“It’s Kjel.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, yous said ‘Kell.’ It’s pronounced likeHh-yell.Like you was saying the ‘H’ in the word ‘huge.’ But most English folk can’t say it like that, so they useSh-yell.”
“Yeah. Like I said, what kind of name is that, anyway?”
“My pops’s family came from Norway.”
“That why you talk funny?”
He gave a slow smile, his gaze darting into shadowed doorways, trying to see into the faces of the homeless who crouched there. Victoria was full of them. And yeah, he still thought he might one day see the eyes of his father looking back at him from some dark doorway or cardboard box. It’s why Kjel had become a cop. Why he’d worked narcotics up north, and undercover. He liked to work the streets, walk the walk. Talk the talk. If he hadn’t become a cop, he’d probably have ended up like his pops, anyway. His badge was the fine line between one side and the other. Or ... maybe it wasn’t.
“I come from a place up near Bella Coola, near the Alaska border. It was settled by Norwegian fishermen forever ago. Got pretty isolated and hardscrabble once the fishing industry dried up, though.”
“So ... you what? Came down to sunny Victoria to further your career as a cop?”
“Sunny, my ass.” He wiped rain from his brow.
“Warmer at least. It’s why half the homeless end up here. They call it the San Diego of Canada. I heard you worked UC?”
“You got a lot of questions, Leo.”
“It’s why I’m a great detective.” He grinned.
“Yet you never made sergeant? Your age and all.”
A dark shadow crossed the old cop’s face.
“Hey,” Kjel said with a shrug. “I got questions, too.” They arrived at the entrance to Harbor House. Kjel banged with the base of his fist on the door. Third time knocking, the door opened to reveal a dark-skinned man dressed in baggy brown corduroy pants and sporting a goatee. He kept his hand on the door, holding it half-closed as he regarded them with gentle-looking liquid-black eyes.
“Pastor Markus Gilani?” Kjel said.
“Who’s asking?”
The detectives showed their badges. “Kjel Holgersen and Harvey Leo, Metro PD. Can we ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
“Do you know this young woman?” Kjel nodded to Leo, who held out a damp flyer with Hocking’s mug shot.
Gilani stared at Hocking’s picture. Kjel watched the man’s eyes narrow. A small vein swelled at his temple.
Hand still on the door, Gilani said, “Look, the kids who come here, they don’t want to be found. They just sleep here, get a hot meal. Trust is a big issue for them. They don’t trust the system, but they do trust they will be safe here, because we don’t give out information.”
“So you do know her?” Kjel said.
The pastor’s jaw tightened.
Kjel scratched his wet head. “See, here’s the thing, Pastor Gilani—yous a real pastor, by the way?”
Silence.
Kjel nodded. “See, thing is, your kids might notwantto be found, but Faith Hocking herehasalready been found. Dead. And we kinda want know how she gots to be that way.”
The man paled visibly under his brown skin, and his eyes flickered. “What ... what happened to her?”
“So, yeah. You do know her,” Kjel said.
