When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  He spoke into his radio. “Get a photo if you can, Chuck. This guy’s going up on the wall.”

  Perfect. Each guard shift from now on would see Neil’s photo on their bulletin board and watch out for him around the place. It wasn’t much security, but it was more than Dee was getting from the police. Running into Neil down here was a stroke of luck despite the bruises she was sure to see on her arm tomorrow. She thanked the guard and went to get herself a cafeteria tea. If Neil was waiting for her to come outside so he could tackle her again, she wanted him to have a long, conspicuous wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jan found Terry’s note when she wandered out to the kitchen midmorning. Dee woke up, it read. Looking good, but they’ll know more later. A small bit of tension slid out of her shoulders. She started the kettle and sat on a stool, sorting her morning supplements onto a saucer, a smaller list than last year — ten things instead of seventeen. Last year she wouldn’t have made tea, either. Last year, Terry had left her tea in a carafe by her lounger each morning, along with the tray of breakfast and the array of pills. That was where she had stayed until lunchtime, or sometimes straight through until supper, neither awake nor asleep, doing nothing and yet not getting rested, either. Back then, she had wondered if she would ever leave the house by herself again. Now she could go out to the deck at will, could sometimes drive herself around their quiet rural neighbourhood. Things to be grateful for today: Dee waking up and Jan being healthy enough to drive down to the museum later to pick up the security stills Rob was making for her. What a glorious day!

  It was equally glorious outdoors. Sunlight danced on fresh green leaves. Planters filled with flowers splashed their vivid hues against Camille’s varnished log gateposts and the museum colonnade they mirrored. The view was an Impressionist painting waiting for the brushstrokes to capture it. How fitting that Dee should wake up on such a day. On impulse, Jan uncovered her camera and took photos of Dee’s house glowing in the sunshine. The spruces surrounding it waved friendly limbs. No hand tremors today.

  Jake rode by with Beau and Boney loping along behind. The dogs bounded up the outside stairs and drooled over her skirt. She fussed over them to make up for Dee’s absence, soothing Boney’s ears the way he liked and scratching under Beau’s collar. Then she told them to sit while she snapped several close-ups. Dee would like to see those, too, to know everything was all right at home.

  After a bit, Jake whistled the dogs back, using the ultrasonic, horse-friendly whistle that he’d trained them with last winter. Jan whipped the camera around again and got a few shots of the trio as they trotted down the road, and again when they reached Dee’s porch. She would email a slideshow to Dee. Lacey could take Dee’s laptop to the hospital so she could watch it. Mental note to suggest it when Lacey next phoned. Dee’s whole life was in that laptop. She would feel better with it under her eye.

  After a few more photos of the summery day, Jan tore herself from the bright, sweet outdoors to go through old Olympics’ hockey footage. Finding a shot of Jarrad to compare with the security stills had seemed simple before she remembered that, in her mental fog during the last Winter Olympics, she had been overwhelmed by Terry’s new PVR system and returned to the old, familiar VHS setup in the bedroom. Now she would pay. Fast-forwarding through every game would take ages. Men’s and women’s games both. Sheesh. At least Terry had incorporated the other old VCR into the living room’s new entertainment complex, though with considerable grumbling. Otherwise she would have had to spend the whole lovely day hiding in her bedroom.

  She was halfway through the Canadian women’s final when a shadow fell across the deck doors. She hit pause and waved Jake in.

  “Mornin’, Jannie. No need to ask how you’re feeling today. Always a good sign when you’ve been out on the deck.”

  “I was photographing Dee’s house so she could see it in the hospital when she feels homesick. You came along with the dogs at just the right time.”

  “You’re a good friend to Dee-Dee. I want your opinion.”

  “On what?”

  “Getting her house ready for when she comes home. If we start now, it could be mostly done in a month. My architects are on notice.”

  “Architects? You can’t make major renovations to her house.”

  “Not major. An elevator up from the mudroom. Ramps up to the porch, front and back. Might expand some doorways, too. Do you think I should show her the plans or do it for a surprise?”

