by Gail Bowen
The day of the party the girls had covered the windows in the family room with pale green tissue paper and fixed huge construction paper talons and beaks against them. Taylor had been so taken with the effect that she’d asked if she could leave the decorations up till Halloween. The afternoon light straining to come through the green tissue paper gave the room an unearthly glow. Zack took it in and nodded approvingly. “Sealed off from the world with giant birds to guard us,” he said. “Let’s stay in here forever.” We took off our clothes, fell into each other’s arms, and slept.
Two hours in the comforting proximity of a lover was therapeutic. By the time Taylor, Gracie, and Isobel came home to get ready to go trick-or-treating, the daybed was up and we were dealing with life. Zack was back at the office, and I was sitting at the table with my laptop, running through the Sam Parker file.
The girls and I ate dinner early. By the time we rinsed the dishes, the first small trick-or-treaters were at the door. I took my place by the bowl of candy and the girls went upstairs to get ready.
The triplets outfits Isobel, Gracie, and Taylor had worn at their party had been a hit, but everyone had seen them. Tonight the members of the trio were going out as cheerleaders. Taylor and I had had a discussion about the wisdom of girls their age going out at all. The innocence of an early Halloween evening had a way of souring when the hour grew late and only unaccompanied adolescents roamed the streets. But Taylor had pointed out, sensibly enough, that she would be with Gracie and Isobel, and I had asked her to promise to be home by 9:30 p.m. It had been a compromise, and when the three girls came downstairs in their cheerleading outfits, I was glad I’d caved. With their pompoms, pleated skirts, and heavy sweaters, they looked very 1950s and very cute. I got out the camera and shot enough Kodak moments to satisfy even me.
Given everything, it was good to be distracted by the repeated ringing of the doorbell, and the appearance of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night. Willie wasn’t impressed by our string of visitors, but I was, and when the phone rang, I was feeling mellow enough to try a seasonal greeting. “Happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween to you too, Jo,” my son-in-law said. “How’s everything in the Queen City?”
“I guess you heard the news about Sam,” I said.
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry. I know you and Zack liked him.”
“Yes we did. Very much. Anyway, is everything okay with you?”
“Well, I’m looking at two tired, happy little girls whose Halloween bags are bulging with candy. So that part of our lives is fine. I was just calling to check on Mieka.”
“On Mieka?”
“Isn’t she there?”
“No. Why would she be here?”
“She said she needed to make a quick trip to Regina. She took off about five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Are you sure she was coming to my house?”
Greg sounded distracted, as if he was reconstructing the scene. “I guess I just assumed that’s where she was going. After we heard the bulletin on the radio about Parker’s death, Mieka got a phone call. She said something like, ‘Don’t do anything, I’ll be right there.’ Then she told me the girls’ Halloween costumes were laid out on their beds and asked if I’d mind taking them around. I filled in the blanks and assumed you were the person on the other end of the line.”
“And you didn’t ask Mieka why she was coming to Regina?”
“No, she said she’d be back tomorrow morning.” He paused. “Jo, the truth is, Mieka and I are walking on eggshells these days. I didn’t want to start anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why? You weren’t the one who called. My guess is it was Charlie, the bottomless pit of unmet needs. Do you happen to have his number?”
I gave my son-in-law the number, hung up, and began to fret. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I was surprised when I heard Taylor come in. I looked at my watch. By my reckoning, she still had half an hour to howl. I called out hello and waited for her to do what she did every Halloween: dump her candy on the kitchen table and give me a blow-by-blow of the evening’s events while she sorted her treats into piles on the basis of their desirability. But tonight, my younger daughter just said hi and headed for her room.
“Hey wait,” I said. I followed her upstairs to the landing. “How was your evening?”
She sat on the top step and flopped her pompoms listlessly back and forth. “It was good until Ethan caught up with us.”
“What happened?”
She sighed. “Nothing happened, Ethan was just way too intense. He made everybody so uncomfortable they just went home.”
