by Gail Bowen
“Kevin, this is incredibly generous, but Taylor’s just turning seventeen.”
“And she’s graduating from high school this year. Next year she’ll be in university. When I was in university, I had some of the best times of my life with Zack, Dee, Blake, and Chris at Lawyers’ Bay. If Taylor has a place of her own, she’ll be able to bring friends up to the lake. She’ll be independent, but she’ll be close enough to you and Zack so that he’ll still be able to harrumph if he feels Taylor and Declan need to cool it.” Kevin grinned. “Well, say something. Are you okay with this?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now, I should get downtown. I’m meeting Dee before Simon Weber arrives to take our pictures. Since Zack’s not going to be there I should probably say goodbye to him now.”
Zack was still sleeping. I stayed in the hall and watched as Kevin went in, bent, and kissed Zack on the forehead. When Kevin left our room, he put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, Jo.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” I said. “But it’s time.”
“Yeah. It’s time.”
He started for the door. “Don’t forget your messenger bag,” I said.
Kevin laughed. “I don’t need it any more. Taylor’s birthday card, the keys to the cottage, and all the legal papers are in there. No need to wrap it. Just give Taylor the whole thing.”
“Environmentally responsible,” I said.
“It’s time for that too,” he said.
—
As soon as Taylor returned from church, I left for the drugstore at River Heights to pick up prescriptions, and then I cruised Safeway for ginger-lemon tea, crackers, and fruits that Zack might enjoy. When I got home and pulled into our driveway, my plans were simple. Zack and I would spend the afternoon drinking tea and watching the Packers/Broncos game with the sound turned low, so he could drift off when the Broncos didn’t need his full attention. Seeing him in the front hall in his wheelchair and dressed for the office did not fit my script. “So where are you going?” I said.
“Downtown to Falconer Shreve,” he said. “You must have heard us talking about it last night. Simon Weber’s coming to the office to take pictures of the founding partners with the new guys. We need photos for the official announcement.”
I waited till his latest coughing fit subsided. “Not reason enough,” I said. “Henry was clear on this point. You’re not going anywhere today. When you and I went with Delia to Port Hope to work out the custody of Abby’s baby, we let your condition get ahead of us. I’m not going to take that risk again.”
Zack wheeled towards the door. “I’ll get Simon to take the pictures of us with the new partners first, then I’ll come straight home.”
“Zack, this isn’t negotiable. Simon Weber’s a friend. He’ll figure out a way to make you part of the picture.”
“The way Emmett made himself part of the picture of us at the lake?” Zack said, but he was too weary for vitriol. By the time I had him settled in fresh pyjamas and bolstered with foam and pillows in all the necessary places, he was asleep. Pantera and Esme flattened out on either side of the bed. I turned on the gas fireplace and stretched out with an Elizabeth Strout novel on the chaise longue beside the French doors to the patio. The TV stayed off. That afternoon, the Broncos were going to have to win without us.
At one, Noah, Isobel, and Jacob arrived to pick up Taylor. They came in to say hello, and as Jacob described the kind of kitten he was hoping to find, the delight on Noah and Isobel’s faces filled me with hope. Their family, like the Falconers, had turned a corner. And Kevin Hynd now felt free to find his answers without shouldering a burden of guilt about Falconer Shreve and the troubles of his closest friends. I made myself a fresh pot of tea and returned to my place by the window with Elizabeth Strout. Finally, the universe was unfolding as it should.
—
I closed my eyes – “just resting them,” as my grandmother would have said – but it wasn’t long until I dozed off. A loud, insistent hammering at the front door awakened me. I looked over at Zack. He was still sleeping, but as the pounding continued, he stirred. Still half-asleep, but angry, I ran to the door. When I opened it, I was confronted by a sea of blue. There were police officers everywhere. The one facing me put her hand on my chest and pushed me hard so that I was no longer on the threshold but completely inside. As I stood in the entrance hall, more officers came through the door. Without explanation, they blew past me, spread out, and began searching the house. I felt their urgency and I began to shake.
