Casualty of Glamour (part iv)
There was a knock.
A woman with thick curls opened the door, face tight.
“Toronto Police. Detectives Carver and Ruiz.” Carver held up his badge.
“Is your youngest daughter home?” The woman nodded once and went upstairs without a word. Ruiz started humming under his breath. Piercing the silence gently.
Creepin' in the bayou...
Ak on my shoulder
You--
Carver shot him a look. The humming stopped.
A few minutes later the mother came back down with the girl—tall, early twenties, still half-asleep. They sat in the living room.
“We’re looking for your older sister. We need to ask a few questions.”
“Okay.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Three months ago. She came by for my birthday. Brought a gift. There was a guy with her.”
“You get a name?” asked Carver.
“No. Not really.” she said.
“Describe him for me.”
“Tall. Dark skin. Good-looking.”
Her mother quietly added, “He used to come by the house.” Anastasia glanced at her mother, then replied, “I think his name was Baccino.” Ruiz wrote it down.
“My daughter models. She said he was going to make her a star.”
Anastasia started to speak again, “Whenever he came over she’d just stay in the bedroom for—” Her mother cut in quickly, “Anastasia.” The girl shut her mouth. Looked at the floor.
Carver waited a beat, then said, “You know where we can find him?”
Both women shook their heads.
“Black Porsche. Always in dark jackets. Leather, mostly. She moved in with him about a year ago.” said the mother. Carver closed his notebook. “Appreciate your time.”
Ruiz went ahead to start the car. Detective Carver wondered whether heading back to the station was the right move, but they didn't really know where to start their search for Baccino.
The man stood in the hallway. He could see the city was starting to wake up.
Sunday morning had an eerie glow, the missing model case had grown more complicated, downright mysterious. Carver realized he'd be heading back to the station... with more questions than when he left. Next when he reached the passenger seat, he noticed Ruiz smoking beside him. The satisfied smile worn on his partner's face... gave him pause.
“I have a lead on Baccino's whereabouts. Contact en route.”
“Where are we meeting them?” asked the Carver.
“There's a strip club on Bloor...”
The club manager told them one of his dancers had quit last weekend to “be with Baccino.”
He described the enigma as a dark-skinned man, six feet tall with black hair. Leather jacket.
Gave them her address. So the officers went to Yonge Street to pay the pole dancer a visit.
They knocked twice. Silence.
Ruiz looked at Carver. Carver gave a small nod. Ruiz kicked the door. The lock gave.
Rose-coloured bills were scattered across the floor, some stuck together with dried blood.
Carver moved upstairs swiftly. Ruiz was already on the radio when a woman appeared in the doorway of the unit across the hall. Short black hair, thin, one eye twitching.
Ruiz lowered the radio. “Hey. You live here?”
“Yeah.” the woman said.
“We’re police. Looking for someone who might’ve been staying with your roommate. Name of Baccino.” Then Ruiz looked at her carefully. The woman blinked.
Said the name under her breath like she was testing it. “Yeah… I’ve seen him.”
Carver came back down the stairs. Ruiz asked, “When’s the last time?”
“Couple weeks ago? They asked me to come on a trip. Drove out of the city… into the woods somewhere. We were drinking. Absinthe. I passed out. When I woke up they were gone.”
She wrapped her arms around herself.
“My roommate quit the club for him. Started using again. She was… different.”
Carver took a step forward and asked, “You remember where exactly they took you?”
“I can try.”
Next she followed the police into their car.
The woman tried her best to navigate, they re--traced the road--trip, winding down obscure roads, going deeper into the countryside. As they drove past a lake, the woman pointed outside. The car hurtled forward. She closed her brown eyes, re-creating the road-trip in her mind's eye, hoping to find the wooden plank they all sat together with bottles of booze.
A moment later, the policeman watched her get out of the car, heading towards the water.
The mood was solemn when they returned to the police car.
She didn't speak until they dropped her back at a hotel. The apartment was an active crime--scene. The blood had to be evaluated by lab technicians.
Her last words to them were a plea, to find her roommate.
The men drove in silence to the station. Detective Carver sighed gruffly.
They entered the station without a wasted step. The case was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and they needed to establish some facts. Quickly. “Bonnie and Baccino.”
“We know what he looks like.” his partner said amicably.
“And we know what he sounds------”
“Wait a minute sir.”
They walked into the bullpen. A small group of uniforms was clustered around one desk.
An open package sat there—black lingerie, an iPhone, a note written in careful cursive taped to the phone. One of the officers looked up. “You two need to see this.”
Ruiz picked up the phone. The lock screen showed a dark-haired young woman looking straight at the camera, almost smiling. Carver stared at it. “That’s her. The model.”
Ruiz turned the phone on. Music started playing—low, familiar. The room went quiet.
Ruiz looked at Carver. “That’s him. That’s Baccino’s track.”
Baccino's music had finally infiltrated the police station.
Dream Tax - Cino Sundays 002
Hear the complete recording inside the Mirror Room
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