Extensions (52 page)

“She's lucky to have you.”

“I hope she will finally feel that way.”

I did not add that he too had what he wanted: a helpless, grateful Selena, removed from New World temptations. Exclusive rights shared only with the Crown. Was it worth a child?

He followed me out the door and I told him I would see him in court the next day. I was suddenly starving and wanted to be alone. A Caribbean restaurant in Metrotown would provide time and space to think, along with the best curry and roti I knew. Love stories played out in many variations. Selena and Jan's might be in the same category — in reverse — as the woman marrying the man who had lye thrown in her face. And where did Jane and Roland fit? At the moment, Adam Strong and Greg McGimpsey, the men of passion, seemed the lesser players. But they were all love stories.

THE VULTURES WASTED NO TIME in picking Selena's bones. By next morning, news of the arrest had appeared in print, on
TV
, and the internet.
My
bones, on the other hand, finally got some rest. When I returned to the office from lunch, Wayne, restored to his cool self, took one look at the bags under my eyes and gave me the rest of the afternoon off — and today too, if I needed it. I shut off my phone and slept for twelve dreamless hours. No more velodromes.

Messages from Dad and Gail wanting the inside scoop would have to wait. As soon as I surfaced from my underground parking, it started to pour so hard my focus couldn't handle both road and conversation, even on a Bluetooth. At the office, my team toasted me with Tim Hortons roll-up-the-rim coffee, and a congratulatory e-mail from Tessa in Guyana made it complete. I appreciated their praise, but did not feel in the mood for celebration. As gruesome as the offence was, and however justified its retribution, this case was giving me no satisfaction. Today Sara's belief in karma as cause and effect suited me more than the Criminal Code. She disliked the moralistic spin on crime and punishment, sin and virtue. Compared to what? According to whom? If virtue is its own reward, Selena's act had taken its own revenge on her.

Before my old qualms about career choice had a chance to take over, a memo on my desk reminded me of my worth to society. The Mitchell Pogue trial had been postponed until May. Visions of Andy Lambert, broken and condemned to live in hiding, made me weak with fury. Wanton, deliberate brutality on an innocent deserved nothing less than the long sentence I hoped Pogue would get. But wouldn't the headline on Selena read the same — minus “deliberate,” if she was telling the truth? Why did the thought of baby Anton provoke tears and Andy rage? To a lesser degree, I felt the same about the two other cases coming up: the amateur thief who had shot my foot and the teacher who preyed on young girls. One delinquent, the other odious.

Dex read my next thought. “What about McGimpsey? Someone better tell him he'll be called as a witness.”

“I told Selena I'd break the news to him about the baby.”

Dex straightened up to his full height. No longer the dedicated robot who slept with his badge, he looked at me with the same soft expression he had used for Andy Lambert and his smelly dog. “You? You've done more than your share, Arabella. I'll talk to him. He's likely to go ballistic when he hears it was his baby, but he won't act out the same way with me.”

My partner's strong, broad shoulders brought a rush of gratitude for this job I had just questioned moments earlier. Would I have felt such support working in a tearoom?

Selena's first appearance was at nine at the Provincial Court on Main Street in Vancouver. It was not obligatory for the arresting officer to attend, but my involvement had carried me too far not to see it through. Wayne might think I was showing symptoms of some syndrome or other, but he didn't know it was curiosity about other people's lives that had caused me to join the force in the first place.

I'd have to leave right away to get through the downpour during rush hour. With Wayne's offer of another free afternoon to sleep, I took my own car. Luckily, I hit all the lights on Boundary and Hastings, but parking near the courthouse was impossible because of media vans. The most eager reporters were sharing umbrellas with cameramen, hoping to catch a soundbite from Jan or their lawyer on the way in, making me think they hadn't arrived yet. This was the heart of Vancouver's downtown eastside, where an estimated five thousand people inject or inhale drugs every day. Only time would tell if the Woodward's project would accomplish any urban rehabilitation by providing market and non-market housing along with shops, medical, and social services all in the same giant complex. Reluctantly, I left my car two blocks down Cordova Street in the hope it wouldn't be sold for parts by the time I got back. The alarm and club on the steering wheel wouldn't do more than slow down the pros. I grabbed an umbrella from the back seat and made a run for the courthouse.

Inside, there was even more traffic. Dockets outside each courtroom door listed the cases for the day; well-dressed lawyers were easy to spot among the shabbier family members and friends of the names on the sheets. Selena was up first. Before I could read any further I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Nice work, Bella.”

Ray. Tanned from a winter vacation. I thought of Blondie in a bikini. Red for some reason.

“Thanks.”

“Word is you solved the whole thing. From a dream or what?'

“Word is I don't divulge my sources.”

After explaining he was here for a theft case at ten, Ray nodded toward a cluster of three lawyers in conversation behind us. I knew two of his colleagues from Crown Counsel, but not the third man who was short, bald, and animated.

“Svoboda. Maybe a plea to manslaughter for a deuce less?” He shrugged. In lawyer talk, he meant Selena might get two years less a day, which would mean a provincial sentence to be served in the Alouette River Correctional Centre in Maple Ridge. Anything more than two years was federal and would be served in the Fraser Valley Institution in Abbotsford.

“Or maybe infanticide, if she pleads guilty.” He was still guessing. “Five years max but most likely a lot less, and served at home. The baby was under a year and they might make a case for a disturbed mental state resulting from the birth.” He shrugged again. “Or maybe she'll walk.”

