The Endless Knot

by Gail Bowen

  Zack waited as the water was brought and Katherine sipped and composed herself. “Set your mind at ease, Ms. Morrissey,” he said. “There’ll be no pyrotechnics here. The Crown and the defence are in agreement on the basics of what happened on the late afternoon of May 16. We differ only in our interpretation. You say Mr. Parker’s actions were intentional; Mr. Parker says what happened was an accident. Disregarding Mr. Dowhanuik’s testimony, which I believe we can safely do …” Garth leapt to his feet and fired off a machine-gun round of objections. Zack heard him out, withdrew his statement, and turned back to Kathryn. “At any rate, Ms. Morrissey, it seems this case boils down to a matter of she said/he said, so what we’re working towards is getting a clear picture of exactly what happened in your encounter with Mr. Parker.”

  Garth was on his feet again. “Is there a question in all this?”

  Zack nodded. “Actually, I have a number of questions.” He moved his chair closer to Kathryn. “Ms. Morrissey, you said that after you refused to postpone publication of your book, Sam Parker became ‘a madman.’ Exactly how did this madness manifest itself?”

  Kathryn’s lip curled in disdain. “He became red in the face. He gesticulated wildly. He was out of control.”

  “Did Mr. Parker mention where he had been in the hour before he arrived in your backyard?”

  “He said he’d been with his daughter.”

  “Did he elaborate?”

  “He said something about his daughter being in a state of anguish.”

  “Did he explain why?”

  Kathryn raised her chin defiantly. “He said Glenda was upset about my book. He said she had a gun and she had threatened to kill herself.”

  Zack smiled. “Thank you. A very complete answer. So the gun Mr. Parker used was not his own. It was his daughter’s.”

  Kathryn shifted position. “Yes.”

  “Then we can conclude that Mr. Parker didn’t come from Calgary to Regina with the intention of killing you.”

  “He obviously decided that later,” Kathryn said. “Otherwise, why would he arrive in my backyard, gun in hand?”

  Zack frowned. “I’m confused,” he said. “I thought the weapon was concealed. Mr. Parker came to plead with you, Ms. Morrissey. He wanted to save his daughter’s life. Why would he be waving a gun around?”

  “The phrase gun in hand is just a figure of speech,” Kathryn said dismissively.

  Zack nodded. “Of course. Still, this is a court of law. Sam Parker’s future will be determined by the accuracy with which you recall his words. With all due respect, Ms. Morrissey, you should attempt to be precise. Now, at what point did Mr. Parker tell you that his daughter was contemplating suicide?”

  “When he asked me to postpone the publication of my book.”

  “So when you heard that Glenda was suicidal, your response was that she had to accept responsibility for her own actions. That’s a little heartless, isn’t it?”

  Kathryn furrowed her brow. “It might have been later.”

  Zack cocked his head. “I’m sorry. What might have been later?”

  “Mr. Parker might have told me about his daughter’s state of mind later, when he took out the gun.”

  Zack made no attempt to hide his pleasure. “Then you and Mr. Parker are in agreement on that point,” he said. “Good. And you’ve already testified that after he came through your gate, Sam pleaded with you to postpone publication of your book, and you refused and made your speech about people being responsible for their own actions. So you’ve corroborated that part of Sam’s version of events. And now you agree that when he took out the gun, he didn’t threaten you, he told you that the gun he was holding had been in his daughter’s hands that same day. Sam didn’t want to kill you. He wanted you to know that he was desperate.”

  Kathryn flushed with anger. “That’s not the way it happened. Sam Parker tried to kill me. That’s the truth.”

  Zack sighed. “So, we’re back to she said/he said.”

