Spoiled Rotten (13 page)

“If you think we are going to sit here quietly after we have just been told we lost our jobs, then you're insane, Louise,” Maria announced. “I don't care if they bulldoze this whole place now. Come on, girls, let's get out of here and find a drink.” She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and tied a tight knot in the silk scarf around her neck. Pulling the strap of a large purse over her shoulder, she made for the door.

“Okay if we come, too?” asked one of the butchers. A defeated manner had replaced the nonchalant attitude he had initially arrived with. I was guessing he had a family at home to feed, but could use a drink before he delivered the news.

The former employees scrambled to their feet and ran after Maria, leaving two empty rows behind. Mrs. Wong stood up beside me and said she was leaving, too. She felt sorry for the girls, said she didn't feel right about discussing the beautification of the market now. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Several others left, as well. Now there were only a dozen members left in the room and me sticking out like a sore thumb in the back row surrounded by vacant seats.

I tried to blend into my chair by pulling my head down between my shoulders blades. The collar on my shirt rose up to my ears. I peered out from my lapels to find Louise watching me. She zeroed in on me with beady eyes and asked pointedly, “What are you doing here, Blondie? This is a members-only meeting.”

“Oh. Hi, Louise. I came as Mrs. Wong's guest.” I pulled myself up. “She had to leave early. I hope you don't mind if I stay?”

“I can't imagine why this meeting would interest you. I heard your restaurant is closed. Your chef has been arrested, hasn't he?” Before I could answer, she continued, “It's his fault we are in this mess. If Tony hadn't been killed, his wife wouldn't be selling the business and all those good people wouldn't be losing their jobs.”

“Hey Louise, that's not fair. My chef did not kill Mr. Tony and he is not responsible for the sale of Superior Meats or those other buildings. Why don't you accuse Mrs. Vieira for selling out before her husband's body is even cold? I'm not making a dime while my place is closed. The market people aren't the only ones affected by the murders.” Angry at first, I instantly regretted speaking with such insensitivity.

What was I doing spying on the market people? The police had the power to investigate, not me. I looked around at the remaining guests and felt embarrassed. I stood and left out the side door of the church's basement.

It was more than a light rain now and I longed for my umbrella. I was reminded of poor Mr. Tilson's soaking-wet entrance. As I climbed up the cement steps to the street, I did the buttons up on my new wool coat, which was getting drenched, and made a run for it. The car was parked around the block in front of the fruit market. I had to pass Superior Meats on the way. A piece of the police blackout paper had slipped down the inside of the window glass, revealing a hole to look through. I stopped and put my face against the window. Pitch black. Not a single light was on inside the store, not even a dim glow radiating from the refrigeration units. I jumped when the wind blew a page of newspaper against my leg.

I crossed the street to get a better view of the buildings attached on either side of the meat store that would be sold, as well. What the heck, I was already soaked, a few minutes wouldn't make any difference. The Vietnamese toy store on one side of Mr. Tony's was already boarded up with a
SOLD
sign glued to its front. The store on the opposite side had been closed for some weeks and I remembered guessing what might go in there next, never dreaming it could be condos. The area didn't seem quite right for a condo development. Smack in the middle of the market, it would be out of place. This is how neighbourhoods changed without anyone noticing until it was too late. The market was vulnerable and the realtors knew it.

Empty storefronts didn't help. Half the time the dingy stores were let out to tenants hoping to make a living on inventory they bought sight-unseen off the cargo ships. Merchandise weighed out in pounds was packed in crates and dropped off at the docks. Most vendors took what they can afford. The assorted goods were displayed randomly on sidewalk tables meant to lure curious shoppers inside. I've been drawn in to the murky interiors before. A faux-leather purse or silk scarf would strike my fancy, and claiming my prize from the table, would take it inside to pay. Wind-up mechanical toys, sundry canned goods, men's wallets, or satin purses share the long, half-empty shelves. A hopeful face always asks me to look around, perhaps I need something else. After one minute all I would need was to get out of there.

I wished I knew what other buildings Anthony Vieira owned. Mr. Tilson hinted there was one more on the block ready to be sold. Over the pattering rain, a murmur of voices rushed past me, but the street was void of signs of life. Resembling a black-and-white glossy film clip, I expected to see Jack the Ripper standing under a street lamp haloed with mist. The street was desolate. Still no sign of the owners, the voices grew more distinct, closer, suggesting it was time for me to move along.

