The Nesting Dolls

by Gail Bowen

  Theo cocked his head. “Was I appointed to the bench?”

  Zack enunciated each word slowly and distinctly. “Yes, Justice Brokaw,” he said. “You were appointed to the bench.”

  After I reached her on her cell, Myra was at our front door within minutes. “Where is he?” she asked. I pointed towards the room where her husband strode desperately towards a destination only he could fathom. Myra slipped off her boots and walked towards the living room. She stopped on the threshold and took in the scene. “He doesn’t know where he is,” she murmured. Then she pasted on her social smile, glided towards her husband, and took his arm. “Thank you so much for delivering our gift to the Shreves,” she said, drawing him towards the door. “It was clever of you to think of it. Now we must be on our way, sweetheart. The Shreves have plans, and so do we.”

  Myra’s presence seemed to calm Theo. In a world that was suddenly senseless and menacing, she offered safe haven. “I got here with the box,” he said.

  The gift was on the sideboard. “So I see,” she said. “Good work. You saved us the expense of the courier.”

  She helped him on with his coat and tied his bright holiday scarf. As he had on the two previous occasions when I’d met him, Theo Brokaw appeared natty and distinguished, but as he turned towards the door, I saw the expression in his eyes. He was desperate.

  “Thank you for taking care of him,” Myra said.

  “May we drive you home?” I said.

  “I brought my car,” she said, knotting her own red scarf and pulling on the matching tam. “There’s a note inside the gift box,” she said. “I hope you’ll take the words to heart, Joanne.”

  When we closed the door behind them, Zack and I exchanged glances. I opened the box on the sideboard. As I’d anticipated, the gift was a twin of the pomegranate wreath I’d admired on the Brokaws’ door. Myra’s handwriting was as strong and clear as her message. “The pomegranate is said to symbolize regeneration. May this wreath be a reminder that there are always new beginnings.”

  I handed the card to Zack. “Nice,” he said. “Unfortunately, while people are working on new beginnings, the past has a way of jumping up and biting them in the ass.”

  I removed the wreath from the box and held it over the mirror on the sideboard. “What do you think?” I said.

  Zack cocked his head. “Looks good. Want me to get a hammer and one of those little finishing nails?”

  “In a minute,” I said. “Zack, do you know of anything in Noah’s past that might cause problems with Jacob’s custody?”

  Pantera plastered his body against the side of Zack’s wheelchair, putting himself within easy reach if Zack felt the need to rub his head.

  I had hoped for quick reassurance, but Zack was silent as he scratched behind Pantera’s ears. I sat down on one of the dining room chairs. “There is something, isn’t there?” I said.

  “There is,” he said. “But it was so long ago. I can’t imagine anybody remembering it but us.”

  “Us, meaning…?”

  “Noah, Delia, me, and our late, sainted partner Chris Altieri.”

  “So what happened?”

  Zack cocked his head. “Short and sweet: Noah got into a fight with a guy and the guy died.”

  “Noah killed a man?”

  “No. The guy, an obnoxious prick named Murray Jeffreys, died of a heart attack.”

  “So Noah wasn’t responsible?”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “You could argue that point either way. Murray died because his heart stopped, not because of the injuries Noah inflicted upon him. That said, if the fight hadn’t happened, Murray would probably have lived to die another day.”

  I went to the sideboard and picked up the wreath. The mica from the pomegranates flaked onto my fingers. “So when did this happen?”

  “Guess.”

  “The year you all articled.”

  Zack turned his chair towards the window. “It seems like another lifetime. It was another lifetime.”

  “But you do remember the fight.”

  “You bet. It’s not every day you see a guy die. Since then I’ve had dozens of clients who’ve either caused or been present at the violent death of another human being and 90 per cent of them say the same thing: ‘It was all over so fast. I didn’t realize what had happened.’ ” Zack turned his chair to face me. “That’s exactly the way it was that night. Murray’s firm, which consisted of Murray and two associates, was having its Christmas party at some restaurant downtown. Dee had come back for Christmas, and that meant that Noah was walking around with this shit-eating grin.”

