by Gail Bowen
“You know the story of Pandora’s box,” I said. “Sometimes when all the evils of the world have been let loose, hope is all we have.”
Lee put her arms around me. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“It’s the right side to be on,” I said.
Bobby Stevens came through the gate and held out his hand to Lee. “I’m on your side too,” he said. “Always have been, always will be.”
Lee took his hand. “Thank God for that,” she said. “Bobby, I’m glad we’re getting married.”
Bobby kissed Lee’s ring finger. “I’ve been waiting to do this since I was eleven years old,” he said.
Piper had followed Bobby to the gate. When she saw the intimacy between Bobby and Lee, her face contorted with rage. A confrontation seemed inevitable, but at that moment Bette Stevens appeared. In seconds, Bette assessed the scene and whisked Piper away. Once again, Lee’s mother-in-law-to-be had saved the day.
After Bobby and Lee headed back to the house, I texted Zack to tell him I was on my way. I still felt shaken by Piper’s anger as I walked towards my car, scrolling through my messages. When I heard a car pull into the driveway, I looked up. The grey Lexus was moving slowly, but it was headed straight for me and the driver wasn’t changing course. I stepped out of range and after the car stopped, I began walking towards the driver’s side.
The window had been rolled down. Behind the wheel sat Slater Doyle with a smirk on his face. The evils of the world were on the march.
Because Slater suffered from photophobia, he always wore wraparound Ray-Bans. In addition to protecting his eyes, the glasses acted as a barrier, shielding Slater against people who might be curious about what they’d find if they peered through the windows to his soul.
That day, instead of squinting into the depths of Slater Doyle, I had to content myself with leaning into the open window of his Lexus. “You’re getting sloppy, Slater,” I said. “You’ve always been the surgical strike-and-withdraw type. Threatening to run me down is thug stuff.”
“Made you blink,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came upon some interesting information about St. Lee of Assisi. It seems that the beasts of the field and the air aren’t the only creatures she’s gathered to her breast.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being an asshole?” I said.
“You’re not going to win this one, Joanne.”
“The game’s barely begun, Slater.”
His smile was chilling. “Oh but it has.” He cocked his head. “You really don’t know, do you?” he said. He glanced at the cars in the driveway. “Probably best if I delay my tête-à-tête with Lee till she’s alone. Besides, anticipation’s half the fun.” And with that, he floored it and made a U-turn that sent the pebbles of the driveway flying.
I watched the Lexus peel down the road and disappear over the hill, then, nerves prickling with apprehension, I slid into the front seat of my station wagon. I’d had enough. I called Warren and asked whether he had Quinn Donnelly’s cell number. He did. Surprisingly, I got right through to her. When she heard I was her caller, Quinn was all business. “What do you want, Joanne?”
“Five minutes of your time,” I said. “Your goon Slater Doyle just drove his Lexus at me. Falconer Shreve are looking into the legal implications of the yellowcanoeman campaign. When they expose you and Mansell as the not-so-merry pranksters behind it, you won’t be the golden power couple any more – you’ll just be a couple of high school mean kids – the ones everybody hates. You and I have to talk, Quinn. Warren Weber tells me that you have a problem with Lee personally. If she is the problem, give me a chance to bring you two together to talk it out. We’re all going to have to live with the voters’ decision about these bylaws. We can’t afford to let personality conflicts derail the discussion. All I’m asking for is five minutes of your time.”
Quinn didn’t respond. As the silence on her end continued, my spirits sank. But just as I was about to break the connection, she said, “All right. I’m at the office. I’ll be here all day.”
“Thanks,” I said. “This is a good first step, Quinn. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
Lancaster’s offices were in a glass tower twin to the building that housed Falconer Shreve’s offices. I parked on the street and cut across the spaces reserved for executive parking. It was Victoria Day Monday, a holiday, and there was only one car in the lot, a dark-blue Porsche with a vanity plate DONN-1. As I watched, the Porsche roared out of the parking space onto 11th Avenue. Someone other than Quinn could have been the driver, but instinct told me she was behind the wheel.
