by Gail Bowen
“You really have nerves of steel.”
Zack shrugged. “I’m just trying to prove I’m worthy of my eagle.”
* * *
When I came back from showering and changing, I joined Zack in the office. He was on the phone, and when I came in, he mouthed Ainsley’s name. I started to leave, but he gestured towards my chair. “Ainsley, Joanne just came in, and if you’re okay with it, I’ll put you on speakerphone.”
“That’s fine,” Ainsley said.
“Good,” Zack said. “Jo, Ainsley was concerned about the shutdown, but I told her that we know the threat is real, so we have to be proactive. She accepts that, and she just sent out an email telling support staff and crew that the production studios will be closed until further notice.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. “Until we’re certain the problem is resolved, we can’t afford to take a chance.”
“Of course not,” Ainsley said. Her voice was cool but engaged. “Zack, I was planning to call you to apologize to you both for not checking about the legality of the proxy. Buzz volunteered to assume a number of responsibilities so I could focus on directing, and I was so anxious to get back to my own work that I jumped the gun.” She paused. “Now, if there’s nothing else . . .”
Zack turned to me. “Joanne, any questions or concerns?”
“No. We’ve done all we can do.”
Ainsley’s intake of breath was audible. When she spoke her voice broke. “Let’s hope it’s enough,” she said. “So much is at stake.”
When the call ended, Zack said, “Jo, have you thought about what discovering Buzz Wells is the mastermind behind this attempt to take down Sisters and Strangers will do to Ainsley?”
“I have.” My laptop was on our work table. I found the video of Ainsley rehearsing the actors for the Broadway production of The Happiest Girl and turned the screen towards Zack. “Take a look,” I said. When the video was over, I said, “I’m hoping Ainsley will find that woman again — the strong woman who doesn’t have to lean on a creep like Buzz to get through a crisis and whose joy in her work brings out the best in everyone around her.”
“If Ainsley accepts that personnel plan we talked about at the meeting, everything will fall into place,” Zack said. “Brock Poitras has already put together a short list of candidates for the position of general manager of Living Skies. He’s planning to call Ainsley this week to arrange a time when she can sit in on interviews. Once that position is filled and Fawn Tootoosis is back as executive producer, Ainsley will be free to do what she loves.”
“So the ball is in Ainsley’s court,” I said. “I’ll phone Georgie and Charlie D and get them up to speed.”
“I called Taylor earlier,” Zack said. “She’s going to suggest to Kyle that she pick him up and they come back here to her studio to talk things through. That way we’re close by if they need us.”
“Events are on the move,” I said. “I guess now we just wait.”
Zack had an appellate brief to prepare, and I had the script, so I made tea and we worked until we heard Taylor’s car pull up out front. She and Kyle didn’t come into the house. I beckoned Zack to the window and we watched the two of them walk across the back lawn to the studio. Taylor had her arm through Kyle’s, and he was walking with his head down, clearly disconsolate.
“Kyle has a rough morning ahead of him,” Zack said.
“He does,” I agreed. “But Buzz’s morning will be a hundred times worse, and his misery is just beginning.”
* * *
It was almost an hour before we saw Kyle and Taylor walking back from her studio. When Zack gave me an inquiring glance, I said, “Let’s sit tight and take our cue from them.”
They came immediately to the office. Taylor embraced us both. “Kyle is ready to talk to you, Dad,” she said. She gave Kyle an encouraging smile and held out her hand to me. “They need to be alone,” she said to me. “Lawyer-client stuff, but I could really use some company.”
When we went outside, Taylor collapsed on one of the chaise longues and closed her eyes. The sky was leaden, heavy with the rain the forecast predicted, but the air was cool and sweet with the scent of apple blossoms from the tree in our neighbour’s yard. I lay down on the lounge beside her. My nerves were frayed, but if Taylor needed to discuss what was happening, I was there.
For several minutes, Taylor was silent, eyes shut tight, body tense. Finally she said, “That was brutal. Kyle’s agreed to face this head-on. He knows that telling the truth will change how people see him, professionally and personally, but . . .”
