What's Left Behind

by Gail Bowen

  “Are you and Zack coming up this weekend?”

  “I wish, but I’ll be knocking on doors and Zack will be making discreet phone calls. Next weekend for sure. Meanwhile, I’ll call Michael and tell him that he and Bridie can have a quiet weekend at the lake.”

  While I was on the phone, Brock had cleared the table. After I hung up, he came over and sat down. “About Michael …,” he said.

  “How did that go?” I said.

  Brock raised an eyebrow. “It was painful. Zenaya took Bridie down to the beach so we could be alone. You did know that Zenaya has come back to take care of Bridie?”

  “I knew,” I said. “Michael called and asked if it was all right if Zenaya stayed with them. I was relieved to hear that she was back in Bridie’s life. Bridie needs to feel safe.”

  “It’s going to take a while,” Brock said. “She still isn’t speaking.”

  “Apart from that, how does she seem?”

  “She’s fearful, but Michael says that since Zenaya’s been with her, Bridie seems better. Bridie likes the beach and she’s enjoying Madeleine and Lena’s old toys, so Michael is hopeful. And I’m hopeful for him.”

  “But you’re not going back to him.”

  “No. That’s what Michael wanted, but I told him it was over. He didn’t seem surprised. There’s been too much grief and too many painful memories. When I said we both needed to start with a fresh slate, he understood.”

  “Did you tell him about Derek?”

  “Yes. I know that must seem like rubbing salt in the wound, but there aren’t many secrets in the Regina gay scene, and I felt Michael should hear it from me first.”

  “I agree. Any idea what he’s planning to do next?”

  “Short-term he’s looking for a cottage to rent somewhere not too far from the city. Michael thinks Bridie would benefit from a summer at the lake. It would be good for him too. He’s found a publisher interested in his book on strategies to support high-risk and gang-involved youth that he started way back when we were together, so he’s going into high gear on that.”

  “Did he mention Slater?”

  “Just to tell me that when Slater left the house the day he died, Michael asked where he was going, and Slater said, ‘To do the right thing.’ ”

  “Further confirmation that Slater knew who was behind the abduction.”

  “Apparently, and whoever it was killed him.”

  “Michael has told the police this,” I said.

  “Yes, and they’re ripping Michael’s house apart looking for something that might identify the killer.”

  “But they didn’t come up with anything?”

  “No. So far, they have nothing.”

  Brock had a staff meeting at Racette-Hunter, so I drove to City Hall alone. It was a wretched drive. The rain came down so heavily I could barely see the road ahead. A power outage in North Central had knocked out the traffic lights, and as I inched along, the wind whipped leaves off the trees and onto my windshield. I didn’t exhale until I pulled up in staff parking.

  Just as I got out of my car, Milo steered his Harley into the space beside me. I was dumbfounded. He had on a full-face helmet and when he took it off, his face shone with exhilaration. “Now that,” he said, “was a ride.”

  Milo’s joie de vivre rankled. “Are you out of your mind – being on a motorcycle in this weather?” I said.

  A sharp crack of thunder was followed almost immediately by a bolt of lightning. Milo raised his face to the heavens. “Time to take it inside,” he said. “I’m risk-averse.”

  The look I gave Milo was withering, but he was nonchalant. “Before you give me a lecture, check out what I’m wearing: a quality rain suit, waterproof boots and gloves, and …” He waggled the thumb of his glove. “That little squeegee thing on my thumb keeps my visor clean. Jo, I know what I’m doing. I never ride in the first fifteen minutes of a rainstorm because that’s when all the crud on the road mixes with the water and turns the road into greased owl shit. And when it’s raining, I take it slow.” His eyes met mine. “Convinced?”

  “No, but I’m backing off.”

  He grinned. “My lucky day, but we really should get inside. Getting struck by lightning while I was with you would be a sweet exit, but if we got fried, there would be no tweets from the mayor’s office about the big man’s announcement.”