Checking was a simple matter. Lancaster’s executive offices were on the twenty-fifth floor. I could take the elevator up and see for myself. I didn’t even get into the lobby. When I tried the doors, I discovered that the glass tower was locked up tight. I tried Quinn’s private number again, but my call went straight to voicemail so I left a message telling her I’d keep calling until she responded and then, frustrated and hungry, I walked to my car.
When I got home, Zack and Brock were at the kitchen table eating thick deli corned beef sandwiches off the paper in which they’d been wrapped. A tub of potato salad and one of coleslaw sat on the table between them.
Zack grinned at me. “Perfect timing.” He gestured towards a grease-stained bag on the table. “That’s yours, and it should still be hot.”
I unwrapped my sandwich and bit in. “Still hot and very tasty,” I said. “I guess my run-in with Slater Doyle didn’t kill my appetite.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you see Slater?”
“At Lee’s farm. Her group was having a meeting this morning. I went, but I arrived late, so I had to park halfway down the driveway. Slater Doyle must have driven in when I was walking towards my car to leave. I was checking my phone and when I looked up, Slater’s Lexus was coming at me.”
Zack tensed. “What the hell?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “He was moving slowly. That was just Slater being Slater, but he did say something that disturbed me. He said that the beasts of the field and the air weren’t the only creatures St. Lee of Assisi had gathered to her breast.”
Zack scowled. “Slimey sexual innuendo – vintage Slater.”
Brock shook his head. “There may be more to it than that,” he said.
I spooned potato salad onto my plate. “I agree,” I said. “Slater seemed genuinely surprised that I didn’t realize that he had some presumably damaging information about Lee.”
Brock was clearly troubled. “This morning Michael overheard Slater on the phone saying that Lee Crawford and her group had fucked up big-time by putting her front and centre.”
“That’s just bullshit,” Zack said. He saw my face and stopped. “That is just bullshit, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “At the meeting today, Lee suggested that CPG would make itself vulnerable by allowing her to be its public face. She said she’d made a mistake by putting up the video of her with the dead birds and she was taking the video down. I hope for all our sakes she has.”
“So do I,” Brock said.
“And something else – Warren says there’s bad blood between Quinn Donnelly and Lee. Neither side can afford that, so about an hour ago, I called Quinn to try to broker some kind of peace between her and Lee. She told me she’d be in her office all afternoon and agreed to see me, but when I got to Lancaster, Quinn’s Porsche was zooming out of the executive parking space, and the building was locked up for the holiday. I called Quinn and left a voicemail saying that I’d keep phoning her until she responded.” I glanced at my watch. “No time to call now,” I said. “Zack, you and I have to move along. We have an event, and we’re already late.”
Regina is a city of neighbourhoods, each with its own history, identity, and needs. During the election, Milo had created a series of neighbourhood profiles that identified the average income, level of education, predominant f
amily structure, and issues of concern for the area’s voters. As part of our campaign we’d planned wiener roasts in each of our city’s ten wards, and they’d been hugely successful.
The importance of community organization had not been lost on us, and that Victoria Day Monday we were having planting parties at newly dug community gardens in five different areas of the city. The price of admission was some bedding plants or a pack of seeds, though we had extras on hand for anyone who wanted to join in. Parks and Recreation were in charge of preparing the soil, supervising face painting and games for the kids, and helping interested adults and kids with the planting. Merchants donated an assortment of veggie chips, freshly squeezed fruit and vegetable juices, and fibre-laden cookies. We’d hired local bands to keep the day swinging.
Obeying the old recreation dictum that it’s better to kill an activity than have it die on you, each party lasted two hours, and Zack and I were staying at each party for half an hour. We staggered start times so that any child who cared to could get his or her picture taken with the mayor and a teenager in a Bugs Bunny suit. The number of takers surprised us, and it was a little after three-thirty when Zack and I arrived at the last stop, the Racette-Hunter planting party.
