Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (51 page)

“And he believed the threats were real?”

She nodded. “How did these people even find him?” she asked, wiping away a stray tear. “The property was in my name. The address shouldn’t have been listed in connection with him.”

“They have their ways,” Dan said. “Your brother would likely have been listed on the Sex Offenders Registry.”

Darlene shook her head at the suggestion. “He shouldn’t have been on it any more.”

Under the new rules, Darryl’s lawyers had applied to have his name and record removed, citing his case as an unlikely repeat offender. As far as anyone knew he had been taken off the list, but sometime over the last year her brother had been targeted by hate mail and death threats referring to his conviction.

“You said the girl was fourteen at the time?”

She nodded.

“Making your brother nineteen.”

Brown eyes turned to him. “Not a very mature nineteen, not that it makes much difference.” She looked away. “I’m not making excuses for him.”

Dan nodded. “Their ages weren’t that far apart. Am I right in thinking she was Darryl’s girlfriend?”

Darlene nodded. “They were quite serious about each other. It wasn’t just a casual thing for them. He once told me they planned to be married when she turned sixteen.” She looked off wistfully. “You never saw two
people so in love. He was devoted to her and she to him.”

“The problem is they were more than four years apart in age,” Dan said. “So what is called a ‘Romeo and Juliet’ clause would not have helped out here. Even if they declared themselves in a serious relationship, he would still be perceived by the court as an older aggressor.”

She shrugged. “That’s more or less what happened. Just before his trial, another young girl was raped and murdered by her older boyfriend. It was in all the papers. It didn’t help Darryl one bit either.”

“No, I’m sure it didn’t.” Dan thought for a moment. “If you don’t mind, can you tell me how your brother ended up being charged?”

A spasm of anger crossed Darlene’s face. “Our father turned him in. He caught them together one afternoon.”

Leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken lives
, Dan thought. He put down his cup and waited a moment. “Do you want me to come with you to the morgue?”

She shook her head. Finally, the tears started.

“Thank you, but no. They said I couldn’t see him yet. It won’t be for another day at least.”

Dan thought of Darryl’s badly beaten face, the severed ear. He had a flash of the body hanging overhead, like a hideous goblin in a child’s horror story. He thought of the blood dripping onto his face as he lay on the floor after being swiped at with the pipe. It was common for the police to prevent the next of kin from seeing a badly damaged corpse. He wondered how much to tell her.

“They’re probably trying to make sure he looks presentable before you see him. You don’t want your last image of him to upset you.”

She was watching him closely. “He must have been badly beaten.”

Dan reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder. “I’m very sorry, Darlene.”

She nodded, blubbering and unable to speak for almost a minute. Then the fury died out and she looked up again.

“I wish I’d told you about his past earlier,” she said. “He never wanted anyone to know. He made me promise never to tell anyone.”

Dan shook his head. “Believe me, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I put out a number of calls, but my sources found where your brother was staying too late. I don’t see how we could have found him any earlier, even if we’d known more about him. He was just too well hidden.”

She nodded in recognition of his generosity in saying this. Even if she believed him, it wouldn’t help her live with herself.

“Not well enough, I guess.”

Dan hesitated, but he needed to ask. “Is it possible your brother might have had contact with his former girlfriend since his release from prison?”

Her eyes shifted. For a moment he saw her as a younger woman, watching her brother’s life fall apart in a court of law for something she’d known but done nothing about.

“If he did, he didn’t tell me about it. I doubt Darryl even knew where to find her. The girl’s father moved the family away right after the trial.”

Dan looked at this short, thin woman with the worn face. In another few years, he might pass her on the street and not recognize her. She was so unexceptional looking that he likely wouldn’t take a second glance. She’d disappear into the crowd and lose herself forever. Just one more lost soul with a burden too huge to bear.

She walked him to the door. Dan stood on the porch, ready to leave her to mourn privately. He felt her hand on his arm.

“Wait, please.”

He turned back to her.

Her dark eyes stared at him. “Will you help find this monster? Whoever killed Darryl?”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I’m not a cop.”

