Things We Do in the Dark(40)

Back at his condo, Drew puts in a call to the licensing office at the City of Toronto and explains his situation. He’s transferred to the records department, where he explains it all again, only to be put on hold for twenty minutes before the call simply disconnects. He then sends an email. Thirty minutes later, he receives a reply from an administrator at the licensing office, who tells him she can’t give out information about licenses unless they’re requested by the person themselves, or by an officer of the court. He scrolls through his contacts and puts in calls to three police officers he personally knows. Nobody picks up, so he leaves voice mails.

Investigative journalism is not nearly as sexy as it appears on TV.

Racking his brain, he googles house fire Toronto Acorn Street January 1 1999 and gets hits for two articles mentioning the fire at his old place.

In the first article, the fire inspector explained that the blaze was caused by the fireplace in the basement, the chimney of which had not been cleaned or maintained in over a decade. It contained a buildup of creosote, a tar-like material that is highly combustible. The fire in the hearth caused the creosote to ignite in the chimney, which was full of cracks, allowing the fire to spread to the wall. It consumed the rest of the small basement apartment within minutes, leaving no time for the occupant, who was likely asleep at that time of night, to escape.

“The importance of regular chimney maintenance cannot be overstated,” the fire inspector is quoted as saying. “Unfortunately, I’ve seen this scenario too many times.”

The second article said more or less the same, only its headline was more dramatic: DAUGHTER OF RUBY REYES PERISHES IN NEW YEAR’S EVE HOUSE FIRE. The article was clearly written to titillate. Not only did it make a point to mention that Joelle Reyes, age 20, had been working as an exotic dancer at the Golden Cherry Gentlemen’s Club, it also spent a paragraph summarizing her mother’s crime, which means the reporter had managed to make the connection between Joey and Ruby. The article finishes with a brief quote from Police Constable Hannah McKinley, who confirmed that no foul play was suspected.

Drew remembers McKinley. She was kind to him that night. He googles her name and learns that she’s a detective now, a sergeant, in homicide. A couple more clicks and he has the email address for her department. He types quickly, explaining who he is and reminding her how they met. An hour later, McKinley phones. He’d forgotten she had a British accent until he hears her voice.

“This was a long time ago, so I’ll have to refresh my memory. Give me a second,” Sergeant McKinley says. Drew can hear her typing, and can only assume she’s at her desk at the station. “Right, I remember now. House fire on New Year’s Eve, one deceased, Joelle Reyes, daughter of Ruby Reyes. Victim ID provided by … Drew Malcolm. Oh, right, that’s you.”

“That’s me,” he says. “Can you tell me if there were photos taken at the scene?”

“I’m sure there would have been, by the insurance company, at least,” she says. “Would have happened the next day.”

“What about photos of the deceased?” An image of Joey’s burned face flashes through Drew’s mind. “Would there be pictures of that?”

“At the scene? Definitely not. The fire department would have prioritized removing her at the soonest possibility.”

Drew tries again. “What about the morgue? They’d have photos, right?”

“Possibly, but you’re not going to want to see those, assuming any were taken, and assuming they were filed properly and can even be located after all these years. But from what I recall, she was DOA when they pulled her out.” McKinley pauses. “Why would you want to see photos? From what I remember, your friend’s body was very badly burned.”

“Not everywhere.” Drew clears his throat. “There was a part of her leg where her tattoo was still visible.”

“Ah yes. Which is how you were able to ID her. That, and…” A pause. She must be reading. “The necklace. I noted she was wearing a gold necklace with a diamond-and-ruby pendant.”

Drew nods, even though she can’t see it. “Did they ever confirm her actual cause of death?”

“It’s usually smoke inhalation, but it seems like this fire tore through the basement pretty fast,” McKinley says. Another pause. “Why do you ask? Are you saying that after nineteen years, you’ve now got questions about how she died?”

Her accent is messing up his ability to interpret her tone. He can’t tell if she’s interested or annoyed, and already he’s starting to feel a bit stupid asking a seasoned cop these questions after so much time has passed. Still, what has he got to lose, other than a little bit of dignity?

“I’m saying I’m not sure now,” Drew says. “I know it sounds nuts after all this time, but what if she was already dead, and the fire was just a cover-up?”

“What brought this up?”

“Ruby Reyes, Joey’s mother, made parole. I’m doing a podcast series about her and her relationship with her daughter, and I’m trying to fill in some of the gaps in Joey’s life. I just learned that Joey was involved with some shady people back then, which I didn’t know at the time.”

Silence from McKinley. He can only imagine what must be going through her head. She probably thinks it’s crazy, because it really kind of is. Also, it’s a long shot, based on no evidence, just a hunch. Fine, not even a hunch. A tingle.