Over the course of the afternoon, I’d called Quinn Donnelly three times, but she never picked up, and as I took my place at the face-painting table, I was tired and irritable. My spirits rose when Margot and Brock arrived with Lexi and Kai, both wearing floppy hats and sunglasses. As Margot settled the babies on Zack’s lap to get pictures, he groaned but, always a party guy, he was clearly enjoying himself. Margot, Brock, and I visited as I painted the kids’ faces, and chatting with them made the time pass quickly. After they’d taken Kai, Lexi, and a flat of tomato plants to the community garden area, I checked my watch. It was almost four o’clock. The end was in sight.
I glanced over at Zack. Only one more child remained in line to get his picture taken with the mayor and Bugs Bunny. I was attempting to paint a pink butterfly on the cheek of a three-year-old girl who had a firm idea about exactly where a pink butterfly belonged on her cheek when my cell rang,
The voice on the other end of the line was wafer-thin. “Mum, it’s Angus.”
“You don’t sound like you,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” he said, and his voice quivered.
The three-year-old picked up the hand mirror from the makeup table, gave her face a final critical glance, then, satisfied, she skipped off.
“Angus, what’s happened?”
“It’s Lee, Mum,” he said. “She’s dead.”
CHAPTER
6
We left as soon as the photographer had taken the last photo of Zack and I had the chance to fill him in. The drive from our end of the city to the Brokenshire farm took half an hour. By the time we pulled into the driveway, I still hadn’t been able to reach Peter and Maisie. The cabin where they were staying was too remote for cellular service. I had a number for the cabin’s landline, but they weren’t answering and it didn’t have voicemail. It was imperative that I reach them, but I was grateful they were being given a few extra minutes of happiness.
Regina police don’t have jurisdiction in rural Saskatchewan, but the RCMP officers were already on the scene. Angus stood with three officers on the west side of the driveway. Lee’s bouvier, Esme, was leashed and next to him. Close to the barn and directly across from them, officers spoke to Simon Weber.
One of the men talking to Angus spotted us, broke away from the group, and approached. When he stopped at our car, Zack held out his ID. “I’m Angus Kilbourn’s stepfather, and this is his mother, Joanne. Our daughter-in-law, Maisie, is Lee’s only relative. We’ve been trying to reach her, but so far no luck. I’d like to talk to my stepson.”
“He’s being questioned, Mr. Mayor,” the officer said.
Zack was sanguine. “Then he’ll need a lawyer,” he said. “And I also happen to be just that.”
Inspector Carl Lovitz was fortyish with a thinning tonsure of greying hair; a narrow, suspicious mouth; and the trim appearance, erect bearing, and precise enunciation of a man who was accustomed to being obeyed. He took his time deciding on how we would proceed. Finally he said. “You may see Mr. Kilbourn. But I’ll bring him here. Don’t move your car. Extraneous tire marks and footprints will hinder the investigation.”
“Fine,” Zack said, and he opened his door, reached into the back seat, pulled out his wheelchair, snapped it together, and transferred his weight from the driver’s seat onto the chair.
Angus looked terrible, very young, and, I feared, on the verge of shock. When I embraced him, he held tight.
“Lee was shot, Mum. She was a mess. One of the officers said she was shot twice – once in the shoulder and once in the chest. Gabby’s dead too. He must have tried to attack the person who killed her.” Angus’s voice was flat, toneless.
“Angus, you didn’t touch anything, did you?”
“I covered Lee with my jacket,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
Two more squad cars pulled up and parked on the side of the road. Each car carried four officers, who unloaded with practised ease the paraphernalia necessary to investigate death by violence and carried the equipment to the barn.
Inspector Lovitz addressed Zack first. “We’ve fingerprinted Mr. Kilbourn; we’ve done the GSR test to see if he fired a gun recently. Mr. Kilbourn voluntarily supplied us with a DNA sample, and we’ll have an officer bag the clothes he was wearing when he found the victim. You can never tell what might be useful.”
“That’s certainly true.” Zack motioned Angus to stand beside him. Angus’s colour was returning, and he seemed to be more in command of himself.
