The Other Side of Goodbye

  Chapter 1

  Norman Green was late, although Robin had been told to expect that. She had also been told to ignore everything that had been written about Norman. Most of the stories contradicted each other anyway.

  She looked toward the doorway of the small restaurant. Norman Green walked through it. He was tall but not giant and was in great shape. His jacket was covered in snow. He shook it off and handed it to the hostess, who nodded toward Robin’s table.

  Robin straightened and adjusted her shirt. She wanted to look as professional as possible without looking like she was a journalist. That was tough, mostly because she was a journalist. However, that wasn’t why she was here.

  Norman Green walked up to the table.

  “Are you Robin Sweetwater?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, standing. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Norman shook her hand and smiled. “It’s mostly bullshit.”

  “Yeah,” said Robin nervously.

  “Let’s talk. This place has the best waffles in the city.” Norman sat, and Robin followed suit a moment later.

  “Was that why you wanted to meet here?” she said.

  “Somewhat,” said Norman. “I live a block away. I come here for breakfast every day.”

  “Makes sense,” said Robin. She felt intimidated by the man standing in front of her. She could see where the rumors and speculation had come from. His rippling muscles didn’t seem like they could be achieved naturally.

  Or maybe she was seeing the same thing the papers had seen. Maybe Norman was just a hardworking athlete who had clawed his way through the minors to the National Hockey League and had then had his career destroyed by a smear campaign.

  A waitress came, and they ordered drinks, orange juice for Robin and a black coffee for Norman.

  “So,” said Norman once the waitress had retreated, “how did you find out about my detective agency?”

  Robin didn’t want to reveal that she was a journalist, not with the way Norman had lashed out at the media and blamed them for ruining his career, but at the same time she needed his help.

  “I was a fan of yours,” she said. “I looked you up and found out you had started a detective agency. You used the money from the legal settlement with the league and the Toronto Post. It seemed a little odd.”

  Norman nodded. “It’s a second career for me after my first one failed.”

  “Why?” said Robin. “You were an athlete. Becoming a detective seems pretty out of left field.”

  Once they had ordered their food and the waitress was gone, Norman turned back to Robin with a smile. “What did you ask?” he said, sipping his coffee.

  “We were talking about how you left hockey for a life as a private detective.”

  “You know,” said Norman, leaning back in his chair, “it’s strange. When I first started the agency, I had endless business coming through the door. It was trial by fire. I had a crash course in investigation from a cop friend of mine and was basically hoping that it wouldn’t be too hard. It was harder than I ever could have guessed, and I had a lot of failures in those early days. Some people were angry at my ineptitude, but most of them just wanted to say they’d had Norman Green as a private investigator. Most of them expected me to quit as soon as my money ran out.”

  “Yet you’re still going a few years later,” said Robin, taking a sip of her orange juice. She was feeling the urge to pull out her notepad and write down what he was saying.

  Norman grinned. “I’m still here. The irony is that the people expecting me to fail gave me the experience I needed to get started. As time went on, people started to forget about me as a hockey player and instead started hiring me based on the reputation I’d built. Now, almost no one knows me as a hockey player. They’ve moved on. I had everything, and I was forced to say goodbye to that life. I suppose this is the other side.”

  Robin nodded. “The world moves on.”

  Norman smiled with one corner of his mouth. “If you give it enough time.”

  They sat in silence for a few seconds.

  “So,” said Norman, “what do you need me to do? You didn’t give me much information in your message. You understand my rates?”

  “Yes,” said Robin, leaning in, “although I have an alternative proposal.”

  Norman leaned back. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Okay,” said Robin. She swallowed and took a deep breath. “A few months ago — sorry.”

  “Take your time,” said Norman, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’m here to listen, not to judge.”

  “Okay,” said Robin. “Three months ago, in December, my younger brother died.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Norman.

  “Thanks,” said Robin, looking up at him and then back down at the table. “They said it was suicide. He overdosed on painkillers he was taking for his leg.”

  Norman raised an eyebrow. “What’s the mystery?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” said Robin, thinking of the best way to tell the story. “Joel was happy. He was a little sad because he wasn’t able to play hockey. I’m sure you can understand that. Knee injury. He would have been fine in two weeks. There was no reason to kill himself.”

  “The police did an investigation?”

  “Yes.”

  “And determined it was self-inflicted?”

  “Yes.”

  Norman paused for a moment. He looked intrigued, and Robin let herself hope that someone was finally going to take her seriously.

  “Who found him?” said Norman.

  Robin frowned. “What?”

  “Who found the body?”

  Robin swallowed and looked down at her empty glass. “I did.”

  Norman nodded. “I thought so.”

  “Are you going to tell me the same thing as everyone else?”

  “Depends what everyone’s been telling you.”