I almost took a header out in front of a fish store, righting myself with a jerk of my back and a little hop. The pavement was slick with rain and newly fallen leaves. A few flakes of silvery fish scale stuck to the sidewalk, which was reflective in the store's security light. Suddenly the rain came pelting down. I hurried to where I had parked my car, around the corner near the vegetable store. Jumping puddles and stepping into concentric waves of water pouring out of the gutter pipes, I had one last stretch of block to go. I was thinking I better call Rick.

Three men stepped out of an alley, the alley behind Eddie's grandfather's store, the one across from the cheese shop, the one down the street from Mr. Tony's. The one in which I was going to die.

I
wasn't kidding about having martial arts training. Three years of kick-boxing had made these long legs of mine good for something else besides the forgotten mini-skirts in the back of my closet. I didn't think I stood a chance against three men, but I'd give it my best shot. Then, when a light went on in one of the above apartments, I got a better look at my assailants. These guys had to be high on crack. One of them so was emaciated and confused I doubted he was capable of swinging his arm. The other two might be trouble.

I took up the trained stance and they stepped back, surprised. I guess they didn't expect me to go on the offensive, or, more realistically, it was the arrival of Louis, Eddie's grandfather, holding a two-by-four in his hand. Ten feet behind him, Eddie stood quietly in the shadows. Louis was unwavering. Clearly this wasn't the first time he had held a weapon, possibly an army stint back home in Portugal before the family moved to Canada. I had a better chance of surviving now. Together we divided their camp.

The weaker one drifted back into the shadows of the alley, leaving his buddies to fulfill their mission. Shoulders jousting tentatively, they stood their ground, deciding their next move. They weren't pros at this stuff and not beginners, either, making them all the more unpredictable. Louis stood stock still, club at the ready.

My concentration on assessing my best defence was broken by the “whoop whoop” of a siren. The unmarked sedan came to a screeching stop beside us, causing the men to flee like frightened rabbits. I almost felt sorry for them. Maybe because they weren't much older than my son. Detective Winn jumped out of the car and plunged into the alley. A minute later he returned.

“They're gone. Did they hurt you?” he panted.

“No. I'm okay, thanks to Louis here.” I smiled and pointed behind me. “And Eddie, of course. Louis's grandson.” Eddie flashed a wave and bolted back inside a doorway.

I introduced Louis and Winn to each other. Louis denied being able to provide a proper description of the men, and left hurriedly. I figured I owed him. Louis had come to my defence, maybe even saved my life, and if he didn't want to get involved it was okay with me; he's lived in the market for over sixty years, I'm sure he's used to minding his own business. Winn was acting mighty protective, though, and insisted on driving me home.

“I'm fine, honest,” I pleaded. “My car is just up ahead.”

He held on to my arm. “Listen. Just get in my car, okay? I think you could use a drink. You look awful.”

Why were men always telling me how awful I looked? Okay, admittedly my wool coat smelled like an old goat, my shoes were caked with mud, and my hair was matted and hanging in strands down my face. Didn't I possess enough inner beauty to make up for a being a sloppy mess most of the time? Winn would surely see the real me shining through.

I insisted we walk, saying the night air would do me good and that I didn't feel like driving home alone just yet. My nerves were raw. Although the sky promised a deluge to come, the rain had paused briefly. As we crossed the Spadina Avenue corridor, the wind driving north from the lake cut through me like a knife. Winn grabbed my arm again, double-timing me along Dundas Street into a rain-soaked, bustling Chinatown.

Better dressed for the weather than me, Winn wore a police regulation-style raincoat with grey rubber material on the outside and cotton-insulated lining on the inside. I was so cold my teeth were chattering. He slipped one hand over mine and plunged them both into his dry pocket. I pulled my other hand up into my coat sleeve and wobbled close behind. He led me down a few steps to a tiny hole-in-the-wall Korean deli filled with other wet customers buying hot cups of green tea and steamed buns. I ordered two deep-fried spring rolls with a side of fried rice noodles and coffee. Winn ordered the hot, spicy soup for himself and a pot of green tea.

