Old Scores Page 2

  Gilbert raised his eyebrows. “Everybody’s dumping on them before summer vacation,” he said. “We may have to get in line. Those guys are busy right now.”

  When Gilbert and Lombardo finished with the crime scene, they left Boyd’s office-slash-apartment and walked south on John Street to King Street. The CN Tower rose before them, dwarfing the impressive towers of the financial district, a giant concrete needle with a donut-shaped viewing complex two-thirds up. The night was hot and humid. People out for a good time crowded the sidewalks. Gilbert and Lombardo turned left on King Street and walked to the Royal Alex. Theatergoers were just coming out.

  Lombardo inspected the theater’s glittering marquee.

  “Mamma Mia,” he said. “I hear that’s good.”

  “Regina’s a big ABBA fan from way back,” he said. “She knows all the songs.”

  ABBA. Another band from the 1970s. The evening definitely had a theme.

  They crossed the street and scouted the crowd.

  Theater patrons made their way through the usual souvenir hawkers, ranks of taxis, and tour buses to the neighboring streets. Partiers and revelers jammed King Street. The Sky-dome arched to the south like a giant white bubble. A panhandler held a sign—HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP. I WILL PRAY FOR YOU—and jiggled a paper cup for coins. The air smelled of too much ground-clinging ozone and car exhaust.

  They kept looking for Regina over the next fifteen minutes but they couldn’t find her.

  “See what I mean?” said Gilbert. “I lost her.”

  “The next time you go to the theater, tie your wrists together with yarn. I hear that works well with the day-care set. It might work for old people, too.”

  Gilbert shook his head. “Maybe she went back to the car.”

  “Where’d you park?” asked Lombardo.

  “On Peter Street,” said Gilbert.

  They backtracked to Peter Street and headed north. Trendy bars and fashionable nightclubs lined the street. So many young people. This was young-people heaven. If you had the ten-or twenty-dollar cover charge, knew the right dance moves, and were under twenty-five, you could have a real good time here.

  They got to Gilbert’s Windstar five minutes later. A sensible family vehicle. Far different from the flashy Maserati he remembered Boyd driving.

  Regina wasn’t there.

  “I wonder where she is?” said Gilbert, his concern mounting.

  “So you lost her at intermission?” said Lombardo. “Didn’t you go out together at intermission?”

  “No,” said Gilbert. “She went out before intermission. Come to think of it, she went out a good deal before intermission. She’s been having this problem. I won’t go into it. Maybe she went to the washroom, like you said. I wish my cell phone wasn’t broken.”

  Joe took out his own cell phone. “Here,” he said. “Use mine. Call her at home. Maybe she’s there.”

  Gilbert took the phone and dialed.

  Jennifer, his elder daughter, now home from nursing college for the summer, picked up after the third ring.

  “Jennifer, it’s Dad. Is Mom there?”

  There was an odd pause. “She’s out with Nina right now,” said Jennifer. “She’s taking Nina for a walk.”

  That seemed strange.

  “For a walk?” he said.

  “Nina got some bad news today,” said Jennifer.

  Gilbert glanced at Lombardo. “What kind of bad news?”. he asked.

  “A friend of hers got tested for AIDS,” said Jennifer. “The test came back HIV-positive. Nina’s all upset about it.”

  Now that Jennifer mentioned it, Gilbert remembered talk recently around the breakfast table about Nina’s friend.

  “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  “You know how Nina starts to hyperventilate when she gets upset,” said Jennifer.

  “That bad?” said Gilbert.

  “Mom thought she’d better take her for a walk,” said Jennifer. “Mom says you disappeared on her.”

  “We lost track of each other at intermission. I got called to a murder.”

  “That’s what we thought,” she said.

  Gilbert gazed across the parking lot at the sign that said event parking, $18.00.

  “Tell her I’m coming home,” he said. “I should be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay,” said Jennifer.

  Gilbert hung up.

  “What happened?” asked Lombardo.

