Maddie's murder investigation had taken a dark and sinister turn.
Becca theorized that the young actress' agent, Audrey, believed she and her spirit guide were responsible for Maddie’s success and resented her deciding to end the partnership.
Even though it was close to dusk, but we decided to drive out to Audrey’s home situated on a ravine overlooking High Park in Toronto’s west end. She had some questions to answer.
She lived in an upgraded Victorian mansion with lovely gardens and a spectacular setting—although driving up to it gave us a sudden frisson as if we were entering beneath Macbeth’s battlements.
“The raven is hoarse,” Becca croaked.
“It does have an unsettling air about it, doesn’t it?”
I half expected demons to be inhabiting every doorway but we managed to gain entrance to the imposing residence with little trouble.
We were shown into an immense room Audrey called The Yellow Room and seated comfortably by the fire.
Everything seemed normal until Becca interrupted Audrey with a brash remark.
“Edna tells us you channel spirits—she must be exaggerating.”
Audrey’s demeanour instantly changed. “What’s wrong with that?” she bristled.
“Well, you strike me as a sensible woman—I find it hard to believe you’d engage in such activities. Surely you’re not saying you believe in ghosts?”
Audrey’s face twisted.
“I’m not talking about superstitions—like my neighbours with their ‘pet ghosts’—Adrian was an ascended master who originally owned this house. He was a spiritual master with extraordinary powers and he conferred them on me.”
“Did Adrian tell you to promote maddie as the ‘it girl’?”
Audrey’s anger flared.
“Do you imagine Adrian was some kind of carnival huckster—some cheap marketer? Adrian chose Maddie to bestow upon her his aura—he used her as The Face. She would have been nothing without him.”
“But did Maddie agree with your views—did she attribute her success to Adrian?”
I watched Audrey hesitate.
“She thought I was responsible for her success—she just didn’t understand the spirit world.”
“Did you take the credit? Didn’t you tell her it was Adrian’s aura, not your expertise, that made her famous?”
Audrey grew defensive. “I did tell her—at least, I tried to—but Maddie wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Is that why you and Maddie disagreed—did she think you were mad?”
“We disagreed, but not over her success or her retirement.”
“Then what was it, Audrey—why did you disagree?”
Audrey grew silent and I watched her slowly withdrawing into herself. I was almost certain she’d clam up and refuse to talk further, when she suddenly blurted out, “She refused to have my baby.”
Becca was looking at me and her eyes were huge.
“I don’t understand, Audrey—what do you mean?”
“I can’t have children, “ Audrey moaned, “I asked her to be a surrogate.”
“And she refused because she was marrying Robert Harding and wanted to bear his child?”
“Yes.”
“And you killed her because she refused you?”
Audrey broke down.
I gestured to Becca to back off and give Audrey some space. We waited patiently while she sat there sobbing and daubing at her eyes with a Kleenex.
Finally, I took over.
“So, you were angry with Maddie for refusing you?”
Audrey’s eyes flashed. “I was angry with her for refusing him.”
“Who? Your boyfriend?”
Audrey’s eyes were wild with fire.
“Don’t you understand? That bitch refused the very one that made her The Face. She refused the honour of bearing his child. Her image wasn’t her own, don’t you see? He ordered me to take it back—it was his to begin with, not hers.”
I was perplexed. “Who are we talking about, Audrey?”
“Who else? Adrian, of course.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever stared into the cool, calm face of madness, but I have. Audrey was absolutely convinced Maddie owed it to Adrian, her spirit, to bear his progeny—however that was expected to work.
She was calm as the officers led her away. I watched her pale face through the black rain-streaked window of the police car. She was sitting there serenely without emotion, without remorse.
Becca turned to me as the car pulled away. “I’ve heard of people selling their soul to the devil—but selling someone else’s soul? It’s pure madness.”
“I doubt the devil works by proxy,” I quipped, but Becca wasn’t in the mood for dark humor.
I had again seen the face of the devil—I had seen it before in others. I was exhausted from keeping demons at bay.
It’s a fact not often talked about, but there’s a shelf life for active duty officers—sooner or later the time comes when the mind can only process so much. I knew I had reached that point. I didn’t want burnout, the numbing state of not caring.
I never wanted to lose my sense of being scandalized by human evil.
I could never live with that.
