The Further Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn

by Gail Bowen

  “It’s me,” I said. “Is Eli there with you?”

  “I don’t know where he is, Jo. When I came home the door to the apartment was open, but he was gone.”

  “He called us,” I said. “There was a message on the machine when Taylor and I got home tonight.” I relayed Eli’s words.

  “But he didn’t say anything about where he was going?”

  “No, but, Alex, I think I understand part of this. The six o’clock news showed that press conference announcing Terrence Ducharme’s release. There was some file footage on Justine’s murder. Eli must have seen it. I guess he hadn’t realized till tonight that Justine was Signe’s mother.”

  “And he called Signe Rayner to talk about it? God, Jo, I hope you’re wrong. After I saw you today, I called her to tell her we thought it was time Eli tried another therapist. She went nuts. I’m no expert, Jo, but I would think that patients change therapists all the time. Signe Rayner acted as if I was betraying her. She told me I was ruining Eli’s chances for recovery, then she started in about how Eli had done all these terrible things and how nothing he said could be believed.”

  “But she was his doctor. She was supposed to be on his side.”

  Alex’s voice was tense. “I’ve got to find him, Jo.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, stay there,” he said. “Eli tried to get in touch with you once. He might try again.”

  I hung up. Tense and restless, I walked to the window. Even through the glass, I could hear the wind keening as it tossed leaves and litter through the air. Eli was out there somewhere, alone in the unforgiving night. Rose, who hated storms so much she never left my side until the weather calmed, whimpered. I reached down to rub her head. “It’ll be over soon, Rose,” I said, but as I gazed at the darkness, I wondered if the fear and the uncertainty ever truly would be over.

  Miserable, I turned away. Propped on the mantel till it dried was Taylor’s painting of the dragon-boat crew that would never be. It seemed that a hundred years had passed since that perfect night when Alex and the kids and I had walked home from the lake and made our plans for next year.

  I repeated Eli’s words aloud. “I’ve done bad things. There was so much blood.” Two sentences, but they opened the floodgate. Details I’d been struggling to hold back since Labour Day overwhelmed me: Eli at the football game telling Angus, “Sometimes I’d just like to kill you all.” Alex’s memory of Eli showering and changing into fresh clothes hours after Justine’s murder. Eli’s inability to remember anything that happened from the time he disappeared at the football game until he walked into Dan Kasperski’s office. The crude brutality of the decapitated horse splashed over Taylor’s dragon-boat painting. The recklessness with which Eli whirled our croquet mallet above his head, the same mallet that would be brought with such force against Hilda’s skull that it would almost kill her.

  Juxtaposed, the pictures formed a montage, dark with potential violence, but the composite was incomplete. There were other images of Eli, not the terrifying spectre of my worst imaginings, but the gentle boy with the shy smile who had worried about Mieka’s unborn baby and looked at me with hopeful eyes the night I’d visited him in the hospital and talked about a school where he might feel safe. This Eli had worried that Taylor might feel left out and had brought Dilly Bars for dinner so I wouldn’t have the bother of cleaning up. Something had gone terribly wrong Labour Day weekend. But remembering the Eli I knew, I was as certain as I could be of anything that, whatever Eli’s connection was with those unknown events, he had been more sinned against than sinner.

  I was still transfixed by the dragon-boat picture when Taylor ran into the room. Sweet-smelling and rosy from her bath, she came over, stood by me, and looked up at her painting. “Which one do you like better, this one or the one we gave Eli?”

  “Well, I like the way Mieka and Greg and Madeleine and Hilda are in this one.”

  “You’re in it, too,” Taylor said.

  “So I am. And guess what? I may have an idea about somebody to sit in that empty place next to me.”

  “Who?”

  “Alex.”

  “Good,” she said. “I miss him.” She narrowed her eyes at the picture. “This one’s okay, but I like the way the water looked in the other one.”

  “That’s because the perspective was different. You painted the race the way it looked from higher up.”

  She gave me a look of exasperation. “I know,” she said. “I was standing on that hill up by that Boy Scout thing.”