“What’s going on?” I said.
The young constable who’d shoved me inside said, “There’s been a shooting.”
“On our street?” I said.
She shook her head. “No. Downtown – in your husband’s law office.
“Was anybody hurt?”
She didn’t answer. I grabbed her arm. “I asked you a question,” I said. “You and your colleagues just forced your way into my house. I deserve to know what’s going on.”
The officer lowered her eyes. “I can’t give out that information.”
Just then Police Chief Debbie Haczkewicz came through the open front door. The scene had taken on the fragmented quality of a waking dream. “Debbie, what are you doing here?” The words came out of my mouth but I didn’t sound like me. I sounded like a bewildered child.
Debbie took my arm. “Jo, I don’t have time to break this news gently. Delia Wainberg, Blake Falconer, and Kevin Hynd have been shot.”
“What?” I heard her words, but at first I couldn’t grasp their meaning. When I did, I started to shake. “Are they going to be all right?”
“No,” Debbie said. “They died at the scene. Where is Zack?” My knees buckled. Debbie led me to the bench in the hallway. “Put your head down and take some deep breaths,” she said.
Meek as a child, I followed her instructions. I couldn’t stop shaking, but I was able to speak coherently. “Zack’s down the hall in our bedroom. He wanted to go to the office, but he’s sick and I made him stay home. Debbie, I don’t understand.”
“I know you’re reeling, but for your family’s sake, you have to focus on what I’m about to say. We think the shooter had a grudge against the founding partners of Falconer Shreve. Zack wasn’t there, so the shooter wasn’t able to finish the job.”
“And you think whoever did this is out there looking for Zack?”
“We have to consider that possibility. Is Taylor here?”
“No, she went to the Humane Society with Noah Wainberg and his daughter and grandson.”
“Call her and tell her to stay there.” Debbie ran her hands over her eyes. “The Wainbergs won’t know yet about the shooting. Don’t explain anything to Taylor. Just tell her to stay where she is until an officer comes. We’ll take it from there.”
“They shouldn’t be in a public place when they learn that Delia’s dead.”
Debbie’s voice was gentle. “Joanne, what happened is unbearable. The place where Delia Wainberg’s family hears the news won’t change that. Please just trust me.”
Three officers came in. They were all tall and powerfully built. Debbie glanced at them briefly. “Zack’s not going to sleep through this. Jo, you’re going to have to tell him what’s happening.”
“I will,” I said.
“You should probably call Taylor first,” Debbie said.
“Of course. Debbie, I’m having trouble hanging on to my thoughts.”
“You’re in the middle of a tsunami,” Debbie said. “Just grab whatever you can.”
I called Taylor and told her that her dad needed more rest. I said that she should stay put at the animal shelter, that the Wainbergs should remain with her, and that someone was on their way to the shelter to explain. Taylor had questions, but I simply told her that for now she needed to do as I said. I told her we loved her and broke the connection.
Zack had pushed himself up in bed. His back was against the headboard. I was on automatic pilot,
but remembering the pressure ulcers I picked up a pillow and slid it behind him. He was flushed and his eyes glittered with fever. “What the hell’s going on?”
I sat on the bed and put my arms around him, then I tightened my embrace. “Zack, something terrible has happened.” As I said the words that severed the life he had known from the life he would live from now on, I could feel the energy seep from my husband’s body.
I pulled away so I could see his face. “Lie down,” I said. Then I lay on the bed beside him and began stroking his back. “I love you so much,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.” He drew me closer but he said nothing.
A police officer entered our bedroom. She locked the French doors, peered through the windows, and then, apparently satisfied that she’d missed nothing, pulled the drapes. She repeated the sequence at every window in the room and she was unhurried.
“Could you give us a moment alone, please?” I said.