“Leaving you alone with Ethan.”
Taylor nodded numbly. “And then things got really weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Ethan was just different than he usually is. For one thing, he’s stopped wearing his pentangle, and that was, like, the most important thing in his life.”
“Did he say why he’d stopped wearing it?”
“Just that he didn’t believe in it any more. He said the pentangle was just a piece of junk.”
“Something must have happened,” I said.
“Ethan wants to run away, and he wants me to go with him.” Taylor’s voice broke. “All I ever wanted to do was be his friend.”
“I know.” I put my arm around her and was struck again at the delicacy of her bones. She was still a little girl. “Why don’t you give me those pompoms and go up and have a shower. I’ll make us some tea.”
Beneath their turquoise eyeshadow, my daughter’s eyes were troubled. “Maybe you should talk to Ethan’s mum.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” I said. “Now, jump in the shower. When you get out, I’ll have your bed turned down, and the tea will be ready.”
I’d just finished warming the pot when Mieka phoned. “Mum, I just got off the phone with Greg. I know I should have called before, but to be honest I was hoping I could get in and out of town without bothering you. I figured you had enough on your plate.”
“Thanks for the consideration,” I said. “But since I know you’re here, you might as well fill me in.”
“Charlie had a crisis,” Mieka said. “Peter called me this afternoon. Apparently, when he heard that Sam Parker died, Charlie went a little nuts.”
“As Zack says, the hits just keep on coming. So what happened with Charlie?”
“He thought Kathryn Morrissey was responsible for Sam’s death, and he wanted to punish her.”
“You mean physically?”
Mieka’s voice was tight. “We’re handling it, Mum. Pete and I’ve always been able to bring Charlie down. It’s going to be fine. Anyway, I love you. And for once in your life, don’t worry.”
“Easier said than done,” I said. “But I’m glad you and Pete are there, Mieka. Charlie’s always better when you’re around.”
Mieka laughed softly. “Believe it or not, it goes both ways. I’ll call you when I get home.”
The morning of All Saints’ Day was grey and misty. Taylor came down to breakfast wearing her favourite outfit: a pink shirt, jeans with pink appliquéd hearts on the pockets, and a matching jeans jacket.
“Looking swish,” I said.
She poured herself a glass of juice. “I don’t feel swish, but I thought I could at least look good.”
I smiled at her. “One of the great lessons of life: fake it until you make it.”
“I have an early rehearsal for our Remembrance Day program,” she said. “Any chance I could get a ride to school?”
“Sure, what time do you have to be there?”
“Eight-thirty,” she said.
“No problem,” I said. “My spot on Canadian Morning is in twenty minutes. Zack’s going to drive me. We’re planning to go over to the new house after I finish, but we can swing by here and take you to school first.” I looked at her carefully. “Taylor, do you want a ride because you’re afraid of r
unning into Ethan?”
She lowered her eyes. “Yes.”
“This has gone far enough,” I said. “I’ll call Ethan’s mum this morning.”
Taylor looked unconvinced. I put my arms around her. “It’s not always like this between girls and boys,” I said. “Most of the time, it’s a lot of fun. Look at me. I ended up with the big sparkly top banana.”
My big sparkly top banana followed me into makeup when we got to NationTV. It was comforting to have him nearby sipping coffee and making small talk with the young man who was spraying my hair and correcting my lip line as Canadian Morning played mutely on the TV in the corner. My cell rang just as I was getting out of the makeup chair.
“Where are you?” Jill said.
“Where I’m supposed to be,” I said. “Just getting out of the makeup chair, heading for the set.”
Jill sighed. “Jo, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For hanging up on you. For second-guessing you. For slagging you. For slagging the man you’re going to marry. For being a lousy friend. Is that enough?”
“It’s a start,” I said.
“I’ll call you after the show and continue to abase myself. Oh, one good thing. Kathryn Morrissey was supposed to be on Canada A.M. this morning, but she was a no-show. The host was stuck talking to an old lady with a narcoleptic dog.”
