CHAPTER 4
Saskatchewan is one of the few places in North America that does not spring forward for daylight saving time. In May, the time difference between Toronto and Regina is two hours. When she’d lived in Saskatchewan, Jill Oziowy and I ran together at five-thirty in the morning. She knew my schedule and, after she moved to Toronto, she often called while I was tying my running shoes.
As always, Jill wasted no time on preamble. “What do you know about the murder of that escort in the warehouse district?”
Jill and I had been friends for thirty years, but I wasn’t ready to spill the beans on this one. “The escort’s name was Cristal Avilia. Her condo cost close to three-quarters of a million dollars, and her clients paid $500 an hour, more for ‘special requests.’ ”
Jill groaned. “If I’d wanted a precis, I’d have called our newsroom. I want deep background, scurrilous details, unsubstantiated rumours, blood, gore – the works.”
“I’ve told you everything I can.”
“Zack’s firm is involved in the case?”
“Jill…”
“Okay, I’ll back off. But for the record, we had more fun before you were married to a lawyer.”
“I didn’t have more fun.”
“All right. But if you learn anything that’s going to become public knowledge anyway, I get first dibs.”
“Jill, why is the network so interested in this case? Prostitution is a dangerous business. The death of a single sex-trade worker doesn’t usually attract national attention.”
“You’re not going to like the answer. It’s money. Cristal Avilia wasn’t a strung-out fifteen-year-old in the core turning tricks to pay for drugs. From what we hear, Cristal was the crown jewel of your local escort scene, and her contact list contained some fascinating clients.”
“Come on, Jill. This is Regina.”
“Take a look around you. There’s crude oil in them thar hills – also uranium, potash, diamonds, and gold. Plus B-moviemakers who love those big prairie skies and government tax breaks. These days the hotel rooms in Saskatchewan are filled with guys with fat wallets who’ve already checked out the options on pay-per-view.”
“So they hire a call girl?”
“They hire, and I’m quoting from an escort ad in your city, ‘an escort who can give them a moment that they will cherish forever.’ That means a woman who will slide her legs around theirs on the elevator, be the perfect companion at the corporate cocktail party, then go back to their hotel room and fake an orgasm that will make them believe they haven’t lost their manly powers.”
“That’s a pretty tall order.”
“Read the ads. Better yet, talk to somebody who knows the world. Escort services are the universal panacea. Anyway, my spidey sense is tingling about this Cristal Avilia case. I think it’s going to be big. We’ve got some eager young thing looking into it, but you have some useful connections, and you might as well earn some brownie points if we’re going to pitch your Issues for Dummies series.”
“A trade-off,” I said.
“Life’s full of them,” Jill said cheerfully. “Get on it.”
Zack had already left for a breakfast meeting when I got back from my run. I was relieved. I didn’t want to keep Jill’s call secret, but I also didn’t want start my day with Zack talking about Cristal Avilia. Ed Mariani was a different matter. I was picking him up, so we’d just take one car downtown, and as soon as he settled in the passenger seat and snapped his seat belt, I pounced.
“Jill called this morning. She thinks the Cristal Avilia murder is going to be big news.”
“Jill’s right,” Ed said. “If I were more ambitious, I’d be out there knocking on doors and making phone calls.”
“Where would you start?”
“With her client list.”
“That’s exactly what Jill said, but I don’t imagine the police are handing out copies.”
“No, but other people might know who her regulars were.”
“Other people, meaning other escorts?”
“Yes.”
“Can you suggest anybody I could talk to?”
“Why this sudden interest in the Cristal Avilia murder?”
“I honestly don’t know. Jill says that if I come up with something, NationTV will be more inclined to green-light my issues series. But it’s not just that. When Jill and I were talking, it occurred to me that I know nothing about the lives of those women, and I should.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” Ed said. “Slapping a genteel title on the job doesn’t change the fact that escorts work in the sex trade. It’s not a pretty world, Jo. People get hurt. Look at what happened to Cristal Avilia.”
“I’m just going to ask some questions, Ed.”
Ed was silent until we drew near the courthouse. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll arrange for you to meet someone.” He smiled. “Her name is Vera Wang.”
“As in Vera Wang, the designer of bridal gowns?”
“No, as in Vera Wang, the woman who, until she retired, ran a discreet escort service that served two generations of our most prominent citizens.”
“And she chose Vera Wang as her
“No, it’s her birth name. Vera’s my neighbour, and she’s quick to point out that Vera Wang the designer was born on June 27, 1949, and that she herself was born on March 4, 1940. She had the name first. Want me to call her?”
“Please,” I said. “She sounds intriguing.”
“Oh she’s that and a bag of chips,” Ed said.
By the time I found a parking spot, Ed had arranged for me to meet Vera Wang later in the week. When he clicked off his cellphone, Ed’s expression was theatrically lugubrious. “The deed is done,” he intoned. “There is no turning back.”
When we walked into court, Ginny Monaghan was sitting next to her ex-husband, with her arm resting on the bench behind him and her lips close to his ear. Even from a distance, it was clear their conversation was intense. Ed and I took our place in the front row and waited. Ginny was quick to join us. Her smile as she greeted us was edgy.
“Guess where I spent the night?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “No, don’t guess. I was in the emergency ward with Chloe. She cut herself – deliberately.”
Ed’s face drooped with concern. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Ginny said tightly. “The doctor I spoke to was most reassuring. Luckily for me, Dr. Dolcetti is a supporter, so he won’t feel compelled to blab to the media.”
“No doctor would do that,” I said.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “You live in an innocent world, Joanne. There’s always a way to get damaging news to the public. Anyway, Chloe’s fine. Dr. Dolcetti talked to her, then he talked to me. He says the cutting wasn’t a suicide attempt, just a way of relieving pressure.”
Ed frowned. “What did she use?”
“A box cutter that she took from her father’s house. Anyway, the wounds weren’t deep, and according to the good doctor, Chloe’s cuts didn’t indicate that she meant business.”
“So this was just a warning.”
“The doctor seemed to think so. He was puzzled because typically adolescents make cuts on their arms, and Chloe’s cuts were on her stomach. When I explained that Chloe was a basketball player with a charity game coming up this week, he seemed reassured.”
“Did she talk to you about why she did it?” I asked.
Ginny’s eyes tracked away. “She said it was a mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.”
“That’s a good sign,” I said.
