fine, Mom. I’ll call you later. Okay?”
“Fine, darling. Take care.”
“My mother,” Cindy said, hanging up the phone and immediately checking her voice-mail to make sure no one else had called. “My sister told her I sounded pissy when she called earlier.”
“I’m sure she meant pithy,” Neil offered.
Cindy laughed. “Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate it.”
“I just wish there was something more I could do.”
Something clicked in Cindy’s mind. “You can take me to see Sean Banack,” she announced suddenly.
“Who?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” Cindy grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note for Julia, leaving it in the middle of the kitchen table, in case her daughter should return while she was gone. On the way out the door, she called Julia’s cell phone again and left another message. There’d been something in Sean’s voice when she’d talked to him earlier, Cindy thought, replaying their conversation in her mind, word for word. Something more than cigarettes and alcohol. Something more than fatigue and impatience and hurt feelings.
Anger, she realized.
He’d sounded pissy.
“I S S EAN HERE?”
“He isn’t,” the young man said, standing in the doorway, blocking Cindy’s entrance to the small, second-floor apartment that was situated over an old variety store on the south side of Dupont Street near Christie. The man was tall and black, with an athletic build and a shiny, bald head. A silver loop dangled from his left ear. A set of earphones wrapped around his neck, like a noose. He was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and black sweatpants, and his left hand clutched a large, plastic bottle of Evian.
“You must be Paul,” Cindy said, pulling the name of Sean’s roommate from the recesses of her subconscious. She extended her hand, gently pushing her way inside the stuffy, nonairconditioned apartment, Neil following right behind.
The young man smiled warily. “And you are?”
“This is Neil Macfarlane, and I’m Cindy Carver. Julia’s mother.”
The expression on the young man’s face altered ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Carver, Mr. Macfarlane. Excuse the mess.” He looked sheepishly toward the cluttered L of the living-dining room behind him.
Cindy’s eyes followed his. Books and papers covered the light hardwood floor and brown corduroy sofa in the middle of the room. A deeply scratched wooden door balancing on four short stacks of red bricks served as a coffee table. Several old copies of the
Toronto Star
lay stretched across the small dining room table, like a linen tablecloth. HUSBAND PHONED WIFE AFTER BEHEADING HER screamed an inside headline. MAN STALKED VICTIM FOR THREE DAYS BEFORE FATAL ATTACK announced another.
“Sean’s doing research on aberrant behavior,” Paul explained, following her eyes. “For a script he’s writing.”
Cindy nodded, remembering Julia had once boasted that Sean was writing a script especially for her. As far as Cindy knew, Sean had yet to find a producer for any of his efforts. He supported himself by bartending at Fluid, a popular downtown club. “Has Julia been around lately?” she asked, straining to sound casual.
“Haven’t seen her since …” There was an uncomfortable pause. “You should probably talk to Sean.”
“Do you have any idea when he’s coming back?”
“No. I wasn’t here when he went out.”
“Do you mind if we wait?” Cindy immediately plopped herself down on the sofa, moving a well-thumbed copy of a paperback book to the cushion beside her. The book was called
Mortal Prey
.
Paul hesitated. “The thing is … I have to be somewhere by noon, and I was just gonna hop in the shower.…”
“Oh, you go right ahead,” Cindy instructed. “We’ll be fine.”
“Sean could be a while.”
“If he’s not back by the time you’re ready to leave, we’ll go.”
“All right. I guess it’s all right,” the young man muttered under his breath, perhaps
“Fine, darling. Take care.”
“My mother,” Cindy said, hanging up the phone and immediately checking her voice-mail to make sure no one else had called. “My sister told her I sounded pissy when she called earlier.”
“I’m sure she meant pithy,” Neil offered.
Cindy laughed. “Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate it.”
“I just wish there was something more I could do.”
Something clicked in Cindy’s mind. “You can take me to see Sean Banack,” she announced suddenly.
“Who?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” Cindy grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note for Julia, leaving it in the middle of the kitchen table, in case her daughter should return while she was gone. On the way out the door, she called Julia’s cell phone again and left another message. There’d been something in Sean’s voice when she’d talked to him earlier, Cindy thought, replaying their conversation in her mind, word for word. Something more than cigarettes and alcohol. Something more than fatigue and impatience and hurt feelings.
Anger, she realized.
He’d sounded pissy.
“I S S EAN HERE?”
“He isn’t,” the young man said, standing in the doorway, blocking Cindy’s entrance to the small, second-floor apartment that was situated over an old variety store on the south side of Dupont Street near Christie. The man was tall and black, with an athletic build and a shiny, bald head. A silver loop dangled from his left ear. A set of earphones wrapped around his neck, like a noose. He was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and black sweatpants, and his left hand clutched a large, plastic bottle of Evian.
“You must be Paul,” Cindy said, pulling the name of Sean’s roommate from the recesses of her subconscious. She extended her hand, gently pushing her way inside the stuffy, nonairconditioned apartment, Neil following right behind.
The young man smiled warily. “And you are?”
“This is Neil Macfarlane, and I’m Cindy Carver. Julia’s mother.”
The expression on the young man’s face altered ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Carver, Mr. Macfarlane. Excuse the mess.” He looked sheepishly toward the cluttered L of the living-dining room behind him.
Cindy’s eyes followed his. Books and papers covered the light hardwood floor and brown corduroy sofa in the middle of the room. A deeply scratched wooden door balancing on four short stacks of red bricks served as a coffee table. Several old copies of the
Toronto Star
lay stretched across the small dining room table, like a linen tablecloth. HUSBAND PHONED WIFE AFTER BEHEADING HER screamed an inside headline. MAN STALKED VICTIM FOR THREE DAYS BEFORE FATAL ATTACK announced another.
“Sean’s doing research on aberrant behavior,” Paul explained, following her eyes. “For a script he’s writing.”
Cindy nodded, remembering Julia had once boasted that Sean was writing a script especially for her. As far as Cindy knew, Sean had yet to find a producer for any of his efforts. He supported himself by bartending at Fluid, a popular downtown club. “Has Julia been around lately?” she asked, straining to sound casual.
“Haven’t seen her since …” There was an uncomfortable pause. “You should probably talk to Sean.”
“Do you have any idea when he’s coming back?”
“No. I wasn’t here when he went out.”
“Do you mind if we wait?” Cindy immediately plopped herself down on the sofa, moving a well-thumbed copy of a paperback book to the cushion beside her. The book was called
Mortal Prey
.
Paul hesitated. “The thing is … I have to be somewhere by noon, and I was just gonna hop in the shower.…”
“Oh, you go right ahead,” Cindy instructed. “We’ll be fine.”
“Sean could be a while.”
“If he’s not back by the time you’re ready to leave, we’ll go.”
“All right. I guess it’s all right,” the young man muttered under his breath, perhaps
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