by Gail Bowen
CHAPTER
11
In its earliest days, the office of the Racette-Hunter project was housed in the same glass tower as Zack’s law firm. The optics were bad, and Norine began searching for a space that reflected what Racette-Hunter was about: access, opportunity, and equality. The place Norine found was ideal: a restaurant that had, by turns, been a greasy spoon, an Italian bistro, a barbecue joint, a deli, and a noodle house. After the noodle house folded, the owners of the building offered the space for rent, and Norine snapped it up.
For our purposes, it was ideal. It was in North Central, it had been retrofitted to meet the accessibility code for public places, and it was clean and spacious. The kitchen still functioned, and that meant there was always soup and bannock for hungry volunteers.
The morning after Taylor’s dinner with Julian at Table 10, I had an early morning meeting with Norine about a program called Public Allies that I thought might be a good fit for North Central. Zack had some items he wanted to run by Norine, so the two of us were at the Racette-Hunter office by a little after eight.
There were already a half-dozen volunteers there. Norine led us to the one private place in the building: the kitchen. She offered us coffee and then reached into her briefcase, pulled out a bulky envelope, and handed it to Zack. “Someone left this in our mailbox during the night,” she said
Zack opened the envelope. It was filled with hundred-dollar bills, neatly bundled. Zack counted them. “I know what this is about,” he said.
Norine raised a nicely shaped eyebrow. “Really?”
Zack and Norine had never had secrets. Zack moved his chair closer. “Someone was shaking down Lauren Treadgold for $20,000,” he said quietly. “The blackmailer was supposed to meet Lauren the day she died. Until this moment, we weren’t certain whether the blackmailer actually showed up that day.”
“Why would the blackmailer drop the money off here,” Norine said.
“Guilt?” I said. “Maybe whoever blackmailed Lauren had second thoughts and decided to donate the money to a good cause.”
“Or maybe they just didn’t want to have all those crisp hundred-dollar bills in their possession if the police came calling,” Zack said. “Whatever the mystery donor’s motivation, that money is going to have to go to the cop shop for a while. I’m not crazy about Debbie learning about the friend-of-justice angle, but I can’t hold this back. That money is evidence in a murder case.”
Norine’s expression was troubled. “I found something else this morning. There was a glove on the sidewalk by the front door when I came to work. I didn’t think anything of it. I put it in our Lost and Found box, but if our anonymous donor dropped it, it could be evidence, too.” She stood. “I’ll get it.”
The glove Norine brought back was a man’s tan winter glove. She handed it to me. It was thickly lined leather and had a Velcro strap round the elasticized wrist to keep out the cold. As I turned it over in my hands, I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach. “Zack and I gave gloves like this to Riel for his birthday in October.”
“We gave Riel a pair of gloves like this glove,” Zack said. “For all we know, one of the volunteers could have dropped it.”
Norine shook her head. “I was the first one here this morning. It started snowing a couple of hours ago. Mine were the first footprints on the path.”
Zack examined the glove. “Triple insulation,” he said. “Nice, but, Jo, this glove really could belong to anybody.”
I took the glove from Zack and checked the size inside. “Size 8,” I said. “These gloves were expensive and I didn’t want to make a mistake about Riel’s glove size, so I called Mieka. Riel’s a size 8.”
“I locked up at seven-thirty last night,” Norine said. “The snow started around five this morning. Riel must have dropped the envelope in our mailbox sometime during the night.”
Norine’s distress was obvious. She was fond of Riel and had always been his champion. She was a realist, but even realists cling to the wisp of hope. “This is all just speculation,” Norine said. “But if Riel was involved, he at least tried to make amends.”
“And if he was at the Treadgolds’ house the day Lauren died, Riel might have information that would identify her killer,” I said.
“That’s presuming that he isn’t the murderer,” Zack said.
“Riel is not a killer.” Norine’s tone was sharp. “You’ll have to look elsewhere, Zack.”