  “They’ve been telling me it’s because I found him. Apparently, when you’re the first one to find the body, you develop your own memories about the incident, and it’s incredibly difficult for your subconscious to look back at that traumatic moment and overwrite it with the professional opinion. I would swear under oath that I heard footsteps coming from his room after his time of death, but they say I’m making things up to deal with a tragedy. “

  “Sounds like bullshit to me,” said Norman. “You know what you heard, and you know your brother.”

  Robin let out a deep breath. “Thank you for believing me.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Robin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been to the police a dozen times and a hired bunch of big-shot private detectives. I think a lot of them are like lawyers. They only take cases that are slam dunks so they can brag they have a ninety-five percent success rate or whatever. My editor didn’t even read my story.”

  Norman raised an eyebrow. “You’re a journalist?”

  Robin felt her lungs clench up.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I work for the Post.”

  “I don’t work with journalists,” said Norman. “Especially not journalists for the Toronto Post.”

  Robin leaned over and grabbed his arm. “You need to understand what I’m going through. I don’t have any other options. You’re my last chance, Norman Green.”

  A few heads perked up around the restaurant, as though they recognized the name but couldn’t place it.

  Norman shrugged off her hand and stood. “I don’t work with journalists. If you’re telling the truth, then I’m sorry. Don’t contact me again.”

  Norman walked out of the restaurant, grabbing his jacket from the hostess and walking into the worsening winter storm. The calendar had recently turn
ed over to March, but winter was still fighting for its grasp on the city. The snow had been relentless the last several days. Snowplows were moving through the streets at all hours.

  The waitress came over to the table. “You want anything else?”

  “Just the bill,” said Robin, putting her head in her hands.

  Chapter 2

  Norman climbed out of the cab. His boots sank into the inch of snow that had accumulated in the last hour. It was just barely below freezing, but the snow was coming down in blankets. He walked across the sidewalk as the wind accelerated, pulling his jacket over his face.

  Inside his building, he rode the elevator up to the tenth floor and walked into his condo. It had high ceilings, marble countertops, and an eighty-inch television screen. He had bought it right after he signed his first multi-million-dollar contract, and now it was the most valuable asset he had. He didn’t want to sell it. It was a reminder of his peak.

  The moment he opened the door, the entire condo was consumed with the barking and howling of nine dogs running to greet him. He locked the door just as the tidal wave of dogs hit him, knocking him to the ground as they all tried to lick him at the same time. More than a dozen times Norman was hit in the face by one of the wagging tails. He laughed and petted them all in turn.

  After a few minutes of being covered in dogs, he stood and walked into the living room. All nine dogs followed him. They were a variety of breeds and colors. Few, if any of them had a definite breed.

  After he had been forcefully retired, he had been without a purpose. He’d had no idea who he was anymore. He’d gone to the local shelter on a whim one day and found a dog to take home. That dog, a Rottweiler named Teddy, had been abused by his previous owner and had cowered away from him in the cage. He’d walked in and sat with that dog, initially just to comfort it for a moment, but then hadn’t been able to leave the cage until that dog came with him. It had taken almost an hour, but he had coaxed the dog out of the cage and taken him home.

  He had nourished Teddy and nursed him back to health.

  Adopting dogs became an addiction. Every time he went to the humane society, he claimed he was just going to look, but then he came home with one or two more dogs. He hadn’t been back since he got the ninth dog, because he had run out of room in his condo.

  “Welcome home!” Julia shouted from the kitchen.

  He shouted back, “How were the puppies today?”

  Julia stepped out of the living room and leaned against the doorframe, her hands in her pockets. She was a petite blonde who always wore too much denim. “They were awesome, as always,” she said with a smile.

  Norman walked over to her, pulled her into a hug, and kissed her passionately. “I missed you.”

  Julia laughed. “You’ve been gone like an hour.”

  “Does that matter?”

  She grinned and kissed him on the nose. “How was your appointment?”

  “She was a journalist.”

  “Sorry. She didn’t tell me that when I answered her call. I thought you would have liked to take a murder case.”

  Julia walked into the living room and fell onto the couch, and a few of the dogs trotted over to her. A few jumped onto the couch and curled up around her.

  Norman leaned against the wall, scratching the ear of one of the dogs, and smiled.

  Six years ago, he had achieved his dream. He had been a professional hockey player in the NHL, on the fourth line of the Dallas Stars, for a single month. There had been endless interviews and articles written about how he was a perfect example of decades of hard work and integrity. After almost a decade toiling in the minor leagues, he had finally gotten his chance in the big league.

  Then the stories had started coming out about his steroid use and how his sudden rise to the top league in the world was the result of cheating. Slowly, every news outlet had pounced on the story until the league had no choice but to suspend him pending a full investigation.

  They hadn’t found anything in his bloodstream to indicate that he was cheating, but the media had been out of control. Fans were getting furious, and even some coaches and managers claimed he was making a mockery of their league.

