The Early Investigations of Joanne Kilbourn

by Gail Bowen

  The door was open and I could hear raised voices. One of the voices was male, demanding money, hollering obscenities. Jackie Desjarlais was putting on quite a performance.

  I stood, tense, alert, trying to get a sense of the layout of the building. I moved quietly toward the voices and then at the first corridor I turned. Terrified I would make a mistake, I almost did.

  She seemed to fly out of the door across from me. If she hadn’t been looking toward the disturbance, Lorraine Harris would have seen me. But her mind wasn’t on me. She looked preoccupied and grim. As she ran down the hall toward the trouble, her beautiful hair, knotted low on her neck, came loose. It made her look oddly girlish and vulnerable.

  She had left open the door to the room she’d been in. I could see the screen of her computer. She hadn’t had time to turn it off. I stepped closer. On the screen was a list of files. She had been deleting files, getting rid of evidence. Give us twenty-four hours, the note had said. Whatever these records were, they were important; I could use them as leverage to get Taylor. I tapped in the top code on the screen: spread sheets of financial records. Too complex. I tapped in the next code. More bookkeeping. I ran the list. Suddenly, I saw the code “teddy.” The password Helmut Keating had told Jill to use to get into the Lily Pad computer.

  The image of the teddy bear tattoo on Bernice Morin’s left buttock flashed through my mind. Christy Sinclair had a teddy bear, too. I had seen it at the funeral home the night Mieka left me alone with Christy’s body. The tattoos must have been a way of identifying the children as the property of the Lily Pad, a mark of possession like the brands burned into the flanks of cattle.

  I typed the word teddy. Then I hit “Enter.” The screen sprouted the kind of chart businesses use to explain their management structure. I recognized most of the names on the lower tiers: civic leaders in our towns and cities; politicians; two virulently homophobic ministers of God. The second name from the top was Lorraine Harris’s. The top name was familiar, too: Con O’Malley, the president of NationTV. My boss. Jill had said the fax telling her to hire me as a panelist on Canada Tonight had come from his office.

  O’Malley had covered all the bases. It wasn’t hard to keep track of what I was doing from day to day. Lorraine was part of my family. And Jill was an employee of NationTV. When her investigation of the connection between Bernice Morin’s death and the Little Flower murders hit pay dirt, Con O’Malley had bled her investigation dry by cutting off her money; then, when she persisted, he’d buried her in corporate busy work.

  Busy work. That’s what my job on the political panel had been. A distraction for a meddlesome woman. I looked at the management chart on the computer. Nothing was distracting me now. I hit the print key. In that quiet office, the printer seemed to roar to life, but I didn’t have many options. The list had just finished printing when I felt a tug on the back of my slicker. I grabbed the gun in my pocket, and heart pounding, I turned. It was Taylor.

  She was on the verge of tears, but she seemed all right. “I was beginning to get scared, Jo,” she said. “Greg’s mother said it was okay, but I was still getting scared.”

  I held her close to me. I could feel her heart beating against my chest. When I kissed the top of her head I could smell the warm, little-girl smell of her.

  “No one hurt you, did they?”

  She stood back, surprised. “Why would anybody hurt me?”

  I ripped the sheet out of the printer and grabbed Taylor’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We started, then Taylor looked up at me. “I left my dolls,” she said. She ran and picked up her candy box. By the time she came back, Lorraine Harris was standing at the door.

  Lorraine was breathing hard, and there were darkening half-moons of sweat in the armpits of her cream jacket. But she was composed. Her oversized horn-rimmed glasses were lying on the table by the computer. She walked over, picked them up and put them on. It was a good look: the businesswoman dealing with a crisis.

  I stepped closer to her. “Hello, Lorraine,” I said. “Going out of business?”

  She looked quickly at the computer, at the printout in my hand, then at my face. For a time she was silent; I could almost hear the wheels turning as she decided which approach to take.

  Finally, she made up her mind. “You can thank me that Taylor wasn’t harmed,” she said.

  “Thank you?” I repeated, incredulous.

  Taylor had heard her name and was looking at Lorraine with interest.