“No. But you’re a good man. I can see that. That’s why I know you will help.” She let go of his arm, but her eyes held him. “Please?”

He nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

He knew he shouldn’t have promised. His mind was already on the other files on his desk upstairs in the calm study, the living who still needed him. His interest wasn’t in the dead, however sad their story.

Dan got in his car. He glanced in the mirror, watching the house move away in reverse. All he saw was a beige bungalow, as small and unexceptional as its owner.

Darryl Hillary’s savaged features stayed with him all the way back to town, racing toward the cityscape with its sweeping waterfront high rises, the Rogers sports dome, the CN Tower dominating everything. He wondered if Darryl had begged for his life in his final moments and whether the killer had enjoyed watching him grovel in the ash-filled slaughterhouse. The location was as gruesome and ironic a place for a death as any he could imagine. It was in keeping with the cruel imagery of nursery rhymes and fairy tales: hideous witches, vicious wolves, poisoned apples, haunted castles, and all the terrible things lurking in the shadows and waiting for disobedient children.

What had gone through Darryl’s mind when he learned his father had turned him in to the authorities for having sex with his underage girlfriend? Laws were meant to protect the weak and the unwilling. By the sounds of it, the girlfriend had been more than willing. Where was the crime in two people wanting pleasure from each other, even if one was younger than the law deemed acceptable? The real crime lay beneath a sheet in the Toronto morgue — a man beaten to death because he’d loved someone younger than himself.

Dan had wanted to ask Darlene if their father was still alive, but he stopped himself. What would the old man think now of his handiwork? Would he be pleased to know his son had had a final comeuppance for his youthful recklessness? How much in love did you have to be for it to be all right to have sex with someone younger? Darryl’s sister had said the girlfriend hadn’t been allowed to speak in Darryl’s defence during the trial. The law dealt with technicalities, but it couldn’t measure human emotion. Or the urge for revenge. But that was getting ahead of things a bit, assuming Darryl’s death had anything to do with his criminal record.

He turned off the Gardiner and headed for home. Dan doubted there was much he could do for Darlene or Darryl at this point. He had his contacts and he could ask around to see if anyone knew anything, but the case was now in the hands of the police. Any overt activity on Dan’s part could be construed as unlawful interference. That was a problem Dan didn’t need or want.

What remained was to go back to the sort of humdrum tedium that marked most of his cases. He thought of the numerous Internet bookmarks he’d amassed over the past few years. The Help Us Find websites listing absconding debtors and child support payment defaulters. Much of it was dreary work and he detested it, but it was what he did best.

At four o’clock, he headed over to the downtown YMCA. He parked and waited for his son to emerge from his basketball game. Dan stayed in the car. The heat outside had swelled unbearably. Ked wasn’t a great player, but he was dedicated and made up for his lack of skill in enthusiasm. He was one of the few kids Dan knew who played for the love of the sport, not out of any sort of bloodlust and competitive instinct. When he finally appeared, Dan was surprised to see a blonde girl hanging onto his arm as he came down the steps. Her hold was friendly, not possessive. Still, she could be twelve or thirteen, where Ked was about to turn fifteen in a month. What happened once he was sixteen and she was only thirteen?

Dan waited and watched. The pair exchanged a few words then the girl laughed and ran off to join two other girls by the bike rack. Ked waved at them and turned to look for his father’s car.

As far as Dan knew, Ked hadn’t started dating, but they’d had several talks about the topic. The previous month, Ked had surprised him by being forthright on the topic of his own sexuality.

“Would you be disappointed if I turned out to be straight?” he asked.

It was all Dan could do not to laugh. He mustered a serious expression before answering. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m counting on you to give me grandchildren to look after me in my dotage.”

He hadn’t even thought of the possibility, but now that he said it he liked the thought of a continuance of his line.

“Seriously, Dad?”

Dan nodded. “Seriously. I just hope you’re not disappointed that your father is gay.”

Ked looked dismayed. “No, Dad. I don’t care about that. I love you for whatever you are.”

“And the same holds true for me. You wouldn’t disappoint me by being yourself. In fact, I expect you to do just that.”

Ked had seemed satisfied with that answer.