  Indeed, it did seem the combatants had reached an impasse, but then, in true soap-opera fashion, there was a shocking development. Krissy Treadgold, the wispy blonde whose eating disorders had been explored with such clinical zeal in Too Much Hope, stood up and braced herself against the railing that separated the gallery from the business end of the courtroom. She was directly in front of Kathryn, and for a beat, I thought she was about to shout out an accusation. But the drama took another turn. Krissy crumpled against the railing and then fell to the floor. In the confusion that followed, one image was indelible. Glenda Parker had been sitting next to Krissy, and when Krissy fell, Glenda dropped to her knees and raised Krissy’s head so that it rested in her lap. Then, very quietly, she asked someone to call for a doctor. Obeying some kind of herd wisdom, the rest of us gave the two young people their space, watching but not intruding on the small circle of intimacy that enclosed them. When the EMS team arrived, Krissy had regained consciousness, but she was deadly pale and clearly in medical trouble. As the gurney that she’d been placed upon was wheeled out of the courtroom, there was silence. Her illness had made her unnaturally small. With her thin blonde hair loose about her shoulders and her vintage velvet coat, she looked oddly like Alice in Wonderland. To add to the Through the Looking Glass quality of the moment, when I turned towards the back of the courtroom, I spotted a couple of unlikely spectators: Howard Dowhanuik was sitting in the back row and Ethan Thorpe was standing out in the hall, watching.

  Zack, who had turned his chair to watch the dramatic events in the gallery, wheeled towards the jury box. One look at their stricken faces told him all he needed to know. “I only have one more question for the witness,” he said. “Would you do it again, Ms. Morrissey?”

  Kathryn was clearly irritated. “What?”

  Zack moved back to face her. “Given what you know about the impact your book has had on the lives of its subjects, would you write it again?”

  Kathryn didn’t hesitate. “My obligation was to the text. People’s feelings are secondary.”

  “No matter how much they suffer,” Zack said.

  “Their suffering is not my concern,” Kathryn said, and her voice was flinty. “And to answer your question, yes I would write the book again.”

  “Thank you,” Zack said. “No more questions.”

  And, as it turned out, no more witnesses for the day. Sam had been scheduled to testify, but Zack had asked for an adjournment, citing the fact that his client was obviously under the weather. During Kathryn’s testimony, Sam had suffered a chill, and he was now feeling dizzy and unwell. Mr. Justice Harney took one look at him and adjourned court until the next morning.

  The decision was humane. Glenda had tried to keep up Sam’s strength and spirits through a regimen of morning laps in the hotel pool and nightly games of cribbage, but the vigour I had noticed when I met Sam was gone. The energy seemed to have been sapped from him. It seemed he had been easy prey for the bug that was making its rounds in the courthouse.

  When Zack went back to change out of his barrister’s robes, I walked outside to do my five-minute standup on the day’s events. I had just unclipped my microphone when Zack came out of the courthouse. He was in high spirits. “What are your plans for the next hour?” he asked.

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “How would you like to check out the new house?”

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  “Good,” Zack said. “The agent for the seller is going to meet us there in ten minutes. I told him we wanted to see the place on our own, so he’s going to unlock the door and meet us afterwards to answer our questions.”

  “Boy, you’re good,” I said.

  “Highly motivated,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As promised, the agent was waiting for us at the house. He let us in and agreed to come back in an hour. After the man left, Zack held up his cellphone. “Ms. Kilbourn, you will note that I am
now turning this off. I hope you appreciate the symbolism.”

  “I do, but couldn’t they disbar you for that?”

  Zack gave me a wide smile. “Probably, but you still have a job.”

  We took our time walking through the silent rooms. The only sound was the swoosh of Zack’s wheelchair on the hardwood. It was, as the virtual tour had shown, a solid house of big rooms filled with light, outdated fixtures, and endless possibilities. The indoor pool that was the house’s only noteworthy feature had been installed because the previous owner’s physician had prescribed swimming as therapy. Both the pool and the room that housed it were new and bleakly functional. Zack made a face when he saw them. “Looks like a high school gym,” he said.

  “Taylor’s going to see those bare walls as a gift,” I said. “She’s been talking about doing a mural, and if a room ever called out for a mural it’s this one.”

  “You think she’ll be happy here?” Zack asked.

  “I think we’ll all be happy here,” I said.

