by Gail Bowen
“And it didn’t rekindle,” I said.
She shook her head. “I asked him if he’d told Sylvie about us, and he looked at me as if I was insane. No, scratch that. He looked at me as if he didn’t have the slightest idea what I was talking about.
“I went back to the party and did the sensible thing. I’ve been drunk twice in my life. Once was the night I finished exams in my last year at medical school, and the other time was that night. I was so drunk I don’t even know how I got home. I didn’t wake up until the next afternoon. When I remembered what had happened with Gary, I rolled over and went back to sleep. I didn’t get out of bed for a day and a half. The morning I finally decided I’d better pull myself back together, I turned on the radio and heard that Ian had been killed. It seemed as if the whole world had gone to hell.” Jane raked her fingers through her hair. “That was the worst winter.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “it was.” I took a deep breath. “Jane, do you remember anything else about the party? Howard told me Ian was talking to an old Ukrainian man. Did you see them?”
Jane’s eyes widened. “I saw the old Ukrainian man, but he wasn’t with Ian. He was with Tess.” She laughed. “It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so awful. After my true love walked out on me and I was well on my way to getting pissed, I decided to step out and get some air. I wanted to get as far as possible from Gary, so I didn’t go down the main stairs. I went over to the west wing and went down those stairs at the end of the hall. When I got to the landing, what to my wondering eyes should appear but Tess Malone grappling with a gentleman and making one hell of a racket. In my less than competent state, I thought they were having sex, then I noticed Tess wasn’t crying out in ecstasy. She was trying to get away from him. I went over to them, and that put an end to it.”
“Was he trying to rape her?” I asked.
“No, not that. I don’t know what he was trying to do, but I remember he said something like, ‘You stick your nose in, and now I got no more daughter.’ Does that mean anything?”
“Not to me,” I said. “Was that before Tess was involved with Beating Heart?”
Jane snorted. “Sometimes I think Tess has been involved with Beating Heart since she was a beating heart, but this was before she was there full time. Do you think the scene with the old man could be connected with her work there?”
“Sounds like it might, doesn’t it?” I said. “Tess encourages the girl to go through with her pregnancy and something goes wrong.” I picked up my coat. “I don’t know, but I’m going to ask the person who will.”
The offices of Beating Heart occupied the second storey of an old building on Pasqua Street. It was less upscale than the Women’s Medical Centre, just a single big room with a couple of small alcoves that I guessed were used for counselling. Here, the music was chartbusters from a radio on an untended desk, and the pictures on the wall were of the graphic didactic school. Tess was standing at a table covered in boxes. On the window ledge behind her, a cigarette burned in a yellow ashtray.
She smiled when she saw me, but, for once, the smile was thin, and her manner was guarded.
“I suppose you’d like to get right to your questions,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I would.”
I looked at her. Every golden curl was shellacked into place, and she was wearing a jumpsuit that looked vaguely military. The idea of her grappling with anyone seemed ludicrous. But Jane’s memory on that point, at least, had seemed clear.
I took a deep breath and began. “Tess, I need to know more about that party at the caucus office the night before Ian died. Jane O’Keefe remembers seeing you in a … situation … with an old Ukrainian man.”
A flush started at Tess’s neckline and moved slowly up to her face. “Jane was drunk that night. Did she tell you that?”
“Yes,” I said, “she did.”
Tess picked up her cigarette and drew heavily on it. “Well, she was seeing things.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Howard saw the man, too.”
She seemed to flinch. “With me?”
“Was he with you?” I asked.
“He had some sort of constituency problem.”
“To do with his daughter,” I said.
This time there was no mistaking Tess’s reaction. She looked as if she’d taken a blow. “I don’t remember,” she said.
“Think,” I said. “It could be important.”
“It was six years ago, Joanne. I told you I don’t remember, and I think you’re out of line hectoring me like this.”
“Tess, I don’t mean to hector, but this isn’t a tea party. I’m in a lot of trouble. Just tell me the truth. I can’t promise I won’t repeat what you tell me, but I can promise I won’t reveal anything I don’t have to.”
She took another drag of her cigarette. “There’s nothing to tell, Joanne. It was a man with a constituency problem.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“No.” She picked up a cloth from the desk, opened the box nearest her and removed a plastic foetus. Then, very gently, she began to wipe the dust from its moon-shaped skull. “I think you’d better go now,” she said.
I moved closer to her. “I’m going to keep asking questions, Tess. If you remember anything, let me know.”
She didn’t answer me. She put the foetus she’d been dusting back in the box and picked up another. This one was larger, but still snail-like, wrapped in on itself, otherworldly.
“Tess, do you remember how, in the old days, when we got into a battle about policy, you used to invite everybody over to your house to eat?” I moved close and put my hand on her arm. “You used to say there wasn’t a quarrel in the world that a pan of cabbage rolls and a bottle of rye couldn’t straighten out. Do you want to find a place with cabbage rolls and see if we can straighten this out?”
