Part 19 (1/2)
”Meddling old busybody. I'll deal with her, too.”
”I think I'd better have a chat with Mrs. Whiffen as well, find out why she was so upset.”
”I think you'd be better served dealing with the riffraff in town.”
”Mrs. Emery. We try to deal with all our citizens with the same level of obligation and consideration, whether they live on the Knoll or on the wrong side of the ca.n.a.l. Do you have any idea why Mrs. Whiffen was concerned?”
”She's always got some bee in her bonnet.”
”Perhaps I could speak to Mr. Emery.”
”What do you need with him?”
”I'd like to hear his side of the story.”
”It isn't a story, Chief Brennan.”
”Of course, I understand, but when a citizen demands that I fire one of my best officers, I'm going to need a bit more than a complaint. At the moment, it's your word against his.”
”Naturally you'll be accepting his.”
”Well, I'll certainly look into it further, if you think it'll help. Have a chat with the Whiffens, might as well talk to the Conrads, while I'm at it. And your husband, of course.” The line was disconnected.
She snaked in across a kitchen sink stacked with pots and dishes and dropped soundlessly to the floor, proud of herself. Giselle never had to handle a pa.s.sage like that. Conflicting sounds were coming from the front room: two television sets, different channels, both with volumes high.
On one screen was a hockey game, on the other, a crime show. She could tell it was a crime show because people were comparing fingerprints on a computer screen. She kept her hands in her pockets.
”h.e.l.lo, Louie. I came in the back way.”
”What is that? A wig?”
”How very perceptive of you.”
”You got old.”
”Not everyone was so lucky.” She went to the front window, looked out. ”Ludi's dead, Va.s.si's dead, Viktor's dead.” She smiled at him. ”The list keeps getting longer. And shorter, too, I suppose.”
”I thought Ludmilla was in California.”
”Sure you did. Where did your son go?”
”He won't be back. I gave him forty dollars. He'll buy a bottle and visit his girlfriend.”
”He has a girlfriend. That's so nice. Now there's a man who got old in a hurry.” She checked the street again, a reflex.
”So? You're here. Stop sneaking around the room. Sit.”
”Where?”
”I don't give a s.h.i.+t. Move something.”
”So gracious, Louie. I had forgotten how well mannered you are.”
”I don't need your bulls.h.i.+t, okay? All the time with the smartmouth.”
She sat on top of a pile of magazines. ”This is comfortable,” she said. She lit a cigarette, smoothed the front of her coat, smiled at the troll.
”I think you wouldn't be here if you had anywhere else you could go. Am I right?”
”Don't be silly. I wanted to say goodbye. To you. And to Sergei, of course.” She inhaled a deep puff and exhaled a thin stream through tight lips. ”You still in touch with him?”
”You think he talks to me? You think we're friends all of a sudden?”
”You have a phone number?”
”Don't be stupid. He moves around. Like you.”
”Then I'm wasting my time.” She stood. ”Goodbye.”
”Wait a minute, wait a minute. Sit down, okay? Let me think a minute.”
”Think hard, Louie, because I am leaving the country and I will be taking it with me.”
”Where can you go?”
”I can go anywhere. I have a Canadian pa.s.sport, remember? I am legal.”
”You think you can sell it somewhere else?”
”Perhaps. I think it is a question of going to the right market, don't you think? Like the Sultan of Bahrain, or one of the Saudis, or some other billionaire? One of them might cough up twenty million, thirty million out of petty cash for one of the great treasures of the world. Don't you think?”
”What do you want?”
”I want to talk to Sergei. How do you get in touch with him?”
”You have it with you?”
”Do not drool, Louie. It is unbecoming.” She dropped her cigarette b.u.t.t into a handy beer can. ”I will go out the front door this time.”
”Can I see it?”
”I will call.”
Paul Delisle's apartment in Riverdale overlooked the Don Valley and the two rivers far below. One, grey water choked with silt and abandoned shopping carts, and the other, concrete, the Don Valley Parkway, six lanes north/south, almost deserted, crews and trucks crawling in both directions, closed for the weekend for maintenance. A March wind from the west was rattling the windows. She stared across the valley at the bare trees on the far slope, unwilling to turn around and face the cluttered rooms.
All right, Della, you big stork, don't let the d.a.m.n place overwhelm you. You've been here before, it's not that big - master bedroom, second bedroom with the office, kitchen, bathroom, closets, cupboards, bookshelves, desks, drawers, Christ! The man never met a s.p.a.ce he couldn't cram. Pick a starting spot. Where? Which? First things first; find his d.a.m.n gun. If he left it behind on purpose, it's in here somewhere. Please Jesus it's in here somewhere.