Mal glances at the mess on the floor. It looks like birdseed.
“I don’t have my hearing aids in. Do—do you mind if I put in my aids?”
Benoit lowers his weapon. Mal keeps hers trained on the old man in case he pulls a trick.
Sam Berkowitz, with shaking, liver-spotted hands, fumbles in his pocket and extracts his hearing devices. He struggles to insert them into his ears because he’s shaking so hard.
“I don’t like to wear them all the time,” the old man says. His eyes water, tears gathering in creases. “I came to get Morbid’s food. He’s Kit’s one-legged stray crow. I-I have a key to her apartment. Kit has a key to my place, too, just in case either of us needs help with anything. She asked me to feed Morbid if something happened to her. You...you shocked me.”
“Apologies, sir. I’m Corporal Benoit Salumu.” He holsters his weapon.
“And I’m Sergeant Mallory Van Alst.” Mal secures her own weapon into the holster under her jacket. She produces her ID. “We’re trying to locate Kit Darling.”
“Is she officially missing, then?” Sam Berkowitz asks. He looks crumpled.
“Can we help you step away from that broken glass at your feet, sir?” As Benoit steps forward, glass crunches under his heavy work boots. He takes the man’s arm and steers him carefully away from shards among the seeds scattered across the floor.
“Can I sit down?” Berkowitz asks. “My heart—such a shock. It’s a galloping horse.”
Benoit pulls up a chair and helps Sam Berkowitz seat himself. “Are you in need of medical attention, sir? Can I check your pulse? I am first aid certified,” Benoit says.
The man pushes up his sleeve and holds out his arm. “I’m sure I’m fine. Just need to catch my breath.”
Mal notices a tattoo on the inside of the man’s forearm. Benoit sees it, too. He glances at Mal.
Concentration camp, she thinks. Sam Berkowitz is a Holocaust survivor. Her chest tightens. As Benoit checks Berkowitz’s pulse, Mal goes into the kitchen to fetch the man a glass of water.
As she runs the tap, she casts her gaze over the kitchen. It’s small. Old. A pot of basil on the windowsill. A collection of colorful little teapots. Photos are stuck to the fridge along with postcards from places like Thailand, Iceland, Kenya, the Galápagos, Patagonia, Australia, Cambodia. While the water is running, Mal checks the backs of some of the postcards. No text, no postmarks. These were not sent from anyone. Kit Darling must have acquired them in some other way, and kept them. Mal leans forward and studies a photograph of a group of young people. Kit is among them. There’s another photo of Kit Darling alone in front of a waterfall. Laughing, vibrant, tanned, her blonde hair blowing loose, her arm full of bracelets.
Mal fills a glass and takes it to Sam Berkowitz. “Do you know who those people are with Kit Darling in that photo on the fridge, Mr.Berkowitz?”
His eyes mist. “They’re her theater-group friends. I don’t know all their names—just Boon’s. She collected those postcards. All places she’d like to go. Kit dreams of traveling around the world, you know. She always says if she wins a lottery, that’s what she’ll do. What happened to her? Is she okay?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Benoit releases the man’s wrist. “Your ticker seems to have calmed itself down, sir. Let us know if you feel unwell. Sorry to have spooked you like that.”
Mal hands him the glass of water. He drinks it using two hands.
“We understand Kit was absent from her job today,” Mal says. “Her employer and her friend have expressed concern. Can you tell us when you last saw her?”
“Day before yesterday. She helped me carry grocery bags up to my apartment. I knew something was wrong. I could tell. She was quiet. Sort of a pensive mood. Then she asked me to feed her wild crow if something happened to her.” His eyes fill with moisture again. “I should have done something. I could see she was scared.”
“What do you mean if ‘something happened to her’?” Mal asks.
Berkowitz says, “I asked her. She said if she died or went missing suddenly, or something strange like that.”
Mal glances at Benoit and says, “Did she say why she was scared?”
He shakes his head sadly. “Only...well, about a week ago, maybe more, she asked if I’d seen someone in the shadows across from our building the night before. She said he was watching her windows.”
“He?” Mal asks.
Berkowitz nods. “And a few days prior she mentioned someone had followed her from the SkyTrain station. A man dressed in black, she said.”
“Did she describe this man?” asks Benoit.
“She said he had light-brown hair and was tall, well built. But that’s all she saw.”
“Did she say anything else?” Mal asks.
