“You were there?”
“Feldberg’s inflating his numbers, inventing customers he doesn’t have.”
“It’s a front,” he said. “Classic money laundering operation.”
“Where does Goldie fit into all this?” She glanced down the list of businesses that supplied the club. Suddenly her eye was caught by a familiar name. Blue Danube Fish. Another connection to Vogel. He was the one who’d sent her to the club. It seemed he was selling El Dorado enough fish to start their own school, lots more than they could ever hope to fry up. She had a lot of questions to ask him.
They heard sudden male voices outside in the hall. Rebecca opened the door and saw two men in trench coats speaking to a nurse at the station. One of them was Wanless. She turned back to Nesha.
“The police are here.”
He jumped up and shut the door in her face, but quietly. “Don’t tell them anything!”
She hung back, flabbergasted. “But they can help. I was on their backs before to stay on the case.”
“If they start, we’ll lose control. If they find him first — it’ll be in the courts for years. Canada doesn’t punish war criminals. He’ll have three meals a day, TV, he’ll be laughing at us. At them. I won’t let that happen.”
“But if he killed Goldie, surely....”
“The system doesn’t work. How many times have you seen evil rewarded? There is no justice.”
She had nothing to counter with. She could call Wanless later.
He listened at the door. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
She opened the door a crack and saw the nurse lead the two men to the door of the recovery room. The nurse was strict and did not allow them in, but let them examine Iris from the distance. Then the nurse said something to them and turned to guide them toward the surgical waiting-room. Probably in search of her.
As soon as their backs were turned she pulled Nesha into the hall toward the rear exit. She tread quietly in her loafers not to make any sound. She dared not turn around, knowing the group would need only to open the door of the waiting-room to see she wasn’t there. Time was short. They turned the corner and rushed out a side entrance of the building.
University Avenue was cold in the windy shade of the hospitals and government buildings that lined the street. The sun was struggling to assert itself this April, making Rebecca shiver in her gabardine jacket. Nesha took her elbow and led her down the street like an old-fashioned man at a dance. She managed to steer him west along Elm toward Kensington Market. They were two blocks away from her office, then another two blocks to Spadina. The rain the night before had soaked the lawns and trees along Baldwin Street, leaving a damp earthy fragrance in the air.
They reached the rushing torrent of Spadina Avenue, that line of demarcation between the calm east side, reaching back to Beverley Street, and the chaotic west side which slid into the market. She felt awkward in the hand-on-elbow position and had taken his arm. He seemed content to have her lead.
The street light turned red before they finished crossing. Saturday shoppers filled the sidewalks of the market as far as she could see. She hated crowds. On Baldwin Street, a few stores past Spadina, she stopped. He said nothing. The ancient Blue Danube Fish sign reflected the paltry afternoon light. In the window lay a greying fish with hard dull eyes, possibly once a trout, displayed on a newspaper.
She took a deep breath, braced herself against the smell. He followed her hesitant step through the door of the shop. Any hint of spring vanished inside the shadows of the store. The awful smell of old fish washed over her. Mona stood behind the counter, wrapping fish for a woman customer.
Beneath the same bloodied apron, Mona wore a brilliant red cotton top. Rebecca thought she would’ve had enough of the colour in the shop without adding it to her wardrobe. Mona’s black-pencilled eyes showed a spark of recognition when they turned to Rebecca. Noticing Nesha, her cheeks lifted in an attempt at a smile. A few bangs wisped down from her widow’s peak.
She nodded. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to ask you some more questions,” Rebecca said.
“I don’t know anything.”
Rebecca held out the news photo over the loathsome counter. “You know this man?”
Mona squinted at the photo. “Fuzzy picture. Oh, it’s our store! And this is one of our customers. Mr. Feldberg. He has a restaurant.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Not for a while. He usually phones to order.”
“What do you know about him?”
Mona tilted her head observing her. “He’s a good customer.”
“Do you know anything about him personally?”
Mona shrugged beneath the blood-red sweater. “He’s a good dresser. Classy looking, you know? But what a ladies’ man. Always flirting.” Her hand whisked a loose strand of hair off her face. She peeked at Nesha, who was playing coy near the carp basin. “His wife came once. Probably checking on him.”
Chana had been there. Rebecca made a mental note of that. “What do you know about his restaurant?”
“Not much. It’s on College Street somewhere.”
“It’s a Spanish club called El Dorado. It’s a front for money laundering.”
Mona stood there, absently wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t know anything about that. We just sell them fish.”
“Max said you’re the one who takes care of the store.”
Her face went blotchy red. “I know fish!” she cried. “I don’t know business. He does the business!”
Rebecca pulled back. She made a point of looking around at the shabby walls, the rickety carp tank. “How is business?”
She looked at Nesha, who was no longer pretending disinterest. “We get by.”
“According to Feldberg’s books, you’re selling him enough fish to restock Lake Ontario. You’re making an awful lot of money.”
Mona’s black-limned eyes grew wide. “What are you talking about?” she rasped. “Look at this place. Does it look like we’re making money?”
Either Mona was a good actress, or she was being duped. Rebecca glanced toward the door of the partition. There was a muffled sound in the back, someone moving.
“Let me put it this way. If you’d actually sold Feldberg all the fish he shows on his books, you’d have retired to Florida long ago. But you are getting a cut for being involved.”
Mona stared at her, bewildered. “A cut?”
Her eyes turned toward the partition. “Max and Mr. Feldberg knew each other from before. I didn’t tell you but — they were in the same camp during the war. Max told me.”
Nesha snapped to attention. He shuffled closer.
“I’d better talk to him,” Rebecca said, edging toward the side counter.
All at once an invisible door slammed. Rebecca knew just which one. She remembered a rear door leading outside from the study into a laneway. She pictured Vogel running down the alley and disappearing into the market.
Before the women could move, Nesha swung open the door to the study. While he was orienting himself, Rebecca pushed past him and quickly opened the back door that led to the alley. Nothing. He would disappear quickly in the market.
Nesha stepped out and peered around. “Who am I looking for?”
“He