The Winners' Circle

by Gail Bowen

  Lorne was quick to pick up on my comment. “Did something happen?”

  I didn’t deliberate before deciding to tell Lorne Callow about Emmett Keating’s confession and suicide. It would be public knowledge soon enough. His reaction was pragmatic. “At least now it’s over,” he said, and then, having deposited me at my car, he turned on his heel and strode smartly towards his Honda.

  The weight of sorrow that had washed over me when I walked by the bear carvings stayed with me. Lorne Callow believed that Emmett Keating’s suicide and confession ended our ordeal. I wasn’t that optimistic, and as I drove home my stomach was in knots. The absence of police vehicles in front of our house did nothing to dispel my anxiety.

  Kym met me at the door. “You just missed the Webers,” he said.

  “Was Zack awake to see them?”

  “Better than that. For twenty minutes, he sat in his wheelchair fully engaged in conversation with them. And Zack’s not the only one who’s springing back to life. Pantera’s been moping around since I got here. He knew Zack was sick, but when the Webers came, Pantera plastered himself against the side of the chair in case Zack felt the need to scratch his head.” Kym chuckled. “Looks like your husband and his dog are getting their mojo back.”

  Zack was sitting up in bed with his back supported by the pillows piled against the headboard. He was wearing his reading glasses and working on his laptop. The air in our room still held faint traces of the fresh-flowery scent of Anaïs Anaïs.

  “Annie Weber’s been here,” I said. “I can smell her perfume.”

  Zack smiled. “Can’t get much past you,” he said.

  I sat in the chair already in place beside him. “Kym tells me you and the Webers had a good visit.”

  “A good visit and a necessary one,” Zack said. “After you and Debbie left, Kym gave me something to knock me out, but before it hit, I called Warren to tell him about Keating’s confession and his suicide. I figured since Warren had been there for the fireworks after the dinner and had tried to extend an olive branch the next day, he deserved to know the latest. He listened, thanked me for the call, and told me to take care of myself. I dozed off. When I woke up, Kym came in and told me that Annie and Warren were at the house, and they had something they wanted to discuss with me. They promised not to stay long, so Kym said it was my call.”

  “And the Webers stayed twenty minutes,” I said.

  Zack rubbed his hand over his eyes, a sure sign that he was tired. “It was important. After Warren and I talked on the phone, he and Annie went over the timeline for the night of the dinner and the next morning. Jo, they think something doesn’t add up about Emmett Keating’s suicide, and they want more information.”

  “Have the Webers shared their concerns with Debbie?”

  “They have, and so have I. The police will finish their investigation, but Warren and Annie aren’t convinced they’re going to look for the kind of answers that they want. Warren’s going to call in Harries & Associates.”

  “His private investigators,” I said. “What’s Warren’s interest in this?

  “Annie wants to set the record straight. She had no problem frogmarching Emmett out the door when he was humiliating Delia at the party, but she does have a problem with someone using a video of her strong-arming Emmett to set in motion a series of events that ended in the death of four people. The Webers want to find out who made that video and why they sent it out.” I could see that Zack’s energy was flagging. I put his laptop on the night table, rearranged the pillows, and helped him into a horizontal position.

  “Thanks,” he said. He managed to get out a half sentence about Harries & Associates’ fine personnel and impressive resources before he fell asleep. I smoothed his sheets, kissed him on the forehead, and glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until I had to leave to pick up Taylor at school.

  I could hear Kym whistling in the kitchen. It was the kind of innocent domestic moment that I now thirsted for, and I joined him. Glass bowls of sliced summer squash, bell peppers, and asparagus still glistened with water on the counter and Kym was slicing zucchini.

  “You know you don’t have to do that,” I said.

  “I know, but Zack’s ready to start eating real food again, and I was hoping pasta primavera might tempt him.”

  “It tempts me,” I said. “And Zack likes pasta. So does our daughter, and now that the threat is gone, I’ll be bringing her home.”

  Kym frowned. “About that. Would it be possible for Taylor to stay with your friends for another night?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Zack will be disappointed, but if you think it’s for the best…”

  “I do. If his daughter’s here, Zack will push himself to be super-dad, and none of us wants a relapse. Tomorrow’s Friday. Why don’t you bring Taylor home tomorrow afternoon, and give yourselves a relaxing weekend.”

