by Gail Bowen
“Then help me out with something else because, in my opinion, this does make Justine look bad.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “That screw-up about the burial plots at the cemetery,” he said. “I noticed you and Hilda didn’t stick around.”
“We had Lucy Blackwell with us,” I said. “When she saw there were strangers buried in the family plot, she was devastated.”
Something hard came into Wayne J.’s eyes. “Lucy’s mother had her reasons for doing what she did.”
“What possible reason could she have had? I know Justine had undergone some profound philosophical changes in the past year, and I know she wasn’t close to her daughters, but didn’t she have any feelings at all for her husband?”
“She respected him,” Wayne J. said. “That’s why she did what she did. She said he’d be better off spending eternity surrounded by the kind of people he’d spent a lifetime defending than with Goneril and Regan, whoever they are. I figured that was some kind of family joke, but Justine wasn’t laughing when she said it. She was dead serious.” He reached for my empty coffee cup. “Refill?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I’d better be getting home.”
He stood up. “Come on,” he said, offering me his arm. “I’ll walk you to your car. After dark, this neighbourhood is no place for a lady.”
CHAPTER
12
I woke up the next morning with a sore throat, itchy eyes, and sniffles. By the time I’d showered, taken some echinacea, told Rose our walk was cancelled, and hustled the kids down for breakfast, I was ready to go back to bed. But the day ahead was mercifully short of demands: my first-year students had a quiz, and Howard Dowhanuik, our ex-premier and my friend since Ian’s early days in politics, was coming in to talk to my senior class in the afternoon. It was a day to limit my aspirations and take comfort in Woody Allen’s dictum that 99 per cent of life is just a matter of showing up. If I played my cards right, I could be home, curled up in bed with a hot toddy and a good novel, by 3:30 p.m.
When I walked into the Political Science offices, Rosalie was on the telephone. As soon as she heard my step, she blushed, whispered something into the receiver, and hung up.
“How was Romeo and Juliet?” I asked.
“Transcendent,” she said. “Robert said he’d never realized Shakespeare was so s–e–x–y.”
“I’m glad you had fun,” I said, as I started towards the door.
“Wait,” she said. She handed me a pink telephone-message slip. “Your calls are still getting transferred out here.”
I glanced at the name. The message was from Alex.
Rosalie smiled shyly. “Maybe we’ll both be lucky in love today,” she said.
“Maybe,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
Alex sounded as if he had a cold too, but even making allowances for the fact that he was unwell, his tone was more encouraging than it had been in days.
“Bob Hallam said you were looking for me,” he said.
“I just wanted to thank you for getting involved in Hilda’s case.”
“Actually, Jo, I wonder if we could get together and talk about that.”
“Has something happened?”
“Yes, but I’d rather talk to you about in person. Are you free for lunch?”
“Yes.”
“It’s raining, so I guess the bird sanctuary’s out,” he said.
His reference to our shared past touched me, but I was too taken aback to pick up on it. “There’s a new restaurant in the University Centre,” I said. “It’s called Common Ground. If you can get past the symbolism, there’s homemade soup and a piece of fresh bread for $2.49.”
“Twelve o’clock okay?”
“Twelve o’clock’s fine. Alex, I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Same here, Jo.”
When I hung up, my heart was pounding. Alex had sounded like himself again. I had no idea what had brought about the change, and I didn’t care. For the first time in days, we were talking, and in three and a half hours, we’d be talking face to face.
Garnet Dishaw’s call came just as I was about to leave for class. Even over the phone, his voice seemed to fill the room. “I wondered if you could find a few moments this evening to come by and talk about Justine,” he said.
I thought about the warm bed and the good novel I’d promised myself. “Of course, but could we make it earlier?”
“Later suits me better,” he said. There was a silence. “Evenings are long around here.”
“May I bring something for the laundry hamper?”
“I knew you were a perceptive woman?”
I laughed. “What’s your preference?”
“Surprise me,” he said. “But when you go to the liquor store, remember that extravagance is not numbered among the seven deadly sins.”
The morning crawled by. For once, no students straggled behind after class to talk. Back in my office, there was a stack of papers to mark and a pile of minutes to read from a committee I’d agreed to join. But I knew my limits. Until I met Alex for lunch, any activity I undertook would get short shrift. Angus had been hinting at his desperate need for a new fall jacket, and the morning paper had announced a sale at Work Warehouse. The liquor store wasn’t far from the Golden Mile shopping mall. If I took care of my errands in the morning, I could still grab some recuperative time in the afternoon.
Angus’s jacket didn’t cost me substantially more than the bottle of Johnny Walker Black I picked up for Garnet Dishaw. When I went into the mall bathroom to check my makeup before I drove back to the university, I knew how to spend the money I’d saved on the jacket. The clear lip gloss I’d chosen in June because it looked so great with a tan made me look sepulchral now that my tan had faded, and the circles under my eyes and the redness under my nose were not flattering. The cosmetics counter at Shoppers Drug Mart was beckoning, and I purchased with abandon: a new blush, a deeper lipstick, and a small tube of concealer. By the time I headed back to the university for lunch with Alex, I looked not great but better.
