It took Stacy three phone calls to get the information. She knew a few cops in the GTA . Even Dorrie was impressed. But
where
in Jamaica was still up for grabs. Wouldnât mind going over a few things with her. There it was again, âgo over a few things.â What
things
? All right, she had notes from the first investigation. There was a reference to the shooting of some Russian man on the Queensway. Peel Division. Worth a call.
âStaff Sergeant Hurst? Hi there, this is Detective Stacy Crean, Dockerty Police Department, trying to get some information on a case youâre working down there. Russian man shot in a motel room on the Queensway last week.â
âYou got a date?â
âNo. A detective from Metro was up here checking a few things regarding that one. He just mentioned the basic facts . . .â
âThis Delisle weâre talking about?â
âThatâs correct.â
âHe said the guy was shot when?â
âHe didnât say exactly, he said a week ago.â
âTechnically, I guess. Probably late Saturday night. When did he show up in your town? Monday?â
âMonday morning.â
âThe Queensway vic was found DOA Sunday morning. Four a.m.â
âThis is the same case?â
âI know this is a tough town, Detective, but one dead Russian a week is about our quota.â
âHe said there was material in the manâs wallet that connected him to Dockerty in some way.â
âThere was no wallet. We wouldnât know anything about the dude except he had his union card in his pants pocket.â
âWhat was his name?â
âNimchuk. Viktor.â
âNimchuk,â Stacy was writing it down. âI think thatâs Ukrainian.â
âUkrainian, Russian, Uzbek, doesnât really matter. Guy was a Soviet citizen until he defected back in â81.â
âHave you made an arrest?â
âWe donât have anything yet. In fact, the most interesting thing about the guy is you saying how much interest Delisle had in him.â
âFind a weapon?â
âNo weapon.â
âGot a slug?â
âWell, yeah, got a bullet. Pretty mashed up.â
âAnd?â
âLooks like it might be a .357.â
âSmith?â
âFar as we can tell.â
âThat figures,â Stacy said.
The cat was on the fire escape, looking in at her. Wet. Impassive. An unneutered tomcat, tiger-striped, orange and white, built the way mature tomcats get, heavy neck and shoulders, skinny ass, big balls. He never sprayed inside the studio. The first time he showed up at her window, she told him that the minute he lifted his tail inside her workplace, he would be banished for eternity. They had an understanding. She hadnât named him. She didnât feed him. Once, a few years ago, she left a dish of canned tuna out for him. He wouldnât touch it.
She opened the window enough to let him inside. He took his time, assuring himself that she was alone before stepping across the sill and dropping to the floor. He paused for a long moment and looked to be studying himself in the wall mirror.
âWhat do you see?â she asked out loud.
This is how one should live, she thought. This creature has no fear. He has no allegiance. All places are the same to him. He comes here when it suits him. Who can say how many other fire escapes, laneways, back porches he knows? Sometimes he goes away for weeks. Sometimes he stays for a while. Sometimes when heâs bitten and bloody and hurt, he comes here to get better. Then he stays for a while.
âI think maybe you will have to find another fire escape,â she said. âI may have to find another escape myself.â She lit a smoke, deliberately closed the window and locked it. The cat jumped onto the settee under the photographs of her sad career, inspected the area carefully before settling himself. âYou hear me?â she
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