  “Nina learned one of her friends is HIV-positive. It’s made her all upset. Regina went home to console her. You know how Nina gets.”

  Lombardo eyes grew somber. “Jeez,” he said. “That’s too bad.”

  Gilbert took a deep breath and sighed. “I better go,” he said. “Nina probably thinks it’s the end of the world. We’ll have to have that drink some other time, Joe.”

  “Sure,” said Lombardo. “And listen…I can handle the autopsy tomorrow. It’s Saturday. Just lay low. You didn’t have much of a birthday tonight. Take the day off and enjoy yourself.”

  Gilbert smiled. “Thanks, Joe,” he said. “I might just do that.”

  Two

  At home, Gilbert found Regina sitting at the kitchen table with Nina, his younger daughter. Nina had her chair drawn right next her mother’s, and her cheek rested against Regina’s shoulder. Jennifer sat in the chair opposite watching her little sister with an expression Gilbert couldn’t readily decipher. The clock in the hall chimed midnight.

  “So,” he said. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He got no reaction. “Do we know her?” he asked. “Is she a good friend of yours?”

  “Not really,” said Nina, in a voice so soft, so unlike Nina’s usual voice, Gilbert knew he had to be missing something.

  “Do we know her parents?” he asked.

  “Her’s a him,” corrected Jennifer.

  “Oh,” said Gilbert.

  Gilbert waited for some explanation. The mood in the kitchen was an odd one.

  “Mike Topalovich,” Regina finally said. “He’s a grade-twelve student. A year ahead of Nina.”

  “Oh.”

  “Barry, could I talk to you?” said Regina.

  He looked at his wife. Something was definitely up.

  “Sure,” he said.

  They went out into the hall.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Mike Topalovich fools around,” she said. “He fools around a lot.”

  He shook his head. “He should have been more careful. He should have worn a condom. Better yet, he should have abstained.”

  “Barry…” Out the open window he heard the Galloway teens splashing around in their pool, having a late-night pool party. “Barry…Mike…he fooled around with Nina. Jennifer had instructions not to tell you on the phone. I wanted to wait until you got home.”

  He grew still, his breath seeping out his lungs as if through a slow leak, the pit of his stomach turning icy with mounting anxiety.

  Regina started to cry—a stifled sob, a quick sniff. She snatched a Kleenex from the box on the telephone table.

  “Christ,” said Gilbert.

  “She thinks she’s infected…and she…” Regina struggled against her tears. “How do we know she’s not? I mean…how can we…there’s no practical way…unless we—”

  “We’ll have to get her tested,” said Gilbert abruptly, loudly, as he shifted into damage-control mode.

  Regina dabbed her tears with the Kleenex. Gilbert felt as if the tentacles of ice in his stomach were now spreading outward to the rest of his body.

  “Dr. MacPherson’s open on Saturdays, isn’t he?” said Regina.

  “From nine till one,” he said. “And I think the lab’s open till noon.”

  “Because the sooner we get her tested—”

  “I’ll take her first thing tomorrow,” he said.

  Regina looked at the floor, letting her hair fall past her cheeks. Gilbert took her in his arms. The waterworks came faster.

  “Oh…Barry…”

&n
bsp; “I’ve given her the lecture,” he said. “It’s not as if I haven’t talked to her about it.”

  “And I’ve spoken to her, too,” said Regina.

  “Why would she…I mean, what happened? How could she have been so stupid? She’s a bright girl. She’s consistently in the top of her class. And why with Mike Topalovich? Was she going out with him? I don’t remember seeing him around. The last one I remember is Jeff what’s-his-name. And that had to be two years ago.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Has she explained it to you?” he asked.

  Peals of laughter came from the swimming pool in the Galloway’s backyard. Funny how those kids could be having a good time when over here Nina was face-to-face—at the tragically young age of seventeen—with her own mortality.

  “She said it was casual,” said Regina.

  Gilbert felt his face warming. “Casual?” he said.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Nina’s having casual sex?”

  “They were at a party. There was some wine. They went up to the bedroom. I guess they didn’t mean to…but they did.”