She didn’t answer. But when she turned to replace the foetus in the box, I saw her eyes were filled with tears. It was like seeing a general cry.
My pulse was racing when I stood on the landing outside Beating Heart. Tess knew the old man’s name, and I was sure that when she had a chance to think things over, she would tell me. She was a decent person, and she would want to help. I looked at my watch. Two-thirty. Taylor wouldn’t be home for another hour. I had time to find out how that last evening had looked from another seat at the head table.
Gary Stephens’s office was in the same building as my dentist’s. It was a cheerless cinderblock building on the corner of Broad and 12th. At the top of the stairs on the second floor was a sign with Gary’s name and degree in block letters and an arrow pointing toward his law office. When I opened the door, I had two surprises. The first was that Ian’s old secretary, Lorraine Bellegarde, was behind the front desk. The other was that she was obviously in the final stages of packing up the office.
When she saw me, she came over and took both my hands in hers. Lorraine was so tiny it seemed she could buy most of her clothes in the children’s department, but there was nothing child-like about her organizational skills or her grasp of politics. Ian’s trust in her had been absolute, and she had been a friend to us both. Lorraine and I had lost touch in the last few years, and as we stood, surrounded by packing boxes, grinning at each other, I wondered why.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“Trying to get all this stuff out before the landlord catches me.”
“Gary’s moving his office?”
“Well, he’s moving out of here. But this is all going into storage.” She picked up a roll of masking tape and cut a length from it. “I don’t know what Gary’s going to do. I guess, as they say, he’s exploring his options.”
“I can’t imagine you working for a man like him.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Jo. Anyway, I’m not working for him for much longer.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“It worked out. For a while, anyway. Gary has his faults, but I’ve always found him easy to get al
ong with. And I liked the quiet around here.” She placed the tape carefully along the top flaps of a packing box. “Unfortunately, it was too quiet.”
“The firm was having trouble getting clients?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Look, Jo, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this. Anyway, you’re the one who’s got the mega-problem these days. Have the cops managed to find out who killed Maureen Gault?”
“No, that’s why I’m here. I need to talk to Gary. Will he be back today?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Gary’s not exactly the poster boy for effective office practices.”
“If he comes back, ask him to call me, would you? I don’t want to go to his house. Sylvie thinks I’m Public Enemy Number One.”
“I wouldn’t let that keep you away.”
“It won’t,” I said.
“Jo, can I tell Gary what you want to see him about?”
“Sure. Tell him I want to talk to him about the day before Ian died.”
Her body tensed with interest. “They’ve found something, haven’t they? Ian’s death wasn’t just lousy luck. There was a reason he was killed.”
“They haven’t found anything,” I said, “but I think I have.” As I told her about the evidence pointing to Maureen Gault, I could see the anger in Lorraine’s eyes.
“You think she planned to kill him?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“But why would she want him dead?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Lorraine, could there be anything in Ian’s appointment book that would shed some light on this?”
“Such as …?”
“Such as the people he saw the last week. Maybe there was somebody out of the ordinary. Howard and Jane remember an old Ukrainian man who was around the night of the party. Does that ring a bell?”
She shook her head. “It’s been such a long time, Jo.” She smoothed the masking tape on the box in front of her. “I can tell you right now there won’t be a clue in the last week’s appointments. Ian wasn’t there. Remember, you two took off the week before Christmas to go cross-country skiing with the kids.”
“We went down to Kenosee. I’d forgotten.” I said.
Lorraine picked up on the disappointment in my voice. “Don’t give up on the office angle completely, Jo,” she said. “Even if Ian wasn’t there, I would have kept a record of his messages.” She looked around the room. “I’m just about through here. I’ll go over to the Legislature. I packed all Ian’s stuff and sent it to the archives. It shouldn’t be any problem to dig up Ian’s appointment book. If anything looks interesting, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Lorraine,” I said.
She came over and slid her arm around my waist. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She took me over to the big plate-glass window that looked down on a parking lot. The area was a favourite for prostitutes and for the johns who sought them out.
Lorraine pointed down. “That’s where Gary parks his car,” she said. “All last summer one of the street girls used his car as her office: sitting on the fender, fixing her makeup in the outside mirror, even lying over the hood and working on her tan when there wasn’t any action. I must have volunteered twenty times to go down and tell her to beat it, but Gary wouldn’t hear of it. He said everybody needs one place where they won’t get hassled.”
“And the point of the story is …?”
Lorraine shook her head and smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe just that Gary hasn’t turned into as much of a rat as you think.”
I hugged her. “Let’s keep in touch, Lorraine.”
One more errand and I could go home. By the time I left the Humane Society I was forty dollars poorer and a kitten richer. It was windy and cold when I drove into the Nationtv parking lot. I stuck the kitten inside my coat, and as I walked into the building I could feel the sharpness of its claws through my sweater. The door to Jill’s office was open. She was on the phone, and she motioned for me to come in. When I took the kitten out of my coat, she said a fast goodbye to whoever she was talking to and leapt to her feet.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” she said. “You with a cat.”