  “The original plan was … different,” Lorraine said.

  There was a glassed-in space at the end of the room; it looked like a secretary’s office. I pointed to it. “Taylor, why don’t you go and sit in there till Lorraine and I are through talking. It’ll be okay. You can see me, and I can see you.”

  Taylor went without question. She could feel the tension in the air.

  As soon as Taylor closed the door to the office, Lorraine began to speak. Her voice was low, almost hypnotic. “The best thing for everybody would be if you just took Taylor and left. I give you my word that the business will be shut down. I’d already started to close things out. The decision came from Con O’Malley, Joanne. He won’t go back on it. I’ll be frank. The whole situation is just getting too hot – too many loose ends, too many people asking questions.”

  Her voice grew soft. “The Lily Pad is history, but our families aren’t, are they? They’re still making plans and thinking about the future. You have to protect them, Joanne. If you decide to be reasonable, no one will be hurt. Mieka’s and Greg’s wedding can be as perfect as you and I dreamed it would be. Keith’s reputation won’t be tarnished, and you’ll have a brilliant future with the network. Sometimes, it’s best just to walk away.”

  I felt myself being pulled into her orbit. Mieka had told me that Lorraine had taken courses in effective communication. She’d gotten her money’s worth.

  Lorraine touched my hand. “It will be as if the business never existed. I can erase everything.”

  “Including killing those girls,” I said.

  “I’m just management, Joanne. I don’t kill anybody.”

  I felt laughter welling up in me. “You’re just management?” I said.

  “I never killed anybody,” she said. “You have to believe me about that, Joanne. It wasn’t me.”

  “Who was it, then?”

  “Theresa. It was Theresa.” Lorraine’s grey eyes were the colour of winter ice. “They knew each other from before,” she said. “Bernice had been at the Lily Pad when Theresa was in charge. Bernice was a difficult girl, a troublemaker; she didn’t last. When she saw Theresa at Judgements that day, she threatened to tell Mieka the truth unless Theresa gave her money, a lot of money. Theresa panicked. She knew Bernice would keep asking for more. And she was desperately afraid Bernice would destroy her chance of being part of your family again.” Lorraine covered my hand with her own. “In a way Theresa did it for you, Joanne.”

  I pulled my hand free of hers. “What happened to Theresa then?” I asked.

  “She fell apart. She was terrified you’d find out the truth about her. And then when she saw me that night at the lake, she felt as if the walls were closing in. Of course, she knew I wouldn’t expose her, but she told me it seemed as if all the ghosts of the past were rising up at once. I tried to help her. I offered to make arrangements so she could get away. I have connections.”

  I thought of the names on the computer print-out. They were men of power who were linked by a common sexual obsession; they were a brotherhood of pederasts.

  “She could have pulled it off,” Lorraine said. “She started, but she just seemed to lose her nerve. Killing Bernice did something to her. She’d tried to make what happened look like the Little Flower murders because she knew the cops don’t push those investigations hard. But I think having to do it that way affected her. I’d known Theresa from the time she was ten years old, but I’d never seen her the way she was that night. She just didn’t
seem to have any resources left. I was going to help her. You have to believe that. But she found those pills in my bathroom and took them.” Something animal and cunning flickered in her eyes. “I think she was afraid to face you, Joanne. I think she was afraid that if you found out the truth, you’d hate her.”

  “She killed herself because of me?” I said in a voice that didn’t sound like mine. I felt myself losing ground.

  “No one’s without fault here,” Lorraine said reasonably. “That’s why it’s best just to close things off without too many questions.”

  No one’s without fault here. Her words seemed to resonate in me, touching hidden vulnerabilities. I thought of Peter. The possibility that Lorraine was right appeared at the edge of my mind. Perhaps it was best not to delve too deeply.

  Then I remembered the other death. I moved closer to her. I could feel the pressure of Jackie’s gun against my leg.

  “And Kim Barilko?”