  I’d assumed the lobby would be deserted, but it was filled. Zack, Mansell, and a smartly turned-out woman I didn’t recognize were standing under a mural chatting while people toting media equipment milled about. I started towards them, but Milo touched my arm. “Something has come up that I’m not cool about sharing with Mansell.”

  “I’m exercising caution there too,” I said. “So what is it?”

  “The police have checked the messages on Slater’s phone, and my source tells me that on June 4, Slater sent Piper Edwards a text saying, ‘We know you did it.’ ”

  “And Slater was murdered that weekend. Do the police think Piper killed him?”

  “No, and she didn’t kill Lee either. She has iron-clad alibis for the time of both murders. On the day Lee was killed, Piper went straight from the CPG meeting at Lee’s to a meeting with her constituents about an old swimming pool in their neighbourhood being closed because it was deemed unsafe. The meeting lasted four hours. The constituents came and went, but Piper was there the whole time. The weekend Slater died, she was in Winnipeg with friends. She left Thursday night and came back Sunday.”

  “Then what was Slater alluding to?”

  “The heritage birds. The police brought Piper in for questioning as soon as they found the deleted text. She denied everything and her alibis for the murders checked out, so she walked away. Last night, Piper’s Honda was on the receiving end of a rear-ender. When the cops opened the trunk, they found a container that piqued their curiosity. They asked Piper about it, and she freaked, so they took it in for testing. It turned out to be cyanide.”

  “Why would she leave cyanide in the trunk of her car?”

  Milo gave me a lazy smile. “Piper’s a responsible citizen. She was probably just keeping the cyanide out of harm’s way till Hazardous Waste Disposal Day.”

  “That’s in May,” I said.

  “Piper was prepared to wait,” Milo said. “Anyway, I just got a text saying she’s at police headquarters and she’s signed a confession.”

  “Milo, where are you getting this information from?”

  “Just around,” he said.

  “You’re talking to me now,” I said. “I’m one of the three people in the world you trust, remember? I’d like to know where this is coming from.”

  “Okay. I’m friendly with an IT guy at police headquarters. You know how it is with IT guys. Everybody ignores them. All I have so far is what I’ve told you.”

  I shivered, and Milo put his arm around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just trying to process this,” I said. “I’ve been assuming that one person was behind everything that’s happened. Now we know that’s not the case. But it makes sense. Piper was jealous of Lee’s relationship with Bobby Stevens, and during our vetting process for slate candidates, several people mentioned that Piper has a mean streak. I just never thought she was capable of killing innocent creatures.”

  “So you think she just lost it?”

  “It happens,” I said. “I guess the note she left for Lee in the mailbox said it all. ‘Now you know how it feels to lose what you love.’ Whatever her motive, Piper’s going to pay in hard coin for this.”

  Milo nodded. “Yeah, there’s the legal thing and then there’s the political thing. Getting the vote out for a killer of heritage birds will be tricky.”

  “You could do it,” I said.

  “Possibly. But I’m not going to. Those birds were stellar. So was Lee. Moving right along – Jo, the big man will hear about Piper Edward’s confession from the chief of police within the hour. Until he does, what I’ve just told you stays between us.�
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  I met his eyes. “Understood.”

  “I never have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s for you,” he said, and then he cupped my elbow in his hand and pushed me gently forward. “Time to join the party.”

  Usually the announcement of an endorsement was as stylized as a Kabuki dance: the big reveal, a few minutes of grip-and-grin photo ops, and occasionally a question or two. But today, something was clearly amiss.

  When she saw us, Norine MacDonald approached. “The power’s out. One of the elevators is stuck between floors. Someone trapped in the elevator is having a meltdown. Workmen are trying to fix the elevator and a psychologist is trying to talk down the person inside. Incidentally, if I were in that elevator, I would be that person.”

  “I can’t imagine you losing control, Norine,” I said. “So how’s Zack?”

  “You know Zack. Play it as it lays. He, Mansell, and Lydia Mah from the Chamber of Commerce aren’t going to bother waiting for the power to come back on. They’re just going to go ahead with the announcement. The quality of the TV video won’t be great, but all that really matters is the endorsement.” She glanced across the lobby. “Looks like they’re ready to go.”