  I whirled to face her. “What?”

  “That thing with the stones. From up there it looked like Angus and Eli had a wall of water in front of them. So that’s what I painted, and I put me in too. Now, let’s watch the movie.” She slipped the video into the VCR and scrambled onto the couch. “Come on,” she said. “It’s starting.”

  From the time the opening credits rolled, Taylor was rapt, but my brain was racing as I ran through the sequence of events that fateful Labour Day weekend. Until that moment, I had seen the area in which we watched the races and the Boy Scout memorial where Justine was murdered as the focal points of two different tales. In fact, the places were separated from one another by less than fifty metres.

  “There was so much blood.” That’s what Eli had said. What if …? As Anne of Green Gables opened, I began to put together a hypothesis. Within half an hour, Taylor had fallen asleep in my arms, and I had a conjecture worth testing. All I had to do was wait for Eli to show up, so we could test it together.

  At 9:30, I heard a car pull into the driveway. I leapt up and ran to the window, but it wasn’t Eli and Alex, it was my son.

  Angus was in an expansive mood. “It was the best evening. I didn’t think it was going to be, but Rabbi Drache is a great guy. He knows everything. He’s so smart, Mum, and he likes football. We watched the game.”

  “Who won?” I said.

  “The Argos,” Angus said. “But I didn’t mind. Rabbi Drache was like a little kid. He was so wired.” He stood up. “Anyway, I have a quiz in English tomorrow, so I should probably read the story.”

  “What’s the story?” I asked.

  “ ‘The Painted Door,’ ” he said. “It’s not bad. Do you want me to carry Taylor up to bed?”

  “Oh, Angus, would you?” My voice sounded uncharacteristically plaintive.

  For the first time since he’d walked into the room, my son really looked at me. “Is everything okay?”

  “We don’t know where Eli is,” I said.

  Angus’s body tensed. “Should I go look for him?”

  “No, stay here. If he calls, I might need to go and pick him up.” I began coughing, and I couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Are you getting a cold, Mum?”

  “I’m not getting a cold, Angus. I’ve got a cold, but at the moment, I’m not planning to do anything more strenuous than make myself some tea and sit around waiting for the phone to ring.” I smiled at my son. “Don’t look so worried, it’ll take me back to my college days.”

  Rose stayed glued to me when I walked into the kitchen to fill the kettle. “You really are a major-league suck,” I said. She looked wounded, but she didn’t move. “Well, at least let’s sit down while we wait for the water to boil.” Rose started to follow me to the table, but suddenly she stopped, veered towards the back door, and began to bark. She and I had been together for a long time; as a rule, she trusted me to get the message after a couple of perfunctory woofs, but this time she was adamant. I went over to her, flicked on the yard lights, and opened the back door. The wind was still howling, and it blew a scattering of sodden leaves onto my kitchen floor. I nudged Rose with my toe. “Go on,” I said. “If you have to go, go. The sooner you get out there, the sooner you can come back in.”

  My tone was sharp, but Rose, who was usually preternaturally sensitive, didn’t budge; she just stood on the threshold, barking.

  “There’s nothing out there,” I said, but as I started t
o shut the door, I saw that I was wrong. A slender figure in bluejeans and a white T-shirt was shinnying over the back fence. Even a quick glance was enough for me to recognize Eli’s lithe grace. I walked out on the deck and called his name, but he’d already disappeared into the laneway. I ran down the deck stairs to the lawn. When I opened the back gate, the wind caught it and banged it against the fence. I stepped out into the alley. The creek was racing the way it did during spring run-off, and the wind was howling, but there wasn’t a living creature in sight. I dashed back inside my yard, grabbed the gate with both hands and pulled it shut. It was only when I latched it that I felt the stickiness on my hands and smelled the paint. As I moved closer to the gate, I was able to see the outline of the black horse. Its message was as clear as a cry for help.

  The Lavoline Taylor used to remove paint from her hands was in the carport. After I’d got off most of the black spray paint, I ran back inside, grabbed my coat, and called Angus. “Eli’s out there,” I said. “If Alex checks in, tell him I’ve gone out to look for him.”

