The Glass Coffin

by Gail Bowen

  “Actually,” Jill said. “What I’d like is a joint.”

  “Can’t help you there,” I said.

  “I can,” Kevin said. “As long as Joanne doesn’t mind.”

  “Joanne doesn’t mind.” I said. “It’s for medicinal purposes.”

  Kevin pulled a baggie out of his pocket, rolled an expert joint, and handed it to Jill. He rolled a second one and offered it to me.

  I shook my head. Kevin shrugged, touched the tip of the joint with a lit match, and sucked deeply. Beaming like a benevolent Buddha, he leaned back in his chair. “Truth-telling time,” he said. “And, Joanne, I know how this sounds, but I think it would be better if you left.”

  Jill started to protest, but I cut her off. “Kevin’s right,” I said. “What you tell him is covered by lawyer-client privilege, but what you tell me is fair game. Besides, Taylor and I are at a critical juncture in Little Women. Beth is just about to leave this vale of sorrow, suffering, and tears.”

  Jill inhaled and gave me a half-smile. “I love that part. Beth always made my fillings ache.”

  Apparently Taylor shared Jill’s opinion of the saintliest March sister. When Beth breathed her last, Taylor rolled over with a satisfied sigh and fell into a sound sleep. I turned off the light thinking Claudia’s idea of a super-sized Johnny Walker had much to recommend it. Willie had other plans. He was waiting on the threshold of Taylor’s room, and he leapt to attention as soon as he saw me. It was well past time for his after-dinner walk, and as I followed him down the stairs, his tail stump wagged with anticipation. Once again, the universe was unfolding as it should. I hadn’t made it much past the landing when Angus caught up with me. “I can take Willie,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But if you want to stay with Bryn …”

  Angus lowered his voice, “Actually, Mum, I’d kind of like to get out of here for a while.”

  “Situation getting a little intense?” I said.

  He shook his head in bemusement. “It’s not intense at all.”

  “Bryn did tell you about what happened to her father?”

  “Yeah. He’s been dead – what? Four hours? Bryn’s already got the whole situation wrapped up and put away. When Dad died, I was a fucking zombie for months.”

  “People handle things differently,” I said.

  “I guess,” Angus said. “But all Bryn seems to care about is whether she’s still going to go to New York for New Year’s Eve. Don’t get me wrong. I feel sorry for her, but she weirds me out.”

  “Then stay away from her,” I said. “Take Willie for his walk, and I’ll help Bryn get settled.”

  “I don’t think she needs any help,” Angus said. “She’s watching Miracle on 34th Street. She said that when she gets tired, she’ll go to bed.”

  “I’ll get her some towels,” I said. “I’ll even put that lavender aromatherapy candle you gave me in her room. It might help her relax.”

  Angus sniffed the air. “If she wants to relax, she should just stand here for a while. Somebody’s got themselves some pretty sweet ganja.”

  “Jill and her lawyer needed to unwind,” I said.

  “So the next time I’m tense, I can roll a spliff?”

  “Is that what they call it now?”

  “Yeah. Spliff, doob, dart. Joint is still perfectly acceptable though.”

  “You’re quite the font of information,” I said.

  “Well you know how it is, Mum. Every so often I just check out High Times on the Internet.” He read my look. “Time for me to hit the trail before I dig myself in any deeper?”

  “You’re a clever lad,” I said.

  Watching Willie pull Angus through the snowdrifts was a powerful antidote for a lousy day. The combination of a boy, a dog, and a contact high had made me feel almost human again when a silver Audi I knew only too well pulled up in front of my house.

  There had been times when Alex Kequahtooway and I had been so eager to touch one another that we had come together like teenagers, but those times were long past. Tonight, Alex came up the walk slowly, and I watched him approach with my arms folded across my chest. Under the harsh porch light, his face looked grey and tired, but mindful of Jill and Kevin in the living room, I didn’t invite him in.