  I moved so that I’d be in Zack’s sight line, and he smiled and introduced Lydia Mah. I liked her statement. It wasn’t effusive, but her explanation of why the chamber was urging people to vote Yes in the referendum was cogent, and her voice rang with conviction when she said that careful planning and respect for the environment were key to our city’s future growth.

  Then Zack asked for questions. Surprisingly, the questions were aimed at Mansell. They came in a barrage, and they were tough. What had Mansell’s sudden support of the Yes vote done to his standing with his former colleagues at Lancaster? Did it end his marriage to Quinn Donnelly? Was his decision related to Bridie Doyle’s kidnapping? Could he offer the media any insights into who might have killed Slater Doyle?” Mansell handled the questions well, and the press conference ended without incident – smiles and handshakes all around.

  “Anything I can do here?” Milo said.

  “Nope – it’s a lovefest.”

  “In that case, I’m going to take off.”

  “Stay in touch,” I said.

  Milo paused. “Always,” he said, and then he walked away.

  By the time I joined Zack and the others, the power had been restored, the passenger trapped in the elevator had been released, and Mansell was on his phone. I introduced myself to Lydia and told them I thought that, given the cosmic pyrotechnics, the session had gone well. We chatted briefly, then Lydia left for a meeting, Zack went to talk to Norine, and Mansell ended his call. He seemed upset. “Is something wrong?” I said.

  “Bette felt the questions were too personal, and that Zack should have stepped in and cut them off.”

  “If Zack had stepped in and cut off the questions, it would have looked as if he didn’t trust your ability to answer them truthfully.”

  “That’s what I told Bette.”

  “Siblings can overreact,” I said. “And Lee told me you and Bette are as tight as ticks.”

  It was a playful phrase, but Mansell’s face darkened. “In what context did Lee say that?”

  “Nothing specific. She wasn’t being critical, Mansell. It was just an affectionate observation.”

  “Well then,” he said. He started to walk away but changed his mind. “Joanne, it might be wise if you and Zack stayed away from my sister for a while. She can be … erratic.”

  It was a peculiar comment, but Mansell didn’t give me time to respond. He simply cleared his throat, excused himself, and walked across the lobby and out into the rain.

  It was five to ten when Mansell left City Hall. The day was young, and I had work to do. I spent the morning sitting on an exercise ball in the Noodle House pondering the significance of Mansell’s warning about Bette and waiting for Zack to call about Piper Edwards’s confession. While I pondered and waited, I checked through the lists of voters we knew would support us. I’d just finished the lists when Milo arrived, rolled an exercise ball over to the space next to me, sat down, and ripped open a Crispy Crunch.

  “News about Piper Edwards,” he said. “Or have you already heard?”

  “Zack hasn’t called, so all I know is what you told me.”

  “Maybe I’m not the only one with a trust issue,” Milo said. “The chief of police must be playing her cards close to her chest.” He moved closer and inhaled deeply. “Rosemary and mint – a heady blend,” he said. “You’ve changed shampoos.”

  “I used Taylor’s this morning,” I said. “I’ll tell her you approve.”

  “That scent really does it for me,” he said. “But enough moon-bagging – time for reality. It seems Quinn Donnelly and Lee Crawford aren’t the only ones who share a history.” He bit into his Crispy Crunch. For a man who apparently subsisted wholly on chocolate, Milo had the most beautiful teeth, dazzlingly white and even. When he’d finished his first bite, Milo turned to me. “Piper Edwards is the daughter of the academic adviser with whom Lee had the affair. Piper blamed Lee for breaking up her parents’ marriage.”

  “So Piper sees Lee as the woman who destroyed her family and took the man she loved away from her.”

  Milo rocked back and forth on the exercise ball. “Yes, and when she and Quinn met at a women’s networking dinner, they struck up a friendship. When they discovered they both hated Lee Crawford, they became besties.”

