Thom rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger like a man trying to decipher a difficult problem. “It’s her. It’s really her. Fuck.” He turned away.
Something on Daniella’s right temple, an irregularity near the hairline, caught Dan’s eye. He pointed out the dull purple bruise mostly hidden by hair. “Did anyone notice this?”
“Yes, we did,” Saylor replied. “I noted it in the report.” He looked at Dan. “Is anybody here related to her?”
“Jesus,” said Thom. He looked up. “Sorry, no. The person you want is out in the car. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to bring him in here yet.” His hands moved in small circles, warding off an unpleasant event. He wanted to be out of there, away from the swollen body with the telltale bruise on her forehead. “He’s not in a proper state of mind.”
Saylor assumed a look of professional sympathy without seeming insincere. “I understand, sir. Perhaps you could get him to come in when he’s ready?”
Thom nodded. “I will. I’ll bring him back.”
They emerged blinking into the daylight. The sky was pastel with soft clouds scudding overhead. Apart from a few passersby, the town looked deserted. For a moment Dan wondered if everyone was in church, just another small town Sunday.
Thom paced, walking himself through his dilemma. He turned to Dan and Bill. “Stay here. Let me do this,” he said, glancing back at the parking lot.
He went to the car and got in beside Sebastiano. He sat there looking forward and spoke a few words. At first there was no reaction, then Sebastiano turned and hit him with his fists. Thom took the punishment until Sebastiano finally stopped and leaned his head against Thom’s chest. Thom’s hand reached up and smoothed his hair. It was another five minutes before they got out of the car and came haltingly to the door.
“I told you it was haunted,” Sebastiano said softly. “It was a bad place!”
Thom looked at Bill and Dan in confusion. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I think he means Lake on the Mountain,” Dan said. “He seemed pretty spooked by it the other day.”
Thom shook his head in bewilderment, not comprehending how one thing related to the other. He turned to Sebastiano. “Are you ready? You’ll have to go in some time. If not now, then later.”
“Then it is Daniella? For positive?”
Thom nodded and Sebastiano crumpled on the steps. His grey pallor was succeeded by bright red. The veins on his forehead seemed about to burst. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture becoming obsessive in its repetitiveness. “I told you I didn’t want her to come. I told you ...” he broke off, choking on his sobs.
Thom shook his head impatiently. “You did say you wanted her to come. It’s not my fault.”
“No, I never wanted this!” Sebastiano moaned, as though denial could change the outcome. “I never wanted her to come to this terrible place!”
“Look — pull yourself together. I’m sorry, but you have to pull yourself together.”
Pulling himself together looked to be the last thing he would be able to do, Dan thought. Fury, exhaustion, rage — these seemed more reasonable responses to expect. His own father had been practically catatonic in the years following his mother’s death, till he liberated himself by drinking himself to an early grave. Why was it so hard for some people to express their grief and so hard for others not to?
“My god!” Sebastiano wailed. “Why did we have to come here? Why?” He switched to Portuguese, rocking and moaning.
With Bill’s help, Thom lifted him to his feet and guided him to the door, arms linked like any married couple going for a stroll. Dan held the door to let them pass.
When Sebastiano came out again, he seemed to have undergone a profound change. His posture was erect, stiff, where before he’d been a rag doll. His eyes were hard, his expression tight. Thom came up and held him in his arms, though it seemed to be Thom who needed reassurance.
The door opened and Saylor emerged. He approached Sebastiano and said gently, “Sir, thank you for coming in to identify your sister. I know how difficult it was for you to do.”
For a moment, Sebastiano appeared not to have heard. A look of silent menace spread over his face as Thom put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Sebastiano shook off the hand in a fury. “No!” he cried. “She is not my sister. She is my wife!”
The others looked around in confusion. “He said she was his sister,” Thom insisted forlornly.
“Sir?” Saylor said. “Are you telling us this woman was married to you?”
Sebastiano nodded, head in his hands. “In Brazil, yes. She is my wife for two years!”
Thirteen
Circumstantial Evidence
The drizzle that had begun the eve of the wedding returned by afternoon and seemed to follow them home. The two-plus hours it took to return to Toronto was endured mostly in silence. Dan dropped Bill off at his townhouse and cabbed it back to Leslieville. He was at his desk Monday morning. Donny had called three times before Dan got there to say he’d heard about the drowning on the news. The event had been made to sound even more lurid and colourful when magnified by the immigration angle and the novelty of a gay wedding. Dan spoke with him briefly then pleaded work commitments.
It wasn’t till the following day that he heard anything further. Just before noon he looked up to see his office assistant standing in his doorway.
“Hello, Sally.”
“They’re calling it suspicious,” she said, waving a file in front of her. “I thought you’d want to see it immediately.”
Sally normally had no compunction about barging in unannounced; today, she hovered in the doorway decked out in an orange blouse and burgundy skirt. She seemed dressed for some occasion Dan wouldn’t be privy to: a U2 concert or the arrival of the Dalai Lama. Or possibly a protest at the American Embassy, though that would have required different colours, say, just the right shade of black on black — somewhere between polished charcoal and Death — with militant-looking armbands.
Dan knew little about her personal life. She was one of the restless MTV tribe that crowded shopping malls and dance clubs, sporting their quirky fashions, celebrity obsessions, and shortened attention spans, and who took time to record their innermost thoughts at Speakers’ Corners and graduated from mid-size universities with vague degrees, hoping for careers in anything arts-related before settling for something less spectacular but more lucrative.
“Come in, Sally.”
She took a tentative step forward and stopped, looking around as though she’d never been there before. “Thank god somebody’s got a design sense,” she said, noting the reproductions of abstract art on the walls. “Everybody else’s office is just ...”
Dan waved her forward abruptly. Startled, she nearly dropped the file.
“Everybody else’s office is just what?” he said, smiling to show he wasn’t being unfriendly.
Her eyes went around the room again, comparing what Dan’s office was with what the others weren’t. “It’s like they’re colourless or something. Nothing but beige and grey.” She shook her head over the incomprehensibility of it all.
“Thank you. You’re the only other one who’s noticed.”
Sally nodded. “That’s because you and I come from the same planet,” she said conspiratorially.
Dan leaned forward. “And to what do you attribute all this colourlessness? Our alien nature?”
Sally