Murder Is Uncooperative (16 page)

I sighed. “Yes, I heard about that policy. Apparently one of my neighbors wanted my apartment for her daughter and
grandchild, even though there are only two of them. She seems to hold me personally responsible for the fact that they didn't get into the co-op.”

“Ah, yes. Naomi. I think we've all heard her on that subject. It's too bad but don't worry about it. I think everyone understands why your family got that unit.”

We lingered there for a while, chatting. I kept thinking I could ask if he had grown up in the co-op, or at least had known some of the children. But somehow I couldn't think of how to frame the question without making it sound like an accusation.

Some intrepid reporter, I chided myself. I suspected that some of my fears were of endangering what was a new friendship and might be more. And I looked at his engaging smile and thought he couldn't possibly have anything to do with the note or Les's death.

And then I told myself that it wasn't the first time a man had lied to me. But thinking of Dave reminded me it was getting close to the time he had arranged to pick Ben up.

I stood up, calling to Ben.

“It was nice talking to you,” Jeremy said. “We should do this again some time.”

My head was a mess of conflicting thoughts as we headed back to the apartment. But I found myself smiling. Jeremy was fun to talk to. And maybe our friendship would develop into something more. In any case, it was good to know he was a graphic artist. I'd have to look at his portfolio. I quite often collaborated with artists on the layout of some of my projects. Maybe some of his clients could use a good writer. We might be able to forge a useful work alliance, if nothing else.

If he wasn't a murderer.

I eyed Ben's clothes when we got back to the apartment. He'd been running around the playground with Aiden, but he seemed clean enough to go out again without changing. I threw a change of clothes into a bag for him. I didn't think Dave would have a full set of clothes for Ben at his apartment. A chance encounter with a mud puddle or an upset tummy could be a disaster as far as a four-year-old was concerned. Better safe than sorry. I added one of his favorite books, an apple, and a granola bar too.

Dave arrived on time, and there was the usual bustle of getting Ben's jacket and saying goodbye. Dad had been napping while we were at the playground, but he came out to give Ben a goodbye hug.

I sat down at my desk again and started to make notes for an outline of the co-op project. I hadn't come across any information from the very early days, but I knew I wanted to start with the origins of the co-op. I had heard that cooperative housing in Canada started in 1968, with numbers growing rapidly throughout the 1970s and 1980s. The baby boomers, the large generation of people my father's age born after the World War II, were growing up and starting families, creating a need for more housing, particularly in the large urban areas. Lobbying from cooperative organizations to a supportive federal government led to funding programs to help create affordable homes.

I hoped I could find some materials from the very early days when the co-op was just starting. Or perhaps Gwen could
let me know which members had been in the co-op since the beginning. I knew I could get some basic historical material about the start of housing co-ops in general from the local cooperative housing association. But I really wanted some personal stories from early members. I thought that would make the history a lot more engaging.

I knew that my own story—a single mom in desperate need of a rental home I could afford—was likely repeated over and over throughout the years. But the co-op had also sheltered new Canadians arriving in the country as refugees, women and their children leaving abusive relationships, and people with HIV/AIDS during the dreadful years when the disease swept through Vancouver's gay community. Seniors and disabled people needing accessible housing had also found a haven here.

I hoped telling some of the individual stories of how people came to live here would be more interesting than a simple accounting of how the co-op started.

I was sorry again that Les was gone. I'm sure he could have told me the sort of personal stories I was looking for.

I hoped I could find others willing to share their stories of the early days.

When Dad came back, he had Mariana with him. “Hi, Becky,” he called. “I ran into Mariana in the hall. We're just going to have a drink. Do you want one?” He was heading for the kitchen and the bottle of his single malt scotch. I'd given it to him for his birthday, and he usually limited it to special treats. This was the second time he'd offered it to Mariana.

“No thanks, Dad. I'm in the middle of some work.” I wanted to give the pair some privacy. Although my father was devoted to Ben and spent a lot of time with me, I knew he had been lonely since my mother died. It gave me a bit of a pang to see him
show an interest in another woman, but I thought it was for the best. I liked Mariana, and it was nice to have her around. We would always miss my mom, but we needed to get over the grief and move on with our lives. I knew my mom had wanted, more than anything, for us to be happy.

“We're thinking of going out to dinner later,” Dad said. “Just one of the Italian places up the street. Do you want to come?”

Dad's invitation seemed genuine, but the way he phrased it,
we're
thinking of going out to dinner, do
you
want to come, was certainly quite different from
let's
all go out to dinner. I thought I got the picture.

“No thanks, Dad. Dave should be bringing Ben back soon. I'd better wait for him. And I've got lots of work to do, anyway. Now's a good chance to do it, with Ben out with Dave.” I thought I'd got as far as I could with the co-op history for now but I did have some more work for clients I needed to do. And I could spend time on some proposals for a few other potential clients I hoped I might do some work for. “We have plenty of leftovers, so I can just grab something to eat when I get hungry.”

I did manage to get a lot of work done before Dave brought Ben back. I hugged my son and sent him to get ready for bed.

"So, I've been working on that co-op history,” I couldn't resist saying to Dave as he turned to leave. “I think it will be pretty interesting. But remember you're going to ask the librarians if they have any more information about that story I asked you about.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “I don't know how fast they can find anything. You know it's not really a priority. In fact, they're doing it as a favor to me. It's not really the kind of thing they're supposed to do.”

I knew from experience how charming Dave could be when he wanted to be. I could imagine him turning that charm on the staff who worked in the newspaper archives. I supposed I should be glad he was able to help me out.

“I told Cara what you were working on,” he went on. “She remembers the two girls and that something happened to them. But she was pretty young at the time. She says she remembers the kids talking about it and everyone being scared. She thinks the parents were trying to shield the kids a bit and not talking about it, so she doesn't remember it very well. But you might want to talk to her about it.”

