“It’s nothing really. It’s just that a couple of days ago, Al Macie was a popular teacher, beloved partner, arts advocate, and now he’s been having affairs, keeping secrets from his partner, and has been linked to the deaths of two women … I feel like the Al Macie we thought we knew is only a fraction of the man he really was.”
“I can’t comment on the affairs or secrets, but as far as the women go, he didn’t kill them, Samuel. ‘Linked’ is too strong a word here. Vince’s sister’s death was ruled accidental. And in Adele Penner’s case, he’s only guilty by association. He wasn’t even there. Probably didn’t even know the woman.”
“I know all that. I do. But people have held grudges against him, Jeffers, for years it seems. Vince, the Penners. Who else might there be?
“Hopefully no one,” Jeffers said and knocked on the kitchen table. “I’ve got my hands full with this case. The last thing I need is another suspect.” Jeffers’ phone chirped. He swiped the screen. “Jayne Evans lives in Port Dalhousie. Care to come for a ride?”
“Sure.”
Jeffers did a quick tidy up of the kitchen. I didn’t move from my place at the table.
“Is there something else?” he asked.
I went through some quick mental aerobics in which I contemplated asking Jeffers to check the police database for information about Laura. However, when I got to the part where I realized I had no last name, no real timeline, and no physical description, I concluded I ultimately had no business pursuing it any further.
“I’m good. Let’s go,” I said, gathering my things, heading for the door.
“You’re sure?”
I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. If there was more to Laura’s story, I’d get it from Paul. In his own time. In the meantime, there was Al Macie’s story to deal with. And I felt we’d really only begun to scratch the surface.
***
I’d never been to Port Dalhousie in spite of its being less than a half hour from Niagara-on-the-Lake and boasting the area’s most popular beach and a downtown core that was built for nightlife. Jeffers regaled me with stories from his wilder days when beach-bumming and bar-hopping were the thing and picking up girls was the goal.
He drove past a structure that was artistically and purposefully boarded up. “There’s an antique carousel in there. It only runs in the summer. Five cents a ride. Been there almost a hundred years and the price has never gone up,” Jeffers said, as part of a brief tour of the community. “And that’s where I met Aria,” he said, pointing out a pub at a corner where the downtown seemed to end and the residential area began.
“The Kilt and Clover?”
“Warm Beer & Lousy Food,” Jeffers said with a smile I didn’t understand. “It’s their motto.”
“Sounds appealing.”
“It’s great. Really. Aria was working there one summer. Used to pour me full pints but only charged me for halves. All the girls wear these short kilts … The place is an institution. I bet Paul has some stories.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Whatever it was about girls in short kilts, it had a universal effect on men. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all to learn that Paul had tipped back many a glass there in his day.
Jeffers manoeuvred the car down a number of small streets, challenging my sense of direction, before pulling into the driveway of a large, plantationesque house with an open porch wrapping around the main level and a screened-in porch up above. The house’s green trim was made all the more vibrant by the white siding, which also had the same effect on the pristinely landscaped front lawn. It looked downright lush in spite of the fact we were in the middle of a mucky spring. A red Volvo, which Jeffers informed me was an 875RUO 1963 P1800 coupe, occupied the driveway—and Jeffers’ attention.
I rang the doorbell and offered our names to the woman who answered.
“Are you a collector?” she asked Jeffers, who had circled around to the back of the car and was peering in through the rear window.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Jeffers said, straightening up and hurrying to the front door. “Just an admirer. Jayne Evans?” The woman nodded. “Detective Sergeant Andre Jeffers.”
“Your partner has already said,” she said with a smile. She was older than Al. But there was no mistaking they were siblings. She had the same dark hair and fine features. She was slender and exuded the same warmth her brother had. “She’s my husband’s pride and joy. Brings her out as soon as the snow’s gone. We get a lot of people stopping to look at her.”
“She’s a beauty,” Jeffers said, looking wistfully at the car. “My uncle had a white one. Like the one Roger Moore drove in The Saint. Used to take me out whenever we’d visit. I loved that car. It—” I cleared my throat as a cue to focus on the task at hand. “Sorry. I get excited.”
“That’s all right,” Jayne said, and she welcomed us inside.
We settled in the living room after declining an offer of refreshment. Family photos filled the shelves. Jayne with her husband. Three girls, who I assumed to be her daughters, showing off varying degrees of athletic prowess. And a few photographs of a much younger Jayne in an army uniform.
“You’re ex-military?” I asked.
She followed my eyes to where the pictures sat in their frames. “Yes. I was a doctor during Desert Storm. It’s where I met Jason. He’s a nurse and in typical fashion, or stereotypical, I guess, one thing led to another.” She chuckled. “In addition to medicine, I speak seven languages and love to travel. I figured the military would give me a chance to combine all three of my passions.”
“You just did the one tour?”
“I got pregnant shortly after we returned home. Jason spent some time in Somalia, but I never went back. I don’t imagine you’re here to discuss my military history. I’m assuming this has to do with Al?”
