The Maid's Diary(75)

She stares at him from under her black wig as he approaches. Her face is powder white and her black-lined lips are unsmiling. There’s a weird atmosphere in the air. Jon notices Ahmed in his glass cubicle. His rival meets his gaze. Ahmed doesn’t smile, either. His mouth is set in a grim line. Ahmed watches Jon steadily with dark, unreadable eyes behind his round glasses, and a warning bell begins to clang in Jon’s head. He tells himself they’re just pissed because he forgot to dress up. They think he’s not being a sport, spoiling their fun.

“Jon,” Anna says, clearing her throat before she speaks again. He notices fake blood dripping out of the corners of her mouth. “Darrian wants to see you in his office.”

The big boss.

Jon stills. “Why? What’s up?”

Anna won’t meet his eyes. “He just said to go through as soon as you come in.”

“Right.” Jon starts toward his own office.

Anna lurches up from her chair and hurries after him. “Jon! Darrian said straight through, Jon—”

“I’m just putting my damn briefcase down first, okay?”

She swallows and looks freaky with her bloody mouth. “I’m sorry, Jon. It’s just that he insisted you go directly to his office.”

Jon holds her gaze. In his peripheral vision he can see others in their glass cubicles, looking up, watching him. All still. Silent. And he knows. He just knows.

The other shoe has already dropped.





MAL


November 2, 2019. Saturday.

“Vanessa North’s first class with us was on Wednesday, August 7,” the yoga instructor tells Mal as she scans her computer database.

“Did she attend often?” Mal asks. She came to the yoga studio directly after her meeting with Tamara Adler. On her drive over she called Benoit and updated him with the information from Adler. Benoit told her the divers were commencing the underwater search.

“Yes. It seems Vanessa came pretty regularly after that first session, both for the Monday and the Wednesday classes.” The instructor glances up. She’s an earnest-looking woman in her early fifties with an open face, no makeup, and long, wavy gray hair. “What’s this about? I only ask because Vanessa hasn’t attended the last few classes, and I was wondering how things were going with her baby.”

Mal sidesteps the yoga instructor’s question. “Do you have Vanessa North’s credit card details in your system?”

The woman checks, frowns, then says, “Oh, it looks like Vanessa always paid cash.”

“What about her contact details? Did she fill out any fitness or health forms?”

The woman checks her system again. “Yes, she completed the required forms. And we do have an address on file. But I really can’t give you anything, Sergeant. I’m so sorry. Not without a warrant.”

“I can return with a warrant, ma’am, but this is highly time sensitive. A woman’s life might be in jeopardy. How about you either confirm or deny that the address you have on file is 5244 Sea Lane, West Vancouver?”

The instructor looks nervous now. “Yes. I can confirm that. I-I suppose there is no harm in giving you her mobile number.” The yoga teacher reads the number out for Mal.

Mal enters it into her phone.

“One more question,” Mal says as she pulls up the image of Vanessa North provided by Singapore law enforcement. She shows it to the instructor. “Is this the woman who attended your yoga classes?”

“No. Vanessa has longer hair. More auburn highlights. Big hazel eyes. Different nose and cheekbones. And she’s a bit younger.” The yoga instructor’s brow furrows. “Who is this?”

“This is Vanessa North.”

“Then . . . who’s the woman who comes to yoga?”

“That’s a good question. Thank you for your time.” Mal slides her card across the counter. “If you think of anything else, or if your client shows up again, please call me directly.”

As Mal walks back to her unmarked vehicle, she calls the number the yoga instructor gave her. It goes straight to a recorded message.

The number you are calling is no longer in service.



As Mal drives to the Pi Bistro to talk to Ty Binty, Benoit calls.

“Hey,” Mal says. “They find anything?”

She can hear the noise of a truck in the background, beeping. Benoit answers someone else’s question, then comes back on the line. “Divers have located the Subaru. It’s where we anticipated, right off the side of the dock. It’s deep down there. Went straight down. Crews are strategizing how best to bring it up. We’ve called for a tow truck with a crane and a flatbed so we can transport the vehicle to the ident lab,” Benoit says.

Mal inhales slowly, trying to tamp down her rush of adrenaline. Her mind goes to the pretty maid with her messy space buns and her tiny apartment with its boho decor and postcards and travel dreams and Morbid the crow, and Mal feels a sudden and profound sadness. Her eyes prick a little, and then she clears it all away.

“Any sign of the rug?” she asks.

“Not yet. There’s a strong tidal current that moves both ways, so it could have flowed a distance. A lot of urban debris down there, too. Very poor visibility. It’s slow going. Dangerous work.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll head over as soon as I’m done talking to Ty Binty. Warrants?”