  “Are you going to bring him back here?”

  I shook my head. “I think when we’ve worked everything out, Eli will just want to go home.”

  When I pulled out onto Regina Avenue, I decided that, instead of heading directly for Albert Street, I’d double-back along the lane. Somehow, I couldn’t believe that, having worked up the courage to come to our house, Eli would simply run away again. The decision was a good one. The gravel of our alley was spongy from the rain, and I had to keep the Volvo moving at a snail’s pace. Nonetheless, it didn’t take long to find Eli. As I’d anticipated, he hadn’t gone far. My headlights picked him out, curled up between my neighbour’s back fence and our communal garbage bin. I jumped out of the car and ran to him.

  “Come on, Eli. You and I have things we need to talk about.”

  “Just leave me.”

  “I’m not going to leave you.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “But I do know. Get in the car with me, and I’ll explain. If you’ll give me a chance, I can show you that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  After a few seconds, he slowly got to his feet and headed for the car. Without a word, he slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and sat, staring straight ahead. I glanced over at him. “Are you okay?”

  Eli nodded. The light from the alley threw the carved beauty of his profile into sharp relief. Except for the trembling of his lower lip, he was absolutely still.

  The road that winds through Wascana Park offers few places to pull over, so I drove straight to the cul-de-sac Justine had parked in the night of her death. It was behind an information booth that heralded the pleasures of Regina, the Queen City. The booth wasn’t much: a Plexiglas-protected map of the area; a display case filled with posters of past and future events; a public telephone; and a clear view of both the Boy Scout memorial and the shoreline from which we’d watched the races.

  I turned to Eli. “Look down there and tell me what happened that night after you decided you couldn’t stay at the football game with us.”

  “Noooooo.” The word ululated into a moan.

  “Okay,” I said quickly. “Let’s go back to a better time. We’re at the game. All of us. We were having fun. Then you and Angus went off for nachos.”

  “Just a fucking Indian,” he said furiously.

  I took his hand. “That’s what the man said, and you were hurt and angry. Eli, tell me what happened next.”

  “I walked down Winnipeg Street – found some guys. They were doing solvent. They wanted me to do it too, but I wouldn’t.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “Then what happened?”

  “I didn’t know where to go.” His voice broke. “I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to disappoint my uncle again.”

  “He loves you, Eli. You couldn’t disappoint him.”

  “Don’t make me do this,” he said miserably.

  I stroked his hand. “We have to,” I said. “Now, you decided you couldn’t go home, so you came back here to where we watched the races.”

  “Not on purpose,” he said. “At least I don’t think so. I was just walking, and I ended up here.” He smiled. “But it was nice to remember. I guess I fell asleep.”

  To this point, Eli’s voice had been dreamy, the voice of someone whose mind was travelling through another time and place. Suddenly, his body grew rigid, and he began to breathe heavily. “When I woke up, the woman was screaming. I heard her. ‘No. No. No. Don’t do it. No, don’t. Don’t.’ She sounded so scared. Just the way my mum did.… I went to help her. So much blood. There was so much blood.” He had started to hyperventilate.

  “Take a deep breath,” I said. “You did everything right, Eli. Someone was hurt, and you went to help. That’s the truth. All you did was try to help someone who needed you.”

  His body relaxed; his eyes met mine, and his question was urgent. “I didn’t do anything wrong?”

  “No,” I said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I don’t want to remember any more.”

  “That’s all right,” I said.

  “Can we just go home now?”

  “We can go home,” I said.

  He gave me a small smile and lay back against the seat.

  I got a parking spot in front of the apartment building, which was a stroke of real luck because my adrenaline level had dropped dramatically. Even walking up the stairs to the third floor seemed to take every ounce of energy I could summon. Eli was tired too. When we got to the apartment, he reached into the old-fashioned milk chute to the left of the door, pulled out a key, and exhaled with relief. “I always forget my key, so my uncle leaves one in here for me.” He looked at it curiously. “I think this one is his.”

