by Gail Bowen
“I can be at the farm in half an hour,” I said.
“Jo, you don’t have to come. I’m fine. Really. Bobby called the RCMP. He’s on his way over to give me moral support.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come?” I said.
“I’m sure.”
“Lee, who do you think did this?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I blame Quinn Donnelly. The video of me with my birds was generating a lot of support for our side. We heard Quinn urge people at Lancaster’s anniversary party to do whatever it took to defeat the new development bylaws.”
“It wouldn’t be Quinn or anybody from Lancaster,” I said. “Quinn’s colleagues are many things, but they’re not stupid. Killing your birds was a cruel act that will garner sympathy for you. Lancaster doesn’t want to alienate people who may be on the fence about the referendum question.”
Lee sighed. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “At the moment, I’m not thinking clearly.” She paused. “Jo, there was another note in my mailbox. It said, ‘Now you know how it feels to lose what you love.’ ”
“Handwritten?” I said.
“No,” she said. “A printout.”
The defeat in her voice concerned me. “Lee, I’m going to call Angus. It’s always wise to have a lawyer when you’re dealing with the police, and Angus is familiar with the situation, so you can be open with him.”
My mind was racing as I went inside. When Zack saw my face, he began wheeling towards me. “What’s wrong?” he said.
“There’s been an incident at the Brokenshire farm,” I said. As I gave my account of the bird slaughter, Warren and Annie were clearly shaken, but Warren was controlled.
“The note certainly points to Simon,” he said. “But Simon would never kill a bird. From the time he was young, he felt a kinship with them. He was always bringing home birds that were in distress. He never gave up on them. If they died, he always gave them a very solemn burial under the elm tree in our backyard.”
Warren’s description perfectly limned the image I had of Simon as a gentle, loving man, but I had seen the other side of Simon, a man whose escalating rage frightened me and turned him into a stranger. I wanted to be convinced, but the memory of his fingers on my wrist was fresh, and the note was damning.
There was a heaviness in the room, and Zack did his best to dispel it. “Anyone could have written that note,” he said. “In the video Lee was clearly a woman who was living a purposeful, joyous life. Someone struggling might have been driven over the edge by the fact that she had found answers.”
“The RCMP has jurisdiction out there, so they’ll investigate,” I said. “I guess we’ll know soon enough. I told Lee I’d ask Angus to go out to the farm. She may need the kind of support he can offer.”
Warren stood. “Annie and I will go back to our place. I’ll have Dr. Fidelak on call in case Simon shows up. I hope to God he does.”
“So do we,” I said. “Zack, you and I need to get back to the city.”
“Agreed,” Zack said. “Warren, if there’s anything we can do, let us know. Meanwhile, this story will need to be managed. It’s only a matter of time before the media gets wind of the incident at the Brokenshire farm.”
CHAPTER
4
It was a little after noon when we pulled up in front of our building on Halifax Street. Taylor and her cats were staying with Margot and her family till Monday, so it was just Zack, Pantera, and me.
The poisoning of Lee Crawford’s heritage birds had sickened us, but it had also created an opportunity, and Zack was determined to seize it. He’d once told me that criminal law was a prize fight – that in boxing, for every bout that ends with a knockout punch, ninety-nine bouts are decided on feints and small, well-placed blows. Zack saw civic politics as a prize fight too, and he believed that, in the end, feints and small, well-placed blows would win the day. What had happened at the Brokenshire farm was a tragedy, but properly handled it could land some well-placed blows on Lancaster and their agenda. Before we left the lake, Zack had called Milo and Brock Poitras and asked them to meet us at our place at one o’clock.
Brock had a condo in our building, and as soon as we’d settled in, he was at our door. In the past two and half years, Brock had become Zack’s go-to guy. Together, they had spearheaded building the Racette-Hunter Training and Recreation Centre, a multi-use facility for the residents of North Central, the area a national magazine had designated as “Canada’s Worst Neighbourhood.” Since Brock had been elected councillor for our ward at the same time that Zack became mayor, they were together at City Hall. They shared a vision for our city, a passion for sports, and a friendship based on mutual respect and admiration. Zack had campaigned with the promise that he would be a one-term mayor and my unspoken hope was that Brock would succeed him.
