by Gail Bowen
“My husband was a lawyer,” I said. “He always said that lawyers and plumbers did pretty much the same thing: remove the blocks that stop the system from working.”
“That’s about it. Give me a call if anything makes you nervous.” Noah drained his glass. “Hey, I almost forgot. That was a nice picture of you in the paper.”
“I didn’t see it,” I said.
“Sorry. How could you?” Noah walked over to the front door and picked up a rolled copy of the Leader Post. “Here – page one.”
One look at the picture and it was easy to see why it had made page one. The photograph was of me and Patsy Choi.
“I didn’t see her at the funeral,” Noah said. “Do you know her?”
“Just from the media,” I said. “She came in late and sat beside me.”
“She looks good,” Noah said.
“She does in person, too,” I agreed.
“I wonder what she’s like on the inside,” Noah said.
“Pretty fragile, I would imagine.”
“Aren’t we all?” Noah said. “Now let’s take a tour of your house and see if anything besides the laptop is missing.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I said.
Noah nodded. “I know, but there are times when a person shouldn’t be alone, and this is one of them.”
The place was shipshape. Having assured me that he could be there in two minutes if I needed him, Noah left with Taylor in tow. She’d had a good time in Saskatoon, but being away from the other two members of her triumvirate had been a wrench. After two days of Blue’s Clues and the Wiggles, Taylor was hankering for the company of girls who knew how to apply eyeshadow.
Alone, I realized that the break-in had made me anxious for reassurance that all was well with those I loved. A rumbling in my stomach tipped me to the fact that I was also hungry. Clearly, a visit to the Point Store would be just the ticket. Willie was mournful as I started out the door, so I picked up his leash. “You’ll have to wait outside, you know,” I said. He didn’t care.
Leah was busy behind the till when we arrived. She blew me a kiss, and I went back to the meat counter, where Angus was jawing with a customer. I waited while he finished up, then gave him a hug, asked him to make me a salami sandwich, and filled him in on his sister’s news. I was hankering after company, so I took my sandwich outside to pass the time at Coffee Row. The regulars had taken their places at the picnic table, but a card table was empty, so I poured myself a cup of weak coffee, chose a cookie from one of the yellow bags of generic biscuits, and settled in with Willie to eat my salami sandwich and see where the morning took us.
I wasn’t the only one who’d brought a dog to Coffee Row that morning. Morris, the dedicated smoker of Player’s Plains, had brought along his pet, a big yellow animal with a Buster Keaton face and what looked like a golden lab-mastiff pedigree. She was lying at her master’s feet, snoring. It was a tranquil scene: the old men in their John Deere caps sitting in the shade of the cottonwood trees smoking and nodding, and the dog with her head resting on her front paws, jowls spilling to the ground, body vibrating with every rumbling inhalation and exhalation. When Stan Gardiner came down from his flat and took his place at the head of the table, it was clear that the catalyst for some conversation had arrived.
“About time you came down to join your friends,” Morris said.
“Instead of sitting in your room watching your Lawrence Welk videos.” The speaker, a gnome with big ears and a high, aggrieved voice, picked up the theme. “What kind of thing is that for a man to do?”
“In my opinion, Aubrey, it’s about as valuable as sitting down here waiting for the hair in your ears to grow,” Stan Gardiner said. “So what’s the news across the nation?”
“Endzone’s got herself a new trick,” said Morris. “Watch this.” He waved a piece of bologna in the air. The big yellow dog opened one eye, then the other. Clearly, her master knew how to get her attention. “Endzone, drive the truck,” Morris barked.
The dog loped lazily towards a Ford half-ton. The door on the driver’s side was open and Endzone jumped into the driver’s seat, placed her paws on the steering wheel, and peered around.
“Look at that,” Morris marvelled. “Wouldn’t you swear she was driving that truck?”
“Apart from the fact that the door to the cab is open and the motor isn’t running, I guess I would,” Stan Gardiner agreed.
“Exit the truck,” Morris yelled. He held out the bologna. Endzone leaped down and snapped up the treat with a single bite. “Did you hear she took off again?” he asked.
“It’s in their blood,” Aubrey said sagely. “They can’t help themselves. Her mother was the same.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t end up killing two men like her mother did,” Stan said. “That was a real tragedy.”
I stared at Endzone with new eyes. It was hard to believe this sad-sack Buster Keaton dog had killer genes.
“She may have already started,” Morris said. He peeled a slice of bologna from the package and gummed it absent-mindedly. “I’ll bet when all is said and done, they’ll find out she had something to do with that Chris Altieri’s death. If he did commit suicide, which I doubt, I’ll bet it was because of her. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree, and if the particular nut we’re talking about had stayed closer to the tree, it would have been better for everyone.”
Stan dipped a gingersnap in his coffee. “Nuts and trees. Why the hell can’t you ever just say what you want to say plain, so that an ordinary human being can understand what you’re saying?”
“Because I’ve been around, and I know the importance of being discreet,” Morris said.
“Well, you’re just being stupid. Say it plain, man.” Stan Gardiner’s anger was building.