  “In that case, let’s check out the bedroom. Because the real estate agent says it’s neat.”

  The real estate agent was right. Filled with the saffron light of afternoon, the bedroom was immensely inviting. I threw open the double doors and walked out onto the deck. “In good weather, we’ll be able to sit out here and watch the sun rise over the creek,” I said.

  “So what do you think?” Zack asked. “Is this the one?”

  I gazed across the water. “Hey, look over there – on the bank by that wolf willow – a beaver.”

  “Is a beaver a good omen?” Zack said.

  I rested my hand on the back of his chair. “No. A beaver is a beaver. But think how much fun it’ll be to have him for a neighbour.”

  There was intriguing news from the realtor. If we were interested, we could purchase the lot next door. The current owners had bought it, intending to build a greenhouse there, but their plan had never materialized. As I paced the lot, I could see Taylor’s new studio taking shape. By the time Zack dropped me off at my place, the wheels had been set in motion.

  “What are you going to do with the rest of the afternoon?” Zack said.

  “Errands,” I said. “And there is no shortage of them. I’m going to pick up some photographs that I had framed for Pete’s new clinic and take them over to him, then I’m going to make a chip, dip, and pop run for Taylor’s party. After that I’m going to curl up with the background material on closing statements that Rapti sent me. It appears that the trial is winding down and I want to be ready. How about you?”

  “I want to be ready too,” Zack said. “I’m going back to the office to ponder, yet again, the best line of questioning for Sam.”

  I kissed him goodbye. “It’s going to be so good when all this is over,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Zack agreed. “Especially if we win.”

  Pete’s clinic on Winnipeg Street had been a pawn shop in its previous life, but Pete and his friends had given it a coat of paint to erase the lingering stench of desperation. The office now smelled of paint with a musky overlay of animal – very pleasant. The joint was jumping. School was over for the day, and owners of pets with problems were out in force. Pete had his work cut out for him. There were four boys with dogs of intriguingly mixed lineages, a determined-looking girl about Taylor’s age with a litter of kittens wrapped in a blanket, and an old man with a parrot in a cage. None of the animals was happy to be there, and they made their displeasure known. Despite the bedlam, Pete’s assistant, a university student who was volunteering at the clinic to polish up his resumé for the admissions board of the vet college, was cheerful.

  “This isn’t as bad as it looks, Ms. Kilbourn,” he said. “There’s an organizational principle at work here. Believe it or not, everything’s under control.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said. “Any chance I can see Pete for a second? I have a gift for the new office.”

  “Let me buzz him. He’s just nuzzling two hundred pounds of English mastiff.”

  “I’ll keep my distance,” I said.

  “This one’s a sweetie. His name is Pantera – you know, like the heavy-metal group.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know,” I said. “But thanks for filling me in.”

  “No problem. They’re in examining room one.”

  Pantera was splayed on the floor, grooving while Pete rubbed his belly.

  I went over and stroked Pantera’s flank. “He’s a beauty,” I said.

  Pete raised his eyebrows. “Do you want him?”

  “Serious?”

  “Very.”

  “What happened to the owners?”

  Pete walked over to the corner sink and began to wash up. “They dropped their mastiff off to be neutered and never came back. When I called, they said they didn’t realize how big he’d be, and they hoped I’d find him a good home. I’ve been calling everybody I know, but so far no luck.”

  “If he’s been mistreated, he might be difficult.”

  “He wasn’t mistreated,” Pete said. “He was just inconvenient. It turned out he was too big for his owners’ apartment.”

  “Their apartment? What were they thinking?”

  Pete shrugged. “They saw a mastiff on that TV show American Chopper and thought it looked cute.”

  I bent and nuzzled Pantera. “If I didn’t have Willie, you’d be a definite possibility,” I said. I straightened and turned to my son. “Pete, keep me posted about what’s happening with this guy. Now, I’d better let you get back to work.” I handed him the package. “Here’s a present – some old photos of you with our dogs. I had them framed for your waiting room.”