  “I know I’m persona non grata around here,” he said. “But I’m going to have to insist that someone in Jill’s little wedding party comes down to make a formal identification of Gabriel Leventhal’s body. We haven’t been able to locate Felix Schiff, and we need to move before the trail gets any colder.”

  “What trail? Gabe died of a heart attack.”

  “Maybe not,” Alex said. “Apparently the medical examiner found something that raised a red flag for him. He says we should treat this death as a potential homicide.”

  “Gabe was murdered?” I said, and as soon as I’d formed the words, I knew the possibility had been in the back of my mind all along. Perhaps that’s why instead of reacting with tears or disbelief, I was suddenly furious. Gabriel Leventhal was one of the good guys, the kind the rest of us hope will stick around. “This is all so wrong,” I said.

  “Then do what you can to make it right,” Alex said. “Come down to the morgue, so we can get moving on the investigation.”

  “I’ll get my jacket,” I said. As I passed by the living room, I opened the door a crack. Jill and Kevin were together on the couch, talking quietly. “Alex is here,” I said. “They can’t find Felix, so it looks like I have to make the identification.”

  Jill started towards me. “Jo, you don’t have to do this. Gabe didn’t have any family. There’s no rush.”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” I said.

  I pulled the door closed and went back to Alex. “I’ll be ready in two minutes,” I said.

  He stared studiously out the window as I put on my boots and coat. “Ready,” I said finally, and that was the only word that passed between us until we walked into Pasqua Hospital, a health centre that contains a first-class cancer facility, medical offices where specialists treat the myriad weaknesses to which our flesh is heir, and a wing devoted to discovering how the dead came to be dead. That night, Pasqua’s lobby was festive. Alex gazed with distaste at the lights that framed the entrances to the coffee and gift shops, the shook-foil garlands that hung from the ceiling, and the tree decorated with homemade paper angels. “I hate hospitals at Christmas,” he said. “Bad enough to be sick and scared without having to look at decorations that remind you of a time when you were happy.”

  Unless your personal happy times involved the scent of body parts floating in formaldehyde, there was nothing in the Pasqua morgue to trigger a madeleine moment. The medical examiner on duty was a Charles Addams cartoon of a man: tall, pale, and sepulchral. When we came in, he was hard at work, and as luck would have it, the cadaver he was working on was Gabe Leventhal’s. Battered, bloody, bruised, and broken, it seemed impossible that any new indignity could be visited upon the body of this decent man, yet the Y-shaped incision that bisected Gabe’s torso looked fresh.

  My head swam. Out of nowhere, a memory: Alex at my kitchen table telling me there was a rule about rookies and autopsies – the bigger the rookie, the faster he fell. “It takes them a while to learn to disassociate,” he had explained. I closed my eyes, trying to distance myself. Behind me, the medical examiner’s voice resonated with the confidence of a bass in a church choir. “Breathe deeply, then just look at the face, and say the name.”

  I followed instructions. “It’s him,” I said. “It’s Gabriel Leventhal.”

  “Thank you,” the medical examiner said. “The woman at the desk outside will give you the appropriate papers to sign.”

  I’d been dismissed, but I didn’t head for the door. A window ran the length of the lab, and I gravitated towards it. As I stared at the snow-stilled city, Alex and the M.E., oblivious to my presence, talked shop.

  “So what have you got?” Alex asked.

  “For starters, a real pharmaceutical ste
w in the bloodstream – I can’t be more specific until we get the rest of the lab results, but for the nonce, let’s just say the preliminary screens are puzzling. And there’s the bruising.”

  “Two tons of truck backed over him,” Alex said.

  “Acknowledged,” the M.E. said. “As is the fact that he apparently spent the night in a snowbank. All the same, some of those bruises look old to me – and here’s the capper: there are traces of skin and blood under his fingernails.”

  “He was in a fight,” Alex said.

  “Or defending himself against an assault,” the M.E. said. “Whatever the case, someone’s given you a Christmas present, Alex. All you have to do is find a match for the DNA under Leventhal’s fingernails.”