“Actually, no,” Jeffers said. “We’re here on another matter. But first, please let me express our condolences.”
“Thank you,” Jayne said. “Al and I hadn’t seen in each other in several years. It really feels no different now that he’s gone.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “did you and Al have a falling out?”
“No, nothing like that. What is it they say? You can’t choose your family?”
“Something along those lines.”
“Al was my brother and I loved him, but two more different people never walked the face of this earth,” she said matter-of-factly. “We were never particularly close as children, and as we grew older, we grew further apart. There was no great feud or family drama. We just never were able to relate to one another.” I nodded my understanding. “Have there been any developments with his case?”
Jeffers shook his head. “Nothing we can talk too much about.”
“Of course. So if it’s not Al, what brings you by?”
“We’d like to talk to you about Adele Penner,” Jeffers said.
Jayne took a deep breath and held it for several moments before letting it out. “There’s a name I hoped I’d never hear again.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Evans. I know it was a difficult time.”
“I was accused of murder, Detective. I was ultimately cleared of all suspicion, but it nearly cost me everything. My job, my marriage, my reputation. Not to mention the emotional toll it took on me. On my whole family.” She was silent for a time. The sound of her deep breathing filled the room. Finally she put her shoulders back and looked Jeffers straight in the eye. “I will answer whatever questions you have, but before I do, may I ask why this case is coming up again after all these years?”
Jeffers hesitated. We were about to ask this woman to relive one of the most painful times of her life. She deserved to know why. She may have been ex-military and she may have been strong enough to rise above the accusations of Armin Penner, but I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the news that she may have been indirectly responsible for her brother’s death.
Jayne Evans was silent as Jeffers connected t
he dots between Al and Adele Penner. When he’d finished, she buried her head in her hands and stayed that way for several moments.
“Dr. Evans, according to the lawsuit, Armin Penner seemed to hold you almost entirely accountable for his wife’s death. Of all the people in the room with her that day, why single you out?”
“Because I was the one who gave her the drug.”
Chapter 17
“I’m an anaesthesiologist. And I was the one administering the anaesthetic to Adele that day. We always ask patients about allergies to any medications when we take their history. Most patients have never had the meds before, so how would they know? Do you know if you’re allergic to rocuronium?” Jeffers and I both shook our heads. “Exactly. It happens. It happens more than it should. And until there is a better way of screening medications, it will continue to happen. There is simply no way of knowing.”
“Can you talk us briefly through what happened with Mrs. Penner?” Jeffers asked.
Jayne sighed audibly and tears sprang to her eyes. “She was a lovely woman,” she said. “I remember her husband was driving her crazy with his worrying. She had a wonderful way of teasing him yet being able to comfort him at the same time. It was a routine surgery. But no matter how minor the procedure, there are always risks. We never make promises. Still, no one expected Adele Penner to do anything other than walk out of the hospital a few hours later a little lighter for the removal of a kidney stone.”
“What happened once you were in the O.R.?”
“It was so fast. Everything happened so fast,” Jayne said, her eyes looking at something a million miles away. “I administered the anaesthetic and the reaction was almost instantaneous. We are prepared for this, Detective. As I said, it happens. We immediately gave epinephrine. The patient … Mrs. Penner didn’t respond and was in full cardiac arrest within moments.”
“I thought epinephrine was kind of foolproof,” I said.
“Have you ever heard of Hypertrophic Obstructive Cardiomyopathy?”
“No.”
“The treatment can be worse than the problem. The epinephrine causes the heart to fail, and as a result—”
“Cannot counter the anaphylaxis,” I finished. Jayne Evans nodded. “And Adele Penner had this hypertro—?”
“HOCM. There was nothing in her medical history, but it’s likely it simply hadn’t been diagnosed yet. And maybe it wouldn’t have been. She hadn’t complained of any symptoms as far as I knew.”
“So it was a combination of the allergic reaction and the heart condition,” Jeffers said.
Again Jayne nodded. “We did everything we could. But sometimes.” Jayne took a moment. “We weren’t surprised when the lawsuit came. It was supposed to have been an in-and-out surgery. What happened was against all odds. What did surprise us was how far things went. The venom with which Armin Penner attacked. ‘Malpractice’ is a well-known word in the medical profession. One that no one takes lightly but one that is commonly used all the same. ‘Murder,’ on the other hand …”
“Can you be more specific?”
“More specific than a murder accusation?”
“More specific about why Armin Penner might have felt that was just?”
“Why, Detective? He had just lost his wife to routine surgery. To a series of complications that would have been entirely avoidable if we had only known about things that were impossible to know.” Jayne heaved a heavy sigh. “He didn’t believe those things had happened. The allergic reaction. The pre-existing heart condition. He thought we had made it all up to cover our own asses. To cover up our negligence.”
“Dr. Evans, we know there was a settlement. If Adele’s cause of death was the result of a series of natural, albeit unforeseen, circumstances, why would there have been a payout? Isn’t that an admission of wrongdoing?” Jeffers asked.
