Pay and Pay

Chapter 12

The body of an unidentified young man in his early to mid-twenties had been found in the lane behind a downtown hotel early the previous Thursday morning. Preliminary results of the coroner's investigation indicated that death may have been the result of exposure. The toxicology report showed high levels of barbiturates in the blood of the victim, and suggested he had succumbed to the cold after falling unconscious out of doors the night before. He had been carrying no identification in his wallet and had no identifying marks. The article concluded with the man's approximate height and weight, the fact that he had dark blond hair and light blue eyes, a description of his clothing, and a request from the police for any information about the deceased.

Kevvin looked at the picture once more. Again he thought that it could be anyone. It did not look like Mike. Kevvin found it rather grotesque to think that the portrait had been made from a corpse. Perhaps that accounted for the lack of expression. He wondered why the eyes were open and staring. He wondered if they had had to open the body's eyes to ascertain their colour or to make the sketch.

In any event, it was a tragic affair. There was nothing Kevvin could do to help the police. He was certain that in a few days another even shorter article would appear, buried in the back of the paper, stating that someone had come forward to claim the body. He would have to keep an eye out for it. He looked up at the picture one last time before folding the section and putting it aside. No, he definitely did not know the man in the picture.

Kevvin finished the last of his coffee and set the empty cup to one side. He picked up the next section of the newspaper and held in in his lap without looking at it. He was staring ahead at the fireplace trying to call to mind Mike's face. He could not do it. Mike seemed to have had so many faces. Kevvin had seen him happy, angry, belligerent and drugged. He had even seen him asleep. Over the handful of times that he had met Mike, he had had long hair or short, or something in the middle, combed, messy, or even styled. The picture had shown somewhat longish hair. Surely Mike's hair could not have grown out that much in six or seven weeks.

The face in the sketch had not been tough or angry. Neither had it held the soft sweetness Kevvin had seen when Mike was asleep. Mike's looks had been average, that was all Kevvin could say. The artist's rendering was not of an average face; it was of a nondescript one. Mike had not been nondescript. His character was written all over his face.

Kevvin suddenly remembered that the body of the man had had no identifying marks. Mike had a broken tooth. That would certainly count as an identifying mark. The authorities used dental records to identify bodies as a matter of routine. Even if Mike had no dental records to identify him, the report would surely have mentioned a broken tooth, particularly since it would have been visible when Mike had spoken.

Kevvin began to wonder if Mike might have gone through with his plans to go to Montreal or Vancouver. He would have been able to come up with the money for a bus ticket to Montreal in a week or two. For all he knew, Mike had been in Montreal for a month or more. He tried to picture Mike walking down St. Catherine Street on his way to a job, a regular job. He spoke French, after all. The weather in Montreal was even worse; he didn't want to think of Mike living on the street there.

He doubted that Mike could have made it to Vancouver. It was a shame, really. He had seen in the paper that the forecast high for that day was almost 20˚ more than the temperature in Toronto. It was not springlike there yet, but it held a lot of promise. How many weeks would it have taken Mike to save up enough money to make it to Vancouver? Kevvin had no idea. Even then, what would have stopped Mike from spending his savings on a party before he even bought a ticket?

Mike might even still be there in the city. Maybe he had been able to move back in with his friend Joe. Maybe he had even asked Joe about getting him a job at the hotel where he worked. Mike had said Joe was a busboy. Mike would be able to hold down that sort of job, Kevvin was sure.