  She was used to his sudden enthusiasms, but an elevator? “That’s one hell of a surprise. You know, I’ve been sick a lot these past few years, and I really need my familiar space around me. I expect Dee will feel the same at first.” His face lost its light and she added, “If you arranged for a portable ramp up to her front door, and maybe one of those temporary stairlifts, those she could appreciate right away.”

  “And get the plans drawn up for the rest? I won’t show them to her until she’s feeling stronger.”

  “Plans couldn’t hurt. But it might be weeks before she’s able to concentrate on detailed drawings.”

  “They might take weeks. If I can have your key to her house, I’ll get the fellows measuring Monday morning.”

  “That’s really sweet of you. But I don’t have my key. I gave it back to Dee when Lacey moved in. She was going to get another cut, but then the accident happened.”

  Jake clucked his tongue. “Next time Miss McCrae phones, ask for that key back, Jannie. I promise I won’t knock down any walls until Dee-Dee’s on board with it.”

  “Okay.” As he turned to leave she said, “Leave the door open, would you? I want to at least smell the great outdoors while I’m stuck in this gloomy room.”

  The tapes were as boring and time-consuming as she had expected. Although she got a good refresher in Mick’s trademark vitality from two years ago — his enthusiasm and the intricate knowledge of hockey that made him a natural for the Order of Canada. However, in not one of those interviews was Jarrad visible. Camille appeared often, hanging on Mick’s arm, wearing a loose leather jacket in a buttery shade that almost matched her hair. One of her Italian purchases, no doubt. Camille had come back from the Olympics with a dozen designer outfits suitable for an Italian winter or a Canadian Rockies spring. If the Olympics had a shopping event, she’d be a gold medal contender. Jan left the last tape running through the post-game while she scrounged up some lunch.

  Returning with her plate, she stared. There on the screen was Mick again, seated rinkside at some miscellaneous practice session of the men’s team, looking fit and athletic in a navy-blue fleece. In the row behind him were Jarrad and Camille, both wearing butter-caramel leather jackets. They sat so close the matching buckles on their shoulder tabs overlapped.

  Her first reaction was scorn. How like Camille to flaunt her boy toy on international television, literally right behind her husband’s oblivious back. At second look, a thought popped fully-formed into her brain: was this the jacket Jarrad was wearing on the security video? He earned enough to own a dozen leather jackets, but if it was this jacket, then it might not be him or Neil on that tape at all. It might be Camille.

  Chapter Thirty

  Hidden from the day in Marie’s basement rec room, Lacey fell deeply asleep in the middle of Tom’s old cuckoo clock squawking through its noon sequence. The adrenalin rush of manhandling Neil had quickly evaporated. Not even the FOAD cunt scrawled in dry-erase marker on Dee’s windshield had the power to do more than briefly annoy. Neil would get his, and soon.

  The thought kept Lacey company in dreams filled with images of her old life: endless patrols in the rural-urban sprawl of Surrey, multi-unit raids on gang houses, tramping the wooded areas for homeless camps, driving smelly old Gracie down to the street mission for hot coffee, the occasional post-shift drinks at the RCMP’s unofficial clubhouse. Arresting Neil with extreme prejudice at the end of every dream cycle, only to hav
e him turn his battered face up from the squad car and say, “Gotcha this time, McCrae. I didn’t do it.”

  “I said, he didn’t do it,” Tom repeated.

  Lacey jolted awake. Upstairs, a multifooted monster trampled the kitchen. The boys must be home from school. If Tom was here with them, then Marie was stuck at the hospital. “Oh god, sorry. I overslept.”

  “You needed it.” Tom sat in the rocking chair by her head. “Did you hear me?”

  “You said he didn’t do it. I thought you meant Neil. I was dreaming about arresting him.”

  “I did. His alibi for Sunday checks out. His girlfriend’s father told the Invermere RCMP that Neil was on the golf course with him last Sunday. He was continuously in sight of multiple witnesses between nine a.m. and eight p.m. He’s not your guy.”