  Lorraine twisted her hair back in a loop, then smiled at me, woman to woman. “I’ll be frank, Jo. Helmut acted on his own initiative there, and he made a serious mistake. He thought it was a matter of security. He didn’t know how much Theresa had told Kim and he didn’t know how much Kim was about to tell you. It was a simple case of overreaction.”

  I knew she was lying. If Helmut had murdered Kim, he wouldn’t be running from Con O’Malley and Lorraine, he’d be demanding that they protect him.

  Lorraine cocked her head and gave me a winsome smile. “Don’t overreact, Jo. Remember those pictures Mieka took? Remember all those shots of the two mothers addressing wedding invitations that she’s saving for the grandchildren? Take Taylor back to the city now; I’ll drive in tomorrow, and we can all just pick up where we left off.”

  I could see Lorraine’s body relax. She thought she had me. She’d thought she could win, so she played her trump card. “Our kids need us,” she said, and her voice was like honey. “Think of the children.”

  “I am,” I said, sliding my hand into my pocket and curling my fingers around the handle of Jackie’s gun. “I am thinking of the children. All of them. That’s all I’m thinking about. At the moment I’m thinking about the children you’ve got locked up here. I want them. Jackie Desjarlais and I are going to take them with us, and you’re never going to touch them again. Do you hear me? You’re never going to violate another child.” My legs had started to shake, but my voice sounded strong. It sounded like a voice Lorraine should listen to.

  I pulled the gun out and pointed it at her. “Come on,” I said. “You and I are going to walk out of this room, and you’re going to tell the people who work for you to bring the children to the dock. And Jackie and I are going to take them out of this cesspool. If it takes two trips, I’ll wait with them. We’re taking those children, and they’re never coming back.” My voice was rising. “Do you hear me, Lorraine? You’re never going to sell another child again.”

  She looked at the gun, then she shrugged. “Have it your way, Joanne. I’ve never known how to deal with self-righteous women. You come in here like an avenging angel, sword in hand, all set to smite me down. Well, smite the fuck away. You won’t be the first.”

  She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She looked weary and wounded. “Tell me, Joanne, how do you think I got into this business? Do you think it was a career option, like deciding between being a doctor and a lawyer the way you and your friends did?”

  “I don’t want to hear this,” I said.

  Her mouth curled in derision. “Really? Well, I’ve decided you should hear this, Mieka’s middle-class mother. Do you know how I met Con O’Malley? He bought me.” She pointed in the direction of Blue Heron Point. “Over there at the Angler’s Corner. My aunt was in there, drunk as usual, broke as usual. When Con came in, she offered to sell me for a bottle of beer. I was eleven years old.” She looked hard at me. “What were you doing when you were eleven, Joanne? Dancing school? Pyjama parties with your friends? Con and I had pyjama parties, till he decided I was too old. That was when he gave me a choice: go back to the Angler’s Corner and be bought by anybody who had beer money or help him find some girls to replace me. Those were my career options, Joanne. Before you raise your sword, think about that. Think about how hard another woman had to work to make a good life for herself and her son. I’m not begging; I’m just asking for some consideration.”

  “I’ll give you some consideration,” I said, and I meant it. But as I walked through the Lily Pad, listening to Lorraine instruct her employees to bring the children to the docks, I kept Jackie’s gun aimed at the back of her neck. No one gave me any trouble. Jackie was right. People were scared shitless of guns.

  It took half an hour to get everybody down to the docks. There was a big cabin cruiser that belonged to the Lily Pad. Jackie was taking the children in that. We watched them climb on board. They were attractive and well dressed, but they seemed meek and spiritless. As they settled into their seats, I wondered if we’d been too late, if they were already beyond rescue. There were only seven of them, four girls and three boys. The woman who had cleaned off the tennis courts explained there had been a measles outbreak, and the others were quarantined in Blue Heron Point.

  Two women whom Lorraine referred to as counsellors went in the boat with the children. The kids were afraid to be separated from them. Taylor and Lorraine and I were going to follow the cabin cruiser in Jackie’s boat.

  Finally, when everyone was in, Jackie turned and yelled to me. “Ready? I’ll take it slow. Stay with me and you’ll be fine.”

