by Gail Bowen
“Lena was right. Part of our job is over. You were the reason we won tonight. You were our ground game. Day after day, you went door to door, talked to your neighbours, phoned radio shows, worked social media, made personal phone calls. You identified the voters who supported us and today you mobilized them.
“What we’ve accomplished together is nothing short of miraculous. But we’ve just begun. So go home. Get a good night’s sleep. Dream big dreams and tomorrow we’ll get to work.”
Our family joined Zack and Brock on stage. We smiled, waved, grouped, and regrouped. When the last picture was snapped, Taylor went home with Margot and Lexi, and Zack and I began wading through the crowd towards the exit. It was slow going, but it was good to see so many of the people I’d come to know at the Noodle House. Zack hadn’t exaggerated the importance of our ground game. These volunteers had been the key to our success, and they deserved a personal thank you. I was especially pleased to see Elder Ernest Beauvais, who had gathered together the corps of Aboriginal and Métis workers who got out the vote in our ward. Ernest was six-foot-six – easy to spot in a crowd. He was shepherding Peggy Kreviazuk, and they were both beaming. Peggy had worked in elections since she was a teenager. Like Ernest, she had lost more battles than she’d won, and they were both clearly relishing this win.
I was pleasantly surprised to bump into my good Samaritan, Boomer, who was there with his lady. Her name was Kelly, and they had both worked hard to get their fellow bikers to the polls. When Warren and Annie Weber approached Boomer and Kelly, it was old-home week. Before she married her millionaire, Annie had worked at the biker bar on Winnipeg Street and she, Boomer, and Kelly had obviously shared some great times. As the bikers reminisced, Zack and Warren had a confab. That left me free to seek out the person I most wanted to see that night.
I knew where to find him. Like all political pros, Milo would be at the back of the hall, near the exit. When he saw me he gave me the thumbs-up.
“Nice work,” I said.
“It turned out,” he said laconically.
I moved closer to him. “Milo, when are you through in Alabama?”
“December 4.”
“Have you got anything after that?”
He shrugged. “It’s a last-minute business. What’s up?”
“How would you feel about coming back here and working for Zack and me?”
“The election’s over. I’m a one-trick pony.”
“Maybe, but it’s a useful trick. Lancaster Development is not going to sit back and let us govern for three years. They won’t even give us three weeks. My guess is they’re already strategizing about how to defeat every initiative Zack and the new council bring forward. At the end of Ridgeway’s campaign, the Lancaster people held back their money, so they already have a war chest, and they have deep pockets. They can buy ‘experts’ who will shoot holes in everything we propose, and they can blanket the media with ads targeting their supporters and urging them to bombard Zack and the new council with hate mail.
“We only won by 251 votes,” I continued. “Dog whistle politics almost worked for the Lancaster group today. They’re going to be pushing and we have to push back – hard. We need to keep our volunteers active. We need to poll. We need to figure out how to tell our story and sell our vision. We need you to mobilize our ground game again. I can do some of this now, and Christmas will give us breathing space, but by January we have to be ready to go on the attack.”
“Got it,” Milo said. “I’m in.”
“Aren’t you going to ask about salary?”
“I never care about that shit,” he said. “I’m just in it for the rush.”
I thought about my life since Labour Day and laughed. “Yeah, me too,” I said.
Milo handed me a Crispy Crunch bar. “See you around,” he said.
When Zack joined me, he looked around quizzically. “Where’s Milo?”
“On his way to Alabama. But he’s coming back in December to work for us. We’ll talk about it in the car.”
Zack raised an eyebrow when he saw that we were parked in the handicapped zone. “It was either here or six blocks away,” I said. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not up to a midnight jaunt.”
“No. As usual, you made the right call, Ms. Shreve. Want me to drive?”
“Yes. I don’t think I’m too sharp.”
“You were sharp enough to find and hire Milo in the five minutes I was talking to Warren.”
We snapped on our seatbelts and Zack pulled out of the parking lot.
“I had to move fast,” I said. “As soon as I realized we’d won, I knew exactly what we needed.”
“Milo?” Zack said.
“A goalie,” I said. “A lot of people are going to be taking shots at us. Ken Dryden always said the goalie’s job is to know what’s coming next and insert himself like a stick into the spokes of a bike and stop the action. Milo’s job will be to know what’s coming next so we can stop it.”
“Maggie Muggins could have used Milo,” Zack said.
I laughed. “The truth is that for all her wondering about what would happen tomorrow, nothing much ever happened to Maggie. Every day she’d skip over to Mr. McGarrity’s garden, chat with Fitzgerald Fieldmouse and Grandmother Frog, solve a very small problem, and then skip home.”
“The road we’re going to be travelling will be a lot rockier than Maggie’s,” Zack said. For a few minutes he was silent. Then he turned to me. “Jo, did you think we were going to win?”
“No,” I said. “Did you?”
“No.” Then he took me in his arms. “What a long, strange journey it’s been,” he said.
CHAPTER
19
It was a little after five the next morning when Jill called, sounding like her old self. “I’ve got something,” she said. “I couldn’t get to sleep last night. Congratulations about the election, incidentally.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I take it this isn’t just a courtesy call.”