  And so he had been asked nicely to leave and never come back. His dream had gone up in smoke. He’d never been officially banned, but if no one would give him a contract, what was the difference?

  And then there was Julia. He had originally hired her as a dog-sitter during the day while he was building his detective business. Their relationship had flourished, and she had moved in with him, still working as his full-time dog-sitter. They had never really put a label on what they were, and Norman wasn’t sure they ever would. He didn’t see any point in changing what they had now.

  Julia looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”

  Norman shook his head. “I’m going to make some stir fry for dinner.”

  “Sounds great,” said Julia. “Let me know when it’s done.”

  Once Norman was done cooking, he brought the meal into the living room and set a bowl down in front of Julia. She grabbed the bowl and began gulping down the rice and chicken. A few of the dogs jumped on the couch around them.

  “Delicious,” said Julia between bites. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he said. He took a seat on the couch. “Can I ask you something?”

  She turned to him with a piece of chicken hanging from her front teeth. “Shoot.”

  “It’s about the woman I spoke with today, Robin Sweetwater.”

  “I set up the meeting, remember? Someone needs to answer the phones for your business.”

  “Well,” said Norman, “something about her was different. I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting journalists. They always have this look like they’re trying to remember everything you say so they can write it down later. I didn’t get that feeling with her at all.”

  “Thinking about taking the job?”

  Norman shrugged. “That’s what I need help with.”

  “Take it.”

  Norman looked at her, frowning. “Just like that?”

  “Why not? Stop being a bitch and take the job. You’ve always wanted to do a murder case. Maybe this will finally get you away from spying on cheating spouses and runaway teenagers. Great food, by the way.”

  “I’m not sure why I asked for your help.”

  “I still have Robin’s number. Call her back and tell her you’ll take the job for an increased rate. She seemed desperate enough to pay extra.”

  Norman grinned. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

  “Think about it,” said Julia. She gestured around her. “This place is expensive.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Norman. He finished his meal and took it into the kitchen. The dogs stayed behind with Julia as she scratched behind their ears and under their chins.

  Norman washed his plate and walked to the hallway. The snow was still coming down outside the windows, covering the grass patches on the patio where the dogs did their business.

  He looked out into the snow and then sighed and walked back into the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  Robin ignored the questions from the secretary about her whereabouts as she strode into the offices of the Toronto Post, a midsized paper with circulation around the Greater Toronto Area. Robin settled into her desk and looked around the office. There was work piling up on her desk.

  She wished she could get off work and head to the shooting range. That had always been her favorite way to relieve stress. Ever since Joel’s death, their sister Amelia had been joining her as well.

  Gary Thorne, her editor, had piled up a new list of potential assignments on her desk.

  She hated Gary. He was a selfish prick who hadn’t cared about his employees since day one. The way he saw it, there was such a surplus of kids with journalism degrees desperate for work that he could be a dictator to the employees he already had.

  She had to give Gary a pass for the present, however. His sister,
Marie, had passed away suddenly a month earlier. The disease had been sudden and abrupt and hadn’t given them much time to say goodbye.

  Marie’s husband, Keith, had come by the Post offices a few times throughout the malady to speak with Gary. Keith had always looked like the shell of a man, constantly optimistic that the next operation would be the one that saved his wife’s life. The gossip around the office was that Gary had loaned him immense sums of money for the treatments.

  But nothing had worked.

  Robin hoped Keith was okay. He had seemed like a nice enough guy.

  She also had to admit that, despite whatever other shortcomings Gary had, he was the reason she had a job in journalism at all. Her stepfather, Harold, was Gary’s family doctor, and it was through him that she had gotten this job.

  She leafed through the stories on her desk. There had been a shooting at Jane and Finch, a new drug called Burrow was making its way through the club scene, and a local politician had been caught in bed with his aide. Beyond that, the stories weren’t worth her time.

  As she began researching the cheating politician, her mind drifted to Norman Green and his abrupt departure from the cafe.

  Maybe it was time to move on and accept what everyone else was saying. Joel had killed himself. Maybe she really was in denial. Everyone else had moved on. Why couldn’t she?

  Her phone dinged, and a text notification popped up. It was from Julia Heathrow, the person through whom she had booked the meeting with Norman.

  It said, If you want Norman’s help, call him now.

  Robin frowned and glanced around the office. No one was paying her any attention. She grabbed her bag and scampered out of the office.

  She huddled against the wall of the building under the awning, a few feet away from the falling snow. She dialed Norman’s number and held the phone to her ear.

  “What?” answered Norman. Barking dogs could be heard in the background.

  “It’s Robin Sweetwater.”

  “I know who you are,” said Norman. “What do you want?”

  “I need your help.”

  “I don’t work with journalists.”