  “We’ll be here when he gets home,” I said.

  “I’m still scared,” he said.

  “Of what?” I asked.

  “Of everything.”

  “We’ll work on that,” I said. “Now, let’s go inside. I’m going to call our house so, when your uncle checks in, he’ll know where we are.”

  “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to stay here till you boot me out. Now, why don’t you have a shower and get into some dry clothes. Could I heat you up some soup or something?”

  He shook his head. “I just want to go to bed.”

  I knew how he felt, but I still had miles to go before I slept. After Eli started his shower, I called home. Angus said that Alex had been checking in every half-hour or so from the cellphone in his car, and he was expecting a call any minute. When I told Angus that Eli and I were safe at the apartment on Lorne Street, my son’s relief was apparent.

  After I hung up, I grabbed a quilt, sat down in an old easy chair Alex loved, closed my eyes, and listened to the reassuringly ordinary sounds of rainy night traffic and Eli’s shower. When I heard the knock, I was so certain it was Alex that I opened the door without a second’s hesitation.

  She was in the apartment before I could even think of a strategy to stop her.

  “Where’s Eli?” she said.

  “He’s not here,” I said.

  She looked towards the bathroom. “Don’t lie to me,” she said. “I was waiting across the street. I saw you come in. Call him.”

  “No,” I said.

  “What’s the point? I’m going to get him sooner or later.” She shook her head sadly. “Music Woman, why did you have to get involved in this?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I just came by tonight to stay with Eli. He wasn’t feeling well.”

  Lucy Blackwell’s turquoise eyes were cold. “I understand he’s a very sick boy,” she said. “My sister says he’s delusional.”

  “That may be,” I said carefully. “He’s had a lot of trauma in his life. It’s quite possible
he’s confused about many things.” I took a step towards her. “Lucy, why don’t you leave and let me take care of him.”

  “Has he said anything to you about me?”

  “No,” I said. “He’s never once mentioned your name.”

  “I hear he’s been talking about my mother’s death.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said. “As your sister pointed out, Eli is delusional. Nobody will put much credence in anything he says.” I took a step closer to her. “If I were you, I’d walk out that door right now. At this point, there’s no proof of anything. You can grab your passport and be on the first plane out of here.”

  She was wearing a silvery raincoat with a hood, and she pulled the hood down to reveal her dark honey hair. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why are you offering me a way out, Music Woman?”

  “I’ve loved your music for thirty years. Maybe I just want to see your life have a happy ending.” My heart was pounding so loud, I was amazed she didn’t hear it. “Just go, Lucy.”

  “You’d be on the phone to the police as soon as I started downstairs.”

  “There’s nothing to tell them,” I said. “It’s all perfectly innocent: you knocked at the door; we talked; I asked you to leave; you left.”

  She looked at me thoughtfully. “You really would let this be our little secret?”

  I nodded. “Just leave us alone,” I said.

  She pulled her hood up. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can still get away.” She smiled her wonderful dazzling smile. “Many thanks, Music Woman.”

  “No!” Eli’s scream was atavistic. I whirled around to face him. He was wearing a white robe and his long black hair fell loosely to his shoulders. He looked like an acolyte in a religious order, but there was no peace in his face. His eyes were wide with terror, and his mouth was a rictus. “You did it,” he said. “You killed her. I saw. I saw. She kept crying and asking you to stop.” His voice grew higher. “ ‘Lucy. Lucy, No. No.’ There was so much blood,” he screamed. “So much blood!”

  Lucy’s hands shot up, and she lunged at him. I stepped between them. In an instant, she changed her target. Suddenly, her hands were around my throat, and she was squeezing. I tried to call out, but the only sound that came from my throat was a strangled sob. When I reached up to unclasp her fingers, it was like grappling with steel. I kicked at her legs, but she didn’t falter. Lucy Blackwell had the strength of someone engaged in mortal combat. Wildly, I looked around the room I knew so well, but there was nothing there to save me. My vision blurred. I saw red, then black. I felt the sensation of falling, and I knew I was dying.