I guess he thought he was funny, criticizing my taste in foods. I knew the heart-clogging effects of deep-fried foods, but as I explained, it was comfort food and I needed all I could get.

“But listen,” I said, “if you ever want to go head-to-toe in a food challenge, I'm ready. As most of my chefs have found out the hard way, I can determine the secret ingredient in any creation and am capable of selecting the appropriate spices and herbs to add or eliminate in order to perfect it. I can tell you the merits of every vegetable and fruit known to mankind. And not to sound too pedantic, if spinach is not slightly steamed, it prohibits the absorption of iron, rendering the widely held belief that raw spinach salads are good for you. Completely unjustified. I defy anyone to beat me at recognizing the refrigerator smell first and I know at a glance which cream is going to curdle.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You don't tell me how to do my job and I won't tell you how to do yours. Oh, wait, you are trying to tell me how to do my job.”

“I haven't said a word.”

“What about your interference back at Daniel's house and the trip out east to his sister's? Not to mention getting yourself hurt at the C.N.E. and now running around the market looking for clues. I'm starting to worry about you. I don't have time for that.”

I felt it was only polite to ignore that comment, considering he had just helped me out of a tight spot.

“May I remind you that it was your idea I get involved in the first place? You suggested I talk to Maria, and that's precisely what I was trying to do. By the way, what were you doing in the market? Are you following me?”

I studied him while he cautiously sipped his tea, wondering what he really thought about me. His wide, handsome face didn't give anything away. When he looked up and caught me staring at him, he smiled. I fought the urge to fall deeply in love.

“I don't have to follow you. You're everywhere I go, constantly underfoot, and I want you out of the picture. I'm sorry I ever asked for your help. It's dangerous, Liz, go home and relax.”

“Detective …”

“David.”

“Detective,” I repeated, not willing to give in so easily. “You don't know a thing about me. How on earth can I relax when I'm in danger of losing my livelihood? Hopefully the health board will allow us to open soon, but my chef's name still hasn't been cleared and until it is, my restaurant is sitting under a cloud of suspicion. I need to clear our reputation. I need to get some answers.”

He didn't respond.

“Please, David. I'm drowning here.”

He swallowed a spoonful of soup and looked me in the eyes. “Legally I can't share information, but if you tell me what you were doing in the market, I'll tell you why I was there.”

It was a start. I told him about the community meeting, giving him details of Mrs. Vieira's plan to close the store and sell out. I described Maria's immediate reaction of outrage toward the wife and the employees' stunned expressions of disbelief. I said that Louise wanted to bypass the emotional tension concerning the closure altogether and get on with the meeting. Then Maria's take-charge attitude over the group led to their unified departure.

“After Louise squared off at me, I left the meeting. I found myself standing in the pouring rain, wondering if Tony Vieira ever considered divorcing his wife for her infidelity and that's when I realized I wasn't alone. I have to tell you the market is scary at night. Why don't you have more police in the area?”

“We're working on it. We're trying to get the families to work with us, but it was tough going. Old school mantra, you know: ‘Don't trust the cops.'”

I believed Winn had a difficult job. I saw Louis's reaction to his questions. “Did they trace the source of the rat poison back to the meat found in Daniel's car?” I asked finally.

“I wish,” said Winn. “Then I'd focus on proving that Daniel was in league with Anthony Vieira all along. So far I still believe Daniel's innocent, incredibly stupid, but innocent. The only fatal poison we've been able to find was in Albright's stomach contents. None was found anywhere else, including Cecilia's stomach.”

“How could that be? I saw her at the hospital today.”

“What were you doing at the hospital?”

“I was visiting a patient. He was at St. Mike's, too.”

He squinted at me for a second, thinking of a response and must have thought better of it.

I thought I better explain. “While I was at the hospital, I bumped into Maria, and, believing her father was in one of the rooms, met Mrs. Vieira. Small world, isn't it?”

“For you it seems to be,” he said.

“Cecilia Vieira strikes me as a very robust young woman.”

“That's one way of putting it. She scares the shit out of me.”

“Yes, she has that way about her. She sure didn't look very sick,” I said.

“Admitting her was a precautionary step. She didn't eat enough steak off Albright's plate to cause fatal poisoning. The hospital examined her thoroughly, but couldn't say anything definitive. Her vomit, expelled at the table, may have contained trace elements, but it was cleaned up by the staff before we could do an analysis. And why were you at the hospital again?”