  I waved to him. Then a boy near the back of the cabin cruiser clambered over the seats to Jackie, leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. Jackie nodded and the boy jumped out of the boat and ran to the Lily Pad. When he came back, Jackie gave me the high sign, and we began moving across the water.

  Lorraine didn’t speak on the trip back. Neither did Taylor. I was relieved. I didn’t have any words left in me. I was grateful beyond measure that Taylor was sitting less than a metre away from me, bright and unharmed, but I had been running on adrenaline, and the adrenaline had stopped pumping. I was bone weary, and I was overwhelmed with the problems that lay ahead, what to do about Lorraine, and what would happen to the sad beaten children in the boat ahead.

  As Blue Heron Point came into sight, I noticed there were people on the dock. We came closer and I saw that there were three of them. Keith was there, and Perry Kequahtooway, but the third figure was the one on whom my attention was riveted. As he recognized us in the boat, Blaine Harris raised his arm. It looked as if he was offering a benediction. I drove the boat parallel to the dock, helped Taylor out and handed the rope for mooring to Keith. Then I walked to where the old man waited in his wheelchair.

  “You want to tell me something,” I said.

  “The rain. Killdeer,” he said. Then he handed me a piece of newsprint, soft with age and handling. It was the picture of Christy Sinclair that the paper had printed at the top of her obituary. I looked at the picture, then I repeated his words.

  “Lorraine killed her,” I said. “Lorraine killed Christy Sinclair.” His arm fell limp at his side, and he smiled at me. I looked at the boat. Lorraine was alone there; her body had folded in on itself in defeat. Perry Kequahtooway walked down the dock and held out a hand to her. He helped her out of the boat, then walked her over to a black sedan that was parked on the service road behind the shacks.

  “It’s over,” I said to Blaine Harris, and he nodded.

  Keith came and put his arm around me. I was still wearing the drab green slicker Jackie had given me. The weather had become even muggier, and the slicker acted like a sauna, trapping the hot, moist air against my T-shirt. I could feel it sticking to my skin. My runners and the ankles of my blue jeans were crusted with beach sand and muck from the island.

  “Keith, I’m so dirty,” I said, moving away from his arm.

  “You look all right to me,” he said, pulling me back. This time
I didn’t move away.

  For a while I just stood there with his arm around me feeling tired. But I had to know. “Keith, what made you come up here?”

  “My father.”

  “I have a friend who says Blaine’s the most moral man she ever met.”

  Keith nodded. “He is that. I think that’s why he’s been going through such hell since that night at the lake. He saw something terrible happen, and he couldn’t get anyone to understand what he’d seen.”

  I thought of the phone calls, the anguished words in the night.

  Keith said, “Today when Dad and I were at the airport, waiting to get on the plane for Minneapolis, he showed me the picture of Christy he just gave you, and he tried those three words again: the rain killdeer. For the first time I put everything together. I started to ask Blaine questions. Had he seen Lorraine and Christy together that night? Had they quarrelled? Had he seen Lorraine do something to Christy? Maybe give her something to drink?” Keith sighed. “We were quite a pair: me badgering my father with all these questions, and Dad hooting away whenever I guessed right. Anyway, we did come up with a few things.”

  “Do you remember, Jo, that the room Dad was staying in out at the lake was Lorraine’s room? The night Christy died, Dad’s nurse had put him on the veranda outside the room to watch the sunset. The door to the inside was open, and Dad saw Lorraine come in and shake some kind of powder into a glass of whisky. When Christy came in, Lorraine gave her the drink. She probably told Christy it would calm her down. Christy drank the whisky. That’s all we know for certain right now. But as far as I was concerned it was enough to call Perry Kequahtooway. He thought it was enough, too. That’s why he came up with us.”

  Keith looked at the next dock. Jackie had tied up the cabin cruiser, and he and the women who worked for Lorraine were helping the children out of the boat.

  “Jo, what the hell’s going on here?” he asked.

  I looked at this man whom I was beginning to love, and at his father, sitting in his wheelchair, looking at the lake, at peace for the first time in weeks.