Chapter 2

Greg Malkovich lowered his ropes into place for his next set of windows. A stiff breeze whipped around the edge of the building. His hair blew into his face as he stared at the dark clouds hanging ominously above. Three hundred fifty feet of line dangled below him. Looking up he hoped the rain would hold off a while longer. He’d better hurry. He shouldn’t have taken such a long break; the weather was turning on him.

He paced across the roof and checked the anchors. Everything was secure. He needed to clean one more set of windows, and he’d break three hundred bucks for the day. His goal was to make at least that much every day.

There was no time to waste. Grabbing his bucket he hooked up his line grab and approached the edge of the roof. Every time he dropped over the side, adrenaline pumped through his veins. It was a thrill ride, and he got paid for it.

Greg shook off a feeling of worry as the wind pushed on his shoulder. He hooked his gear on the rope and lowered his bucket over the side. Reaching into his pocket for a quick pull on his vape he discovered his vape pen and cell phone missing.

Damn it, I must have forgotten them in the truck.

The wind curled around his wrist and lifted his hair. Should he go over the edge or down the elevator to get his phone.

It was against the rules to be on the side of the building without his phone. But the dark clouds overhead were threatening rain. If he went back to the truck for it, there was a good chance he wouldn’t get the next windows done before the skies opened. He’d be forced to shut down, and that would cost him money.

It’s not like he was a rookie.

“Screw it,” he muttered. “I’m going for it.”

Below him were thirty-two stories of expensive high-rise condos. He paused and looked one last time into the darkening sky that churned in the distance. He took in the vista for a split second, breathing in the view of the Bow River. The fast-flowing waters were shadowed by the skyscrapers that continued to expand Calgary’s landscape and increase its wealth.

His decision was made, turning from the view he looked over the edge. Methodically he turned around, climbed over the parapet, and slid over the side of the building. Effortlessly, he descended to the windows below.

The top floor was the most difficult for Greg, there were two windows in front of him and one around the corner to clean. He relied on his dexterity to reach them all in one setup. Pushing his suction cup onto the glass, he pulled hard to the corner and reached. He scrubbed the grime of the city clean from the surface and stretched for the edge. He pushed himself further as he grabbed the corner and squeegeed the soapy glass beside him. Wiping the ledge at the bottom he swung away and descended.

It was a rhythmic dance, artistic in nature. Swinging down to scrub the two windows in front, then reach around again. Singing to himself, he descended the side of the wall. Every three minutes he rappelled. Seven stories from the top he reached for the window that would change his life.

The wind pushed him, and his rhythm altered. Instead of getting the two windows in front of him, Greg reached around the corner and looked inside.

Greg froze. What the hell was he seeing?

No, this can’t be happening.

He saw a large man on the sofa with some kind of cord in his hands. Underneath him lay a small Asian woman, the cord wrapped around her neck. Staring past the man he noticed a painting hanging over him. It was a painting of a man with his mouth wide looking like he was screaming. Greg wondered if it reflected the look on his face.

It all happened so fast.

Greg held the window frame, paralyzed by shock.

This can’t be happening!

The man continued to tighten the cord. The young lady thrashed like a tree in a windstorm. She fought for breath. The man was focused on her, a grimace on his face as he pushed her down. He lifted his knee and put it on her neck.

Greg stared in horror, watching her eyes bulge out, her face contorting in agony. The light in her eyes faded.

Greg reached into his pocket; it was empty. He remembered he didn’t have his phone. Releasing his suction cup he swung away. From the side, the wind grabbed him and pushed him farther. His mind raced, searching for answers.

Did I just see that guy kill someone?

He swung wildly as the wind increased. Feeling lost and confused, he pivoted on his rope and punched his suction cup back on the front windows. Greg grabbed the edge again and looked back inside.

Right into the man’s eyes. Eyes filled with a look that haunted Greg to the core. The pupils were wide and dilated and his mouth was partly open as if he were screaming. His face echoed the painting hovering over his head. A silent scream piercing his soul reflected the anguish in his eyes.

This can’t be happening.

Greg unhooked his line, opened his descender, and headed for the earth below. He rappelled, ignoring the burning in his hands.

Faster, he descended. His hand howled in pain, the burning increased with the speed of his descent. He was barely in control, and the pain in his hand forced him to stop. He reached into his bucket and grabbed a wet rag, wrapping it around the rope with his hand he continued his high-speed rappel.

The wind picked up. He felt himself going faster. He must be halfway down by now. Another fifteen floors to go.

He descended like a rock falling from the sky.

Greg spun wildly and kicked off the building. The wind buffeted him, and he spun back in. His ankle burned with an old injury as it cracked off the corner of the wall.

The wind kept howling and pushed him further away from the building. He spun around and swung back toward the wall. He saw his reflection in the glass as he sailed by.

He spun again and felt himself lose control. He’d never rappelled so fast.

He spun again.

Another gust pushed him, and he swung back into the building. Hard.

His breath escaped his lungs, and he spun like a top on a string. He tried to get his feet in front of himself.

He twisted some more.