  “He loved her even then?”

  Pantera nudged Zack’s hand with his head and Zack rewarded him with a head scratch. “Noah’s love for Delia is the kind people write songs about… ”

  “Or kill for?”

  Zack winced. “Do me a favour, Jo. Don’t make that connection again. Anyway, we were at the party. By our modest standards, it was stellar: free booze, free food, and a chance to suck up to people who could be useful to us when we opened our own firm. Putting up with a prick like Murray seemed a small price to pay, but putting up with isn’t the same as putting out for, and that distinction was lost on Murray. Did I mention that Dee looked really primo that Christmas?”

  “You did,” I said.

  Zack gave me a quick smile. “I knew your memory would be solid on that point. Anyway, Murray started pawing at Delia. She brushed him off, but he wouldn’t stop. Then Murray made a really crude suggestion, and Noah started to hammer him. Murray was a little guy and he was twenty years older than Noah, plus he was paying for the party, so somebody intervened.”

  “It doesn’t sound as if Murray’s death was Noah’s fault.”

  “That’s not the end of the story. We were all pretty juiced. Delia was staying with Noah, and I didn’t live far from his place, so Noah decided it would be a good idea if we walked – fresh air being a well-known antidote to a hangover. Chris, ever the good shepherd, decided he should see us safely to our beds. We took a shortcut through the alley back of the restaurant, and Murray came after us. He grabbed Delia and said maybe if she played ball, he could slide some cases her way. Noah went nuts. As I said, he was pretty drunk.”

  “I’ve never seen Noah take a drink.”

  “After that night, he never did. Anyway, Noah started swinging. He’s a powerful guy, but luckily the booze had affected his ability to connect. He only landed one punch and it wasn’t much, but Murray went down and stayed down. Chris was still sober. He checked and said he couldn’t find a pulse. Then… ” Zack shrugged. “Decisions were made.”

  “Passive voice,” I said.

  Zack’s smile was ironic. “You hang around with cops, you learn a few tricks… Anyway, Chris went back inside the restaurant to call for an ambulance, and Noah told Dee to go to my place. She was staying with him, but he didn’t want her involved in any trouble. Dee was always the decision-maker, but that night she was reeling. When she came to bed, she couldn’t stop shaking, and she hung onto me all night. The next day she stayed in bed, eating cereal out of the box, and watching reruns of sitcoms until Noah came.”

  “The police didn’t hold him?”

  “The police didn’t know he was involved in Round Two. Chris sent Noah home before the cops came. A dozen people had witnessed Round One of his fight with Murray, so of course he was on the cops’ visiting list, but Noah had an ace up his sleeve. Chris Altieri, a young lawyer who went to mass every day of his life, was prepared to swear that by the time Murray dropped dead in the alley behind the hotel, Noah had left the scene.”

  “And Chris’s word was enough?”

  “The cops didn’t have anything else,” Zack said softly. “And none of us has ever talked about that evening since.” He shrugged. “Now, I’m going to get the hammer and nails so you can put up our new wreath.” His finger touched one of the pomegranates. As it had with me, the mica came off on his fingertip. He stared at it thoughtfully. “Did yo
u know that the French word for grenade is pomegranate?”

  “You think Myra’s gift is a weapon?”

  He shrugged. “We live in dangerous times.”

  We left for Port Hope on the morning of Friday, December 11 – six days after Abby Michaels had handed Jacob over to the Wainbergs and disappeared into the blizzard. Despite intensive media coverage and appeals from Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz, no one who had seen Abby that night came forward. Seemingly, the blizzard and the blackout had obliterated memories both human and electronic. People who might have seen her as she left the school and got into her car had been absorbed by their own efforts to deal with the storm and darkness. Security cameras at intersections that she might have driven through and in the area around the pawn shop parking lot where, presumably, she was attacked and killed, were not functioning. Zack’s bleak prediction that the blackout would make it possible for Jacob’s mother to disappear without a trace had been right on the money.

