The Maid's Diary(56)
As she runs the tap, she casts her gaze over the kitchen. It’s small. Old. A pot of basil on the windowsill. A collection of colorful little teapots. Photos are stuck to the fridge along with postcards from places like Thailand, Iceland, Kenya, the Galápagos, Patagonia, Australia, Cambodia. While the water is running, Mal checks the backs of some of the postcards. No text, no postmarks. These were not sent from anyone. Kit Darling must have acquired them in some other way, and kept them. Mal leans forward and studies a photograph of a group of young people. Kit is among them. There’s another photo of Kit Darling alone in front of a waterfall. Laughing, vibrant, tanned, her blonde hair blowing loose, her arm full of bracelets.
Mal fills a glass and takes it to Sam Berkowitz. “Do you know who those people are with Kit Darling in that photo on the fridge, Mr. Berkowitz?”
His eyes mist. “They’re her theater-group friends. I don’t know all their names—just Boon’s. She collected those postcards. All places she’d like to go. Kit dreams of traveling around the world, you know. She always says if she wins a lottery, that’s what she’ll do. What happened to her? Is she okay?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Benoit releases the man’s wrist. “Your ticker seems to have calmed itself down, sir. Let us know if you feel unwell. Sorry to have spooked you like that.”
Mal hands him the glass of water. He drinks it using two hands.
“We understand Kit was absent from her job today,” Mal says. “Her employer and her friend have expressed concern. Can you tell us when you last saw her?”
“Day before yesterday. She helped me carry grocery bags up to my apartment. I knew something was wrong. I could tell. She was quiet. Sort of a pensive mood. Then she asked me to feed her wild crow if something happened to her.” His eyes fill with moisture again. “I should have done something. I could see she was scared.”
“What do you mean if ‘something happened to her’?” Mal asks.
Berkowitz says, “I asked her. She said if she died or went missing suddenly, or something strange like that.”
Mal glances at Benoit and says, “Did she say why she was scared?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Only . . . well, about a week ago, maybe more, she asked if I’d seen someone in the shadows across from our building the night before. She said he was watching her windows.”
“He?” Mal asks.
Berkowitz nods. “And a few days prior she mentioned someone had followed her from the SkyTrain station. A man dressed in black, she said.”
“Did she describe this man?” asks Benoit.
“She said he had light-brown hair and was tall, well built. But that’s all she saw.”
“Did she say anything else?” Mal asks.
“No. But I was worried for her. And then I didn’t hear her come home last night. And I didn’t see her car parked in its space down in the lot outside, either. And this morning, Morbid was flapping around outside my window. He flew around to my balcony. It was like he was trying to tell me something. All fussed, he was, hopping about on his one leg. I had a few seeds and gave them to him. Then I came around and knocked on Kit’s door, and called out. But no one answered. Her friend Boon came by later in the afternoon, looking for her. Then Boon knocked on my door and asked if I’d seen Kit. He looked very concerned. Boon told me Kit wasn’t answering her phone. So we used my key to come inside together. We wanted to check she hadn’t fallen in the shower and hit her head or something terrible. But no one was here.”
Mal scans the apartment as he talks. It’s tiny. Cozy. Full of trinkets. Boho decor. Salt rock lamp. Candles. Cushion covers from Asia sewn with little mirrors. Macramé. Lots of plants. Posters from theater productions. Greek theater masks on the wall. Shelves packed with books.
Mal says, “Do you know if Kit has been doing anything differently recently, or seeing anyone out of the ordinary?”
Berkowitz shakes his head. “All I know is that she seemed distracted these past months. Maybe since July. That’s when she began keeping a journal. I suppose that’s something different? I hadn’t ever noticed her doing that before.”
“What kind of journal?” Mal asks. “You mean like a diary?”
“She said it was a therapy thing. Her therapist suggested it.”
“Kit Darling was seeing a therapist?”
“I honestly don’t know any more than this. I just saw her sitting on her balcony one day. She was writing in a book that was bright pink with purple polka dots on the cover. I asked her if she was writing the next great novel. She just laughed and said it was her therapy journal and that it was her therapist’s idea.”
Benoit says, “And you didn’t ask why she was in therapy?”
“Who asks people why they go to see a psychologist? It’s not right to ask such things.”
“Do you know where she keeps it?” Mal asks.
“Of course not. I expect she carries it with her, to jot things down as they come to her. That’s what I would do.”
Mal and Benoit finish questioning Sam Berkowitz, and Benoit escorts the old man back to his own apartment while Mal begins to look around, searching for the diary, or anything that could throw light on Kit Darling’s recent movements, plus something that can be used for a DNA sample.