“Whether it is or not, these kinds of accusations are damning to reputations, to credibility, to funding … the reach is astonishing. Professionally. Personally. If a few dollars can make everything go away, it’s a small price to pay.”
“But it didn’t go away for Armin Penner. Adele’s life wasn’t a small price.” Jeffers said.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Jeffers nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Jayne rose from her seat, crossed to one of the two large windows in the room, and stood looking out for some time.
“I gave the drug, so I became his target,” she said, finally, her back to us. “I was the one he went after the hardest.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“For starters, he claimed the education I’d received in the army was not equal to that achieved in more traditional universities. He had all of my records and transcripts ordered for review. He called into question the qualifications of my professors. He put a blight on the whole program. Or tried to. And then when that didn’t work, he …” She brought a hand to her mouth and bowed her head.
“Jayne?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“He claimed I was depressed. Suffering from PTSD. That I had some kind of death wish and was a danger to myself and my patients.”
Jeffers flipped through his notes. “Were you diagnosed with—?”
“No!” She turned to face us. “He was grasping at straws. Pulling out anything he could think of that’s associated with military history. Anything that might make me the guilty party. That might explain his wife’s death. And to satisfy him, I was subjected to numerous psychological reviews and was suspended from my job pending the outcome of these. People I worked with, friends, began to look at me as if maybe, deep down, I had harboured this secret. Old patients came out of the woodwork, questioning procedures I had worked on and wondering if, somehow, I was to blame for the tiniest of issues.” She paused. “I went along with all of it. I knew Adele’s death had been clean so I cooperated. For as long as I could. Finally, mercifully, my chief shut the whole thing down and insisted the hospital offer a settlement to the family.”
Jeffers and I sat in a stunned silence as the scope of Armin Penner’s grief circled us, watched us, dared us. It wondered whether we would measure its behaviour against its loss and declare its actions justified or see it as vindictive and calculating.
Images of Penner began floating through my mind. Him in his straw hat and suspenders, holding the weight of the day’s labour on his shoulders. Him with Adele, clean-shaven, smiling, their whole life ahead of them. I thought about how I’d handled my own heartache after my parents died. The pain I’d caused and the blame I’d sought. I could certainly understand his anguish. His need to hold someone accountable. To have answers even when there aren’t any.
“So,” said Jayne Evans, “you think he is still seeking vengeance. Trying to get to me through Al? I took someone he loved, so he …”
“We don’t know, ma’am,” Jeffers said.
“But it’s possible?”
“All the evidence proves Al’s death was the result of an argument that got out of hand. Whoever killed him didn’t set out to do so. However—”
“An accident,” Jayne said. “Like Adele. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Chapter 18
“How would Penner have known Al was Jayne’s brother?” I asked. We were parked in the Port Dalhousie parking lot looking out at the lake.
“It’s a small town. And, besides, if he had done that much digging into her history, he would have easily stumbled across her family details. It may not have meant anything to him until his daughter came home one day talking about her teacher. He put two and two together and …”
“And what? A plan is hatched? A killer is born?”
“Always so dramatic,” Jeffers laughed. “No, but I imagine the name would have opened an old wound.”
“You really think this is ‘an eye for an eye’?”
“I think we need to talk to Penner.”
“And Leland,” I said. Jeffers cocked an eyebrow. “He’s the one who brought up karma. He has just as mu
ch motive and maybe more opportunity given he’s a student at the school. And he’s the baby of the family. To have your mother taken from you in that way at that age … It would explain why he’s so angry.”
“And creepy.”
“He is so creepy,” I said through a giggle.
“All right, Penner and Leland.”
Jeffers’ phone vibrated. He looked at the screen. “Buddy from Edmonton,” he said to me, then took the call.
“Shawn! How are you, man? Thanks for getting back to me. I’ve got you on speaker.”
“Andre Jeffers! For crying out loud, I thought I was done with your ugly mug.”
There was a back and forth of playful insults and a brief catching up before the boys got down to business.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t find too much about the case you’re looking for,” Shawn said.
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Jeffers replied.
“Looks like a cut-and-dried overdose. A bunch of university kids at a house party. 911 call came in about eleven on the night in question. Guy said there was a girl having a seizure. Ambulance was dispatched. Girl was dead when they got there.”
“Girl’s name?”
“Avril Leduc. Eighteen. Was visiting from out of town.”
“What about the drugs?”
“Autopsy showed a mix of cocaine and alcohol. Not too much of it, but it was a bad combination and the girl was tiny according to this. Five-two, 103 pounds. Wouldn’t have taken much.”
“What do you mean a bad combination?” I asked.
“Shawn, this is Bella. She’s working with me on this case.”
“Oh, hey.”
“Hi,” I said. “Do you mean the drugs were laced with something?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just a bad mix of two strong substances in a little body. Heart couldn’t take it.”
“And I’m right in that there was no further investigation?”
“You are. This case was open and shut. Nothing suspicious. A typical party. Drinking and the odd sniff. Witnesses all said the girl was laughing and dancing, then she suddenly started to vomit and collapsed in seizure.”
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