“I’m prepared to do that, but when I look elsewhere, I don’t like the options: Vince? Celeste? Julian?”
“Let’s not make ourselves crazy by speculating,” I said. I picked up the glove. “I’ll see if I can track Riel down and talk to him about this.”
“He’s doing some carpentry at April’s Place,” Norine said. “He called yesterday to tell me he was working there.”
“That’s good news,” I said, “and April’s Place is only a few blocks from here. I can go over and talk to Riel right now.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Zack asked. “If Riel feels cornered, he might lash out.”
“Riel shouldn’t feel as if everyone he cares for is against him,” I said. “When he came over with the puzzle for Lena, he and I connected. I think he’ll talk to me.”
“Do you really believe you’ll get a straight answer from him?” Zack said.
I stuffed the glove in my jacket pocket. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Fresh snow blanketed the streets and more was falling. It was a day for a bracing walk, but my sense of well-being was eroded by memories of times when I had seen Riel lose his temper. He was gentle by nature, but when he was on the receiving end of what he perceived as prejudice or witnessed an injustice, he snapped. Once when I’d told him about a heartbreaking encounter I’d had with a child who was working the streets, he brought his fist down on Mieka’s wooden kitchen table with such force that I thought he had split the tabletop. Lauren’s life was privileged and her sense of entitlement was strong. If she said something that triggered Riel’s temper, it was conceivable that he would pick up a rock and strike her.
By the time I arrived at April’s Place, I was regretting my decision to confront Riel. My regret deepened when I saw that he was in the children’s coat and boot room, painting boot racks in bright primary colours. His sunny greeting was a surprise. “As you can see, I’m back on the job,” he said.
“Norine told me,” I said. “That’s great news.”
“Mieka won’t be in till after lunch, but if you want to warm up, take a seat.” Riel gestured to the benches that lined the room. “I painted those yesterday, and I’ve checked – the paint is dry.” He dipped his brush into a can of paint the colour of a tangerine.
“Actually, I came to see you,” I said. I reached into my bag and took out the glove. “I brought this back.”
He took the glove with his left hand, placed it on the floor next to him, and began painting one of the slats of the boot rack. “Thanks,” he said. “I was wondering what happened to that.”
“Norine found it. It was on the step outside the Racette-Hunter office. She also found an envelope containing $20,000 in cash.”
Riel kept painting, his face expressionless. “And the envelope is connected to me how?” he said finally.
“You tell me,” I said. “Here’s what I know. Someone phoned Lauren Treadgold on Sunday night claiming to have seen her driving her Land Rover dangerously the night of the art auction. The caller said that Lauren drove into a lamppost and over the leg of a homeless man sleeping beside it. He asked for $20,000 in cash. In exchange he promised not to go to the police. Lauren said the voice was muffled, and she couldn’t place it. The next day she was murdered. Before she was killed, Lauren told her husband about the blackmail threat and assured him it would be taken care of. The police found no cash in the Treadgold house. This morning Norine found $20,000 in cash in the R-H mailbox and this glove on the walk.”
Not until he’d finished painting the b
oot rack did Riel decide to tell the truth. “I was the one who made the call. I was coming down off a high the night I came to the hospital and saw Brock Poitras with Mieka.” Riel closed his eyes at the memory.
“That was a tough night for everybody,” I said.
“I didn’t make it any better by totally losing it in front of you and Mieka. When I left the hospital, I was sick about the way I’d behaved. I just wanted to forget myself, turn off my mind and my emotions. It’s easy to score drugs in that neighbourhood, so I did. After I’d done a couple of lines I felt better. I also had one of those brilliant insights cokeheads have. I knew that if I was going to keep using, I was going to need money, and since my prospects for a paying job were nil, I had to find a source of income. The night of the art auction I’d seen something that I knew I could use. I was downtown and I’d seen Lauren Treadgold’s Land Rover come out of nowhere, run a red, bump up onto the curb, ding the corner of a mailbox, and speed off.”