When we sat down at the table in our kitchen to wait for Milo, Brock whipped out his tablet and showed us some photos from the wedding. There were some great candid shots of the wedding party and some tender photos of Margot and Brock with Kai and Lexi. They were a handsome group, and the pictures of the four of them sitting on the grass in their wedding finery brought a rush of recent memories.
I held the device out to Zack. “I can’t believe that was less than twenty-four hours ago,” I said.
Zack exhaled slowly. “Neither can I.”
We were all relieved when Milo buzzed from downstairs and we were able to stop contemplating the ephemeral nature of happiness and deal with the business at hand.
After she and I had spoken that morning, Lee had written and posted on Facebook a graceful elegy she’d written about the death of her birds, and according to Milo, the issue was catching fire online. Speculation was growing that the slaughter of Lee’s heritage birds was a warning from Lancaster and their allies that they would do whatever it took to force their agenda. Slater Doyle tweeted that Lancaster could not be held responsible for the act of a disturbed person and deeply regretted the killings.
Milo unwrapped what must have been his tenth Crispy Crunch of the afternoon. “Is it just me or does Slater Doyle’s statement sound as if Lancaster knows who killed the birds but they’re not ready to throw the guilty party under the bus?” he said.
“It sounds that way to me too,” I said. “But there’s another possibility, and this one has me worried. Lee Crawford has a very disturbed ex-suitor, Warren Weber’s son, Simon. She has a restraining order against him.”
Milo frowned. “Jo, I should have known about this. Warren Weber’s a major supporter of our campaign. I need to be aware of anything that might be used against us.”
“I agree,” I said, and the words hung in the air.
Zack turned his chair towards Milo. “For the record, Jo and I discussed this, but Simon’s a lawyer at Falconer Shreve and Warren’s a friend, so I wanted to do what I could to limit the number of people who knew about the restraining order. It was a mistake and I won’t repeat it.”
Milo gave Zack a long and assessing look. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “So do you think this dude decided to get Lee’s attention by killing her birds?”
“Simon was in Valleyview for the past month, but he signed himself out yesterday,” I said. “Whether or not he was involved, he would be a convenient scapegoat. By focusing attention on Simon and his psychiatric problems, Lancaster would be able to divert suspicion away from them.”
“Got it,” Milo said. “So what do we do about the dead bird sitch?”
“Looks like the sitch is in hand,” Brock said. “Zack just needs to let the public know that the RCMP is handling the investigation and that those responsible for the slaughter will be brought to justice.”
Zack pulled out his phone and began tapping. “Done,” he said.
“And I’m out of here,” Milo said.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” I said.
Zack glanced at me questioningly, but I ignored the look.
When we got to th
e elevator, neither Milo nor I pushed the button. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Simon Weber,” I said. “I just learned yesterday myself. But you should have had that information as soon as I did.”
Milo’s smile was wry. “I gather you tried to make that point with the big man.”
“I did,” I said.
Milo moved closer. “Jo, the restraining order thing is minor, but it reveals a problem that could become major. The big man is accustomed to running his own show. I get that. He has a city to run, and I’m cool with that too. But politics is our territory, and he has to trust us to do our jobs.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said. “Milo, I don’t want to lose you over this.”
Milo stepped nearer. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.
We were still standing close when Zack wheeled out of our condo and came down the hall towards us. “You both should come back,” he said. “There’s something you need to see.”
Brock was waiting at the door. As soon as we were inside, Zack handed his phone to Milo. New tweets kept popping up on the screen. Milo narrowed his eyes, perusing the list. Finally, he said, “There’s the link.”