  The ice tentacles continued to claw their way through his body. “And how long ago was this?” he asked.

  “Back in February. During Reading Week.”

  “I don’t believe this. And the guy’s just finding out now? Who knows how long he’s had it for? Who knows how many other girls he’s infected? What a supreme jerk. What the hell was he thinking? And what was Nina thinking?”

  “Don’t give her a big lecture,” cautioned Regina, finally getting her tears under control. “It’ll only make matters worse. You can see why I had to leave, the theater in such a hurry. When I phoned home out in the lobby to check on them, and Nina gave me the news…to tell you the truth, I didn’t even look for you when I couldn’t find you right away. I took a taxi straight home.”

  He sighed. “I was called to a murder,” he said.

  “I thought as much.”

  That it was Glen Boyd’s murder now seemed immaterial.

  “And I’m not going to give her a lecture,” he said. “She looks terrified.”

  Regina glanced at him somberly. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Has she had sex with anybody else?” he asked. “Because if she has, we have to…you know…contact the families.”

  “She says not,” answered Regina. “Mike’s…well…her first. And her only…so far.”

  They went back into the kitchen. Nina glanced at him with trepidation—as if in fact she expected a lecture. But he didn’t give her one. Regina sat down next to her. Gilbert put on his best fatherly smile.

  “It’s all right, Nina,” he said. “Mom told me. Don’t worry. We’ll go see Dr. MacPherson tomorrow.”

  Her shoulders eased. Gilbert hated to see her pretty face so streaked with tears. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her eyes so puffy before. He didn’t know what to say. He felt as if some load-bearing piece of his soul was about to break. His little Nina, that bit of sunshine that made the whole household happy, now with the fear of death in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, her voice breaking through her distress. Daddy. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d called him that. It was always Dad these days, now that she was getting older. She clutched her mother’s arm and pressed her cheek against Regina’s shoulder again. “I guess I’m going to die,” she said, and a whole new flood of tears sprang to her eyes.

  He had to do something to put her mind at ease.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said. “Just because Mike Topalovich is HIV-positive doesn’t mean you are. You had your little thing with him when, back in February?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s now June,” he said. “We’ll have to hope he became infected sometime after February.” He reached over and stroked her face, not mad at all, just wanting to comfort her. “In the meantime, we’ll see Dr. MacPherson tomorrow. This new murder—Joe said I didn’t have to come to the autopsy tomorrow, that he’d look after it. So I’ve got the day free. We’ll go first thing. We’ll have the doctor order the test right away. And then we’ll wait for the results. We’ll ask Dr. MacPherson to put a rush on it. Don’t worry, Nina. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  But he wasn’t so sure.

  On his way up to bed, he spied the day’s mail on the hall table. One of the pieces looked like a birthday card. He lifted the mauve envelope and checked the return address. Miami, Florida. From his brother, Howard. He opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It showed a man playing golf. A happy theme on this otherwise unhappy day.

  Inside, he found something less than happy, a newspaper clipping from the Miami Herald showing Howard, a homicide detective with the Miami-Dade Police Department, arresting a suspect in front of the suspect’s mobile home. He read Howard’s short note.

  Happy Fiftieth, bro’. I finally got this bastard, Ricardo Relós, the guy who raped and murdered his thirteen-year-old niece. I may not be smiling in this picture, but I was smiling inside. Many happy returns. We’ll see you in November. It’ll be good to hit the fairway with you again. Howard.

  Gilbert shook his head. Happy birthday, wrapped in the bad karma of a killer. He couldn’t seem to escape that particular juxtaposition today. Ricardo Relós. And his niece, Mariana. Now he remembered. A real coup for Howard. But one that just depressed Gilbert right now.

  Regina was already in bed with the light out when he got upstairs. He lay quietly beside her, trying not to disturb her, and stared up at the ceiling.