  “Jesus bloody fu—” Swearing wouldn’t help. She wanted it to be him but it wasn’t. “If Neil’s out for both the surveillance and the vehicular assault, who’s left?”

  “Just the hockey player. If you make the bug investigation official, we can ask for a legal opinion on releasing the recordings to the investigation.”

  “If Dee’s not able to give permission in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll consider that option. Have they checked into Camille Hardy’s recent activities? I’m told she’s been bonking Jarrad for years, and she used her husband’s bad heart as an excuse to move him to Calgary first thing Monday. Jarrad could be hiding at the Bragg Creek house, or she and Mick might own other homes elsewhere.”

  “I’ll pass that along. The CSU needs Jarrad’s prints to match to the car, and the Hardy residence is a likely place to find them. I’ll get them checked against the recorder prints, too. You grab a shower and head to the hospital. I need my wife back before the boys wreck the place.” A shriek came down the stairs. “Or each other.”

  She was halfway back to the hospital through the thickening pre-rush traffic when she remembered Mick Hardy’s warning. Dee had argued with Jake the night before she was run down. Well, Dee might soon be able to tell her all about it. When she got to the room, though, she found Dee soundly asleep and Marie talking to Terry Brenner in the corridor. Lacey slumped into the hard plastic chair beside him.

  “Your friend was telling me the good news,” he said.

  “She doesn’t know yet,” said Marie. “I haven’t left the room to phone anyone. Because of Dee’s ex-husband, we don’t leave her alone.”

  “I heard there were issues with Neil.”

  “Maybe not, after all,” Lacey said. “His alibi checks out for Sunday.”

  “Well, good,” said Marie. “Then you can get a decent night’s sleep for a change. Want me to leave the bedding on the couch for you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. What’s your good news?”

  “Dee woke up several times. Her eyes track. Her fingers and toes respond to stimuli. She can swallow. And she can talk coherently, with only minor aphasia.”

  “Oh my god.” Lacey shut her eyes. She didn’t realize the tears were leaking out anyway until Marie pushed a Kleenex at her and Terry put one warm hand on her shoulder. Then, instead of their comfort locking her up the way it normally would, she sobbed, the tissue pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound. It didn’t last long, but it surprised her. She hardly ever cried, and never in front of people. Where had her self-control gone?

  After a good nose-blowing, she asked, “Did she talk to the police? Did she remember anything about the accident?”

  “No and no. The doctor asked her if she knew why she was here. She didn’t. So there’s nothing to tell the police until she comes further up from the drugs. Maybe by tomorrow. You go eat. Not hospital food, either. I’ll stay here until you come back.”

  Terry held out his hand. “I’ll take you myself. There’s fast food three minutes away, or steaks five minutes farther.”

  “Steaks,” said Marie. “I’ll enjoy sticking Tom with supper duty for a change. You can call him when you get outside.”

  “Terry, won’t Jan be expecting you?”

  “Rob’s there. He’ll make sure she eats. Oh, and I have messages for you from her. She said to pick up Dee’s laptop from the house. She made a photo montage of the dogs today and emailed it to Dee, to keep her company while she recovers.”

  The laptop. Lacey’s brain came together again. The laptop held the copy of that recording. She and Dee could listen to it tomorrow. “I’ll go in the morning. Anything else?”

  “I’m too hungry to remember right now. Let’s go.”

  With every intention of grilling Terry about Dee’s Saturday evening, Lacey found she was a zombie. She forgot to phone Tom until she was seated in the steakhouse with tea on the way. Then she stared at the menu, unable to make sense of it. She’d coped with higher adrenalin daily on the job for eight years, and now a four-day hospital vigil had left her half dead. All she could do was nod vaguely when Terry suggested which side dishes and steak she might like, while the waiter’s question about cooking preference left her blank. She settled on “medium” as the safest option and gripped her teacup as if the summer day was forty below.