We gathered around Zack’s phone so we could all watch as the video came up. A voice-over from Lee accompanied disturbing footage of the dead birds. “Until yesterday, these were living beings – a significant connection to our history – the birds that our ancestors raised. Colin Brokenshire saw himself as a steward charged with keeping the past alive. When Colin died, I continued his work. Now, because somebody decided these emissaries from another time should be pawns in the fight against a better way for our city, they’re lifeless. Today I’ll bury them and our world will be a little poorer.
“My name is Lee Crawford. What happened to these birds will happen to a way of life if you vote for big-block stores and tract housing. On June 17, please support Regina’s mayor and the overwhelming majority of our city councillors. Vote Yes for their new progressive regulations.” The footage Taylor shot of the birds running around the yard – odd, beautiful, and alive – filled the screen. Then Lee’s voice-over came in again. “This is one example of what we’re fighting for.”
We all stood, stunned, until Milo broke the silence. “Head for the hills,” he said. “Lee just lobbed a grenade into the enemy camp.” He opened the door to the hall and then turned to face us. “Tell Lee I’m sorry about her birds,” he said. “They really were dope.”
After Milo left, Zack wheeled towards the refrigerator. “Why don’t I get everybody a beer?” He opened three bottles of Stella and I brought out a bag of Fritos and a tin of bean dip.
“So where do we go from here?” Zack said.
“I think we have to anticipate the worst,” I said. “Even if Lancaster isn’t behind this, with Slater Doyle in the mix, all bets are off. We may be in for a replay of the horror show that went on during the campaign.”
“Joanne’s not the only one anticipating the worst,” Brock said. “I ran into Michael at Racette-Hunter this morning. He’s very uneasy about Slater’s involvement with Lancaster again.”
Michael Goetz and Brock had been a couple before Michael married Slater Doyle. In my opinion, Brock was well rid of Michael. After months of investigating the roles Slater and Michael had played in covering up the rape and death of a minor, the Crown decided it lacked sufficient evidence to win a case against either of them, so the charges were dropped. Clever lawyers had managed to keep both men out of jail, but Michael was a psychiatrist and the ethical standards of the College of Physicians and Surgeons were high. After studying his murky role in the death of a patient and his failure to assist a dying child, the College revoked Goetz’s licence to practise psychiatry. He was a man who had lost his reputation and his profession. All he had left was Slater Doyle.
“If anyone would know what’s going on, Michael would,” Zack said. “So what’s his take?”
“Michael’s afraid,” Brock said. “He thinks you’ve gone too far too fast with the changes you’re trying to make, Zack. If we win the referendum, Lancaster stands to lose a lot of money not just now but in the future.”
“And that’s why they’re pulling out all the stops to defeat us,” Zack said.
Brock was sombre. “We might have ruled out the possibility that Lancaster was involved in the poisoning of the heritage birds too quickly,” he said. “The slaughter may have been their warning shot across the bow.”
“To convince us to raise the white flag?” Zack said. “It’s not going to happen.”
“But Slater Doyle’s job is to make it happen,” Brock said. “Michael’s worried Slater will do something irrevocable.”
“Then Michael will have to stop him,” Zack said. “It’s that simple. Slater and Michael are married. If Michael feels his husband would do something dangerous, he has to intervene.”
“Michael has made so many mistakes. I know it’s difficult for you to believe, but at heart he’s a decent human being. He’ll listen to me.”
I walked Brock to the door. “You still love him,” I said.
Brock smiled wistfully. “Yes. Seeing each other again today made us both realize what we’d lost.”
When I came back into the living room, Zack wheeled towards me. “We need to talk about Milo,” he said.
“We do,” I said. “Zack, starting now, Milo has to be privy to all the information he needs to do his job. I can’t afford to lose him, especially not when we’ve got Lancaster breathing fire at us.”
“Did Milo threaten to leave?”
“No.”
“He’s staying because of you, Jo.”
I could feel the anger rise. “Does that really matter?” I said. “Zack, you have a city to run. Why don’t you focus on that and let me deal with Milo?”