Inspector Lovitz took a paper notebook and a fountain pen from his breast pocket. His hands were small and dainty. “Tell me exactly what happened here,” he said. “Take your time. And try not to leave anything out, no matter how insignificant.”
Lee’s dog strained at the leash. Bouviers grow frantic if they’re separated from their owners. I took the leash from Angus and bent to reassure Esme. Hearing a woman’s voice seemed to calm her.
My son gave me a faint smile, and then he took a deep breath and began. “Yesterday morning when I heard about Lee’s birds being killed, I came straight to the farm. I stayed overnight. This morning Lee’s fiancé, Bobby Stevens, and I buried the birds. When we’d finished and cleaned up, I went back to Regina. It was eight-thirty. I’m a lawyer, and I have a big case coming up. I offered to work on it here, but Lee said she would be fine on her own.”
Inspector Lovitz looked from his notepad to Angus. “And your relationship with Ms. Crawford is …?”
“My brother, Peter, is married to Lee’s sister, Maisie.”
“Anything more than that?”
“Friendship. We enjoyed each other’s company,” Angus said. “Bobby is at a meeting in Saskatoon this afternoon. He thought he might be late getting back to the farm, so I told Lee I’d come back and make supper and we could watch a movie together and wait for Bobby. I worked through lunch and left the office at two-thirty to go grocery shopping.”
“Where did you shop?”
“At the Co-op in the east end.”
“Did you see anybody who might remember you were there?”
“This is Regina,” Angus said. “You always see somebody you know. I saw Camilo Rostoker, a guy who was on my Ultimate Frisbee team. He was picking up a cake for his son’s birthday party.”
“Approximately when did you see him?”
“Probably between two-thirty and three.”
“We’ll need to talk to him. Can you supply us with contact information?”
After Angus supplied the information, Inspector Lovitz pressed on. “Did you see anybody else, Mr. Kilbourn?”
“I stopped at the liquor store to buy a bottle of wine for dinner,” Angus said. “Lee’s a vegetarian, and I was planning to make moussaka. I aske
d one of the men who works at the liquor store if he could recommend something suitable.”
“And he did.”
“He suggested a Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s in the kitchen. When I got to the farm, I called for Lee. She didn’t answer so I put the groceries away and went outside to look for her. Her truck was here, so I knew she hadn’t gone far.”
Inspector Lovitz gave Angus a sharp look. “You weren’t concerned?”
“No. Not at first.” Angus pointed to the black car parked beside Lee’s truck. “I’d noticed the BMW in the driveway, of course, but I assumed that Lee and whoever drove it were in the barn or checking out the orchard. Then I realized I hadn’t seen the bouviers since I got back from town. Lee has …” Angus took a breath and corrected himself. “Lee had two bouviers. They never left her side. So I called them. Only one of them – Esme, the one with my mother – came out of the barn but she ran back in again. She started howling. I’d never heard either of the dogs make that sound before. That’s when I knew there was something wrong.
“I followed Esme into the barn. Simon Weber was just inside the door. He was stripped to the waist and he was washing himself with water from the trough. The water was bloody. I think I asked him what had happened. He didn’t answer me. He just kept washing his body with that bloody water. I went to the back of the barn. Lee was lying on some straw on the barn floor. Her dog Gabby was lying beside her. He was dead.” Angus swallowed hard. “The front of Lee’s shirt was covered in blood. Her jeans and her underwear were pulled down around her ankles. I took her pulse, but there was nothing. I put my jacket over her and called 911 and then I called my mother. My brother and his wife are somewhere up north on their honeymoon, and I thought my mum would know how to get in touch with them.”
“We know about Ms. Crawford’s restraining order against Simon Weber. Was she afraid of him?”
“No. He’d checked himself into Valleyview – it’s a private facility for people with emotional problems.”
“Valleyview is not far from where your brother’s wedding took place,” Inspector Lovitz said. “Tell me what you know about Simon Weber’s activities after he left Valleyview Saturday morning.”
