woman sipped and considered the question. “Not well. None of the women who live on this floor are close. When we meet we talk only about non-important things.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Four years. Since they created these lovely apartments.”
“I am not interested in the details of your lives except as they relate to Ms. Trepanier. Has she ever spoken of being afraid?”
Fatima laughed without conveying any sense of mirth. “Afraid? When you do what we do you’re always a little bit afraid. We didn’t have much in common. I’m from Lebanon, a Middle Eastern woman, and she was a classic American cheerleader type. I can tell you she was kind. Ginny’s new to Toronto and Sabrina made a point of taking her under her wing.”
“Did Sabrina have friends or family in the city?”
“I don’t ask personal questions or note who goes in or out of any of my apartments, but I’d say not.”
“How do men find you?” Rhona asked.
“We advertise. We’re officially ‘escorts.’ All legal,” Fatima said, watching Rhona to see how she’d react.
“Directly, or do you have someone who vets the callers?”
Fatima broke off a morsel of baklava and chewed slowly. Rhona figured the woman was giving herself time. “The young women pay me rent and some ask me to check out new callers. As I’m sure you know, a bad apple registry exists. If any of the women have trouble with a client, we add his name to that list. Otherwise they have regulars and don’t consult me.”
“Do you keep records?”
Fatima smiled but said nothing.
Rhona realized she wasn’t going to answer and changed the topic. “Do you have your own list of unwelcome customers?”
“We all use the websites for that.” Fatima smiled. “There are enough lovely men who appreciate bright, pretty women they can take to events, to hotels, or visit here. We don’t need the weirdos.”
“We’d like the names of men who gave you or the other women trouble, particularly if they were Ms. Trepanier’s or Ms. Wuttenee’s clients.”
“Ms. Wuttenee’s?”
“The attack occurred in her apartment. Perhaps the killer intended to murder her,” Rhona said.
Fatima considered their request.
“Give us the leads and we’ll do the rest,” Rhona assured her.
SIX
Jay and her eleven-year-old friend, Crystal Montour, backpacks bouncing, bounded through the Deer Park schoolyard. Jay hugged Barlow and MacTee before greeting Hollis. Crystal trotted after Jay and contented herself with patting the two dogs.
Hollis waited until the crowd of children, nannies, and parents thinned before she stopped.
“Girls, I have something terrible to tell you. I wish I could soften the impact of what I’m about to say.”
Both children waited.
“Sabrina Trepanier, who lived on the fifth floor of our building, was murdered last night,” Hollis said.
Neither child said anything for a moment while they processed the information.
Jay recovered first. “Do we know her?” she said.
When she heard Sabrina’s name, Crystal’s hands had flown to her mouth. “Oh, that’s awful. Awful, awful.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Sabrina is friends with Ginny who also lives on the fifth floor. Is Ginny okay?” Her eyes fixed on Hollis. She lowered her hands. “Ginny’s my friend. She’s an Indian like me and she’s beautiful.”
“She is beautiful, and she’s fine,” Hollis said. “Ginny often stops in the office to play with Barlow.” Hollis didn’t tell them that Ginny had discovered the body or that Sabrina had been killed in Ginny’s apartment.
“My aunt knows Ginny too,” Crystal volunteered.
“What about Sabrina Trepanier? Did you or your aunt know her?”
“She’s the pretty one with the long dark hair. She always looks great and she always says hello. One day she had a box of Tim Hortons Timbits and gave them to me. She said if she kept them she’d eat them all and that wouldn’t be good.”
Jay chimed in. “She likes dogs. Barlow jumped up once and he had muddy paws and made marks on her coat and she laughed and said dogs did that. If it had been me I might have been mad but she wasn’t.”
Crystal nodded. “I don’t think my aunt ever talked to her. She doesn’t have much to do with the people in the building.”
When they turned onto Delisle, they saw TV trucks and a cluster of people in front of their building.
“Are they there because of the murder?” Jay asked.
“They are. The police will be here for at least twenty-four hours, and they’ve strung yellow tape to keep onlookers away. They will interview everyone in the building.”
“My aunt won’t like that,” Crystal said.
“Most people won’t. But if you and your aunt and everybody else tell the police every little thing you can remember about Sabrina and Ginny and anyone or anything different that you saw, it could help them. They need as much information as they can get if they’re going to track down her killer.”
“Ginny’s related to Poundmaker, he was a famous chief,” Crystal said. Her brow furrowed. “Is she in danger? Are we?”
“I don’t think so but we’ll be extra careful.”
Crystal peered at her shoes and mumbled, “Maybe whoever did it meant to kill Ginny. People don’t like us. They wish we’d disappear.”
Jay bent like a pretzel until she stared up at Crystal’s face. “I don’t feel like that. Hollis doesn’t either.”
Crystal lifted her head. “Some people do and have for a long, long time.”
“That’s really sad,” Jay said and seemed at a loss about what she could say to make Crystal feel better.
Barlow and MacTee tugged on their leashes.
“We’d better go in. Because I manage the building, the police will have more questions for me.”
As they moved along, Hollis tried to remember her Canadian history. Poundmaker had been involved in the second Riel Rebellion in Saskatchewan. He must have been a Cree. Poor Crystal, feeling that everyone disliked her because she was an Indian. How awful and how hard to imagine if you didn’t belong to a minority.
On Tuesdays, Crystal’s aunt, Mary Montour, worked a split shift as a waitress, breakfast and dinner with