“No. As I was tossing and turning, I kept asking myself why Graham would have repeatedly written down the numbers Cronus sent with his photo. Finally I got up, plugged the numbers and Scott Ridgeway’s name into Google, and voila – Scott Ridgeway was first elected mayor of Regina on October 25, 2006.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s major.”
“I think you’re right,” Jill said. “Now we just have to figure out what to do with the information.”
Zack was still sleeping when the dogs and I left for our run. It had been a long night, and as excited as I was about Jill’s news, I didn’t want to awaken him. I was eager to tell Brock, but when he got on the elevator he was sombre and preoccupied. He hesitated before pressing the Down button.
“Something you want to talk about?” I said.
“Michael and I spent the night together,” he said.
“To the victor go the spoils,” I said.
“You’re angry,” Brock said.
“Just upset. Brock, getting involved with Michael again would be a terrible mistake.”
“Michael knows what he did was wrong,” Brock said. “He admits he was guilty of a terrible lapse of judgment with Liz Meighen.”
The memory of the agony in Liz’s voice when she told me she’d lost her words was fresh. “What Michael did goes well beyond ‘a lapse of judgment,’ ” I said. “He’s a physician and Liz was his patient. At the very least his actions were unethical.”
Brock lowered his eyes. “He never intended for Liz Meighen to die,” he said softly. “The plan was to give Liz prescription drugs that would confuse her enough so that she would hand over power of attorney to Graham. Once Graham had access to Liz’s money, Michael would scale back on the drugs, and Liz would be fine.”
I tried to keep my temper in check. “But she’s not fine, Brock. Liz is dead. And Michael is responsible. Did he explain to you why he went along with Graham’s plan?”
Brock rubbed Pantera’s neck. “No. Last night we
were as close as two people could be, but Michael refused to talk about his relationship with Meighen. I thought Meighen’s death would mean the end of whatever hold he had over Michael, but Michael is still afraid. I know he’s in serious trouble, but I’d be prepared to stick it out if I was the only one involved.”
“But you’re not the only one involved,” I said. “Brock, we won last night. We have an obligation to the people who voted for Zack and you and the rest of the slate. We made promises, and we have to honour them.”
“So you think I should tell Michael he’s on his own?”
“I think you need to know the whole story before you make a decision,” I said.
“Is Michael still at your place?”
Brock nodded.
“I have a question that might be the key to getting him to open up to you. Are you willing to let me try?”
“At this point, I’ll try anything,” Brock said. “Let’s go.”
Michael was dressed and in the living room checking his phone when we came in. Seeing me must have been a shock, but he kept his greeting neutral.
I came straight to the point: “Brock told me about your part in Graham’s plan to convince Liz Meighen she should entrust her affairs to him. Michael, it’s only a matter of time before the truth about everything Graham Meighen did comes out. Your best option now is just to tell the truth.”
Brock put his arm around Michael’s shoulder. “You’re not alone,” he said. “But I can’t help you until I know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Michael said
“Let me tell you what we know,” I said. “On the afternoon he died, Cronus sent out a photo of himself with the message 25, 10, 06. Graham Meighen doodled those same numbers repeatedly on papers that were found on his desk. Scott Ridgeway was elected mayor for the first time on October 25, 2006. What’s the significance of that date?”
The blood drained from Michael’s face. “It was the worst night of my life,” he said, “but when it began I was on the cusp of the life I’d always wanted. Slater had managed Scott Ridgeway’s campaign and he’d promised me that as soon as the election was over he’d tell his wife that he was gay, and we could be together. Slater had introduced me to Graham Meighen, and Graham had been like a father to me. I’d never been interested in politics, but Graham had shown me the importance of having a mayor and a city council that would make our city a magnet for excellence. For two years, Graham and his cohorts at Lancaster Development had groomed men and women who shared their vision. When the results came in that night, Graham said this was just the beginning and that from now on everything would come our way.
“A group of us went to a hotel room to celebrate. We had a lot to drink and we dropped ecstasy. People drifted off. Finally there were just four of us: Slater, Scott, Graham, and me. Graham said he’d been to a club on Rose Street that specialized in what he called ‘designer sex.’ We just had to call ahead and tell them what we wanted. The sex workers were both male and female. They were young and medically certified as clean – no protection necessary, and they would do whatever we asked. Cronus owned the house at 12 Rose Street. Graham called him and he said he’d set it all up with the woman who ran the sex club. Slater wanted a foursome with me and two twinks – really young guys, blond, slender, no body hair. We went upstairs and the boys came in. They were gorgeous and they were willing. The four of us went at it. Molly has a way of making time disappear. I don’t know how much time passed before I realized someone was knocking at the door. We ignored it, but they got frantic. Finally, Slater pulled on his pants and unlocked the door. Scott was standing in the hall, naked, covered in blood, and hysterical. He said, ‘She needs a doctor, Michael. You’ve got to help me.’
“Slater went to find Graham, and I followed Scott downstairs into a bedroom in the basement. The door was open, but there were no lights on. I hit the switch for the overhead light. The first thing that struck me was how small the girl was. The second was the amount of blood. I said, ‘My God, what did you do to her?’