  Debbie Haczkewicz stopped by our house the night before we left. Her son, Leo, had sent a Christmas gift from Japan for Zack. It was a laughing Buddha. Debbie was droll as she handed the Buddha to Zack. “This is supposed to bring you happiness and good luck. I told Leo I’d trade you my new peony kimono for twenty-four hours of good luck on the Michaels case.”

  Zack handed the laughing Buddha back to Debbie. “Why don’t you hold onto our friend here while I get you a drink? Maybe some of that luck will rub off on you.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Debbie said.

  “Still drinking Crown Royal on the rocks?” Zack asked.

  “It’s been my drink since I hit legal age,” Debbie said. “Legal age is but a memory, but in my opinion, there’s no reason to question a smart decision.”

  “Agreed,” Zack said. “I’ll pour, and you and Joanne can relax and enjoy the season.”

  In a fruitless effort to help me before the flight, Zack had built a fire and put on The Messiah. Debbie gazed at the tree and the fire and sighed. “I had a choice: the police college or law school.”

  “It’s never too late,” I said.

  Debbie’s smile was rueful. “It is if you have a pension you can’t afford to walk away from.”

  Zack came in with the drinks on a tray balanced on his lap. He handed Debbie her rye. She raised her glass. “Happy holidays.”

  We toasted the season, then Zack got down to business. “Anything new?”

  Debbie shot him a withering glance. “No. I’m still squandering time, personnel, and taxpayer dollars on dead ends.” She took a sip of rye and her irritation melted. “Let’s see. We ran a preliminary match of the semen. The vi-class data on the match came up negative, so that eliminates every man in Canada who’s ever been convicted of a violent sexual assault. Abby Michaels was raped and murdered by an amateur or at least a rapist cunning enough not to get caught. The field is wide open, Zack, and you know what that means.”

  “You’re hooped,” my husband said.

  Debbie nodded. “It gets worse. Considering that Ms. Michaels didn’t know anyone in Regina, it seemed possible that a woman who’d just given away her child might have been sufficiently despondent to hit the clubs and pick up Mr. Wrong. We had officers checking the downtown bars to see if a bartender or server had spotted a woman meeting Abby Michaels’s description the night of the blizzard, but no luck.” Debbie looked at Zack. “Of course, when you told us that she was a lesbian, we checked the gay bars, but they were a wash too. Not surprising, I guess, considering that pesky presence of semen on the body.”

  “I’m assuming Abby had no visitors at the Chelton,” Zack said.

  Debbie shook her head. “No visitors and, as you know, an invariable routine. Incidentally, Joanne, thanks for suggesting we talk to your daughter. Mieka’s the only person we’ve found who actually had a conversation with the victim. The people who worked at the hotel said she was polite but withdrawn. When they tried to engage with the baby, she did not encourage them. We’ve checked the calls she made on her cell. There were remarkably few. She called ahead to a couple of motels when she was driving out here – apparently to let them know she’d be late arriving – but apart from that, the only calls were made the early evening of the blizzard. The first two calls were made at 6:01 and 6:02 p.m.”

  “That would have been just after Abby left Luther,” I said.

  “The calls were to Nadine Perrault’s cell, but Ms. Perrault’s cell was turned off. The third was to Our Lady of Mercy Church in Port Hope. That call was made at 6:03. Father Rafael Quines answered, and he and the victim spoke for seven minutes and thirteen seconds.”

  “I take it you contacted Father Quines,” Zack said.

  “I did.” The twist of Debbie’s lip was sardonic. “My conversation with Father Quines was not lengthy.”

  “The Seal of the Confessional?” Zack said.

  “He didn’t say. He just said he couldn’t discuss the conversation and that he was praying for Abby’s soul.”

  “Maybe that’s why she called a priest,” I said. “Abby made a lot of serious decisions the day she died. Maybe she needed to clear the slate.”

  “Let’s hope she did.” Debbie’s voice was sombre. She stood, then bent to embrace my husband. “Merry Christmas,” she said.

  Zack patted her back. “We’ll figure this one out, Deb.”