“He also knows he has no choice.”
“Kyle was wavering,” Taylor said. “I was afraid he wouldn’t go through with it and then — I don’t know why — I told him Cronus’s story, how after a lifetime as a slumlord exploiting people Cronus knowingly risked and lost his life to save Racette-Hunter, a project that offered the children of the community he’d exploited a way out. I also told Kyle that deciding to do the right thing brought Cronus peace.”
“And that tipped the scales?”
“It did,” Taylor said. “Just the way it did for Vale and me that night at the Sahara Club. The moment we heard that story, Vale and I both knew that Cronus’s apartment, a place where a person who had made mistakes, but decided to live a life that grew out of those mistakes, was exactly the right place for us.”
“You have no idea how much what you just said means to me and will mean to your dad. We both wish we’d had more time with Cronus. Knowing that his story saved another person is a legacy Cronus would be proud of. Are Kyle and Zack going to the police?”
“No, Kyle wants to see Ainsley first. He says she deserves to know the truth.”
“So what is the truth?”
“It’s close to what you and Dad came up with, but there are some differences that I’ve tried to convince Kyle are important. What Hal Dupuis’s sister told you about Heather Hurworth stalking Kyle is true, and Kyle was behind the wheel of the car that ran over her. But Kyle says what happened was an accident. It was dark and according to Kyle, Heather Hurworth seemed to come out of nowhere, and then she just threw herself at the car. For a second, he saw her face and her arms flailing in his headlights, and then she was gone. He felt the impact of the car hitting something. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car to see what had happened. As soon as he saw her, Kyle knew there was no way Heather Hurworth could have survived.
“Kyle was in shock, and he did something stupid. Instead of calling the police, he called Buzz Wells. When Buzz was almost at the motel, he called the police, told them he’d witnessed an accident.”
“But he hadn’t witnessed the accident,” I said. “Why did Buzz tell the authorities he had?”
“Buzz said he wasn’t certain that Heather Hurworth’s death was an accident, and by saying he was an eyewitness, he was giving Kyle cover. Apparently, by the time the police arrived, Kyle was pretty well out of it, and Buzz took over. He told the police that Heather Hurworth had been stalking Kyle, and that morning he’d heard her shout ‘You’ll never be rid of me,’ before she jumped in front of Kyle’s car. The car was already moving. Kyle hit the brakes, but it was too late.”
“And Kyle never went to the police to correct the story.”
“He didn’t see the need to. Kyle believed Buzz lied to protect him. Even after Kyle left Broders’ Annex after the first season, he and Buzz remained friends.”
“And Buzz used their friendship to convince Kyle to give Roy Brodnitz LSD.”
“Yes.” Taylor’s voice was small. “He told Kyle they were doing it to help Ainsley. Buzz said that Roy’s analyst had successfully used hallucinogens to treat patients suffering from creative blocks, and he believed a hallucinogen was the answer for Roy. Because Roy’s experience with cocaine had made him wary, Buzz told Kyle the LSD would have to be given to Roy surreptitiously.”
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“And Kyle believed Buzz’s story?”
“He had no reason not to,” Taylor said. “He trusted Buzz, and Kyle knew enough about Ainsley’s devotion to Roy to believe that she would go to any lengths to help him. The next time Kyle was in New York, Buzz gave him the tab of acid and told him that what he was about to do must be kept confidential and that Ainsley was very grateful. Kyle felt he was returning the favour Buzz had done for him when Heather Hurworth died.”
“So he followed through.”
“He did, but as soon as Roy was hospitalized in Saskatoon, Kyle called Buzz. He told Buzz he had to break his promise about keeping what he had done confidential, because the doctors needed to know that Roy had ingested a hallucinogen. When Buzz blew up, Kyle realized that the entire story about the analyst and Ainsley needing Buzz’s help was a lie. And his nightmare began.”
“Did Kyle set the fire at the production studios?”