“I don’t believe my eyes either,” I said. “But here she is, and I’m appealing to you as a cat person to take care of her until after Taylor’s party tomorrow.”
“I accept,” she said. “You can always count on cat people.” She took the kitten from me and began stroking under its chin. I could hear the kitten’s motor-hum of satisfaction. “So Taylor was the one who finally broke you down. How many times did the other kids ask for a cat?”
“Don’t remind me,” I said. “But it was all Taylor wanted.”
Jill held the kitten against her cheek and rubbed. “How do you think Sadie and Rose are going to feel about an interloper?”
“They’ll probably put out a contract on me,” I said.
She looked at her watch. “The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere. Do you have time for a drink?”
“I do,” I said, “but you don’t.” I pointed to the cat. “You have responsibilities. Jill, could you bring her over tomorrow around 3:30? I thought the adults could get together for cake and a glass of wine when the kids had wound down a bit.”
“I’ll be there, at 3:30. Cat people are punctual to a fault, but of course now that you’re a cat person yourself, you’ll be learning that.”
I stopped at the mall on the way home and bought the rest of Taylor’s presents. After I’d hidden them in the basement for wrapping later, I came upstairs and started dinner. I felt edgy but good. The answers seemed to be coming closer, I could feel it. I was rubbing rosemary into the lamb chops when the phone rang. It was Lorraine Bellegarde.
“I’ve got something,” she said. “There was a stack of phone messages stuck in the appointments book. I guess after we heard about Ian, someone put them in there and forgot about them. Come to think of it, that someone was probably me. Anyway, there were the usual messages from constituents and government departments.”
“How about from the Seven Dwarfs?”
“They all rang in. Do you want me to check who called when?”
“Could you?”
I wrote down the information and thanked her.
“And now for the pièce de resistance,” she said. “There were fifteen separate messages from Henry.”
“Who’s Henry?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he may be your old Ukrainian man. He called and called that last week. I remember him now. A sad old guy. He was always blowing his nose. Anyway, the bad news is he wouldn’t leave his last name. The good news is he left his number.”
“Bingo,” I said. I repeated the number and wrote it down. “Thanks, Lorraine. Ian used to say he could always count on you to come through.”
“Anytime, Jo,” she said softly. “Anytime.”
My heart was pounding as I dialled Henry’s number. There were two rings. Then the operator’s voice: “Your call cannot be completed as dialled. Please check the listing again, or call your operator for assistance.” I hung up and looked again at the number. It could be long distance. I dialled “1” and tried the number again. This time I got through.
A young man answered. In the background, country music blared.
“Yeah,” he said, not unfriendly.
“Could I speak to Henry?” I asked.
“There’s no Henry here, lady.”
I felt my heart sink. “He’s an older man. Ukrainian.”
He sounded kind but exasperated. “Lady, there’s three of us share this house. None of us are Henry, none of us are older, and none of us are Ukrainian.”
“Wait,” I said. “How long have you had this number?”
“Three years.” He started to hang up.
“Where are you?” I said. “Where do you live?”
“Lady …” His voice was edgy.
“Just tell me the name of the city, please. It’s important.”
He
laughed. “It’s no city, lady. This is Chaplin, Saskatchewan, population 400.”
I felt a rush. Chaplin. I should have known.
I had one more phone call to make. I dialled Beating Heart and got the machine. “Someone would be happy to help you during regular office hours which were …” I hung up and opened the phone book at the M’s. Tess Malone’s home number wasn’t listed. I dialled Beating Heart again and left Tess a message. “I need to talk to you about Henry,” I said, and I left my name.
The phone rang again just as I was sliding the chops under the broiler. It was Jill.
“Did Taylor ask specifically for a female cat or was that just a whimsy of yours?”
“If I picked out a male, don’t tell me,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, and the line was silent.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “Tell me.”
“You chose a male,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“I just lifted his tail and looked: three dots, not one. Next time, take me with you.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I said, gloomily.
She laughed. “See you tomorrow.”
After supper, Hilda took Taylor down to the library to return her books. I asked Angus to wrap presents while I made the birthday cake.
“What did we get her?” he asked.
“A case of cat food. A cat dish. A Garfield T-shirt and a book of cat cartoons from The New Yorker.”
“Did we also get her a cat?” he said.
“A little ginger male. The man at the Humane Society says he’s part Persian. What do you think about getting another pet?”
“I think it’s amazing. Everybody knows how you are with cats. It’s cool that you got one for T.” He snapped his fingers. “Really cool. Okay, where’s the wrapping paper?”
An hour later, when Taylor and Hilda came back, the presents were wrapped and the cakes were made. Taylor looked into the flowerpots critically.