  “I know,” she said. “But if you want to speed the process along, before you go to Port Hope, give your laughing Buddha a pat.”

  Zack chuckled. “You’ve got it. Merry Christmas, Deb.”

  I awoke the next morning with Zack’s arms around me. All week, he had done his best to reassure and distract me, but he knew me well. “So how bad is it?” he said.

  “Can’t you hear my heart pounding?”

  “I have a suggestion. Why don’t we fool around for a while? You always say that making love relaxes you.”

  “I’ll try anything,” I said.

  “I’m prepared to take one for the team.”

  My husband did the team proud. When we were finished, I kissed his shoulder. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Planning to recommend me to your friends?

  “No. I was thinking of using your services during take-off.”

  “I’m available, but you’d better bring a blanket.”

  Our flight left Regina at noon. Zack was due in court at ten to hear the judge’s sentencing of his client in the road-racing case. The timing was going to be tight, but our bags were packed and we lived seven minutes from the airport. After we said goodbye to Taylor, Zack went to the office and I took the things Taylor needed for the weekend over to the Wainbergs’. Delia had already left for court, so Noah and Jacob met me at the door.

  Jacob was curled in the crook of Noah’s arm. It was difficult to reconcile the mental image of the gentle man in front of me, his face creased in a smile of welcome, with the scene of animal violence Zack’s account had painted. My eyes stayed on Noah’s face a beat too long, and he noticed.

  “Is something the matter?” he said.

  “Zack told me about Murray Jeffreys,” I said.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That the two of you were fighting and Murray Jeffreys died of a heart attack.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of years trying to make up for that night,” Noah said simply. “Now come inside. You arrived just in time for a landmark in Jacob’s life. Today we begin vegetables. First up – strained pureed peas.”

  Noah’s voice, warm and ordinary, was deeply reassuring. “I don’t think I could handle peas at eight-thirty in the morning,” I said.

  “You don’t have to. You just have to watch.”

  Jacob was an eager eater. He gobbled the peas as if they were truffles. “Good man,” Noah said. “So the plan is that you pick up Zack and Delia and leave your car at the airport?”

  “That’s the plan. Zack got a call last night that the sentence for that road-racing case is coming down this morning. He’s a l
ittle tense about it.”

  “He shouldn’t be. You know how compelling Zack is in the courtroom, and he has the Criminal Code on his side. It says an appropriate sentence is based half on the offence and half on the offender. What Jeremy Sawchuk did was horrific, but from what I hear, he’s a decent kid who was guilty of a terrible lapse of judgment.”

  “A lapse that proved fatal for his best friend,” I said.

  “And Jeremy will live with that for the rest of his life. He’ll also have a criminal record, but in my opinion, society will not be served by throwing him in the penitentiary for twenty years.”

  “Still… ”

  Noah wiped a smear of peas from Jacob’s chin. “I don’t have the answers, Jo. As a lawyer, I was pretty much of a bust. But at the risk of sounding self-serving, I don’t see the justice in having fifteen minutes of stupidity wreck an otherwise fairly blameless life.” He untied Jacob’s bib. “The café is closing, bud. Time to turn off the deep fryer and clean you up.” His eyes shifted to me. “Jo, there’s a washcloth over there on the counter, would you mind?”

  I walked over to the sink, dampened the cloth with warm water, and handed it to Noah.

  “Have you ever wished you’d made a career of the law?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “Look at the Winners’ Circle. They were the best, and their lives have not exactly been the stuff of dreams. Chris committed suicide; Kevin wandered around Tibet for a couple of years and came back to the firm with ideas that drive everybody nuts. Blake is one of the top-ten real-estate lawyers in Western Canada, but except for Gracie, his personal life has been a disaster. Zack and Dee are the only ones who remained true believers and didn’t crack under the strain. But in my opinion, Zack came close to crashing before he met you.”

  “We’re happy,” I said. “That changes a lot.”

  “With Zack, there was a lot that needed changing,” Noah said. “When we met in law school, there was something sweet in him, but success made him rapacious – no matter how much he had, it was never enough.”

  “He seems content now.”