“I was visiting Mr. Randolph. You know the customer who supposedly got food poisoning at the restaurant. Remember?”

“I see, just a coincidence, after all.” He relaxed and explained about the poison. Mrs. Vieira might have consumed enough to make her ill, but not enough register.

“So the councillor was the intended victim and the wife's poisoning was accidental. Good thing she only took a bite of his steak,” I said. “She's lucky — it could have been worse.”

“Yes funny that, lucky indeed since we've already established she didn't eat red meat it's highly unlikely she was the real target.”

“Daniel was the first person to tell me that. She sure likes chocolate though, when I saw her this afternoon she was stuffing her face full of it.”

Winn nodded knowingly.

“Tell me why you were driving through the market tonight.” I asked. It was his turn to provide me with information.

“I got a tip from Nathan,” Winn replied, “the homeless guy who used to sleep in the meat market's doorway. The night Mr. Tony was killed, he heard screaming coming from inside the store and saw Maria lying on the floor covered in blood. He was responsible for flagging the patrol car down.”

“Do you think he saw the murderer and is too afraid to admit it?”

“I doubt he saw much. He would tell me if he had. Not an easy life living on the streets, but it is his turf and he watches. Since the murder, he's been roughing it in an old garage in the alley behind the store. Seems he can't get the image of Tony's dismembered head out of his mind.”

“Would you?”

“I've seen worse.”

I could tell David wasn't grandstanding. I could only imagine the misery he waded through every day. I felt for him.

He sipped his tea before continuing. “Nathan became frightened when he heard the familiar voices of some particularly nasty thugs arguing outside the garage tonight. If they discovered his whereabouts they would steal his can of change from panhandling. It's not much money, but enough to buy him a pack of cigarettes. After they moved off, he crept out to the street to make sure they were gone. The alleys and backyards are a maze of shortcuts. He couldn't see the druggies anymore, but he knew they were around and desperate!

“He spotted you at the end of the street standing all alone outside Superior Meats. He recognized you as the restaurant lady and called me from a pay phone, warning me that you might be in for some trouble. He must really like you. A quarter is gold to him.”

“That's sweet, but how would he know who I was? Somehow I doubt he's a regular at the restaurant.”

Winn's eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I'm sorry, that sounded callous. I didn't mean it, I'm grateful really I am,” I stammered, hanging my head. Winn touched my cheek gently with his hand.

“You've had quite a shock, Liz, it's all right.”

I was startled by his touch and he withdrew his hand quickly.

“But like I said, Nathan watches. I did ask him how he knew it was you and he told me that he remembered everyone who's ever given him a handout. He's not a junkie, you know. He's just struggling with some mental-health problems.”

“Yes, I remember. I gave him a couple of bucks last week for helping me carry a few bags to the car. I didn't need his help, but you know how it is. Anyway, so Nathan tells you things. Do you pay him for information?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I get the boys to pick him up and loan him the ‘hospitality suite' down at the station.”

“Hospitality suite,” I repeated.

“Sometimes he wants a bath and a good meal at our expense.”

I didn't think Winn was going to offer a better explanation, but I had one more question I wanted to ask. Then I really had to phone Rick. “Could you find out for me who owns the real estate on Mr. Tony's block?”

“I can find that out, but so can you. Those records are open to the public.”

“Well you'll be faster and I would appreciate it.”

An idea that had been simmering for some time in my brain was ready to boil over. Maria had reacted vehemently to the announcement that Tony's wife was selling out and when I saw her earlier at the hospital she she had been crying. I know she needed money, but she could get a job anywhere, I was sure of it. She was young and pretty and I think fairly intelligent. I would've hired her, for that matter. She could help in the kitchen or wait on tables; she'd certainly give Marlene a run for her money. What if Maria had more than just her job at stake? When I mentioned to her that I had been talking to Cecilia Vieira, she was truly frightened. I saw it her eyes. I had a startling revelation. At the same time, Winn's cellphone rang. He fished it out of his raincoat and answered, “Winn here, what is it?” He listened intently to the voice on the other end and said,“I'm at 1700 Dundas Street, south side.” He flipped the phone shut with a snap of his hand. “I have to go,” he stated, and stood up.