“Yes, she is my boss. Vale’s—”
“We know who she is,” he says. “She’s under investigation already.”
My heart jumps. “She is? For what?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, miss.”
“Is it for being a shoddy inspector, or for smuggling cocaine?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Why is he unimpressed? I’ve just handed him an amazing case, pretty much tied up with a bow. “Detective Jones, I don’t—”
“Miss Kelly,” he says, setting his pen to the side and lacing his fingers together. I hear condescension and brace for it. “Thank you for coming in today. As I said, Miss Vale is under investigation, but I am not at liberty to tell you the nature of that investigation. Trust me, we are already aware of most of what you just told me.”
I frown. They already know? How is it still going on, then? “Will you question her based on my information? Are you investigating Montey Series, too?”
He sighs.
Why hasn’t she been arrested? She should at least be questioned about all those crates of powder, shouldn’t she? And what am I supposed to do?
“Should I keep working for her? Am I supposed to just go on about my business and pretend I don’t know?” I point at his pad of paper. “You didn’t even write down what I said.”
He groans slightly as he gets to his feet and gestures for me to do thesame. “That’s because we already have it. We now have your name and information to add to what we know. Thank you for being a good citizen and coming to see me about this. Have a good day.”
That is not how I expected this to go. I don’t understand the police officer’s indifference to my story. His casual assurances that they will “get to it.” I hug my purse against my chest and walk quickly home, oddly nervous. I have a terrible feeling rumbling through me, as if I need to protect myself. Maybe it’s just a lingering fear after last night’s close call, but I keep seeking out threats between doorways, alleys, and across the street. My step slows while I think. I wonder if I should go back to the station and report all this again, but to a different detective. But that would be a waste of time, wouldn’t it? I know how this works. Jones has opened a file on me, so he is in charge of anything going forward. Just like I take care of my own file in my business.
But I don’t trust him.
My pulse is racing. I need to get home and curl up in a safe little ball. I’m almost there when I change my mind. There’s one place in my life that feels even safer than my apartment. I pull out my phone.
BK: It’s your favourite granddaughter. Up for a little brunch?
Grandma: I was hoping you would come see me!
By brunch, I mean donuts, and Grandma knows that. For us, brunch can happen at any time of the day or night, but it always involves donuts. Right now, I have a craving for Tim Hortons and the security of my grandmother’s soothing presence. I grab the pastries and call an Uber. I’m probably overreacting, but I don’t feel safe riding a bus this morning.
“Oh! You’re so quick today!” Grandma exclaims as she opens the door.
“I was hungry,” I say, giving her a careful hug.
“Come in, come in! Did you bring the—”
“Honey glazed? Of course! How could I come without that?”
I smell the English breakfast tea she always drinks, and I know the teapot and cups are waiting in the other room. She’s set it up like that forever,but I am aware that it’s a much bigger job these days. She has enough trouble walking, let alone carrying a heavy, boiling-hot teapot and two cups.
Grandma and I settle into our regular seats, and I frown. “You said you’d let me carry the tea in this time.”
“I couldn’t wait.” She claps her hands together. “What a treat, to see you twice in a week!”
She insists on doing as many things as she can, which impresses me. I want to be that resilient when I’m her age, if I live that long. But I worry she’ll overexert herself because of her stubborn nature.
I pour the tea as she picks up the old remote and turns down the volume of the TV. She never turns it off when I’m there, just lets it drone quietly in the background. I wonder if it ever gets turned off. I don’t ask, because I am afraid she’ll tell me it’s her only company until I visit. Her friends are dropping like flies lately, so that might be the truth. I hope not.
Then again, sometimes I do the same. I leave the TV on, or music, to keep me company when I’m lonely.
“How is that very smart, very handsome man you were going to see last time? Mr. Sullivan? Thompson?”