  “Start with a sample from Evan MacLeish,” I said.

  The two men turned towards me. From their expressions, it was clear they had forgotten I was in the room. The medical examiner pointed to the door. “The exit’s that way,” he said.

  “Let her stay,” Alex said. “She may be able to shed some light on this.”

  The M.E. shrugged. “Your call, Alex.” Then he turned to me. “So start shedding light.”

  “This morning I noticed Evan was wearing concealer,” I said. When the two men looked blank, I explained. “It’s heavy-duty makeup – the kind you use to cover a blemish. Evan said he’d cut himself shaving, but his jaw was swollen.”

  The M.E. beamed “Your lucky day, Alex. Not only are you getting an early Christmas present, it’s tied up with a pretty bow.”

  Alex shook his head. “This present’s more shit than pony,” he said. “Have you had any deliveries in the last hour or so?”

  “I don’t know,” the M.E. said. “I’ve been stuck in here. This is our busy season. We’ve got a woman from pathology helping out. She’ll be able to tell you if we have any new arrivals.”

  “No need to trouble her,” Alex said. “Evan MacLeish was murdered this afternoon.”

  The medical examiner’s expression grew even more lugubrious. “Well hell,” he said. “Just when I was starting to believe there really was a Santa Claus.”

  When Alex dropped me at our house, Angus was outside, shovelling snow.

  “Being kind to your old mum?” I said.

  “I just didn’t want to hang around inside.”

  “What’s going on,” I said.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just Bryn.”

  “She wanted to get up-close-and-personal?” I said.

  “I don’t know what she wants,” he said. “After you left, Jill and her lawyer took off.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “To his store. He said they needed to be sure nobody walked in on them, which didn’t make any sense – I mean, who’s going to walk in on them in our house? Anyway, Jill asked me to keep an eye on Bryn, so I went in to watch the movie with her.” My son looked down at his boots. “Mum, I was there about three minutes when she started coming onto me.”

  “And that was a problem?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It was a problem because it was totally BS. Bryn is really hot, Mum. What’s she doing faking this big passion for a guy like me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know anything – except that all of a sudden, I’m not crazy about the idea of going inside either.”

  “Want me to get you a shovel?” Angus asked.

  “Good idea,” I said. “Let’s move a little snow around – shovel the day away.”

  It took us half an hour to clear the walk and the driveway. The snow from the blizzard was crisp, even, and very, very, deep. By the time we were finished, my lungs were aching, and my muscles were crying foul, but as I looked at the path we had cleared, I felt a twinge of hope. Evan MacLeish was dead; Jill was safe; we didn’t have to let the misery bury us. Tomorrow the sun would rise earlier and stronger. The northern hemisphere was beginning its movement towards the time of budding life and fresh beginnings. Buoyed by possibilities, we headed for our front door. We’d almost made it when Angus stopped and pointed upwards.

  Behind the filmy curtains of the bedroom, Bryn’s silhouette was ghostly. As soon as she realized we’d spotted her, she opened the window and called down. “It was fun watching you,” she said. “Especially since you didn’t know I was here.” She waved, then closed the window.

  Angus ripped off his toque. “See what I mean, Mum,” he whispered. “She’s totally psycho.”

  “Let’s hope you’re wrong,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction. I knew that in celebrating the end of the time of cold and darkness, I’d been woefully premature.

  CHAPTER

  6

  The next morning I was jolted from a sound sleep by the shrill of the phone on my nightstand. I opened one eye to read the numbers on the alarm clock: 6:00 a.m. – half an hour past my usual wake-up time, but too early for anyone to be calling with good news. The voice on the other end of the line was apologetic but not overly so. “It’s Claudia MacLeish. I know it’s early, but I need the name of your doctor.”

  “What’s happened now?” I asked, but even as I formed the words, I knew I didn’t want to hear the answer.