The officer kept on with her task. It was as if Zack and I didn’t exist.
“Please,” I said. “We’ve had just had horrific news…”
“We know that,” she said. “But there’s a lot of ground to cover. Those creek banks alone…”
“Do you really think the person who killed them is near our home?”
“The three victims were named partners of a law firm,” she said. “Your husband is the only named partner still alive.”
Zack’s eyes were dead with disbelief. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe any of this is happening.” A thought struck him. “Where’s Taylor?”
“She’s going to be safe,” I said. “She’s with Noah, Isobel, and Jacob. They went to the Humane Society to choose a kitten for Jacob. Debbie’s sent an officer over there.”
“Is there anybody here who can tell us what happened?”
Zack’s pyjama top was soaked through again. “Debbie’s here,” I said. “We should change your pyjamas first.”
“Jo. It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I said, and I realized I was crying.
After the officer left us alone, I ran a cool damp facecloth over Zack’s body, helped him into fresh pyjamas, and arranged the pillows so he could sit up. Debbie was still in the living room, and I went to her. “Zack wants to see you,” I said.
Debbie came into the bedroom, pulled a chair over, and took Zack’s hand. “I’d give anything not to be breaking this news to you, Zack.”
Zack nodded. “Might as well get it over with.”
“All right.” Debbie pulled out a paper notebook. “This is what we know so far,” she said. “Feel free to ask questions, but I may not have answers. We’ve just started the investigation and the information is spotty. At 2:15, Delia Wainberg’s executive assistant, Lorne Callow, went to the Falconer Shreve offices on the twentieth floor of the Peyben Building. Callow had found a wristwatch Ms. Wainberg believed she’d lost, and she asked him to bring it to her. As you know, the elevator to the twentieth floor opens directly onto the reception area of the executive offices. Callow saw nothing amiss until he started towards Ms. Wainberg’s office. Kevin Hynd and Blake Falconer were both lying face down in the hall that led from their respective offices to hers. Callow felt for pulses. Both men were dead. Delia Wainberg was sitting at her desk. She’d been shot in the chest three times. Callow felt for a pulse, but there was none. He used the phone in Ms. Wainberg’s office to call us.”
“And just like that, they’re gone,” Zack said, and his voice was dead with disbelief.
“No witnesses?” I said.
“A grey Sunday afternoon on the twentieth floor of a downtown office?” Debbie said. “The security guy who sits behind the big desk in the lobby downstairs is old school. He makes everybody he sees enter the building sign in, note the time they arrive and who they’re seeing, and sign out, noting the time they leave. Counting Lorne Callow, Simon Weber, who wrote the word ‘photographer’ in parentheses after his name, and the man who delivered coffee and Danish from the coffee shop next door, fourteen people signed in. Except for Lorne Callow, they all arrived between 12:50 and 12:55. All of them were headed for the executive offices of Falconer Shreve. Nine signed out. The coffee delivery person left at 1:10.” Debbie consulted her notebook and recited a list. “Margot Hunter, Katina Posaluko-Chapman, Ben-Aaron Dushek, Sandra Mikalonis, Maisie Crawford, Aashish Parwani, Raymond Stonechild, and Simon Weber left together at two o’clock.”
“So it appears Dee, Blake, and Kevin were there alone,” Zack said.
“There must be security tapes,” I said.
Debbie nodded. “And we’ll look at every second of them. We’ll interview everyone who was recorded to be in the building, and, as a matter of procedure, we’ve tested Callow’s hands for gunshot residue.” Zack was gazing fixedly into space. Debbie gave me a quick worried look, leaned closer to Zack, and raised her voice. “Zack, why were your partners at the office on a Sunday afternoon?”