Rapti did a nice job producing the Sam Parker segment. There was a two-minute reprise of the trial; then Max Chan, the host of Canadian Morning, and I talked about Sam Parker. Max was a fine interviewer – quick and sensitive. Our discussion about how Glenda Parker’s personal crucible had caused Sam Parker to re-evaluate his stance on cultural issues was good television. Zack was in the studio with me, and when I finished, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.
When Zack and I dropped Taylor off at school, I watched until she waved from the door and disappeared inside; then Zack and I drove towards the new house. We’d just pulled into the driveway when my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID and cursed technology. The number was Howard Dowhanuik’s. Guilt made me pick up. I’d left messages at Howard’s, but I hadn’t seen him since the trial ended.
As always with Howard, there was no preamble. “There’s some trouble here,” he said.
“What kind of trouble?”
Howard tried his usual tone of sharp command. “Just get over here.”
“Not good enough, Howard. I haven’t heard from you in days. I have a life of my own. If you want me to come over, I’ll need a reason.”
“Jo, I need you to come and I need you to bring Zachary Shreve. I need help.”
“Howard, what’s happened?”
His tone changed. “Please just come to my house. I need a friend and I need a lawyer.”
CHAPTER
12
Zack’s notoriety and the fact that he was in a wheelchair were useful that morning. By the time we approached the entrance to the cul-de-sac where Howard lived, the police barricades were already up, and people in uniforms were moving purposefully over the careful landscaping, festooning shrubs with yellow crime-scene tape, snapping pictures, dropping samples into plastic bags. Most of the attention was centred on Kathryn Morrissey’s condominium. An EMS vehicle was parked in her driveway, but the emergency lights were not flashing. Zack angled his car beside a police cruiser, opened his door, and turned to the back seat to get his chair. My heart was racing. A young officer came over.
“So what’s going on?” Zack asked.
A flash of recognition crossed the young cop’s face. He knew who Zack was, and he knew what Zack did for a living. Keeping a trial lawyer on the other side of the barricade would be a pleasure.
“Police business,” the officer said.
Zack unfolded his chair and manoeuvred himself into it. “Fair enough,” he said equitably. He pointed to Howard’s house. “I have lawyer business over there, and I’d be grateful if you lifted your barricade for a moment so I can get my chair through.”
The officer clenched his jaw, but he moved the barrier and let us pass.
Howard met us at the door. I was relieved to see that he was both clean and sober. The stitches on his face had healed sufficiently to allow a proper shave, and his shirt and slacks were fresh. The living-room curtains were drawn, but the televisions were silent, and there was nary a glass nor a bottle in sight. The place smelled pleasantly of woodsmoke, but when I glanced at the fireplace, I saw that in his frenzy of housekeeping, Howard had even vacuumed up the ashes from his fire.
Howard extended his hand to Zack. “Thanks for coming,” he said. Then, surprisingly, he extended his hand to me. “You too. I appreciate it.”
“So what’s happening?” Zack said.
Howard’s narrative style had the finesse of a drill sergeant’s. “Somebody died next door.”
“Was it Kathryn Morrissey?” I asked.
Howard nodded.
I felt my stomach clutch. Zack and I exchanged glances. “So what’s my role here?” Zack said.
“It’s no secret that the lady and I didn’t get along, and Kathryn Morrissey was murdered.”
Zack put his hand up in a halt gesture. “Stop right there. For one thing, Joanne’s in the room, and lawyer-client privilege won’t extend to her. For another, I don’t know what your involvement is, but if you’re in deep, there are a number of reasons why you’d get better representation from someone other than me. I can give you a name.”
“Let’s hear it,” Howard said.
“Margot Wright. She’s an excellent trial lawyer and given that the victim is female and you’re male, Margot’s your best option. Do you want me to make the call?”
Howard nodded.
Zack picked up his cell, and within minutes it was settled. Howard asked us to stay until Margot arrived, then, in a gesture that was unprecedented when there was a woman around, he went into the kitchen to make coffee.
