoke.”
”You're just going to h.e.l.l in a handbasket, ain'tcha?” said Stacy.
Orwell walked Anya across the street and into the park.
”You are very married, are you not?” she said.
”Yes I am,” he said.
”You make her feel safe? Your wife?”
”I suppose. She's the kind of person who's always preparing for emergencies.”
”Ha! Good luck to her on that.”
They stopped beside a big maple. Anya ran her hand lovingly across the wet bark.
”How did Nimchuk get the necklace into Canada?”
”That was the easiest part. It was so absurd it looked right at home in a basket full of costume jewels, paste and pewter, gla.s.s beads and feathers. Once we were across the border, I defected. I had no choice.”
”Then what happened?”
”Nimchuk took the gems with him and he ran. He sold a few of the diamonds, the smaller ones, and he got enough money to hide for a while. But I could not hide so easily. I was a dancer, if I did not dance, I did not eat.”
She tore open the fresh package of Players, offered him one. He lit hers, and then his.
”I changed my name. I became Anna Vaganova for a while. I was engaged as a guest artist by the Winnipeg Ballet. And for a few years I was okay.”
”And then?”
”And then Chernenko died. Gorbachev took over in the Soviet Union, Glasnost, Perestroika, a new age. I got ambitious again. I wanted recognition. I thought it would be safe. The National invited me to be a guest artist in Toronto. Be careful what you wish for, they say. I got my recognition. Someone saw me and told someone, who told someone, and one night they followed me home to my apartment and they broke in. They were going to kill me.”
”Who?”
”What does it matter? They were hired killers working for another faceless killer. I told them, I do not have what you want, I just do not have it, Nimchuk has it, he took it all, he is selling it, in pieces, I do not know where he is, I do not know where he hid the pieces.” She laughed. ”So they threw me off the balcony. They killed me. Or they thought they did. From the fifth floor. They did not know I could fly.”
”What happened?”
”I told you. I flew. There was a tree, a beautiful maple tree, like this one, tall and smooth, with big strong arms. When they pushed me over, I had enough time to bend my legs and propel myself away from the railing. I flew into the top of the tree like a bird, and it caught me. By the time they got down the elevator I was far away. I had cracked ribs, I was black and blue, cut and scratched, my wrist was broken, three of my fingers were hyper-extended and I tore a ligament in my elbow. But I was alive, and strong enough to climb down from my wonderful tree and run away.”
”And you ran up here.”
”Eventually.” She started to walk again, across the wet gra.s.s, heading in the direction of the Gusse Building.
”Doesn't sound like much of a life - running, hiding, waiting for the axe to fall.”
”I will tell you something, Mr. Policeman, I have never had a 'life.' When you are a dancer, your life is cla.s.ses, rehearsals, performing, stretching, recuperating, not enough to eat, not enough sleep, and everything else, everything, has to fit in between. If there is a little time left over you can fall in love for a few minutes.” She laughed. ”I was getting to like this town,” she said.
”You planning on running again?”
”I do not know,” she said. ”I am tired of being chased.”
”I'll have my officers keep an eye on you,” he said.
”Every minute?”
”This isn't a big town,” Orwell said. ”If the person who broke into your apartment isn't from around here, we might be able to spot him.”
”To me, everybody looks like an a.s.sa.s.sin. Except you. Maybe.”
”No, I'm just a poor sinner,” said Orwell, popping a breath mint into his mouth.
They had reached the Gusse Building. She unlocked the front door.
”I will spend tonight in my studio,” she said. ”I have done it before. There is a couch, a blanket.”
”I'll come up with you,” he said. ”Make sure it's safe.”