“Scott was barely coherent. Finally he said, ‘I said I wanted to have sex with a virgin. This is the girl they sent.’
“I remember saying, ‘She’s just a child. What were you thinking?’ Then I turned my attention to the girl. I knelt beside her. I knew she was dying. There were some flashes of light behind me. I turned and saw Graham in the doorway taking pictures. I told him to stop and call an ambulance because the girl was bleeding out.
“I remember he was very calm. He said, ‘I’ll take care of it. Just get everybody out of here. The escorts have been paid. Tell Slater to go home to his wife and take Scott to your place. He’s babbling about calling the police and that can’t happen. Give him a shot to knock him out.’
“I told Graham I didn’t want any part of what was going on. He just laughed and held up his camera. ‘You are a part of what’s going on,” he said. ‘I have pictures.’
“I took Scott home with me, put him in the shower, gave him something to calm him down, got rid of his clothes, and went to bed. The next morning I called the hospitals – no girl had been admitted. When I called Graham and asked him where the girl was, he said she’d been taken care of. I said I was going to the police and Graham told me to take a drive by 12 Rose Street before I did anything.
“I told Scott to stay at my place and I drove to Rose Street. There were trucks from one of Lancaster’s construction companies there. The workers had taken down the back fence and driven the trucks right into the yard. There were already huge mounds of earth, but they were still digging. A cement truck was there to pour concrete when the time was right. I knew the girl would be under that concrete, and I knew that I would never draw another free breath.”
“Graham Meighen used the pictures he took that night to keep you in line,” I said.
Michael appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Brock tightened his hold on Michael’s shoulders. “Maybe you should lie down,” he said.
“No,” I said. “Keep him here.” I was angrier than I could ever remember being. “There’s something he needs to know.” I stepped closer to Michael. “Her name was Ellen,” I said.
He looked at me without comprehension.
“The girl you let bleed to death – the girl buried under the concrete at 12 Rose Street – she had a name. Her name was Ellen.”
Zack wasn’t there when I came in. There was a note on the kitchen table. “Driving Taylor to school and then doing an interview on NationTV. Back in an hour.” He’d signed his note “Zachary Davis Shreve, Mayor Elect, City of Regina.”
For the only time I could remember, I was grateful to be alone in the condo. As I texted Brock the contact info for Asia Libke, a lawyer Zack often recommended, I couldn’t stop trembling. I went into the bedroom, put on my bathing suit, and took the elevator down to the pool. I swam until I was able to control my breathing and my body. Controlling my mind would be less easy. I knew the image of Ellen, the girl with the shining eyes who died because she was a virgin, would stay with me forever.
Zack was buoyant when he came back. He wheeled over to me and held out his arms. “You have no idea how many people just confided in me that they were with me all along.”
“Victory has a thousand fathers,” I said.
“Lots of congratulatory calls, lots of back slaps, and attaboys at NationTV, and there’s a great picture of you, Taylor, and me on the front page of the paper.”
“A banner day,” I said.
“You bet,” Zack said. “And right now, I’m in the mood for one of those Bull Durham kisses – the long, slow, deep soft ones that last three days.”
“So am I,” I said. “But we’re going to have to start that kiss this afternoon. Zack, I know why Cronus died, and you need to be out of the city today. I want you to drive out to Lawyers’ Bay. Don’t answer the phone, and don’t check your email or your texts until I get there. Taylor has a spare last period, so with luck, we should be at the lake by four.
”
“And you can’t tell me what this is about?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t, and you really should get on the highway ASAP.”
Jill was in the living room reading the morning paper when I arrived. She was clearly surprised to see me. When she rose to her feet, she was a little unsteady. I held her arm and helped her back to her room. “Are you ready for an outing?” I asked.
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“The police station.”
As we drove downtown I filled Jill in on Michael Goetz’s account of the events of October 25, 2006.
When I was through, Jill looked as miserable as I felt. “That poor child. So Zack’s first day as mayor-elect is going to be a gong show.”
“No,” I said. “It’s going to be tranquil. I packed him off to the lake half an hour ago and told him not to answer his phone or read his email or texts. There’ll be a lot of confusion in the next few days – outside media, rumours, crazy stuff. Zack and Taylor and I will come back to the city Monday morning. By then, the facts will have come to the surface, and Zack can say something that pours oil on the roiling waters.”
The interview with Debbie Hackewicz took a little over half an hour. When Jill and I left, Michael Goetz and his lawyer, Asia Libke, were waiting in the outer office.
Jill insisted on walking back to my car. The nearest parking place was a block and half from the police station and as she snapped on her seatbelt she was clearly in pain. “Was this too much for you?” I said.
“No. It needed to be done. Jo, could we drive by the house on Rose Street.”
“Of course. It’s not far from here.” The rain was coming down hard as we pulled up in front of Number 12. Oblivious, a drunk did his lumbering dance along the sidewalk towards us. A whip-thin dog nosed a greasy fast-food wrapper in the gutter. The windows of Number 12 were squares of light in the dark afternoon.