  Claudia sounded as exhausted as I felt. “Nothing that someone prepared to write a scrip for a beta blocker can’t cure. You’ve probably noticed that Tracy’s been high-wiring since we got here. As long as she has her medication, she can function. We travel with our own little pharmacy, but this morning one of her essentials is missing. I’ve torn apart the hotel room looking for her beta blockers, but they are nowhere to be found, and she has to take them every day.”

  “Can’t her doctor in Toronto just fax out a prescription renewal?”

  “He’s away for the holidays. I suggested going to a medi-centre or an emergency room, but Tracy doesn’t want her public to see the Broken Wand Fairy twitching.”

  “The Broken Wand Fairy may have more serious problems than bad PR,” I said. “The medical examiner is concerned enough about what he termed ‘the chemical stew’ in Gabe Leventhal’s bloodstream to ask the police to treat Gabe Leventhal’s death as a homicide.”

  Claudia clucked dismissively. “You’re not suggesting that Tracy …”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” I said. “Let’s just hope they don’t find beta blockers in Gabe Leventhal’s blood samples. Otherwise, the police are going to be knocking on your door.”

  “They can knock, but they can also cross Tracy off their list.”

  “Gabe told me he had a history with her.”

  “And it was nasty, brutish, and short. It was also a long time ago. Tracy wouldn’t have emptied out her pill bottle for him – she needs that medication. Give your doctor a call – please.”

  “There’s a psychiatrist I can call,” I said, “but I can tell you right now, Dan Kasperski will have to see Tracy before he writes a scrip for anything.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Claudia said.

  When I hung up, Jill was standing in the doorway. “Phone wake you up?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” she said. “Just lying there, mulling over the options.”

  “Something new has been added to the mix, and I’m afraid it isn’t good.” I patted the bed. “Come and sit down.”

  The night before, Alex had accused Jill of offering him nothing but lies, half-truths, and evasions. I’d chafed at the attack, but in my heart, I knew there was truth in what he said. Jill was holding back, and as I filled her in on the latest developments, I watched her carefully – trying to read the signs.

  She was rapt but silent until I mentioned Claudia’s phone call about the missing beta blockers. Suddenly, she was shaping the story. “No big mystery there – Tracy misplaced them. She’s a flake. She loses stuff all the time.”

  “If she’s as dependent on her medication as Claudia says, I think it’s the one thing she might be careful about.”

  Jill turned on me. “Damn it, Jo, the last thing I need is you hovering around playing Hercule Poirot. I
’ve got enough problems.”

  I stood up. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll stay out of it. I’ll take Willie for his walk, and when I come back, you tell me how I can help.”

  Jill punched the air in frustration. “I’m sorry. I’m being a total asshole. It just makes me sick knowing that the police are out there digging around in our lives, and there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Come off it,” I said. “You’re not exactly without resources. You’re a journalist. You know the most potent weapon anybody has in a tight spot is information.”

  “ ‘And the Truth shall set you free,’ ” Jill said. She raked her hands through her hair. “That is the way it’s supposed to work, isn’t it?”

  When Willie and I got back from our walk, the coffee was made, and the table was set. As I passed down the hall to the shower, Jill came out of her room.

  “Is it okay if I borrow something of yours to wear? Everything I’ve got with me was supposed to make a statement in the Big Apple.”

  “Help yourself,” I said. “I don’t own a single item of clothing that even whispers.”

  I’d stripped and was ready for the shower when the phone rang. I picked it up. So did somebody else. “I’ve got it,” I said and waited for the click that would indicate the other phone had been hung up. The click never came.

  “Could I speak to Joanne Kilbourn, please?” The man’s voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “This is Joanne,” I said.

  “Kevin Hynd. How’s it going?”

  “We’re hanging in,” I said. “Jill’s getting dressed. I’ll call her.”

  “You’re the one I want to talk to.”

  I was certain I could hear the faint sound of our kitchen radio in the background. There was someone on the other end of the line. “This isn’t a good time,” I said. “Can I call you back?”

  “Actually, I was hoping we could get together this morning.”