  If things had gone according to plan, he and Regina would be making love right now, a birthday present from her to him. Not that it mattered anymore. His stomach had congealed into a ball of worry. He lay there rigidly, thinking not of his birthday but of how his daughter Nina might be HIV-positive. One minute you could be watching Mamma Mia and tapping your foot to old ABBA songs, the next, your daughter could be HIV-positive. A summer breeze billowed the bedroom curtains. Fate’s pranks were sometimes cruel.

  “You asleep?” he asked Regina.

  “My mind keeps going round in circles,” she said.

  “Because I should tell you about this new case,” he said. “It’s a little different.”

  “We’re not going to need a protection detail like we did with Edgar Lau, are we?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Then why’s it different?” she asked.

  “Because I know the victim.”

  She paused. “You do?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You do, too.”

  “I do?” she said. She propped herself up on her elbow. “Who?” she asked.

  “Glen Boyd.”

  She grew still. The corners of her lips turned downward, something he picked out in the glow of the streetlight coming in through their bedroom window. A knit came to her brow. He didn’t know what to make of it. And the look in her eyes, what was that? Pity? Sorrow? Regret? Her chin dipped, her hair shifted, and she looked sad. He felt sorry for her.

  “He was strangled,” he said. “About the time we lost track of each other at the Royal Alex.”

  He thought Regina would say something. But she didn’t. She finally took a deep breath. A small noise came from her throat. Not sorrow, not pity, not even regret, just a distant ache.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Why so stiff? Why so formal? She sounded like a queen who’d just been told that her kingdom had been lost. She wouldn’t say more. She turned from him. She was hiding. She didn’t want him to see her. True to character, she hid her misery from others. He stroked her shoulder, but she stayed turned from him. That load-bearing piece inside his soul sagged another millimeter or two. Happy birthday, he thought. He hoped his fifty-first would be better.

  Gilbert and Nina sat in Dr. MacPherson’s waiting room the next morning.

  “We’re lucky to have Dr. MacPherson,” Gilbert told Nina. “Not many doctors work on Saturdays. He�
�s a dying breed.”

  Nina didn’t say anything, stared at the picture on the wall, an odd print of a nineteenth-century bathing pavilion with nineteenth-century ladies in funny old bathing suits, and nineteenth-century gents in equally quaint swimming apparel. The secretary wasn’t in. Not on Saturdays. Her desk was piled with the morning’s charts. Nina’s was in there among them.

  A short en-suite corridor led past the copy and fax room to the doctor’s office. Gilbert heard the door open and a Filipino woman say in a thick Tagalog accent, “Thank you, doctor.” A moment later, the Filipino woman bustled out with a prescription in her hand.

  Then Dr. MacPherson appeared. He walked to his secretary’s desk, picked up Nina’s file, and flipped through it. He was tall, over six feet, walked in a slouched manner, was about fifty-five, wore Hush Puppies, a white labcoat, and, because it was Saturday, a pair of blue jeans.

  He came out past the glass partition into the waiting room, peered at them from over the rims of his glasses, and beckoned them with his finger.

  “Nina,” he said.

  They got up. The doctor walked back to his office, shuffling like an extra from Night of the Living Dead. Gilbert and Nina followed.

  “Have a seat,” said Dr. MacPherson, in a bored and detached manner. They sat. The doctor took his own chair, slouched in it, put his elbows on his desk, and gazed at them as if he had no idea who they were. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Well…we…” Gilbert looked out the window where he saw Toronto Transit bus barns across the street. The morning was sunny and hot, such a contrast from the way he felt inside. “We think Nina might have HIV.”

  “HIV?” said Dr. MacPherson, whacking the last letter, now waking up. “You think, or you know?”

  Gilbert’s heart beat faster. For some reason he couldn’t look the doctor in the eye, as if Nina getting HIV was his own personal failing. He stared instead at the antique wind-up piggy bank, a teddy bear that snatched a penny from a honey pot and put it in a tree stump, something the doctor entertained kid patients with.

  “The evidence is fairly strong,” said Gilbert. “The timing might be called into question. But we’re worried enough to think Nina should be tested.”