Ear-Witness Read online

  We didn’t count the kids, but there were dozens of them, from all over the world, playing together. Africans, Central Americans, Vietnamese, Chinese, Indians. Kids from countries I probably never even heard of. We found one family of Browns, but no Greens at all, not even one.

  CHAPTER 20

  When we left the school Kelly and I turned towards my place, like we had hundreds of times before. Thousands of times, probably — about three days a week since we were in kindergarten.

  Kelly was serious today. “I’m really tired of being a kid,” she said.

  I laughed. “What does that mean? You aren’t a kid.”

  She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe how thick I was. “I’m cutting out,” she said. “For good.”

  “You mean you’re leaving? You’re quitting school?”

  “Quitting school and leaving home,” she said. “Joey and me, we’re going out west.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the grass, away from a horde of students bearing down on us. “Have you told your parents?” I said. It was a dumb question. What could they do? How could they stop her? They’d have to tie her up.

  “Not yet,” she said. She lifted my hand from her arm and moved back onto the sidewalk.

  My head got the message, but my mouth didn’t. “I thought you wanted to teach kindergarten.”

  She shrugged and looked away.

  “I’m saying such dumb things,” I said. “Do you have any money?”

  She laughed then, the old Kelly laugh, a wheezing giggle. “Thirteen dollars,” she said. “Joey has a brother in Vancouver. We can crash at his place. For a while, anyway.”

  I slid my backpack to the sidewalk, pulled out my emergency ten-dollar bill and tucked it into her shirt pocket. “Will you write?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Well ...” She grinned her kindergarten grin, turned and walked away from me.

  I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I didn’t even hug her. I just stood there on the corner, watching her until she was out of sight.

  When I got home, Mom was in the shower. Parents stick together. If she found out, she’d be on the phone to Kelly’s mother before I could blink.

  When the shower stopped, I knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m home,” I said. “I have a headache. I’m going to have a nap.”

  “Are you getting a cold?” she asked. “You sound funny.”

  “Probably,” I said.

  Two days later Mrs. Curran phoned Mom. I got blasted as I walked in the door.

  “Did you know Kelly was leaving?” she said. Like a lot of the stuff Mom says, there was more there than the actual words. If you knew and didn’t say anything, you’re in big trouble.

  There was no point in lying, she wouldn’t believe me. “Sort of,” I said.

  “That’s why you’ve been so quiet, isn’t it? Moping in your room? Drooping like some wilted flower?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that you had an obligation to tell her parents about this?”

  I buttoned my lips together and looked at the floor. It had occurred to me. The obligation to keep my former best friend’s secret had occurred to me too, and that obligation won. There wasn’t much to say, so I just shrugged.

  “Mrs. Curran wants to talk to you. She’s in a real snit, and I don’t blame her, so you’d better get yourself over there right away,” she said.

  “Do I have to?” I looked at the floor again. “If she feels any worse than I do, I’m really sorry for her,” I said.

  Mom put her hand on the back of my head. She even cried a little. “It’s the least you can do,” she said. “And if you know anything, tell her.”

  I was just heading out the door, when she called me back. “Jess! Remember what Mrs. Carelli said. Ask Flavia to go with you.”

  Mrs. Curran hugged me, and I hugged her back, but I didn’t like the way she looked at Flavia, as if there was something wrong with her being there, something wrong with me having a new friend.

  The Pain was doing little jumps all around us, hopping with both feet at the same time. She made me tired to look at her. Then she started chanting: “Kelly split, Kelly split, Kelly is a stupid twit.”

  “Enough, Melissa. Quiet down, or go upstairs!” Mrs. Curran took her apron off and, still carrying it, ushered us into their front room. I didn’t take this as a good sign.

  “Jessica, I’m going to take it for granted that you knew exactly what was going on,” she said.

  “Well, not exactly,” I said. “I mean, I really didn’t know exactly.” I sounded pitiful even to myself, but I never thought this was going to be easy. “When did she leave?” I said.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. She told me she was going, but she didn’t say when.”

  Mrs. Curran wiped at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Sometime yesterday afternoon. I’d just dropped over to the store, to pick up a few things for dinner. Nothing I couldn’t have done without...”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  She shook her head. “Her dad’s over at the Montes’ now, talking to them, seeing if Joey left any messages, but it’s not likely, is it?”

  “She told me they were going out west, to Joey’s brother’s,” I said. “In Vancouver.”

  Mrs. Curran frowned. “As far as I know,” she said, “the only brother Joey has is seven years old.”

  When Mrs. Curran bustled to the phone, the Pain entertained us by doing backwards somersaults on the living-room floor, with commentary. “You really fell for that one, didn’t you, Jess?”

  “Maybe he has another brother,” I said.

  But he didn’t. No sisters either. It was a false trail, and what bugged me most, was that Kelly got me to lay it.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jon’s hand felt sweaty in the heat, and our bare arms brushed against each other. I always thought hanging onto a guy in public was sort of tacky, but that was before I had anybody to hang onto.