Suddenly he stopped.

And his body slammed into the building.

Greg’s ropes were knotted up in front of him. He struggled to free up his descender. The spinning twisted his lines. Four stories off the ground he hung, his ropes a tangled mess.

He tried to catch his breath and swung away from the building again. The wind pushed him past the balcony on his right-hand side.

He swung closer and grabbed the railing. Hanging on tight, he tried to catch his breath. His hands fumbled with his harness, reaching down he grabbed a sling and a couple of carabiners. The wind pulling on him, he held the balcony, looped the sling around the balcony rail and clipped in.

Breathe.

He felt his chest tighten.

Not now! The last thing I need is an asthma attack. Breathe.

He dangled fifty feet off the ground. Grabbing his safety line he pulled it through his descent line.

Patience.

“Calm down.” Greg tried to talk himself out of the panic.

His breath was coming in gasps. Fighting to bring it under control, he reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his inhaler.

Breathe, he pressed down on his inhaler, his breath calmed its race with time. He pulled the last of his rope from his descender.

He was free.

He held onto the balcony and released his sling. The wind continued to push him. With twenty-eight floors of rope above, he didn’t want to go flying again.

He held the balcony and began a slow descent to the ground. Leaping down between floors he grabbed onto the next balcony. One final push and he landed on the grass. He slipped, his knee buckled, and his water bucket spilled over him. He lay there for a second and recovered his wits.

Greg unhooked his now empty bucket and slowly stood up. His ankle ached, and his knee screamed. He disconnected his descender and headed for his truck.

All he could think about was getting to his phone and calling for help.

What did I just see?

Greg ran toward his truck and was pulled back by his rope. Falling sideways he landed in some rose bushes. He rolled over and looked at the line grab still connected to his safety line.

Man, I hate roses.

Greg stood up and unhooked his carabineer from his line grab.

He ran to the company truck and unlocked the door. Pausing for breath he looked on the console for his phone. It wasn’t there.

Where is the damn thing?

Panic rose as he searched for the device that rarely left his side. He spotted his vape pen on the seat. Grabbing the vape pen he took a long haul on it.

Ok now, where is the phone?

He climbed into the truck and looked between the driver’s seat and the console.

There it is.

He grabbed the phone. Looking down he found the remnants of a joint. He picked up the phone and the roach and climbed out of the truck. He stood there for a second, and without thinking, he lit the roach. Inhaling deeply he stared up at the dark sky overhead.

Just a quick puff to calm my nerves.

Greg climbed back into the truck and sat in his harness. He could feel it digging into the back of his legs and poking the seat. Picking up his phone, he tried to collect his thoughts. His mind spun with the memory of what he’d seen.

Why did I just smoke that roach?

“911. What is your emergency?” A calm voice on the cell phone broke into his thoughts. “Hello, hello?” He didn’t remember making the call.

“I think… I think I just witnessed a murder.” Greg responded. It felt surreal. It felt like he was watching a movie.

“Sir, take a deep breath. Please repeat what you said.”

He slowed his breathing, “I was cleaning the windows on the Royal Arms Condos, 705 Fifteenth Avenue southwest.” Grasping for the right words, “I saw a man inside strangle a woman. He had a cord around her neck and . . .”

Greg wanted to get away, drive somewhere, anywhere. Starting the truck, he put it in gear.

“Sir?” A distant voice came from the phone. “Are you there?” He looked down and saw his phone in his lap. He must have dropped it when he drove away.

Greg’s mind was scrambled. Why the hell did he smoke that roach anyway.

He pulled into an alley, stopped, and picked up the phone.

“Sorry about that. I panicked and had to leave where I was.”

“Sir, I need you to remain calm. The police are on their way. Can you please meet the officer at the building?”

“I’ve left the building. I’m scared. I’m pretty sure the guy saw me.” Greg looked out his window and noticed a silver Cadillac drive by.

“An officer will be there shortly, where are you? I can have him meet you.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll go back. How long will he be?”

“He’ll be there in about three minutes. He’s only a couple blocks away.”

Despite his rising anxiety, Greg turned around and drove to the building. He frowned, looking down he noticed his hands tremble. Grabbing his vape pen he took a deep haul on it. His heart felt like it would burst from his chest, he took another haul on the vape, trying to find a feeling of calmness.

Greg pulled back in front of the 32-story condo building. As he did, a police car raced up, lights on. He noticed his bucket lying on its side, his ropes swinging in the gusting wind.

That’s when the sky opened up, and rain fell.

Greg watched the police officer climb out of his car. He could see by the way the policeman exited his vehicle that he wasn’t in a hurry. The cop appeared to be in his forties or early fifties and judging by his girth, had stopped looking after himself.

The window cleaner jumped from his truck and waved him over. He rubbed his hands together and wiped the sweat onto his jeans. Was this a mistake? He’s never trusted the police; his parents warned him about authority ever since they emigrated from Ukraine in what was the Soviet Union. He shook the feeling off and walked toward the building.

“Did you call 911 sir?” the policeman asked rather abruptly.