I'd been witness in enough cases never to predict a court decision. “Or it could go to trial and she'll get second-degree murder with a minimum of twenty-five years — parole at ten, day parole at seven. Like Robert Latimer killing his daughter, but without the protest faction for a mercy killing.”

For a moment, I forgot I no longer shared my opinions with this man who had once shared my bed. His awkward grin told me he hadn't forgotten.

“I just found out I've been recused from your case. Past history a conflict of interest.”

Something lifted at the sight of him squirming over the nostalgia of our connection. Were bonds breaking and floating away? I smiled broadly and said, “That's too bad, because you would have done a good job, Ray.”

I watched the strain on his face transform into a bewildered expression as I excused myself to talk to the Kubiks, who were trying to get through the entrance of the courthouse. As Marek Kubik, now flanking Vlasta O'Brien with Jan on the other side, said in so many words: we cannot expect to stay with the first person we kiss. Or even the second, third or fourth.

Wet reporters and cameramen closed in on the threesome with mikes, each hoping to get something out of one of them before they reached the safety of the threshold. But they sidestepped the media deftly and paused inside the lobby to shake their umbrellas. Vlasta's eyes were red and swollen. She wore a camel-coloured cashmere cloak and a burnt orange nubbly scarf tossed stylishly at the neck, attracting attention from all the suits, male and female. Spotting a familiar face, they moved toward me; Marek and Jan offered their hands. Marek was no longer the magnetic bundle of energy Tessa and I had interviewed in his office, but there was warmth in his greeting. On Jan's arm hung a Gucci tote bag.

“Our lawyer says there is a chance that Selena will be granted bail. She will need her trenchcoat to get to the car in this rain.”

Jan's optimism for bail at the first appearance was unfounded, in my experience. I didn't think Svoboda would lead him on, but he might well be hearing what he wanted. As Marek glanced sadly at his brother, I searched for similarities in the two of them. Both had thick white hair and a direct gaze from brown eyes. But Jan was taller, his lips thinner, and his posture military next to Marek's mobile, almost slouchy body.

Tomas Svoboda broke away from the other lawyers to join us. He embraced Vlasta, then offered me his hand. “Your reputation precedes you, Constable Dryvynsydes.” Apart from my usual discomfort with short men and with defence lawyers who would later be grilling me on the stand, I took it as a tone of respect. My work was done on this case, and both sides would now skew it to their own purposes.

We moved as a block through the courtroom door but inside, Svoboda led Selena's relatives to the front and I took a seat near the aisle on a back bench. After all, I was a witness for the prosecution. One small consolation, if it could be considered as such, was that my sympathy in this case was confined to one set of observers. Deciding whether I felt worse for the family of the victim or the accused wasn't always a given. Imagine sitting in court as the parents of a kid charged with beating up an old woman in a home invasion, cringing with both dishonour and loyalty.

The presiding judge was Madge Konkin, one of the most reasonable on the circuit, but also regularly late due to a smoking habit she couldn't break. As we sat waiting, Ray appeared again at my side. “Do you mind?” I slid down the bench to make room for him. “I've got some time before mine comes up. This is high-profile.”

“We won't get much today.”

“You look tired, Bella.”

“Gruelling few days. I'll be all right.”

“Cracking this case was more than just police work. How
did
you do it?”

“Maybe because I'm more than just a police officer.”

A familiar bout of blinks told me he had interpreted a dig I didn't intend: that he had failed to appreciate the woman I was. An hour ago I would have intended it. But now I said, “How are you, Ray?”

“Good days, bad days.”

“You've been in the sun.”

“Mexico. Went down with Craig for some scuba diving.”

He looked toward his colleague on the Crown Counsel team at the front. Craig was single. Was this his way of telling me he was also unattached again?

Just then, the clerk came in and called the court to order. We all stood for the entrance of Judge Konkin, an attractive, redheaded woman in her fifties. Both lawyers bowed to her, and she did the same to the courtroom. We sat down when she instructed the Crown to call its first case. Craig stepped forward.

“I'm calling case number one on your honour's list in the matter of Selena Kubik on the charge of second degree murder of Anton Kubik on January 2, 2008.”

As soon as Svoboda introduced himself as counsel for the defence, the sheriff brought Selena in through the side door to the dock. Vlasta gasped loudly and Marek shifted in his seat. Only Jan remained silent and rigid. In her turtleneck and jeans, Selena cast a half-smile in their direction.

Svoboda declared his intention to apply for bail for his client in the Supreme Court. The judge fixed a date a week from now for the hearing of his application for judicial interim release, and pounded her gavel. Selena was led out of the dock through the side door by the sheriff. From here, she would be transported to the Surrey Pretrial Services Centre, where she would remain until the bail hearing. As Svoboda and the Crown lawyers vacated their spots at the front for the next case, he was no doubt explaining to Jan, Vlasta, and Marek that they would have access to her in Surrey. They could also have some realistic hope that she would be granted release on a surety — my guess would be $100,000 — which Jan could probably come up with, and if not, Marek was sure to chip in. She was not a flight risk, had no criminal record, and was not likely to re-commit.

So that was it. I stayed seated as the four of them passed down the aisle, like the family exiting the pews first in a wedding or a funeral. Each acknowledged me again, the unnecessary raincoat swinging from Jan's arm.