Zack looked at me sharply and then gave me the smile that won my heart. “That sounds reasonable,” he said. “Look, I haven’t made dinner in a while. I could make that pasta thing you like – the one the hookers in Naples invented.”
“Spaghetti alla puttanesca,” I said. “Good call. I’ll make the salad.”
The pasta and a shared half-litre of Italian red thawed the chill that had developed between Zack and me when we discussed Milo. We were just marvelling over the photos Mieka had sent us of Madeleine and Lena wearing their fascinators at the Victorian picnic when Angus called. It was a little past six-thirty. “Everything okay?” I said.
“As okay as it can be, I guess,” Angus said. “Bobby, Lee, and I just finished doing chores. The goats, the sheep, and the horses are still really spooked by what happened yesterday. We managed to calm down the animals in the barn, but Lee thinks the bouviers must have witnessed the killing. Gabby and Esme are usually so quiet, but all day they’ve been pacing and whimpering.
“It’s really awful, Mum. Bobby and Lee are strong, but we’ve had to leave the area in front of the poultry house and the pond as is until the RCMP get everything they need. It looks like a slaughterhouse. Dead birds everywhere. Lee wants a decent burial for them. Bobby dug a pit with his backhoe in that field behind the orchard so that when we bury the birds, the coyotes won’t get them. The three of us should be able to get everything cleaned up tomorrow, but until then, it’s gross.”
“Does the RCMP have any idea yet who did this?”
“If they do, they’re not sharing,” Angus said. “I’m going to stay over, and Bobby’s going to go home and come back in the morning. I’ll check in with you guys then.”
“Do that,” I said. “Give Lee and Bobby our love and try to get some sleep.”
Milo called on the landline just as Zack and I were getting ready for bed. “Grab your phone and check out hashtag yellowcanoeman,” he said. “We’ve got to move on this, Jo.”
I picked up my phone. #yellowcanoeman showed a torrent of tweets. The messages varied, but they all had attached the same photograph. It was of Simon in the canoe on Lawyers’ Bay the day of the wedding. I scanned the messages. “Lee’s ex-lover dr
iven mad bc dumped?” “Simon a stalker?” “Restraining order couldn’t stop him.” “Yellowcanoeman = killer?”
Collectively, the fragments created a narrative that was as ugly as it was persuasive. I showed my phone to Zack. He put on his reading glasses, glanced at the screen, and uttered his favourite expletive.
I stared at my cellphone screen. Milo was still on the landline. “So what do you think?” he said.
“Mansell must have taken that photo,” I said. “I’m sure he or Quinn supplied it to whoever first posted it. Bette Stevens would have known about Lee’s troubled relationship with Simon. Given Bette and Mansell’s closeness to the twins when they were growing up, it would have been natural for Bette to mention Lee’s problem to her brother.”
“And so Lancaster gets its scapegoat,” Milo said. “I’ll bet the Donnellys are creaming their jeans about sticking it to Warren Weber’s son. They travel in the same circles, and they’ve always seen Warren’s support of Zack as a betrayal. Time for the big man to convince Mansell to put Slater back in his cage before he strikes again.”
“I’ll pass along the message.”
After Milo hung up, I turned to Zack and told him what Milo had said.
He nodded, picked up his phone, and made the call. Zack had just begun his conversation when my cellphone rang. I stepped into the hall and answered. Warren Weber was on the line, and he was livid. “Simon’s here at the lake,” he said. “He stopped by the house long enough to show us the yellowcanoeman tweets. He’s devastated. Simon’s well beyond caring what anybody says about him. But he doesn’t want Lee to think he killed her birds.”
Suddenly exhaustion took hold. The fact that, with his whole world shattered, Simon’s only concern was that Lee would think ill of him brought tears to my eyes. “Warren, I’m really sorry Simon’s photo has gone viral. I was certain that Lancaster’s people were too smart to risk backlash from killing Lee’s birds. Now I’m not so sure. Mansell had a camera at the wedding, and his sister might have told him about the restraining order. Simon was the perfect scapegoat.”