“I did.”

“You reported a murder?” his voice seemed less than convinced, and he looked at Greg like a wolf might look at a lamb.

Greg started to question himself. “I think so….”

“You think so? Please don’t waste my time, sir.” The cop grabbed open his notebook. “Can you start from the beginning?”

“I don’t know how to explain….” Greg ran a hand through his hair, and rubbed his neck.

“I understand you may be a bit confused, but I just got a call from dispatch that you witnessed a murder. I’m here, and there is no sign of any crime. Please take a deep breath and enlighten me why you called 911.” The tall, overweight police officer looked at the window cleaner raised his eyebrows and tapped his pen on the notepad.

“Okay officer, it’s just that I don’t know where to start.” Grabbing his pail from the ground he put his gear back into the bucket.

“Let’s start with some simple things like your name, address, and date of birth.” The cop was poised with his pen, ready to write down information that Greg felt was irrelevant.

“I’m Gregory Malkovich, I live at 22 Acacia Avenue. I was born July 15, 1991.” Greg breathed deeply and turned toward the building.

He pointed up into the rainy sky. “I was cleaning the windows, when I reached around the corner to do that window.” Greg pointed toward the window twenty-five floors above. “I looked inside, and some guy was strangling a woman.”

“Exactly where were you at the time?” The officer looked at him, a skeptical look across his face.

Greg pointed to the window. It was hard to see in the increasing downpour. “I was hanging on the ropes on the outside, I’m pretty sure it was the twenty-fifth floor.” He walked up to the ground-level window and pointed straight up, “the window above us. I was about to clean it and looked inside, and some guy had this woman with a cord of some kind. He had it wrapped around her neck… He was squeezing” Greg paused. He couldn’t finish. He couldn’t find any more words.

“Do you make it a habit to look into people’s windows?” The policeman closed his book.

“Of course, I do, well not into the windows usually, but I am a window cleaner… It’s kinda part of the job.” Frustration rose inside him. Why was this cop giving him a hard time?

“Did you smoke any marijuana before you saw this incident?” The cop looked at Greg. He knew the cop could probably smell it on him.

“No… I had a little puff after I hit the ground to calm my nerves. I don’t smoke before I work, besides It’s legal, right?” Greg felt like an ass. “Look, I know what I saw.”

The cop sighed and reopened his notebook.

“Can you describe the people you saw?” The cop held his pen over his notepad. “Let’s start with the woman.”

“I didn’t get a good look at her; it happened so fast. She was small, Asian with black hair, and from what I could see, looked to be very pretty. She might have been under thirty. He was a big guy, physically fit, wearing a suit. I can’t say for sure. I got a quick look at his face. He was probably in his forties and had very short dark-colored hair, maybe a little grey in it.”

“Uh-huh, I see. Is there a building manager or someone we can talk to?” The policeman paused and looked around.

“No, it’s a condo building. There’s a property manager,” Greg replied, and took a deep breath.

“Ok, can we get a hold of the property manager?”

“She’s not on site,” Greg felt panic start to rise again as he remembered that the killer had seen his face, “he saw me. You need to go up there, right now!”

Greg started toward the door of the building, “I have a key.”

“Calm down. I’m not allowed to enter without probable cause.”

“Probable cause? I saw this guy strangle someone.”

“Did they appear to be having sex? Maybe things got a little kinky, and it freaked you out? Is that possible?”

“Possible, I suppose anything is possible. But I’ve never seen any sex games like that!” Greg kept walking toward the door of the building.

“Did you take a picture or video? Did anyone else see this incident?”

“Incident?” Greg realized he didn’t need to get so upset with the policeman. He may have just been following protocol. But a beautiful woman was lying dead or dying above them. “It was no incident!” Greg looked around frantically, trying to regain control of his emotions.

“Please calm down, sir.” The not-so-friendly policeman looked at Greg, “let’s start over again. You say you looked in the window of a suite, you say it is the twenty-fifth floor. Could it have been twenty-six? Could it have been twenty-four? You’re upset, but this is a big building, and it’s home to some of the wealthiest people in this city.”

The cop looked up into the pouring rain. “We can’t see where you ended off, and you want to go knock on the door of random apartments?”

“Please, officer, I’m pretty sure that it was twenty-five. I’ve been cleaning these windows for years.” Greg started to doubt himself. What if he was wrong? What if it was kinky sex? He’d heard about the whole S and M thing… but no, he knew that look in the guy’s eyes wasn’t one of pleasure. And the look on the girls face – that would keep him up at night. “Look, officer can you just go knock on the door? If we go inside, we can figure out what suite it was and then check and see, make sure… maybe I was imagining it. I would like to be able to sleep tonight.”

“All right, we’ll go inside just to get out of the bloody rain. But this better not be some crazy wild goose chase.” The policeman pulled his coat tighter around himself and moved toward the door.

Greg reached down and unclipped the keys from a carabiner hanging from his side. The two men marched up to the door and fobbed their way inside. It had been at least half an hour since he’d seen the grisly show inside.

He had very little hope the woman was still alive.