  “I’ll look at them on my break. Thanks, Mum, and don’t worry about Pantera. I’ll take him home with me until I figure out what to do.” Pete dried his hands. “Might be good for Charlie to have him around too. He’s obsessed with this trial. If Sam Parker’s convicted, I think Charlie will implode.”

  “Maybe you should remind him that no matter what happens to Sam, he still has a life to live. That’s what Zack keeps telling me.”

  “I’ll give it a shot, but I think the words would have more weight coming from Zack.”

  “He’ll be at the house tomorrow night,” I said. “He promised Taylor he’d help with the decorations for her party. Why don’t you and Charlie come over and give us a hand?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Pete said. “Charlie’s not a big partisan of the human race, but he admires Zack.”

  “Zack’s going to be anxious about the verdict too. He and Charlie can form a support group.”

  Pete laughed. “I can’t imagine either of them in a support group.”

  “Neither can I.” I gave Pantera a rub. “See you tomorrow night. Bring our friend here. Let’s see what Willie makes of him.”

  Zack and his colleagues had spent long hours deciding on the witness list for the defence. To convict Sam Parker of attempted murder, the Crown had to prove, in the ponderous language of the law, that Sam intended “to cause the requisite degree of bodily harm coupled with the necessary recklessness as to its effect.” In lay terms, that meant the Crown had to prove that Sam was both cold-blooded and irresponsible. His temperament was key, so there were solid reasons for producing witnesses who would testify that Sam was a good and responsible man who, placed in untenable circumstances, had committed an act that was utterly uncharacteristic.

  Sam provided a long list of friends and associates who were prepared to attest to his moral fibre, but when Zack and his colleagues interviewed Sam’s friends, they discovered a troubling common denominator: all were rich, powerful, and short-fused when it came to being challenged. The consensus was that Sam’s friends would not fare well in cross-examination, so Zack thanked them for their co-operation and went back to exploring his options.

  Glenda was anxious to testify for her father. More than anyone except Sam, she could have given insight into his state of mind on the afternoon of May 16. She would have bee
n a compelling and sympathetic witness, but Sam refused outright to allow her to testify. His daughter had suffered enough, he said, and that closed the matter.

  So, as Sam Parker was sworn in on that cold October morning, he was the sole witness for the defence. He was impressive. When he’d come into court with Zack and Glenda, he had appeared depleted, but as he settled into the witness box, Sam came to life. He had spent a lifetime in the spotlight and he seemed to draw strength from the fact that he had every eye upon him. It was a phenomenon I’d observed in other public figures, and that day it served Sam Parker well.

  Spine ramrod-straight, eyes blazing, Sam was a man to be reckoned with. As he went through the by-now-familiar narrative of events on the day of the shooting, Sam’s baritone was melodious and firm. He faltered only once – when he described seeing Glenda in her apartment holding the gun with which she planned to end her life. Sam’s agony at that memory was still painful to observe. When he testified he was in a state of shock as he drove to Kathryn Morrissey’s condominium, his words had the ring of truth.

  Sam did not attempt to use his mental state to excuse his actions, and his refusal to ask for pity gave power to his testimony. Given context, Sam’s rationale for carrying a pistol when he turned up in Kathryn’s backyard made sense. He said he had simply been afraid to leave Glenda alone with a gun. He had, he admitted, been frightened, stupid, and guilty of execrable judgment, but on one point he was resolute: he had never intended to harm Kathryn Morrissey.

  His story was believable, but Kathryn Morrissey’s account had been credible too. Sam’s defence team had assessed their chances of winning the game of she said/he said at around 50 per cent. The odds weren’t good enough, and so Zack decided to go for broke.

  His direct examination of Sam had focused on the fact that Sam’s actions on the afternoon of May 16 were a response to the unendurable stress Kathryn Morrissey’s book had caused the Parker family. The argument was plausible, but there was a worrying footnote. Sam Parker was known to be an expert marksman. As an articulate opponent of gun registration, Sam had built up extensive media files, and every one of them included footage of him brandishing a firearm and stating that he found target-shooting a great tension reliever.