“No. Buzz wanted him to, but Kyle refused. Buzz made other arrangements, and of course, Kyle couldn’t say anything without starting an investigation that would eventually lead to him.”
Chapter Nineteen
When the rain started, Taylor and I picked up the cushions from the patio furniture and took them inside. We’d just finished piling everything in the family room when Zack came in. “Kyle wants to talk to Ainsley before we do anything else,” he said. “I called Ainsley and explained enough to convince her she should talk to Kyle and me. She suggested that she meet us here. I had a feeling Buzz was in the apartment with her.”
“I gather you’d like Taylor and me to make ourselves scarce,” I said.
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Taylor said. “Vale and I are going grocery shopping and she’s really pumped about it.”
“Vale’s pumped about going grocery shopping?” I said. “Wait till she sees the cat boutique at Pawsitively Purrfect.”
For the first time that morning, our daughter smiled. I put my arm around her. “Taylor, this will work out. Let’s just get through the day. Zack, I know Georgie’s working at home. I’m going to go over there. If Buzz suspects things are falling apart, he may go to her place and start pressing her.”
* * *
Georgie welcomed me enthusiastically. “I’m glad you’re here, Jo. I’ve been getting a weird vibe from upstairs. Actually, it’s more than a vibe. Ainsley and Buzz were fighting — raised voices, slammed doors, a lot of banging around. I’ve been trying to decide whether I should call her or go up.”
“Ainsley’s on her way to our place to talk to Zack and Kyle Daly,” I said. “There’ve been developments.”
When I finished Georgie raised an eyebrow. “Do you think it’s possible that Rumpel may be on his way out?”
“A fairy-tale ending,” I said. “We can only hope. In the meantime . . .”
Georgie and I had been working on the script for about twenty minutes when there was a loud thump on the floor upstairs. We’d both jumped, but when there was no further disturbance, we got back to work.
A few minutes later, Zack appeared at Georgie’s door, clearly chagrined. “I felt Ainsley should not approach Buzz Wells without legal counsel,” he said. “But Buzz Wells is on the second floor, and I don’t do stairs.”
Georgie was on her feet. “I’m no lawyer, but knowing you’re down here to take over will simplify things. I’ll go with Ainsley.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “This is bound to be unpleasant, and your ob-gyn says no stress. I’ll go.”
“Ainsley’s waiting in the duplex parking area,” Zack said. “Jo, I feel terrible about this.”
“Don’t,” I said. “As soon as Buzz comes down, Georgie and I will go to lunch somewhere that’s guaranteed stress-free. We’ll be fine.”
Ainsley was standing by the outdoor staircase that led to the second floor. We greeted each other, and I followed her up the stairs through the back door into a bedroom. She called Buzz’s name, and when there was no response, we started down the hall.
I followed Ainsley into the living room, until, without warning, she pivoted and bolted, almost knocking me over. She’d covered her mouth with her hands and was retching. The room was warm and when I took a breath, I choked on air heavy with the coppery, metallic odour of blood.
Buzz Wells was lying on his back, eyes open but unseeing. Danny Kerrigan kneeled beside Buzz with his hand over the slash in the side of Buzz’s neck. Like Buzz, he was covered in blood. Ainsley stood in the hall with her back to the room, and I turned towards her. “Go downstairs and let them know what’s happened. Tell them to call 911. I’ll stay with Danny till help arrives.” When Ainsley didn’t move, I raised my voice. “Just do this one last thing,” I said. “It’s almost over.”
My words had been confident, but I was light-headed and my knees were weak. It took an act of will to go to Danny. When I knelt beside him, I realized that he was attempting to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on Buzz’s wound. I touched Danny’s arm. “You can stop now,” I said. “He’s gone.”
When Danny turned to look at me, his eyes were as dead and unseeing as those of the man on the floor in front of him.
“Danny, the police will be here soon,” I said.
“I need to pray,” he said. “Can you get Pastor Kirk?”