I went to Zack and rested my hands on his shoulders. “I’m glad you suggested another lawyer.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Even if it was Margot?”
“Even if it was Margot.”
“Good, because to be honest, I haven’t got the stomach for this one. Usually, I get a real rush when I smell a red-meat case, but not this time. I know too much, and everything I know makes me sad.”
“Me too,” I said. “So we’ll introduce Howard and Margot and go back to our measuring?”
“Let’s give it a shot. I’d rather watch our house take shape than spend fourteen hours a day working on a murder case.”
“I can’t believe those words are coming out of your mouth.”
“Neither can I,” he said. “I guess the Statue of Liberty is inching towards Lake Ontario, after all.”
Howard came back with a pot of coffee – real coffee on a tray, a carton of half-and-half, a bowl of sugar, and four mugs that appeared to be clean. Then he went to the window and threw open the drapes. “Nobody’s going to tell us what’s happening. We’re going to have to find out for ourselves.”
Howard’s timing was impeccable. Zack had just moved closer to the window when the EMS crew came out with a gurney bearing a body in a body bag. My knees began to shake. Zack reached his arm around my legs to steady me.
Howard spoke for us all. “Such a small bundle to cause so much grief.”
The three of us were silent as the gurney was loaded into the ambulance, and the ambulance drove off. It was impossible not to be stunned by the horror of what was unfolding, but the ceremony of dealing with the coffee helped. I poured three mugs full. “Who found the body, Howard?” I asked.
He dumped a heaping soup-spoon full of sugar into his mug and stirred. “I overheard one of the cops say it was her kid.”
“Kathryn never mentioned that she had a child,” I said.
“And I never saw a kid there,” Howard said. “Must have been pretty quiet.”
At that moment, a sleek black BMW made its way through the barricades and sidled up to Zack’
s car.
“Here’s Margot,” Zack said.
Margot had a few words with the cops outside and then, briefcase in hand, she marched ahead. Her blonde hair was casually tousled, as if by a friendly wind; her lipstick was very red, and her open camel-hair coat revealed a creamy form-fitting dress that clung to a form that deserved to be clung to. Zack performed the introductions. When it came to me, his smile was playful. “I believe you two have met,” he said.
Margot’s eyes found mine. “Not my finest hour,” she said.
“Nor mine,” I said, extending my hand.
Margot took my hand. “Congratulations,” she said. “I mean that. I hope you and Zack will be very happy. Now if there’s nothing else … Mr. Dowhanuik and I need to talk.”
“Is that all right with you, Howard?” Zack asked.
Howard grunted assent.
Margot reached into her bag and removed a tiny red leather case. She opened it and handed me her business card. “If there’s anything I should know about, give me a call. Zack has my unlisted number.”
“Sounds like the bases are covered,” Zack said. “Ready to go, Joanne?”
“Just a minute.” Howard beckoned me over. “Tell Charlie everything will be okay,” he growled.
Zack had to steer the Jaguar carefully to get through the onlookers and media trucks that had begun to assemble outside the barricades. I felt a twinge of guilt when I spotted the NationTV van, and an even bigger twinge when I saw Brette Sinclair pushing her way through the crowd. That said, I’d had enough. When we stopped at the corner to let a young mother with a jogging stroller cross, Zack turned to me. “So do you think Howard killed Kathryn Morrissey?”
“No, but I wish I knew what he and Margot were chatting about. What did you make of him asking me to tell Charlie that everything will be okay?”
Zack shrugged. “It’s certainly a statement ripe for interpretation. Could mean ‘don’t worry about me.’ Could mean ‘don’t worry about Kathryn’s murder because I’ve got it covered.’ ”
“Could mean a lot of things,” I said, “but let’s not go into the Twilight Zone. There was no reason for Howard to kill Kathryn. Whatever damage she could do to him had already been done. And sodden as his brain has been of late, Howard’s too shrewd to confess to murder on the off chance that Charlie might be involved.”