apartment, giving me complete access, at least until the end of the month when a moving crew he'd hired would clean up the place and remove all of Tanya's things in preparation for the next tenant. I wondered where everything would go. Into storage? Her parent's basement? Did anyone care? And to top it off, a complete stranger-me-was given free rein to rifle though her personal belongings. The whole thing made me sad. How would Tanya Culinare feel about this invasion of privacy, about how easily her life could be boxed up and dispensed with?
I must admit I was a trifle disappointed not to have to finagle my way into Tanya's apartment building using subterfuge and/or chicanery. Sometimes that's the most fun part of my job: figuring out how to get into someplace I'm not supposed to get into. But the keys on Tanya's ring allowed me unchallenged entrance to the building and her eighth-floor apartment and that's where I found myself late Monday morning.
As I slipped the correct key into the lock of apartment 863, I noticed something strange. I ran my hand over the surface of the wooden door. It was smooth and dusty and discoloured, as if it had recently been sanded in preparation for re-staining. I pulled back to see if the same could be said of the other doors on the floor, but they all seemed to be in normal, un-sanded shape. I filed that under 'C for curious and entered the apartment. The air smelled stale in the way typical of places where no one had lived for a while or where someone had died. Tanya'd been gone less than a week, but her home was already letting her go.
I took a quick preliminary look around: nothing out of the ordinary. Just a regular apartment, probably a little nicer than some. I strode over to the living room drapes, pushed them aside and opened the sliding doors to let in some much needed light and fresh air.
I gingerly stepped outside onto the balcony and into the space where Tanya Culinare ended her young life. Her body had been found on the sidewalk near the front entrance of the Fitness Corner gym. I leaned against the balcony's narrow, black metal railing and peered straight down. To land where she did, Tanya would have had to climb up onto the rail ledge and taken a flying leap. I shuddered at the image.
Tanya had a corner suite and the balcony wrapped around, giving her unimpeded views in two directions. Her apartment faced southwest, and from it I could see Broadway Avenue with its ongoing Fringe festivities (somewhat slack in energy on a hot Monday morning) and beyond that, tree-topped 8th Street and the older suburban areas of Nutana, Haultain, Queen Elizabeth and Avalon. Nice enough, but sad that there was no final glimpse of ocean, mountain or stunning sunset before Tanya took that fatal jump into nothingness. She was thirty-one.
It was like an oven on the balcony. I spotted several potted plants; a couple stalky, pink geraniums still flourished, enjoying the stress of abandonment, but everything else had withered and dried into brittle 25 of 163
3/15/2011 10:56 PM
D: BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...
sticks of brown. I stepped back into the apartment and closed the door behind me.
I began an in-depth search of the place, starting with the back rooms-two bedrooms and a bathroom-progressing to the front-living room and kitchen/dining room area. Even though I knew everything was destined for a box or the garbage, I still tried to be neat about my work, leaving things where I found them, which isn't as easy as it sounds when you're fingering every piece of clothing, handling every piece of paper, looking in and under every spot conceivable including the refrigerator, toilet tank and garbage cans. I'm good at searching, I'm methodical and I take mental notes.
It took me just over an hour to finish. I came up with four things of interest. First was an abundance of pictures of Tanya with another girl, about the same age. They were similar in many ways, both tall,
I must admit I was a trifle disappointed not to have to finagle my way into Tanya's apartment building using subterfuge and/or chicanery. Sometimes that's the most fun part of my job: figuring out how to get into someplace I'm not supposed to get into. But the keys on Tanya's ring allowed me unchallenged entrance to the building and her eighth-floor apartment and that's where I found myself late Monday morning.
As I slipped the correct key into the lock of apartment 863, I noticed something strange. I ran my hand over the surface of the wooden door. It was smooth and dusty and discoloured, as if it had recently been sanded in preparation for re-staining. I pulled back to see if the same could be said of the other doors on the floor, but they all seemed to be in normal, un-sanded shape. I filed that under 'C for curious and entered the apartment. The air smelled stale in the way typical of places where no one had lived for a while or where someone had died. Tanya'd been gone less than a week, but her home was already letting her go.
I took a quick preliminary look around: nothing out of the ordinary. Just a regular apartment, probably a little nicer than some. I strode over to the living room drapes, pushed them aside and opened the sliding doors to let in some much needed light and fresh air.
I gingerly stepped outside onto the balcony and into the space where Tanya Culinare ended her young life. Her body had been found on the sidewalk near the front entrance of the Fitness Corner gym. I leaned against the balcony's narrow, black metal railing and peered straight down. To land where she did, Tanya would have had to climb up onto the rail ledge and taken a flying leap. I shuddered at the image.
Tanya had a corner suite and the balcony wrapped around, giving her unimpeded views in two directions. Her apartment faced southwest, and from it I could see Broadway Avenue with its ongoing Fringe festivities (somewhat slack in energy on a hot Monday morning) and beyond that, tree-topped 8th Street and the older suburban areas of Nutana, Haultain, Queen Elizabeth and Avalon. Nice enough, but sad that there was no final glimpse of ocean, mountain or stunning sunset before Tanya took that fatal jump into nothingness. She was thirty-one.
It was like an oven on the balcony. I spotted several potted plants; a couple stalky, pink geraniums still flourished, enjoying the stress of abandonment, but everything else had withered and dried into brittle 25 of 163
3/15/2011 10:56 PM
D: BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...
sticks of brown. I stepped back into the apartment and closed the door behind me.
I began an in-depth search of the place, starting with the back rooms-two bedrooms and a bathroom-progressing to the front-living room and kitchen/dining room area. Even though I knew everything was destined for a box or the garbage, I still tried to be neat about my work, leaving things where I found them, which isn't as easy as it sounds when you're fingering every piece of clothing, handling every piece of paper, looking in and under every spot conceivable including the refrigerator, toilet tank and garbage cans. I'm good at searching, I'm methodical and I take mental notes.
It took me just over an hour to finish. I came up with four things of interest. First was an abundance of pictures of Tanya with another girl, about the same age. They were similar in many ways, both tall,
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