I was shaking so badly, I could barely pull my phone from the pocket of my slacks. Danny gave me the number. I entered it and crossed the room so he couldn’t hear my words.
When Pastor Kirk picked up, I said, “This is Joanne Shreve. I’m a friend of Lizzie Ewing and Danny Kerrigan’s.”
“All of us at Bountiful Gifts are praying for your daughter and Vale Frazier,” he said.
His baritone was smug, ingratiating and unctuous, and my throat tightened. “Thank you,” I said. “But I’m calling about Danny. He needs your help. There’s been a tragedy. A man is dead.”
“And Danny is connected how?”
“I think Danny killed him. I don’t know the details, but Danny is beside himself. He wants you to pray with him.”
In the blink of an eye, Pastor Kirk’s oily piety gave way to a tone of brisk dismissal. “Ms. Shreve, I’m late for a meeting with our leadership committee,” he said. “We’re revising the church’s mission statement and my presence is critical.”
“Danny’s need is critical,” I said, but it was too late. Pastor Kirk had already broken the connection. Like Pontius Pilate before him, the pastor had washed his hands of the matter.
When I joined him, Danny’s eyes were anxious. “Pastor Kirk can’t come,” I said. “But Danny, I can pray with you.”
A police officer once told me that police become inured to walking into bizarre situations. That said, I think even seasoned veterans of the force would have found the scene that morning in Ainsley Blair’s apartment, surreal: a dead man, a murder weapon in plain view, and a young man and a much older woman praying together in a pool of blood.
* * *
The police had deferred questioning Ainsley and me until late afternoon, by which time we both had been examined by a physician, received short-term prescriptions for Ativan, showered under the watchful eyes of a female constable and dressed in Georgie’s clothing. Zack never left my side.
The police interviewed us separately: Ainsley in the kitchen and me in the living room. It had been years since I’d seen Detective Robert Hallam, the officer who questioned me, but he was remarkably unchanged: a small, dapper man with a steel-grey crewcut, a luxuriant bush of a moustache, a prim mouth and an unshakeable belief that the world was divided into two camps — the good guys and the bad guys. In late life he married Rosalie Norman, the administrative assistant in the political science department where I was an associate professor. Rosalie was as prickly as her new husband, but she liked me well enough, so Robert Hallam had assigned me to the good guys camp.
I was
sitting in a comfortable armchair with a cup of sugary, milky tea. Zack was beside me, and Robert Hallam pulled up a chair and positioned it so he could face me. He greeted me with warmth and concern. “How are you doing?”
I tried a smile. “As well as could be expected.”
“What can you tell us?” Zack said.
“We’ve been able to piece together some information,” Robert Hallam said. “Danny Kerrigan was quite vocal until the lawyer you arranged to represent him arrived.”
Zack shrugged. “It’s the law.”
“I’m aware of that,” Detective Hallam said. “You’ll be relieved to hear that Mr. Kerrigan did not incriminate himself before his lawyer arrived. The first officers on the scene reported that Mr. Kerrigan was voluble but incoherent. We had better luck with a commissionaire at the production studios with whom Mr. Kerrigan spoke this morning. The commissionaire said Mr. Kerrigan was agitated but he gave what appears to be an accurate accounting of his activities.
“As he did every morning, Danny Kerrigan rode his bicycle to work. When he arrived at the production studios, he realized his phone was missing and retraced his route. As a consequence, he was over an hour late arriving for work. When he entered the building and discovered it was empty and the doors to all the departments were locked, he panicked.
“Mr. Kerrigan told the commissionaire that his sole purpose in life was to save Vale Frazier from eternal damnation. He said that locating Vale Frazier was a matter of life and death and he had to find someone who could tell him where Vale was. The commissionaire told our officer that he’d pointed across the street to the duplex, told Mr. Kerrigan that Ainsley Blair lived on the second floor of the building, and since she was the boss, she would know where Vale was.
“That’s all we know for certain. Mr. Kerrigan remembers going to the duplex and knocking on the door, but he has no memory of what happened after that.”