  We were crossing the pedestrian bridge to get to the lake. “I have a whole lot of stuff to tell you,” I said. I was practically running to keep up with him. “Could you slow down or take smaller steps or something?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  The lake was a deep blue satin, rippled by the wind, and seemed to go on forever. Sailboats from the marinas along the shore flashed in the sunlight. We sat on an uncomfortable slatted bench; Jon stretched his legs out in front of him, then he turned to me and smiled. “You know more about the murder?”

  I nodded. “You know the man in Tammi’s apartment that night?” I said. “Well, I remembered something about him. Something important.” I looked at the sky, then I looked back at Jon again. “He knew me. He actually said my name, like he was surprised to see me there.”

  “Oh-oh,” Jon said. “Raffi?”

  That was the one question I didn’t want to answer, or even think about, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. “I don’t think so,” I said. “At least I didn’t recognize Raffi, not at all. Not one thing reminded me of him. But who else could it be?”

  Jon’s arm slid along the back of the bench behind me, as if it was moving without any connection to his brain. “Who knew you were babysitting that night?” he said.

  “Mom. All the Orellana family. And Tammi, of course. Why?”

  “What about Raffi? Did he know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why do you think it would be him? Why would he be surprised...?”

  I flung myself back on the bench and threw my arms to the sky. “He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t have been surprised! It couldn’t have been Raffi! Oh, I’m so happy! Thank you, Jon, thank you! You’re brilliant, absolutely brilliant.”

  His whole face was grinning. “What can I say?” he said. “Brilliant is probably a slight exaggeration, but ...”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” I said. I stared at the lake for a while longer, then I twisted my fingers together, hard.
>
  Jon rested his hand on my wrist. “What’s going on?” he said. “All of a sudden you tensed right up. I won’t bite, I promise.”

  I sighed. “It makes me feel better to know it wasn’t Raffi, a whole lot better, but the cops still suspect him. He had to go to the police station today, to be in some line-up.”

  “Maybe it’s not important,” Jon said. He didn’t really think that, I could tell. He was just trying to make me feel better.

  “There’s something else, too,” I said. “I don’t want to tell Sheena.”

  “That the guy knew you?”

  I nodded.

  “Because she’ll think it was Raffi?”

  “Yeah. But if I don’t tell her, I’m in trouble. She was talking about ...withholding information. Like it was a crime or something. I don’t want to go to jail!”

  “Maybe we should ask somebody about that. A lawyer.”

  “My father’s a lawyer,” I said.

  “He is? Well, why don’t you call him?”

  “No,” I said. “I’d feel too stupid. I haven’t seen him for three years. More than that, actually.”

  “If you don’t do it soon, you never will,” Jon said. “And right now you’ve got a really good reason...”

  “I can’t,” I said. The waves were bigger now because the wind was stronger. Two sailboats were lying on their sides in the water, and a third tipped over as I watched. Somebody in a power boat was busy rescuing everybody.

  “Why did you stop seeing him?” Jon said.

  The sky was robin’s-egg blue, with some wisps of cotton-wool clouds whipping around. “I’m not sure,” I said. “He and Mom had this big fight, and after that she got all upset whenever he came to get me. So I got upset too Then one day she told me I didn’t have to see him if I didn’t want to.” I was quiet for a while, thinking. “I was just a kid,” I said. “I didn’t want her to be unhappy.”

  “If you see him now, will she get unhappy again?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Probably. She never wants to talk about him. Even though ...”

  “What?”

  “He’s ...on the news a lot, on TV. And in the papers.”

  “You’re kidding! What’s his name?”

  “Gordon March.”

  “Gordon March is your father! He’s almost famous.”

  “I know,” I said. “Why would he want to be bothered with me?”

  It was eight o’clock at night, and Raffi hadn’t come back from being in the line-up. I was in my room, flipping through my math text, trying to convince myself I was learning something. Mom was at work.

  When the phone rang, I jumped. “They did it,” Mom said. Her voice was small, like a little kid’s. I could hardly hear her. “They arrested Raffi. For the murder.”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  We were both quiet for a while. “Do you think he did it?” I’d never asked her that before, but it seemed like a good time for it.

  She didn’t answer, but I heard a small sniff.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I can’t believe he did, but ...” She left the sentence dangling in the air, which is something she does a lot. I’m supposed to read her mind, I guess.

  “But what?”

  “The cops have a witness who saw him leave the building that night.”

  “That’s just Mr. Orellana,” I said. “He saw some big guy come from around the back, that’s all.”

  “No, this is someone else, some guy who identified him from a line-up. Raffi didn’t see him, but it wasn’t Mr. Orellana, this person knew his name.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  She sighed. “It gets worse, Jess. His fingerprints were in Tammi’s apartment.”

  “No. That can’t be true. I don’t believe it.” I didn’t, but I had this terrible sinking feeling, as if I was under water, and somebody was pushing me down.