“And the homeless man?”
“There was no homeless man. The incident was over in seconds. But I knew it was Lauren’s car. I’ve driven it, and of course, that yellow is distinctive. Anyway, I was the one who called her.”
“And it didn’t worry you that Lauren would recognize you when you came to pick up the money?”
“No, because coke has a way of blurring reality. I made up a story in which I would present myself as an intermediary – someone who made sure that a homeless guy got his due, and after doing a couple of lines, even I believed it. I had no problem calling Lauren, and she seemed to have no problem believing me.”
“And she continued to believe you when you showed up at her house to claim the money for the homeless man.”
Riel put the lid back on the tin of tangerine paint. “I thought she’d bought the story, but when I turned to leave with the money, she said, ‘Joanne must be so relieved that you’re out of her daughter’s life.’ She might as well have kicked me in the stomach.
“I walked straight out the door. It was pouring rain. I kept walking. And the more I walked, the madder I got. Here’s this rich white woman who’s had everything handed to her from the day she was born treating me like something she stepped in on the sidewalk. Lauren Treadgold was hardly a saint. I’d seen that video of her getting it on with Julian Zentner, a guy who’s not even half her age. I don’t know how long I walked. Finally I decided that I’d walk back to Lauren Treadgold’s house and tell her she could take her money and shove it. I was really looking forward to seeing her face when this piece of scum showed that he had pride.
“When I got back to the Treadgold house, the outside door was open, and I went into the vestibule. The door to the house proper was closed, but I could hear people talking. I didn’t want anyone but Lauren Treadgold to hear what I had to say, so I left. Jo, you have to believe that Lauren was very much alive the last time I saw her.”
“I believe you. But you have to go to the police with this, Riel,” I said.
Riel’s lips curled in derision. “You think the cops will actually believe that a guy from North Central was returning $20,000 in cash to a woman like Lauren Treadgold.”
“This isn’t about you, Riel,” I said. “You have information relating to a murder. If you want a lawyer with you when you go to the police, Zack will make the arrangements.”
Riel stood. “I’m going to have to think this over, Joanne.”
I zipped my jacket. “Understood,” I said. “But you don’t have much time. You have my cell number. If you don’t call me within the hour, I’ll go to the police myself.”
My feet were leaden as I walked back to the offices. Riel’s account of his two visits to the Treadgold house had been credible, but I kept adding another frame to his description of the final scene between Lauren and him. In this version, when Lauren told Riel that I would be relieved to have him out of Mieka’s life, Riel picked up a rock and brought it down on her skull.
Norine and Zack had been quiet when I recounted what happened. “I’m going to talk to Riel,” Norine said finally. She was already pulling on her coat when my cell rang. It was Riel. He sounded tired but resolute. “I’ll go to the police,” he said.
“Do you want a lawyer?”
“I probably should have one. Can she or he meet me here at April’s Place? I really would like to finish those benches.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I said. I hesitated. “Riel, be proud. You’re doing the right thing.” I broke the connection.
I turned to Zack. “Riel would like a lawyer. Can you get somebody to April’s Place as soon as possible?”
Zack already had his cell in hand. “Consider it done. I’m going to have to go outside the firm, but I know just the person. Mildred Thill is a lawyer, but she’s also an expert on addiction. She can offer Riel the kind of help he needs.”
“I’ll go with Riel to the police,” Norine said. “He’s writing himself off as a loser and he’s not. Our community needs him, and Riel needs to hear that we need him.”
The fact that Norine was now working in the inner city hadn’t changed her mode of dress. She never wore anything but Max Mara, and that morning as she finished buttoning her elegant double-breasted camel hair coat and knotted her navy, cream, and khaki scarf, I remembered Taylor describing Norine as a tribal princess. She was close to six feet tall with the broad shoulders and long limbs of some Northern Cree. She looked like what she was – a woman to be reckoned with. She walked back inside to tell one of the volunteers that at ten o’clock she’d be back at the office for the weekly meeting of the Racette-Hunter working team, but until then, she could be reached by cell. Then she left to let Riel know she was standing by him.
