She sailed serenely around the curve heading toward Casa Loma. Maybe some music. She turned on the radio and flipped the channels for something easy to listen to; she didn’t want to hear any more news.
She loved this part of town, the colossal folly of Casa Loma, the stone turrets of which shone yellow in the night like ghosts high above. The parking lot was empty at this time of night. She drove across the bridge of Sir Winston Churchill Park, heading toward St. Clair, before headlights disturbed the dark road behind her. She squinted at the too-high headlights. They looked like high-beams. It was the same van. He was lumbering up the hill, probably going home to the wife and kids.
She made it through St. Clair as the light was turning yellow. Nearly home. Glancing in her mirror she saw the van pick up speed at the intersection behind her and barrel through as the light turned red. Now he was behind her, his high-beams reflected in her mirror, stinging her eyes. So he was in a hurry. It was late.
She drove toward Forest Hill Village, a quaint little neighbourhood of old-fashioned shops with benches on the sidewalk and daffodils in wooden planters. Everything lit up for the night, but deserted. No strollers out at this hour on a week night.
She yawned and rubbed one eye. What had she learned at the club? Not much more than she already knew: Goldie’s American cousin had asked her to look up a shop in Kensington, possibly based on the missing photo. Goldie found Blue Danube Fish and questioned Vogel about a man. Possibly the man who killed her. Vogel sent Rebecca to the El Dorado to find, presumably, the Capitán. But the link between the Capitán and Goldie was tenuous since he claimed he didn’t know her. He could be lying, though Leo corroborated his story. They could both be lying.
She felt herself floating on a surface that deceived, with crests of icebergs in full sun. Everything she needed to know was submerged; somehow she had to find a way to plumb the depths.
All the traffic lights were green as she continued up Spadina. The street was empty except for a few cars driving the other way. And the van a distance behind her. A few blocks north of the Village, she made a right turn down Kilbarry, a side street that would take her to Avenue Road, then home.
Suddenly, headlights emblazoned the road behind her. The van with its high-beams was speeding after her, closing the distance between them. Alarm bells rang in her head. She pushed her foot to the floor. Her tires squealed and pulled her away. What was she thinking? This was a new universe she found herself in and all the rules had changed. She should have been more paranoid.
Her heart knocking in her chest, she raced by huge brick houses. There would be no help here.
A stop sign! She couldn’t stop. But with her luck, someone might choose that moment to drive through. She slowed down just enough to glance both ways, then tromped through. To her horror the van didn’t even slow down but lurched toward her. His engine was gutsier than he had let on and he heaved the van beside her. Adrenaline pushed through her body. They flew parallel down the side street for a few seconds, then finally he pitched his huge front fender toward the side of her car. She swung away onto the sidewalk and slammed on the brake to avoid crashing into the fence.
Blood pulsed through her ears; she could feel the walls of her veins expanding with the rush, but she had to move — the van door was opening. Someone was getting out. “No!” she screamed, and punched her gearshift into reverse. Craning her neck to see out the rear window, she pumped her foot to the floor, then screeched backwards off the sidewalk. She flew in reverse for a block till she could turn around in a driveway and race back toward Spadina. Her heart knocked in her chest. Stupid, stupid! If she got away, she would never be this stupid again.
chapter twenty-three
Rebecca jammed her foot on the gas and watched the asphalt speed up beneath her as she raced up Spadina. The street was empty but she couldn’t take her eyes off the rear-view mirror. Where was he? Had she really lost him? Her eyes were engaged in the mirror when she felt the thud of her tires against the curb. She swung the wheel wide and veered into the oncoming lane. Take it easy. You don’t want to wrap yourself around a pole and do his job for him.
She was fast approaching Eglinton Avenue. Up ahead, the traffic light was red. There was no one behind her that she could see, but she wasn’t about to stop. Maybe he’d taken a different way. Maybe he’d camouflaged his van somehow; maybe he was a magician. Slowing down, she checked both sides of Eglinton for cars. There was one coming toward her in the distance but she could make it. She floored it and shrieked into a left turn, heading west.
The light at Bathurst was unavoidable. There was always traffic at that intersection. While sitting impatiently at the red, she kept her eyes on the rearview mirror. No high beams. No vans. He’d given up. For now.
She pulled her car into the nearly empty parking lot of Thirteen Division for the second time in two days. Looking frantically over each shoulder, she hurried into the building.
At the front counter, the same desk sergeant greeted her. “May I help you?”
“Someone just tried to kill me!” she said, trying to control her voice. She was out of breath as if she’d run all the way.
“Calm down, ma’am,” said the sergeant, coming out from behind. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m not injured,” she said, realizing she had been lucky.
“Have a seat, ma’am, and I’ll get a constable.”
“I’ve got to see Detective Wanless. Is he still here?”
The man craned his neck behind him. “He’s working late on a case, but I’ll get one of the other men.”
“This is about the case he’s working on.” She hadn’t sat down and she wasn’t going to.
“The Morelli murder?” he asked.
So Wanless had other fish to fry. She had a sinking feeling about Goldie’s case but kept her face determined. The sergeant hesitated, then made for the back corner of the station.
In the distance she could see Detective Wanless pulling on his sports jacket while he strolled toward her.
“What can I do for you, Doctor?” he said, his bullet head tilted and waiting.
“He tried it again, he tried to kill me,” she said. “I just barely got away.”
“Take it easy,” he said. “You’re all right now.”
Rebecca was taken aback at the soothing tone of his words, words she had murmured herself often enough to patients. It felt odd being on the receiving end but she was surprisingly grateful for his sympathy and followed him back to his office in the corner.
His desk was awash in clutter, paper piled in organized clumps. Wanted posters decorated his walls. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized her knees were shaking.
“Who tried to kill you?” he asked.
“It was Goldie’s killer. He must’ve followed me all the way from the club. It was a van. Dark blue, I think. It was hard to see because of the headlights. He was very clever, hanging back at first. Then when I turned down a side road and he followed, I knew. He pulled in front of me. I heard his door open. He was going to drag me out of my car....” She took a breath to calm herself, knowing she hadn’t explained it well.
Wanless was taking notes behind his desk. “So how did you get away?” His voice was too even.
“I backed up as fast as the car would go. Then I turned and gunned it out of there.”
“What did he look like?”
Was Wanless trying to be obtuse? “I couldn’t see him,” she said. “He was driving behind me with