  “He’d hardly make it up,” Mom said. “Listen, I can’t leave here yet, there’s no other supervisor to cover for me. I’m still looking for someone, but...”

  “What else did Raffi say?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Some cop was right on top of him, hurrying him up.”

  “Does he have a lawyer?”

  I could hear her sniffing again. Then I heard the soft scuffing sound a tissue makes when you pull it from the box. “I never even thought of that. We’ll have to get him one.”

  “We?” I said. “I don’t like the sound of that we.”

  “You,” she said. “He’s your father.”

  “Oh no you don’t! I’m just the kid here!”

  She blew her nose, and I winced. “You have to,” she said. “Who else do we know?”

  “How come all of a sudden you’re dying for me to talk to him, after years of making him sound like some kind of a louse?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I won’t do it,” I said. “I’m not that two-faced.” Then I stopped talking. Completely.

  “I was afraid I’d lose you,” she whispered.

  “Lose me?” I said. “What are you talking about? You’d forget me on the streetcar?”

  “You’d want to live with him.”

  “Mom! I wouldn’t.” Then I stopped myself. “He did want me to live with him, didn’t he? I’d forgotten all about that. That was what the big fight was about.”

  I could hardly hear her now. “He has so much money,” she said. “And you thought he was so wonderful.”

  Suddenly, I was furious. “So now I’m supposed to call him? After three years of refusing to talk to him? To ask for a favour?”

  “Don’t yell,” she said. “Everybody on the street will hear you.”

  I shouted, “I couldn’t care less!” Then I crashed the phone down without saying goodbye, something I’d never done before. After that I threw my math book at the wall. I hadn’t done that before, either.

  CHAPTER 22

  Half an hour later I hauled the phone book from its shelf and looked up my father’s number. The kid who answered told me I had reached the March residence. Then he wanted to know who I wished to speak to

  “Mr. March,” I said.

  “Who should I say is calling?” he asked.

  “Jess,” I said. “Jess March.” Then I waited.

  My palms slipped on the receiver and my heart thundered under my ribs. Maybe my father wasn’t going to come to the phone at all, maybe he’d get the kid to make an excuse. Besides, if he did come, what then? What can you say to someone you haven’t seen for three years, and it’s your fault, and you’re only calling because your mother made you?

  “Jess? Is it really you?” My dad’s voice sounded like it was his birthday, and I’d just given him the best present of his whole life.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “You couldn’t know how happy I am to hear from you!”

  “Me too, I said. My voice got a little fractured then, but maybe he’d think I had a cold. “I’m happy too. I wish I’d phoned before.”

  “It’s a tough spot to be in, between two parents.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “So, when can I see you? Soon, I hope.”

  “I need help,” I said.

  “Do you want me to come and get you?”

  “I don’t know.” Then I said the most perfect thing, and I didn’t even plan it. What was so amazing was that I didn’t even know it was true until the words popped right out of my mouth. “I think about you all the time,” I said. “I mean, I’m calling because I want something, but ...”

  “You couldn’t say anything nicer than that,” he said. “Now, what’s the problem?”

  I told him everything.

  My father’s office used to be on Bay Street near the Old City Hall, but he’d moved. Now he was up near Yorkville, but it wasn’t hard to find. Two days after we talked on the phone, a Saturday, I took the Queen streetcar as far as University, transferred to the subway, got off
at the museum and walked.

  The street was in an area where people used to live. The houses were still there, but almost all of them had been turned into fancy restaurants, or art galleries, or offices.

  My father’s building had big new windows where there had probably been smaller ones and there was a whole lot of wood on the outside that looked unpainted, only it was shiny. The brass sign beside the door said Gordon March on one line, and Barrister underneath it. Underneath that there was a little white button and a sign that said Push Bell for Admittance. When I lifted my hand towards it the door flung open and I was squashed in a huge hug and half lifted, half danced inside.

  My father held me away from him and looked me over, but it was such a nice look that I didn’t mind at all.

  “You are the spitting image, the spitting image,” he said, “of my favourite sister, Vera. You remember Vera? She’s the gorgeous one.”

  “You’re the spitting image of my dad,” I said.

  My eyes were watering, but just a little. “Allergy season,” I said.

  “Runs in the family.” He blew his nose on a big white handkerchief, and I laughed because he honked just like a Canada goose going north, just like he always did. “Some things never change,” he said. “C’mon and see my great new place!”

  The first floor had a waiting room for clients, secretaries’ desks loaded with computer stuff, a whole wall of big grey filing cabinets, a big photocopier in its own little room, and a kitchen that was bigger than ours at home. On the second floor there was a bathroom with an old-fashioned tub, now full of plants; a room Dad called his “conference room-slash-library”; and in the front, looking out over the street, his private office.

  A chocolate-brown leather couch and some matching chairs were grouped around a coffee table at one end of the room, and at the other there was a wooden desk so shiny you could see yourself in it. Two pictures in matching stand-up frames faced where Dad sat. The one of me was so old, I was still wearing a pony tail. In the other one a blonde woman sat with her arm around a boy.