Zack and I decided to stay at the office and get caught up on e-mails. I’d called Ernest Beauvais to tell him about Riel, and he’d agreed to come to the meeting early so we could talk.
Ernest arrived wearing the jacket he had worn at Lauren’s birthday party. The leather on the old ironworkers jacket was faded and cracking. When he came over to where Zack and I were sitting, he noticed me looking at it. “I’m going to see Riel after our meeting,” he said. “I thought I’d wear this jacket to remind myself that four generations of my family have made mistakes, paid for them, and gone on to live useful lives.”
“That’s exactly what Riel needs to hear,” I said. “Ernest, we’re all on Riel’s side.”
Ernest’s voice was a low rumble. “I know, and that’s exactly what I’m going to tell him.”
At the meeting, Brock Poitras delivered the report that covered the areas for which Lauren had been responsible, and I was glad Ernest was there to say the words that acknowledged Lauren’s contribution and her passing. Ernest explained that Lauren’s funeral would be private – family only – and he asked that we keep Vince in our thoughts during a difficult time in his life. He also said a short prayer for Riel. As always, Ernest’s presence in the room seemed to strengthen us all.
The reports were all positive, and for the first time a team of landscape architects and an elder knowledgeable about planting indigenous grasses and traditional healing plants joined the meeting. The project was starting to come together as Leland Hunter had envisioned it would. When Zack and I stepped into the cold November air, I could feel his excitement.
“It’s fun to be able to do something that will change the city, isn’t it?” Zack said.
“It can be,” I said. “That’s part of the allure of politics.”
Zack gave me a sidelong look. “Have you given the matter of my political future any further thought?”
“I have,” I said. “The election’s in October, so if we decide to go for it and start now, we have eleven months to work behind the scenes – assemble a slate of progressive councillors, run a solid campaign, win, and clean house.”
“You sound like you’re leaning towards a ‘yes’ vote,” Zack said.
“Just thinking out loud,” I said. “And not all my thoughts are positive.
Our best issue is the fact that the mayor and the councillors are puppets of the developers, but you and I have a significant amount of stock in Peyben Developments, and Margot owns Peyben.”
“And Peyben found the partners, the money, and the talent to get the Racette-Hunter Centre built after the city and the province had dicked around for years,” Zack said. “We could take the teeth out of that tiger.”
“We probably could,” I said.
Zack stopped wheeling. “I like the sound of that ‘we,’ ” he said.
“You do realize that if you decide to give the mayoralty race a shot, I’m there.”
Zack’s eyes met mine. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I said.
Zack grinned. “I don’t have anything on until one o’clock. Can I buy you lunch? Today’s Thursday, liver and onions day at the City Hall cafeteria.”
I shook my head. “You never miss an opportunity, do you? Okay we’ll go down to City Hall, eat liver and onions, then you can shake a few hands and I’ll sneak upstairs and measure the windows in the mayor’s office for drapes.”
“Who has more fun than us?” Zack said.
I leaned down and kissed him. “Nobody. Nobody has more fun than us.”
When I got back to Halifax Street, I made split pea soup and then called Margot to ask if she was up for a visit. She said she’d be delighted and not to bother to knock. When I came into her living room, Margot was curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a bag of Oreos watching The Young and the Restless.
I sat on the other end of the couch, but Margot’s eyes never left the screen. “It’s almost over,” she said. She waved the bag of cookies in my direction. “Have an Oreo.”
I took two. “I never pegged you for a Y&R fan,” I said.
“When I was in law school, the female students and two gay guys got together at the pub every Friday to watch.”
“That was what – twenty years ago? Do you have any idea what’s happening now?”