I was five minutes late getting to the University Centre. The noon-hour crush was on, and I had to battle my way through kids with wet slickers and sodden backpacks. Somehow, Alex had managed to find a table. It was in the corner, and as I pushed my way towards him, the opening notes of a Mozart horn concerto came over the sound system. Mozart was one of our mutual passions, and while I knew that the playing of classical music in the U.C. was a device to keep students who ached for heavy metal or grunge on the move, the fact that Dennis Brain began playing just as Alex and I were about to meet seemed like a good omen.
I slid into the chair opposite him. “I had some shopping to do. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I never minded waiting for you, Jo.”
“Good,” I said. “Shall we get our soup? I saw the sign. It’s Louisiana gumbo, the real thing; they even use filé.”
He frowned. “Sounds like you’re getting the same cold I’ve got.”
“I’m counting on the gumbo to be a pre-emptive strike.”
We lined up with the students, ordered our soup and slices of dark pumpernickel, and went back to our table.
Alex sipped his soup gratefully. “I’m glad you suggested this place.”
“Me too. So, what’s up?”
He shrugged. “All hell’s breaking loose. Terrence Ducharme’s alibi turned out to be true. He’s admitted all along that he jumped into the car with Justine Blackwell when she drove away from the hotel. But his story was that, after they drove to the park, Justine pulled into that little turnoff near the information centre and they talked until they made their peace with one another. According to Ducharme, she offered to drive him home, but he decided to walk because he was still pretty churned up.”
I thought of the X’s marking Terrence Ducharme’s anger-management classes on the calendar in Culhane House. Seemingly, his efforts at behaviour modification were payi
ng off. “Somebody’s come forth who saw him walking home?” I asked.
“No, somebody’s come forth who saw him back at his rooming house,” Alex said. “Ducharme has always sworn that when he got back home, the old lady across the hall heard him, stuck her head out, recognized him, and went back into her room. Unfortunately for him and for us, by the time we started questioning Ducharme, the old lady had taken off. We did some checking, but the woman, whose name is Leota Trumble, hadn’t told anyone in the building where she was going. Apparently, she’s an odd bird, doesn’t trust anybody to know her business.” Alex buttered his bread and took a bite. “To be frank, we didn’t exactly pursue the matter with vigour. The feeling was that Miss Trumble’s absence was just something Ducharme had latched onto as an alibi.”
“But he was telling the truth,” I said.
Alex nodded. “Miss Trumble and a friend were on what she calls ‘a musical motor tour of the American South.’ They finished up at Graceland and came home.”
“I guess after you see Graceland, everything else is anti-climactic.”
Alex smiled. “Anyway, Miss Trumble corroborates Terrence Ducharme’s story. He came home exactly when he said he did. More to the point, he was clean as a whistle. No blood on him, and whoever bludgeoned Justine Blackwell to death would have looked like they’d been in a bloodbath.”
Instinctively, I winced at the ugliness of the image. Alex leaned towards me and covered my hand with his. “I’m sorry. That detail wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m all right,” I said.
Alex left his hand on mine, and his dark eyes searched my face. “Are you really, Jo?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m confused and mad and hurt. How about you.”
“The same,” he said.
“Alex, what happened to us? I know we had more against us than most couples – the fact that I’m older and the difference in race – but I always thought the things we shared mattered more to us both than the things that divided us.”
“I used to think that too.”
A trio of students with baggy pants and sports caps turned backwards approached our table. They were laughing and horsing around, and as they started past us, one of them fell against me with enough force to tip my chair halfway over. His friends dragged him back quickly, but all three were full of apologies, and none of them would budge until I assured them no harm had been done.
When they’d finally moved along, I put my hand back in Alex’s. “I guess when soup’s only $2.49 a bowl, you have to accept the floor show.”
“I can put up with the floor show as long as we’re talking.”
“So can I,” I said. “Alex, why did you change your mind about us?”
“I didn’t change my mind. Look, I won’t explain this well, but I’m just starting to understand some things.” He fell silent.
“What kinds of things?” I asked.
“Well, for starters, why I was such a jerk with you. After Eli came, all these problems I thought I’d dealt with began to surface again. I told you about how wild I was when I was a kid.”
“I always found it hard to believe,” I said. “You’re so controlled now.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem, because, when I look back, I honestly can’t remember a day when I didn’t wake up angry. If you’re an aboriginal kid with a chip on your shoulder, there’s always somebody willing to give you a reason to keep it there. My mother was a great woman, but even she couldn’t seem to reach all that rage.”
“But you found a way to reach it.”
“I thought I had. Police work was a good fit for me. Part of being a cop is learning to depersonalize, tune out the insults, focus on the task at hand. By the time you and I met, I really believed I’d found the right formula: work, music, and no complications.”
“And I was a complication.”
He smiled. “You were. So were your kids.”
“That’s why you resisted so long.”
Alex looked at me hard. “Resisting was a mistake, Jo. That was the best time of my life. I felt as if – this sounds like such a cliché – but I felt as if I’d found my place. Then Eli came. When I saw how angry he was and how much he was suffering, it was as if someone ripped my skin off. I was right back there. And I couldn’t do anything to help him. I couldn’t change anything. I just had to stand by and watch.”