Zack turned to her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “We’re announcing six equity partners tomorrow, and the office had arranged for Simon Weber to take photographs.” He looked puzzled. “I don’t get this. If Simon had already taken the pictures, why didn’t Delia and Blake and Kevin leave with the others?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We’ll do what we can to find out.” For all the years she had known him, Zack had been the man in charge; now he had the thousand-mile stare of a victim. But Debbie was accustomed to dealing with victims. She moved so close to Zack that their faces were almost touching. “I know you’re going through hell, but if we’re going to find the person who murdered your partners, we’ll need help. That starts with you. Do you have any idea who did this?” Debbie’s tone was severe but it did the trick.
The blankness left Zack’s face. He was himself again, focused and furious. “Find Emmett Keating,” he said.
Debbie took out a pen and began writing. “We’ve been investigating his disappearance for almost a week. Do you think Emmett Keating is capable of murder?”
Zack nodded. “There were indications that he might have gone over the edge.”
“And the indications were…”
“Photographs,” Zack said. “Specifically, a photograph that was taken of Delia, Kevin, Blake, Chris, and me the summer after we opened our law office.”
I took the photo from Zack’s dresser and handed it to Debbie. She looked at it carefully for a few moments and then shook her head. “It’s always so hard to believe…”
Debbie didn’t need to complete the sentence. Zack and I knew how it ended.
She handed the photo back to Zack. “It’s beautiful. You were beautiful – all of you.”
“Emmett Keating made a copy of that and doctored himself into it,” Zack said.
“Did Keating send you the photograph?”
“No, we came upon it after he went missing.” Zack shifted his body and grimaced. “It’s probably still in his apartment,” he said.
“It’s not,” Debbie said. “In the past week, we’ve gone over that apartment with a fine-tooth comb. Zack, the police should have been made aware of that photograph.”
“We have a digital copy of it,” Zack said. “I’ll send it to you.”
I took a breath. “There’s more,” I said. “Last Monday, each of the founding partners received a copy of the original photograph – without Keating in it – hand-delivered to their home mailbox. Someone had smeared feces on the partners’ faces.”
“And you believe Keating is responsible.”
“It’s hard to imagine,” I said. “Emmett Keating is obsessive about his personal cleanliness, but on Saturday morning the video of Annie Weber ejecting him from the dinner for Zack was sent to everyone who works at Falconer Shreve, and to a few lawyers outside the firm.”
“I’ll need all the names,” Debbie said. “Who took the video?”
“You saw the crowd that night,” I said. “Most of us were taking pictures with our phones at one poi
nt or another.”
Debbie was incensed. “And none of you thought to alert the police to any of this?”
“Zack was in Toronto,” I said. “And the others wanted to keep the situation with Emmett Keating an internal matter. He’d been treated badly and they were hoping to undo the damage.”
“And to cover up anything that would incriminate Falconer Shreve,” Debbie said sharply. “Too late now. But the video is a lead worth following and we will.” Debbie turned back to Zack. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now, but I have to ask one last question. Did you perceive the photo with the excrement on it as a threat?”
“Jo told me about it, but I didn’t give it much thought,” Zack said, and he was so hoarse he could barely speak. “I was 2,700 kilometres from here, and I was in meetings all day and business dinners most nights.”
I’d had enough. “Debbie, you have to back off. Delia assumed Emmett was responsible for the photos. She wasn’t frightened, but she was distressed that anyone would do that to the partners of Falconer Shreve.”
Debbie raised an eyebrow. “It was a photograph,” she said, and from her tone it was clear that Delia’s reaction baffled her as much as it had baffled me. Debbie flipped the page in her notebook and tried another tack. “Can either of you think of anyone else who might have been responsible for what happened today?”
Zack’s expression was bleak. “Four lawyers, each of whom has been practising law for over twenty-five years? There are probably a thousand people in this city who at one point wished one or all of us was dead.” The reality of what he said hit Zack hard. He started coughing again and this time his cough had a croupy edge.
Debbie didn’t need to be prodded. She stood. “Zack, I’m sorry. I know you’re sick, but we have to find out who did this and every second counts.”