He ran over to the car now. Dan popped the lock and his son got in, looking relaxed and tanned. Just another handsome fourteen-year-old, happy to be alive and living in a land where certain freedoms were a given.

“Good game?” Dan asked.

“Awesome!” Ked said.

Fifteen minutes later, they were outside Ked’s mother’s house in the Annex. Dan gazed over the yard. Kendra eschewed flowers as being too fussy, but she had a neatly maintained lawn. Wide-leafed vines climbed the red brick, massing around the chimney. It always amazed Dan to think the mother of his child lived here, a woman who under other circumstances or in different times would have been his wife. They’d barely dated — nothing more than a casual affair in his second year at university.
That little courtship had come about as a result of Dan’s having a crush on her older brother. It was Arman who Dan had fantasized sleeping with. When Kendra showed up, she intrigued him enough to let her seduce him once.

She waved from the window. She’d been watching for Ked’s arrival. Dan waved back.

“Say a big ‘hello’ to your mother for me.”

“I will. You and Trevor are going to Uncle Donny’s tonight for supper, right?”

“Right.”

“Say ‘hi’ to Uncle Donny for me. Tell him to tell Lester he owes me a movie pass when he gets back.”

Dan looked over. “Gets back from where?”

The look on Ked’s face was priceless. He suddenly seemed to realize he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

“Oh, that. Never mind. Maybe Uncle Donny will tell you.”

He slipped out and closed the door with a quick wave.

Dan reversed the car and drove off. He checked his phone messages. Trevor had picked up “something special” for their evening out. Despite his misgivings about city living, Trevor seemed to be adapting to Dan’s life fairly well. He’d charmed nearly everyone Dan introduced him to. He knew their favourite drinks, their favourite flowers. He had the right touch. Then again, Dan realized he shouldn’t be surprised — the magic had worked on him from the start.

He left a message for Trevor to say he’d be by to pick him up. Donny had called as well. His message promised a “surprise guest” at dinner that evening but gave no clue who it might be. Dan drove on, intrigued.

Five

Molly Wood’s Bush

Church Street runs through the heart of Toronto’s gay community. Bounded by Jarvis on the east and Yonge to the west, with College at the south end and Bloor at its upper reaches, the gaybourhood contains four square city blocks of Prideful Living. The area was known as a cruising spot as far back as the early 1800s. Then it was owned by one Alexander Wood, merchant and magistrate, whose sexual proclivities landed him in hot water. Acting on behalf of an anonymous rape victim, Wood demanded to examine the genitals of several local men while in search of a supposed scratch the woman had imparted to her attacker. Some took exception to Wood’s meticulous scrutiny of their privates, however, and griping gave way to suspicion. Eventually, it was alleged that Wood had invented the rape story to gain access to the men’s particulars. He was nicknamed “Molly” and his estate dubbed Molly Wood’s Bush. Nearly two centuries later, it was officially proclaimed Toronto’s gay neighbourhood.

That night the heat wave was in full swing. The evening sun lit up the cafés where patrons were draped over patio chairs, limp as melted candles, waiting for a night in the ghetto to begin. Heads swivelled to regard the passing traffic before turning leisurely back to deliver the next
bon mot
to their companions. Here life was fun, relaxed. With a little luck and the price of a beer or six, no one needed to be alone for long.

It was just past eight when Dan and Trevor arrived at the Jarvis Street condo. Donny met them in the foyer dressed in impeccable summer wear: cool linens, muted colours set against deep earth tones. Donny was African-Canadian
haute couture
.

He brought them upstairs and ushered them inside. Cool air enveloped them as they entered the apartment. Soft jazz burbled in the background. It was something Dan thought he recognized, but couldn’t name. A new piece of art adorned the hallway, frenzied colours merging in anarchic intensity, but with no discernible subject matter. Donny’s
zeitgeist
, Dan knew, was 1950s New York, with its reams of Abstract Expressionist painters and the glory days of cool East Coast jazz. (“Before it made the mistake of going west,” Donny always reminded him.) A golden glow met their eyes, emitted by dozens of candles, each smokeless and dripless, according to their host’s exacting standards.