poured the pale, pleasant smelling camomile tea into flowered blue china mugs, she spoke over her shoulder. “Did you discover any more about Gregory?”
Hollis waited until Candace swung around and handed her a cup. “Gregory is more and more of a mystery man. There was nothing, absolutely nothing with his surname on it, nothing to say where he worked or where to get a hold of him. Surprisingly, his laptop was there, but I couldn’t open it without a password.” How to phrase what she was going to say next? A statement, nonjudgmental and factual, would be best. “I did find out something important about him. Gregory’s a drug user, the heavy stuff. He stored what I guess was cocaine, although it could have been heroin in his shaving kit. Given that drug-users generally keep their supply with them, the fact that it was in the apartment is bad news.”
“My god.” Candace clapped her hand over her mouth.
Hollis watched her friend absorb the information. First, she lowered her hand then she stared into space as if marshalling information.
“That changes things, doesn’t it?” Candace said slowly. “Changes it a lot. Gregory’s in the equation now. It’s alarming that he didn’t take his drugs or computer with him.” She tapped her index finger against her lips.
No wonder she was hesitating. There was a basic and frightening question waiting to be asked.
Finally, Candace’s gaze met Hollis’s. “Did Danson have drug stuff?” Her voice betrayed her anxiety and her need to hear the right answer.
“No.”
Candace sighed. “Thank god. Because Danson was so obsessed about physical fitness, I can’t imagine him using drugs. Steroids maybe, if he thought they might improve his lacrosse stamina, but not street drugs.”
“I saw nothing to indicate that he takes anything.” Hollis unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I’ve just realized how tired I am. That’s what happens to early risers who try to stay up late. I still have to walk MacTee. Tell me Danson’s password, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow after I’ve searched his files.”
“Before you go, there’s one more thing to think about,” Candace said.
“Related to his computer?”
“Yes, Danson’s wallet is gone. That means his credit card and bank card are also missing. Let’s see if he’s used either one since the Saturday he disappeared.”
“How could I have missed that?” Hollis said and answered her own question. “It may have crossed my mind, but I dismissed it because you need a password for internet banking.”
Candace smiled. “You can’t think of everything, and of course you assumed we couldn’t get in. But I do know his password plus the answers to the questions they ask to ascertain if it’s you.”
“I’m impressed. How come?”
“Because Danson’s girlfriend was murdered, he knows how fast and unexpectedly death can strike. In addition, he tracks ‘bad guys’, very bad guys, and that’s risky.”
“Too true.”
“After Angie died, he put his bank accounts, his condo and his car into joint ownership with me. He also made a will. If anything happens to him, everything is transferred to me.”
Hollis knew her face must show her surprise. “Did he expect something terrible to happen to him?” Given this information, it was no wonder Candace was worried.
“No, but he felt that since I’d been the mother-figure in his life, he wanted Elizabeth and me to inherit.”
“That’s why you have his information—to make life easier if he dies?”
“Right. I was going to give you the information and suggest that you go back to the apartment tomorrow. Now that you have his computer here, I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve seen his accounts. I’ll come up with you.”
She shifted from one foot to the other and gestured towards Elizabeth’s bedroom. “I don’t know whether to bring the baby monitor and plug it in upstairs or to ask you to stay here with her.”
“You can see her crib on the monitor. Why would I stay?”
“Because another call came tonight. It scared me.”
“Why?”
“The person, I think it was a man’s voice, whispered, ‘Where’s Danson’, gave a sick sort of laugh and added, ‘gone, gone, gone’, and hung up.”
“A sicko. It has to be someone who knows he’s missing.”
“Hardly anyone knows.”
“Not true. You’ve contacted his friends and his lacrosse cronies. They’ve probably told their friends, which means it could be anyone. You should call the police.”
“He didn’t say anything threatening. They wouldn’t take it seriously.”
“Maybe not, but you should do it.”
Candace shook her head.
“It explains why you’re afraid to leave Elizabeth, but the outside door is locked, the door into your apartment from the vestibule is locked. How could anything happen to her while you’re upstairs?”
Candace’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. I’m paranoid. I admire your lack of fear.”
If Candace had seen her at Danson’s apartment, she would have realized just how frightened Hollis could be. This was not the time to reveal that. Hollis was tired. She’d anticipated taking MacTee out for a last walk before she pulled on comfy pyjamas along with sheepskin-lined slippers and flopped in front of the TV. She rationalized that a few moments delay until she indulged herself would make the pleasure sweeter.
Wearily, she trudged upstairs, followed by Candace, unpacked the computer and plugged it in. Candace jittered around the room, and even before the screen lit up, dropped down on the chair, tapping her fingers impatiently, waiting for the machine to boot up. Once it had, she clicked, located the banking site and entered the important information.
“I’m in,” she said. “First I’ll look at his chequing account.”
Hollis waited.
“Bad news. No activity at ATMs since the Friday before.”
“It could mean someone stole his card and didn’t have the number combo to open it,” Hollis said.
“And no activity in his Visa account,” Candace said in a low voice.
“Again, if someone stole it or he lost it, that could be the explanation,” Hollis countered.
Candace spun around to face her. “Don’t be such a bloody Pollyanna,” she said. “Admit it. You know this isn’t good news.”
“Okay, it isn’t, but we have to be hopeful.”
“You be hopeful. I’m going to bed, and I’m anything but hopeful,” Candace said. She rose, scooped up the baby monitor, patted MacTee and left.
Was this investigation a pointless waste of time? Should she stop playing amateur sleuth and simply wait for the DNA results? If the DNA wasn’t Danson’s, they’d be no further ahead. No, they had to assume he was alive and keep going.
In the morning she’d plod through the computer files. Tedious work, but it would distract her from her painting problem. She stepped back to examine the large work on the easel. It stared back at her—a huge canvas shining with gold paint but lacking any character or message.
Maybe she could make a Rothko out of it? Fat chance. When you saw his colour field paintings in books or on slides, they underwhelmed. When you parked yourself in front of the real thing, they vibrated, the colours pulsed, moved and left a retinal afterimage. Her painting looked as if you’d stick it in Holt Renfrew’s store window behind