  After a while, when the hot tea had seeped from her stomach to her brain, she said, “Sorry. I’m usually competent enough to order my own meal, but right now I feel completely whacked.”

  “I’m used to it. Jan’s like this half the time.”

  “Like what?” Forgetting how she liked her meat cooked? Exhausted to the point of every joint aching? Unable to string two consecutive thoughts together? None of that sounded like drug withdrawal symptoms. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Myalgic encephalomyelitis — sometimes called chronic fatigue syndrome. I thought you knew.”

  “Yuppie flu? Dee told me she was sick but we never got into specifics. So much else was going on right up to the gala.” And then finding the bug had occupied all of their attention, but of course she couldn’t say that to Terry.

  “Nothing to do with yuppies. Or with flu. There are defects in her immune system, though. Sometimes it overreacts and other times it ignores stuff. Her cells don’t produce enough energy — something interferes with normal mitochondrial function. Her brain wiring fritzes in and out like bad satellite reception. No known cause or cure. There’s probably a genetic predisposition involved, and then some toxic insult like a virus or chemical exposure tips the person’s metabolism past the point of recovery. In Jan’s case, it was likely all the volatile organic compounds she used in art school.”

  “She went to art school?” Repeating things was idiotic, but Lacey’s exhausted brain needed time to process the new information.

  “A visual arts degree and an art history one. She’d love to be working at the museum, but she was really sick when they needed someone. She’s better now, but still too sick to cope with any kind of job.”

  Lacey took another big swallow of tea. “I’m sorry to hear that. Dee said she had health issues, but I had no idea it was such a big deal.”

  “It was a complete reversal of her previous life. One whiff of solvents or paint and she can’t stand up by herself, much less concentrate.”

  “Was that what happened the day I found her at the museum?”

  “Pretty much. She was trying a new medication and it backfired.” Terry unrolled his utensils. “Stimulants do help some sufferers some of the time, so she figured she should try them. They gave her a temporary surge, but also wild mood swings, and she crashed big-time afterward.”

  “Why didn’t she explain? I’d have helped her.”

  “Why didn’t you order your own steak five minutes ago?”

  A solid point. “God, and I said she was a prescription drug addict. Do you think she heard me? How can I make it up to her?”

  “Try treating her like she’s as intelligent and competent as I am. More, actually. I was barely a B-level geology student and she graduated with
honours in art history.”

  “You’re very supportive of her.”

  He shrugged. “She’s more interesting on an average day than half the women I know on their best days.”

  Lacey’s steak arrived. She pounced on the meat like a tiger on a tethered goat, her stomach growling. After half the plate was empty, her brain shifted to a higher gear. “What were Dee and Jake arguing about at the Finals party?”

  Terry swallowed his mouthful. “Was that him she was yelling at? We caught a few words, but no details.”

  So much for that line of inquiry … for now.

  An hour later Lacey walked into the hospital feeling 90 percent more human than when she’d wobbled out. She found a security guard sitting in the corridor near Dee’s room.

  “When did he show up?” she asked Marie. “The best I could do was get a photo of Neil taken, and that’s a waste if he wasn’t involved.”

  Marie gave her a smug grin. “I speak hospital.”

  “Huh?”

  “Witness to a crime, just now conscious, might be at risk before she can make a statement. If anything happened to her here, it would be bad PR for the hospital. Plus reporters are trying to find out what floor she’s on, whether she’s awake yet, if she’s made a statement to police. Haven’t you seen any local news?”

  “Not for days. What does the hospital tell them?”

  “The usual. Patient’s condition is stable. No visitors permitted except family. They could sneak in to see for themselves. The hospital doesn’t need a media scrum on a ward, ergo security guard nearby until further notice.”

  “I love you, Marie.” The trite phrase came from the heart.

  “I know. You sleeping over tonight?”

  “I think I’ll go out to Dee’s. I’ve got to fetch her laptop, and I really should try to get friendly with those blasted dogs.”