I was pretty sure Cara wouldn't really want to talk to me. Helping me out wasn't likely a big priority for her. But I might try, if I couldn't find information another way.

Later, after Ben was in bed, I made myself a sandwich with leftover turkey. I was feeling a little sorry for myself.

I wished Dave hadn't talked to Cara about what I was working on. And I hoped she hadn't told too many other people in the co-op about it.

I waited impatiently the next morning, trying to concentrate on my paid work and not fretting about whether Dave would be able to find out anything more about the two missing girls.

But he called earlier than I expected. “The librarians were able to find some stuff,” he said. “Apparently it was easier than they thought it would be. They said this was a big story at the time. There was lots of coverage. Then it all sort of faded away.

“I'm going to email you some stories. I wonder if I should tell someone at the City Desk,” he went on. “If there's a tie between the current death and what happened back then, that would certainly be news.”

“Maybe . . . look, Dave, could you hold off on telling them for a while? I don't know if it's anything, but I was the one who started this. And I'm on the scene. Do you think the paper would be interested in something from me, if I pitched it to them? I mean, I used to be a pretty good reporter. And I could use the money, if I could get an assignment. Or maybe a job? I tried to get rehired a while ago but they said they weren't hiring.”

“Well, Bec, I don't know,” he said. “I don't think the paper is hiring. But it could be a great story. I can see that, even if I'm totally into this sports beat. The paper usually wants staff to cover stuff but they might buy something if it was a really great story and you've got a personal angle. You might be able to pitch it to them if you could figure something out. That'd be cool. Anyway, I'll send you the stuff I found. But you keep me posted, okay?
If there's a story here and they find out I've been keeping it under wraps, I could be in trouble, you know. We're all supposed to be loyal to the cause.”

I agreed I'd let him know as soon as I found out anything.

In the meantime, I needed to look at the material the newspaper's librarians had found.

I opened my email and waited for the message to download. There were articles from both of Vancouver's daily papers. The first article was from two days after the girls had disappeared.

N
O
S
IGN OF
M
ISSING
T
EENAGERS

Police are still searching for Jessica Anderson and Amy Cole. The two girls, who both attend Vancouver's Britannia Secondary School, were in classes Tuesday. According to classmates, the pair planned to go to Cole's home after school to work on a school project.

Les Walter, the manager of Waterview housing cooperative, where Cole lived, said he saw the two returning from school about 3:30 EM. yesterday afternoon. He didn't notice them leave again. Marian Cole, Amy's mother, said the two girls left a few hours later, heading for Jessica's house.

Neither has been seen since.

There were the usual contact details for anyone with further information. But I'd stopped reading.

I don't know why the last name hadn't tipped me off. I'd been focusing on the past. But I was now pretty sure that Amy was Mariana's daughter. They had got the first name wrong— sloppy reporting, I thought—but it must have been her.

I hadn't yet read the other articles Dave had forwarded to me, but I was pretty sure they were going to be bad news. Mariana
had talked about her son, but she'd never mentioned a daughter. My heart clenched. I knew how I'd feel at even the idea of something happening to Ben. I couldn't imagine losing him.

My heart went out to Mariana. I knew I could probably just ask her what had happened. But I was reluctant to bring her more pain. I was sure I could find other ways to satisfy what was mere curiosity at this point.

I read quickly through the other stories Dave had sent me. One could only hint at the desperation of the girls' families.

F
AMILIES PLEAD FOR INFORMATION ON MISSING GIRLS

The families of missing teens Jessica Anderson and Amy Cole pleaded today for anyone with any information on their whereabouts to come forward. Elizabeth Anderson and her husband, Donald, said Jessica, their only child, had never run away before.

“But if that's what happened, if Jessie felt she had to leave for some reason, then we want to assure her that she can come home. We love you, Jessie, and we'll welcome you home, no matter what.

“And if someone has taken her or knows anything about where she is, I beg you to let her come home safely.”

Marian Cole, Amy's mother, said she always thought her daughter was safe in her own neighborhood. “It's hard to think about this happening. A daughter comes home from school and then vanishes. I just want her to come back.”

The girls were last seen at Waterview housing cooperative, where Amy lives.

I scanned the photos of the desperate parents. Despite the worry that wrinkled their faces, Elizabeth and Donald Anderson were a handsome couple in their forties, prosperous-looking and well groomed. Jessica had obviously inherited her mother's blond good looks.

The photo of Marian Cole made me wonder if I'd been wrong in thinking it was Mariana. The picture showed a heavy-set, almost obese woman with big hair and too much makeup. She was dressed in a beaded sweatshirt, leggings and high heels. I squinted at the photo on my screen. Enlarging it just made it look more grainy.

Maybe I was wrong about it being Mariana. Maybe it was a former co-op member with a similar name. Mariana was plump, but this woman was much heavier. I hoped I was wrong and that it wasn't our friendly neighbor who had suffered the horrible tragedy of a missing child.

I read through the other articles quickly, desperate to find out more. Then I wished I hadn't. “B
ODY OF MISSING TEEN FOUND
,” the headline screamed. Jessica's body had been found in some bushes in New Brighton Park, near the waterfront. She had been strangled.

I read the final article, written some time later. It summarized what I'd already read about the disappearance of the girls and the discovery of Jessica's body. The police had not found Jessica's killer. And Amy had never been seen again.

That was all the information I had from Dave, and it didn't really resolve anything. I remembered that there were other boxes of files in the office, and I wanted to ask Ruth if I could look through them.

Glancing at my watch I realized the office was likely closed for the day. It was time to start dinner. I decided that looking through the boxes could wait until tomorrow. It was a decision I'd regret.