“All right, here it is plain. If Lily Falconer had stayed closer to her husband and kid, there might not have been a suicide over there at Lawyers’ Bay. That Lily is like her mother – a fatal attraction. She can’t help the way men buzz around her, like bees around a flower. But two good men died because of Lily’s mother, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a case of history repeating itself here.”
My heart was pounding so loudly, I was certain the gents at the next table could hear it, but they had sunk back into meditation. Willie, however, picked up my tension. He strained at the leash. “Stay,” I hissed. He looked at me reproachfully, but he stopped pulling. Ears pricked, I listened for the next revelation.
Morris took out a cigarette and offered the pack around. There were no takers. He lit his smoke and sat back. “I owe you an apology, Stan,” he said.
“You owe me more than one apology,” Stan said crankily.
“Don’t push your luck,” Morris said. “You’re no saint. All the same, I was out of line criticizing your viewing habits. I like Lawrence Welk myself. As for that champagne lady – Alice what’s her name – well, she could park her dancing slippers under my bed any time she liked.” He laughed his dry, wheezing laugh. “Come on, Endzone,” he said. “We’ve done enough damage here. Time to head back to the house.”
Overwhelmed by the enormity of what I’d heard, I watched man and dog make their dusty progress down the road. Morris’s words had been plain enough, but I couldn’t seem to take them in. I was so engrossed in puzzling out what he’d said that I didn’t notice that Leah was standing beside me until she tapped my arm.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” I said. “Talk about bad timing. You just missed Endzone, the wonder dog.”
“I’ve caught his act. That dog will do anything for processed meat.” Her smile was pained. “I’m glad you’re back, Jo. I’m guessing someone’s already told you about the break-in.”
“Noah was putting a new lock on the door when Taylor and I got back from the city,” I said. “He filled me in.”
“I feel so awful. Angus does too. But we did lock the door. The lock was just so old – whoever broke in didn’t have any trouble for
cing it. Was anything else besides the laptop missing?”
“No,” I said.
“Weird,” she said. “Because that laptop of yours – no offence – but it wasn’t worth risking a jail term over. And the place was neat as a pin. We weren’t gone long, thirty minutes, tops. Angus says whoever did the job must have been watching the cottage.” Leah pushed her chair back. “I’d better get back to work. The store is humming today.”
I walked back to the cottage, mulling over the information that had come my way during the last thirty minutes. Despite the gathering heat of the day, I felt a chill. Angus’s theory that the laptop thief had been watching our cottage wasn’t the most menacing intelligence I’d received, but it was the one most directly connected to my life. For the first time since I’d arrived at Lawyers’ Bay, I was apprehensive as I opened my front door. Before I settled in, I went through the house to make sure everything was in order. I was glad Willie was with me. He was a toothless lion, but a stranger wouldn’t know that.
I satisfied myself that all was in order, then changed into my bathing suit and picked up my book and a beach towel. I needed the warmth of the sun on my back and I needed not to be alone. But before I could allow myself the luxury of the beach, there were two telephone calls I had to make.
The first was straightforward. Anne Millar deserved a report on my meeting with Holly Knott. I found Anne’s business card in my wallet, picked up my cell, and dialled. Anne was in a meeting. Her administrative assistant suggested I leave a message on her voice mail and I did. My message was brief. I said that Holly Knott believed that Clare might have kept in touch with the members of her Moot Team and that Holly had e-mailed the head administrator at the College of Law giving her the go-ahead to release the women’s contact information to me.
The second phone call was not so easy. My hands were shaking as I dialled Alex’s number at the police station. When I learned that he wasn’t on duty, I was relieved, but I knew I couldn’t let myself off that easily. I dialled his apartment number, and as I listened to the phone ring, I imagined the familiar room with its clean, uncluttered lines and collections of Mozart. There was no answer. As I dialled Alex’s cell, my face was flushed. I was certain he would pick up, but he didn’t. I rang off without leaving a message – glad that I didn’t have to ask questions with answers I didn’t want to hear. But I was already asking myself a question. Lily Falconer had taken off. Was it possible that she hadn’t taken off alone, that like her mother before her Lily had exerted a pull on the men in her life that she couldn’t control, and that Alex had succumbed to what Morris, the man who had been around, termed her fatal attraction?
CHAPTER
7
I didn’t have time to ponder Lily’s history or her mother’s. As they had since I’d arrived at Lawyers’ Bay, events tumbled over one another, leaving me without time to do much but react. The head administrator at the College of Law called with contact information about Clare Mackey’s Moot partners. It was holiday time, so finding people in the office hadn’t been easy, but I did manage to track down one member of the team, a woman named Maggie Niewinski, who was working for a small law firm in Prince Albert, a city on the edge of our province’s parkland. In less than an hour, Maggie had touched base with the other women from the Moot Team. None of them had heard from Clare. No one had been worried. They were all establishing new careers and lives in new communities; keeping in touch had been put on hold. But the sudden realization that no one had heard from Clare had been unsettling. When Maggie called me back to report, she tried to keep the edge of panic out of her voice, but I could hear it, and I felt an answering anxiety. Something was not right.