  “But their differences over the referendum issue put an end to their friendship?”

  “Not necessarily. For both Quinn and Piper, Lee Crawford was the enemy. It’s conceivable that they teamed up when the need arose.”

  “That possibility makes my blood run cold,” I said.

  “Mine too,” Milo said. He jumped up, rolled his exercise ball across the room, and headed for the door. “My guess is the boys and girls in blue are digging into that intriguing possibility even as we speak.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Piper Edwards’s confession that she had killed the heritage birds eclipsed every other news story the weekend before the referendum, but there was no public mention of a connection between Piper and Quinn Donnelly. Piper did not speak directly to the press. She was in seclusion. At noon on Friday, her lawyer, Paul Bellerive, delivered a brief statement saying that Piper had confessed to poisoning the birds and that she deeply regretted her actions. He refused to answer questions about motive, about the possible effect Piper’s confession would have on the referendum vote, or about Piper’s political future.

  Debbie watched Paul Bellerive’s statement with us at the condo. When he finished, Debbie filled us in on the investigation into Piper’s background. I was relieved that Zack was finally made aware of the link between Piper and Quinn Donnelly, but Debbie told us that the link had proved to be insignificant. Both women were open about the fact that they hated Lee, but after hours of questioning both Piper and Quinn about their activities since May 17, the RCMP and the Regina police had come up empty. Both women’s alibis for the time surrounding Lee’s murder were solid. Piper had been meeting with her constituents. When I’d challenged Quinn about her whereabouts the afternoon she had agreed to meet me, Bette had been quick to volunteer that Quinn had been caring for her, and when the police questioned her, she’d stuck to her story.

  Piper’s confession torpedoed our campaign’s plans, calibrations, and calculations once and for all. The message on social media came through loud and clear – a pox on all their houses. People were sick of politics, sick of politicians, sick of lies and betrayals and hypocrisy. Our campaign had been grassroots, based on the premise that if we identified and got out our supporters we could win. The latest news about the referendum had been tabloid-worthy, and I fretted over the possibility that our volunteers, even the seasoned ones, had had enough.

  All we could do was put our heads down and carry on. The next four days were a blur. Zack was at City Hall dealing with
the business of the city and the fallout from the fact that a heretofore-trusted colleague on council was facing criminal charges. I was at the Noodle House doing everything I could to breathe life into the dying Yes campaign.

  At four-thirty on the day before the vote, I picked Taylor up at school, dropped her off at the condo, and drove to the Noodle House. Milo was there waiting. He grinned when he saw me. “I’ve been waiting for you. I have news.”

  “What’s the news?” I said.

  “We’re fucked,” he said.

  I laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  That night Zack sent out a final tweet urging people to remember what was at stake; consider the options and remember to vote. The outcome of the referendum was out of our hands, and I slept more soundly than I had in weeks.

  On the day of the referendum, Zack and I voted at Racette-Hunter with Brock and Margot. They brought Lexi and Kai along because they wanted the children to see them vote. My late husband, Ian, and I had done the same thing with our kids when they were little. For us it was always a great photo op.

  At three-thirty on Referendum Day I was sitting on my exercise ball in the Noodle House exchanging texts with Milo. The writing on the wall didn’t take long to appear. As we’d anticipated, voter turnout was dismal, but our diehard volunteers had been diligent about ensuring that our most faithful supporters made it to the polls. Mansell Donnelly was proving his worth in rubies by getting his friends in the business community to urge their associates to vote Yes. Warren Weber, too, was a powerful weapon, and Milo’s readings of Facebook and Twitter indicated that Zack’s tweet had nudged some people into making the effort to cast a ballot.

  I took heart in the fact that Milo reported the No vote was as weak as ours and it was possible we might squeak out a win. If I squinted hard I could see the silver lining in the cloud, but I had the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had every E-Day. Until the polls closed and the last vote was counted, I always waited for the surprise – the dragon that would slink out of the ditch and destroy everything we’d worked for.