“Alex, why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I don’t know. At the time, you were part of the problem, and so were Angus and Taylor. They’re great kids, Jo, and they brought me so much joy, but after Eli came, all I could see when I looked at them was how easy their lives were.” He swallowed hard. “They’re so confident, Jo. On his worst days, Angus has more confidence that life’s going to work out than Eli will ever have – than I will ever have. And Angus has reason to feel good about himself. Doors open when he knocks; people welcome him; he gets chosen for the ball team; he doesn’t hear slurs every time he walks down the street. When I saw what Eli was going through, all the old wounds just opened again.”
“I wish I’d known, Alex.”
“I did everything I could to keep you from knowing, then I was furious when you didn’t see that everything was going wrong. I felt the same way about the situation with Eli. I didn’t want you to see all of his problems, then I was angry when you didn’t understand what he was going through.”
“At least I understand now,” I said.
“When it’s too late.”
“Why is it too late?”
“Because you, very sensibly, have found someone else.”
“But I haven’t,” I said. As soon as I said the words, I knew they were true. “Keith and I are just friends. Even if you and I can’t work things out, my relationship with Keith isn’t going to change.” A student walking by looked at us curiously. I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “Alex, I’ve had two loves in my life: the first one was my husband, and the other one is you. Neither relationship was very easy, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to settle for less.”
I could see the tension leave his face. “Is there any place around here we can be alone?”
I shook my head. “Just my office, and Rosalie will be hovering. I’ll walk you to your car.” Alex’s Audi was in the visitors’ lot behind the University Centre. As soon as we got into the front seat, we were in each other’s arms. Necking in a car parked in a public place was as awkward and as wonderful as it had been in high school. When Alex’s cellphone rang, it seemed like an intrusion from another world. Unfortunately, it was an intrusion that demanded action. When he ended the call, Alex reached over and smoothed my hair. “Time to go,” he said. “I’ll come by the house tonight, but it’ll probably be late. Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay. But if you can make it earlier, why don’t you bring Eli?”
“I’ll ask him, but I don’t think he’ll come. He doesn’t like leaving the apartment.” Alex sighed heavily. “Damn it, our first good moment in weeks, and we’re already back talking about Eli.”
“Eli’s what we should be talking about,” I said. “How bad are things there?”
“He seems to get worse every day, Jo. He’s tight as a drum and he’s started having these night terrors. He says they’re like movies. Part of what he’s seeing is Karen’s death, but there’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t fit in. He says it’s dark in his dream, and Karen was killed in the late afternoon. She’d just picked Eli up from school. And he keeps talking about all the blood. Jo, I saw Karen’s body after the accident. There were all these internal injuries, but she just looked like she was sleeping. That’s what made it so hard …” His voice broke. “Anyway, Dr. Rayner says I shouldn’t talk to Eli about the night terrors, that the only one who can help him deal with what he’s seeing is a professional.”
“Meaning Dr. Rayner,” I said.
“Yeah,” Alex said wearily, “meaning Dr. Rayner. I’m beginning to think you’re right about he
r.”
“Then let’s dump her,” I said. “Alex, there are a number of very disturbing things in her history. I have news clippings about a case in Chicago. A boy’s parents sued Signe Rayner because her therapy drove their son to suicide. They lost their lawsuit, but there’s not much doubt in my mind that Signe Rayner was guilty.”
I told him what I knew. When I finished, Alex shook his head. “That’s good enough for me,” he said. “I’ll phone Signe as soon as I get back to the office. And I’ll call Dan Kasperski to see if he can take Eli as a patient.”
I sighed with relief. “Good,” I said. “It’s time Eli did better. It’s time we all did better.”
I got out of the car and started towards the University Centre. When Alex came after me, I thought that he just wanted to seize the moment to say something fond and foolish, but his words weren’t about love; they were about danger. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “There’s going to be a press conference this afternoon to announce that Ducharme’s out of the picture, so all bets are off. We’ve got an officer outside Hilda’s room again, so we’re covered there. But until we make an arrest, don’t rule anybody out, and don’t take any chances.”
“That’s an easy promise to make,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to stay safe for.”
As soon as I got back to my office, I called the hospital. Nathan reassured me that indeed Constable Nilson was back in front of Hilda’s door. Then in a voice edgy with excitement, he said, “I was going to call you. I wanted to be sure you came by when I was on duty. We’ve waited so long for good news about Miss McCourt.”
“And there is good news?”
“The best.”
I still had my coat on. I looked at my watch. Bang on 1:00. If I hit the lights right, I could see Hilda and be back in time to walk with Howard Dowhanuik to my senior class. “I’ll be right over,” I said.
As I drove down the freeway, I tested the rawness in my throat. It was still there, but it wasn’t worse. Maybe the echinacea and the gumbo had lived up to their billing, and my cold had been vanquished. It was a comforting thought, because the day that had started out so free of demands was getting complicated. Sick or well, I had a dance card that was rapidly filling up.