When a shiny black Ford pulled into my driveway and Detective Robert Hallam hopped out, waved, and smiled, relief washed over me. It was as if the Moot Team’s collective anxiety had somehow conjured up this most reliable of officers. As always, Robert was dapper: black dress shoes polished to a high gloss, grey lightweight slacks with a knife-sharp press, a striped cotton shirt the colour of orange sherbet, and a grey silk tie.
When he came inside he gazed around at the shabby comfort appreciatively. “This is so nice,” he said. “I’ve always thought knotty pine was exactly right for a cottage. And I like the family pictures, and the books and the stuff that belonged to the kids. This seems like a home where people have been happy.”
“From what I hear, they were,” I said.
“This is the kind of place I’d like Rosalie and me to retire to,” he said. “And if I had my druthers, I’d keep a cottage like this just the way it is. But you know my bride. She’d be decorating. You wouldn’t recognize that bungalow of ours.”
“How’s the wasabi-green bedroom working out?”
Robert blushed. “It’s rejuvenated me,” he said. Startled by the revelation, we both looked at our toes. In an effort to recover the situation, Robert walked to a shelf crowded with action figures. He named them carefully. “Batman. Aquaman. Spiderman. Mr. Freeze. Mr. Sinister. G.I. Joe. Han Solo. Darth Vader. C-3PO. Superman.” He picked up a figure and chuckled fondly. “Lex Luthor,” Robert said. “ ‘He could have been a mighty force for good in the world, yet he chose to direct his great scientific brain into evil channels.’ That’s what Clark Kent said about him.”
“Clark ought to know,” I said. “Lex Luthor was always Superman’s most dangerous enemy.”
Robert regarded the figure in his hand. “I didn’t think Lex and I would meet again this side of the grave.”
“You should take a look around,” I said. “You’d probably find a lot of old friends. This cottage is filled with heroes and villains. The moral lines are pretty strictly drawn around here.”
“Maybe that’s why I feel so at home.” Robert smiled. “Today, everybody roots for the bad guys. I never have. Even when I was a kid I thought the world was divided into two camps: there was good and there was evil.”
“Superman and Lex Luthor,” I said.
“You don’t agree?”
“I guess I’ve seen too many shades of grey. But I’m glad you chose the line of work you did. We need police who still believe in good and evil.”
“That’s why it’s a tragedy when one of them starts confusing things.” Robert’s eyes had grown steely. “Joanne, I’m a blunt man, and I don’t like beating around the bush.”
“Then say what you have to say, Robert. You and I have always respected one another.”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he said. “You know I’ve had my differences with Inspector Kequahtooway. I thought he got promoted over guys like me because he was a member of a minority. I thought the department set the bar lower for people like him. To be honest, I still think that’s true, but Inspector Kequahtooway turned out to be a good cop. He worked hard and he was honest.”
I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach. “But you don’t think that’s true any more.”
Robert looked miserable. “I don’t know what to think. There were… some questions… about the way a case was being handled. I was asked to check into things to see if an official inquiry was warranted.” He made a sound of disgust. “It would be my badge if anyone knew I was telling you this. But once these investigations are set in motion, they’re impossible to stop. I wanted to be sure of my facts.”
“That’s fair enough,” I said. “So what are the facts?”
Robert tented his fingers. “The files on this case are incomplete. Items that should be there are missing. Inspector Kequahtooway talked to a number of people the day after Christopher Altieri died, but his records of those interviews seem to be hit-and-miss.”
“Am I there?” I asked.
“Yes, and as far as I can tell the inspector’s account of his interview with you appears complete.”
“How about Lily Falconer?”
Robert cast his eyes down. “She’s one of the problem areas. According to other officers who were present, the inspector interviewed her at length. In fact, he made certain
he was the only member of the force who talked to her. But he didn’t write up the interview.”
“Alex was always so careful.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m talking to you, Joanne. Every cop knows there’s a difference between what they teach you at police college and what you do on the job. In theory, you are supposed to keep a written record of everything, but every investigating officer carries material in his head. Sometimes there are good reasons not to put things down on paper. The information might just not feel right. You might be afraid of dragging an innocent person in. You might be working on a theory that you suspect could blow up in your face.”
“If you’re looking for an explanation about the problem with the records, why don’t you ask Alex?”
Robert’s gaze was steady. “I think you know the answer to that.”
My heart sank. “You don’t want to tip him off,” I said. “But, Robert, why have you come to me?”
“As far as I know, you were the only friend he had.”
Unexpectedly, tears stung my eyes. “I always assumed he had friends on the force, that he just believed in keeping his professional and personal lives separate.”
“No. Inspector Kequahtooway has always been a loner – in fact, he’s about the most alone human being I’ve ever known. He’s always polite, but he doesn’t mix with the people he works with – no beers with the guys when he goes off duty, no barbecues or hockey games on the weekend.”
“But as long as he does his job, why does that matter?”
“Because after a while, not socializing interferes with the job. Police work involves trust, Joanne. We have to be able to rely on the people we work with, not just when we’re in a tight spot, but every day. For members of the force, talk is a safety valve – it keeps us from blowing a gasket. But we have to be able to trust the one we’re talking to. That’s rule number one.”
