Who Does That?

WHO DOES THAT?

“Excuse me?” said a voice.

I looked over at the two people walking toward me—a man and a woman. Obviously not from the neighbourhood. I would have known them if they lived around here.

“Yes,” I said.

“Are you—” the woman looked at the notebook she was holding in her hand, “—Jules Martino?” She looked back at me.

“Yes,” I said.

“And this is your home?” she asked.

“Yes.” I paused. “Or what’s left of it.” I turned to look at the charred pile of debris where my house had once stood, where my entire life had literally blown up.

“I’m Detective Terry Waits and this is my partner Detective Carlos Ito.” They showed me their badges. “We were wondering if we could speak to you about what happened here today,” she said, nodding her chin towards the smoking ruins of my life.

I turned to look at her. “I don’t think this is the best time, Detective ….”

“Waits. Detective Terry Waits.”

“Detective Waits.” I continued to scan the scene. “The firefighters are checking the wreckage to see if my husband is trapped inside.”

At that moment, a firefighter exited through what remained of my front doorway, cradling something furry.

“Belle!” I said, running towards the fur ball. I looked at the man holding her. “Is she … is she alive?” I held out my hand towards my tiny soot-covered kitten and gently touched her matted fur.

“She is,” he said, “But she’s injured. She needs immediate veterinary care.” He gently handed her to me. She meowled weakly. “I think her back leg may be broken. And she’s probably suffering from smoke inhalation.” He looked from Belle to me. “Her breathing is very laboured. She really needs to get to a vet—ASAP.”

I looked around, panicking. I didn’t know what to do. Do I take Belle to the vet’s and save her life, abandoning the search for Bernie? Or do I stay and wait to see if they find Bernie, putting Belle’s life at risk.? I wanted to do both, but I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed. I needed help.

Detective Waits walked up with Ito on her heels. “Ms. Martino? How about I have Carlos here—” she turned to her partner. “—take Belle to the vet’s, and you and I can wait here at the site.”

I looked at Ito. How did I know that I could trust him with Bells’s wellbeing? But how could I not trust him? Too much was happening all at once. “Okay,” I said hesitantly. “But be gentle with her.” I looked at my poor wounded kitten. “Her vet is Dr. Kwarter at Dr. Pet Vet on Grange Avenue.” I took off my sweater and wrapped it around tiny Belle, and held her out to Ito. “Be careful,” I said. “She’s all I have left.”

Ito took Belle gently into his arms. “I’ll let you know what they say.” He turned and walked towards what I assumed was their unmarked police vehicle.

“He’ll take care of her, right?” I asked Waits.

“He will. He’s got cats of his own, so he knows how important Belle is to you.”

I nodded slowly, returning my gaze to the house.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions while we stand here? Or would you want to go sit in one of the squad cars?”

“No, I’m fine here,” I said without turning towards her. I did not want to go sit in a cruiser. I wanted to stand here, watching and waiting, maintaining my vigil.

Waits looked at me closely, concern in her eyes. “Ms. Martino,” she said, “I think the EMTs should have a look at you. You might be in shock.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“No,” she said, “I think you should let them have a look at you, just to make sure you’re okay.” She turned and waved at one of the first responders who came over and joined us.

Together they walked me over to the ambulance, and sat me down at the back of the open rear doors where another EMT stood waiting for us. After a blood pressure and heart rate check followed by a number of “how are you feeling” questions, they declared that, while suffering from mild shock, I didn’t need further medical intervention. I was good to go.

The two EMTs disappeared, and Waits settled in beside me on the bumper of the ambulance. I could see the front of the house from this vantage point. I watched, waiting …

“Where were you when your house blew up?” Waits asked.

“At work,” I said watching all the people moving around the scene.

“How did you know to come home?”

“Wilma, my neighbour, called me.” I pointed in the general direction of Wilma’s house, across the street. I noticed that the windows on the front of her house had been blown out.

“What time was that?”

“Around 10:45 a.m,” I said, my own voice sounding distant in my ears. This can’t be happening.

She nodded. “Why do you think your husband—” she paused pulling out her notebook.

“Bernie,” I said before she opened her memo book.

“—Bernie is in the house?”

“He was working from home today. I called his phone and he didn’t answer.” I looked back at her. “Where else would he be?” I asked.

“Could he have gone out somewhere? Maybe at the store? Or at a coffee shop?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Not likely, but maybe.” I turned back to the wreckage of my home, and watched as the fire chief walked towards us. My heart started thumping in my chest. I felt dizzy.

This is it, I thought.

Waits went out to meet him, both stopping out of my hearing range. I watched as he said something and she nodded before returning to me.

“Ms. Martino, a couple of things. First, the crew has searched the house for Bernie with no sign of him. But they can’t reach the basement right now because they’re not sure how safe the structure is after the blast. They have to wait until a structural engineer can determine whether the house is stable enough to continue searching. Secondly, they were wondering if you could call Bernie’s phone again, you know, in case it’s on his person and still working. It could help them locate him.”

I took out my phone.

“Everyone quiet!” yelled the chief. There was instant silence.

I scrolled to Bernie’s contact info, and pushed the button. I waited for it to connect, then one ring, two rings, three, four, five, six. Click.

“You’ve reached Bernie’s phone. I can’t take your call right now, so please leave your name, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.” Beep!

I hung up. Would this be the last time I heard Bernie’s voice? On a voice mail?

They had heard no ringing phone. I turned to Waits. “What does that mean? Does it mean that Bernie’s phone had been destroyed in the blast, but he’s still in there? Or does it mean that he’s somewhere else, away from the carnage, and just not answering his phone?”

“I’m not sure, Ms. Martino. We’re going to have to wait.”

I watched the firefighters leaving the house. “Why’s everybody leaving?” I asked. “They have to recover Bernie’s body.” I paused, “Or help him if he’s hurt. They can’t just leave him in there!”

“They have to stop the search right now, until the structural engineer arrives.” She looked from me to the house. “It could take a few hours. How about I take you to the station and we can take your formal statement.

I shook my head. “No. I’ll wait here, thanks.”

“Ms. Marino, there’s no reason to wait. Nothing’s going to happen for a couple hours at least. In the meantime, when we go to the station, we can get you a coffee and we can get your official statement done—one thing off of your plate. I promise we’ll have you back here before they resume their search.”

I didn’t want to go to the police station. I really didn’t. I also didn’t want to leave my house—or what was left of it. I just wanted to stand here, waiting for any news. But Waits was persistent. And the sooner I give her my statement, the sooner she’d leave me alone.

“Fine,” I said.

As we were walking towards a squad car—Waits had arranged for an officer to drive us to the precinct—her phone rang.

“Waits. … Uh huh … Good … Okay … Okay … How long? … Great … We’re heading there now … Okay. ‘Bye.”

She turned to me, smiling. “Good news! That was Detective Ito. Belle’s going to be okay, but she’s going to have to spend three or four days at the vet’s, to make sure that her lungs are clear. She has a dislocated rear left leg, scratches, bruises, and she lost the tip of one of her ears. Dr. Kwarter says that she probably used up a couple of her lives, but she should make a full recovery. You can see her tomorrow.”

I smiled back. That was the first bit of good news I’d heard since I’d received the call from Wilma about the house blowing up. “That’s great,” I said, but paused when reality struck. “But I have no idea where we’re going to live.”

Waits looked at me. “You need to call your insurance company. They’ll help you figure all that out.”

I didn’t even know the name of our insurance company—Bernie did all that. I had no idea who to contact. I really should have paid more attention. I felt tears well up in my eyes.

Waits handed me a Kleenex. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

*****

Waits and Ito stood outside the interview room, looking through the glass at Jules Martino sitting quietly at the table.

“What do you think? Did she did it?” asked Ito.

Waits shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. A few things didn’t ring true, and she had a few tells.”

“Spill.”

“Okay, well the big thing was the phone.” Waits looked at Ito. “She said that she called Bernie right after she found out about the explosion, but her phone doesn’t back that up.”

“Maybe she used her work phone,” said Ito.

“Maybe. We’ll have to follow up on that.” She tapped her notebook on her other hand. “And when we asked her to call his number, she did, but she didn’t leave a message. Who doesn’t leave a message? Even if there’s only an iota of hope, you’d leave a message. She didn’t.” She paused. “And she talked about him in the past tense. Usually it’s the other way around—people use the present tense even after they’ve found out someone has died.”

“That doesn’t mean she killed him,” said Ito.

“Maybe not, but she let me bring her here.” She turned to look at Ito. “If your wife was trapped in a collapsed house, would you leave before they found her?”

Ito shook his head. “No. Of course not. I’d wait until I knew, one way or the other.”

“Right. And the call from the neighbour—” Waits looked at her notebook. “Wilma Kurtz. She said that when she called her, Ms. Martino didn’t ask any questions. She just said she was on the way home. And she didn’t ask about Bernie. That’s a huge red flag for me. No ’Is Bernie alright?’ Or ‘Did you see Bernie.’ She only asked is she’d seen Belle. And Mrs. Kurtz said Ms. Martino didn’t sound too freaked out when she learned her house had blown up. I would have lost my bananas it someone told me my house had blown up.”

“That still doesn’t mean she did it,” said Ito.

“When she was giving you the kitten to take to the vet’s, she told you to be careful because she was all she had left. Like she knew Bernie was dead.”

Ito shook his head. “You saw the site. Nobody could survive that.”

Waits shrugged again. “Belle did. Why not Bernie?” She paused. “You know, she didn’t even ask why her house blew up—what caused it. Again, like she already knew.”

Ito still wasn’t buying it.

They stood in silence watching Jules Martino sitting patiently, waiting. Wait’s phone dinged, signalling an incoming text. She opened the screen, and read the message.

“They found Bernie. Dead.”

“Intact?”

“Yeah, more or less. COD—blunt force trauma. To the head. Doc says it looks like he was whacked with something long and heavy.”

“Could have been from the explosion,” said Ito.

“Could have been, but TOD is between ten and midnight, nine to eleven hours before the explosion.”

“Damn! You were right.” He stopped and looked at Jules Martino. Shaking his head he said. “But she blew up her house. And her cat, for God’s sake! Everything she owns was blown to bits.” He turned to look at Waits. “Who does that?”

“I bet you a coffee we find a recently rented storage unit stuffed with all the special things that Ms. Martino couldn’t bear to part with,” said Waits, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I’m not taking that beat,” said Ito, shaking his head.