  “But you are going to stay around, aren’t you?” I said.

  “I am. You could easily handle Zack’s medical needs now, but you’ve been dealing with a lot. I’ll stay till you decide it’s time for me to go.”

  “That’s music to my ears,” I said. “Thanks.” I picked up my phone. “Time to call Margot and fill her in.”

  As soon as she heard my voice, Margot was on full alert. “Everything okay with the big man?”

  “Moving in the right direction,” I said. “But he still has a way to go. Just now we were talking and he fell asleep in mid-sentence.”

  “Your sentence or his?”

  “His,” I said.

  Margot chuckled. “That’s a first.”

  “Right. Margot, there’ve been some developments.”

  When I finished giving her the news about Emmett Keating, Margot whistled softly. “Well I guess that’s not a surprise,” she said. “Jo, would it be possible for Brock and me to get together with Zack today? We need to talk about Falconer Shreve.”

  “It’s going to have to wait,” I said. “Zack’s doing better, but Kym’s concerned that if he pushes it, there’ll be a relapse. I was hoping to bring Taylor home with me this afternoon, but Kym vetoed it. Would you mind if she stayed with you another night?”

  “Of course not. We love having her around, but could you come in for a few minutes when you bring Taylor by?”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Kym had finished slicing zucchini and he’d covered the bowls of vegetables with cling-wrap. “I can almost taste the pasta primavera,” I said.

  Kym narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you all right? You look a little bent.”

  “I am a little bent,” I said. “I don’t think this misery is ever going to end.”

  Kym gave me a crooked smile. “Everything ends, Jo. You know that.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  By the time I pulled up in front of Taylor’s school, the rain had stopped. All my children had gone to Luther College High School, so the scene was a familiar one, and as Taylor, wearing her two-toned yellow and grey slicker, came out of the building and began walking towards my car, I slipped into the dream haze that had overtaken me often in the past five days. During these times, my mind slid into the old comfortable ruts and I was once again the woman with the incredibly fortunate life. When my daughter came nearer and I saw her face, the sharp edge of reality sliced my dream.

  Taylor was fighting tears. As soon as she got in the car, she turned to me. “Did Dad have a heart attack?”

  My chest tightened. “He has the flu, Taylor. You know that. Whatever made you think he had a heart attack?”

  “Spenser Ridout told me he and his family were praying for Dad. Spenser’s mum’s a lawyer and she’d heard that Dad had had a heart attack – a bad one – and they didn’t know whether he was going to live.”

  When I heard the fear in our daughter’s voice, I knew that words, no matter how reassuring, would be inadequate. Taylor had to see Zack for herself. “Your dad isn’t dying,” I said. “Now, here’s the latest. Margot and Brock wa
nt to talk to me about Falconer Shreve business. While we’re chatting you’re going to pack up your things and play with the kids. When we’re through talking, you and I are going to hug the little ones, thank Margot, and drive home. Kym’s making us pasta primavera and the four of us are going to have dinner together.”

  Taylor’s dark eyes were filled with hope and doubt. “But the police will still be there,” she said.

  “No, they’re gone. The person who killed Delia, Blake, and Kevin committed suicide. He left a written confession.”

  “Who was it?”

  “A lawyer at Falconer Shreve,” I said. “His name was Emmett Keating. He felt the firm had treated him badly.”

  “So he killed three people.”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Taylor was wary. “And the police are sure it’s over?”

  “Yes. Debbie Haczkewicz came over late this morning to tell us about Emmett Keating. By the time she left, there wasn’t an officer or a police car in sight. Our house looks the way it always has.”

  “Normal,” Taylor said, but her voice was small and she still looked uncertain. “I wonder what ‘normal’ will be from now on.”

  “That will be up to us,” I said.

  “Gracie, Isobel, and I have been texting constantly, and we talk every day. I always ask how they’re doing, and they always say ‘fine,’ but you’ve seen them. How are they really?”

  “They’re devastated,” I said. “But having Rose there is helping and, of course, it’s impossible not to feel better when Jacob’s in the room. I met his new kitten today.”

  Taylor’s lips curved towards a smile. “Toast,” she said. “Izzie told me Jacob chose the name because Toast is brown.” As quickly as it came, my daughter’s smile vanished. “I haven’t seen any of them since it happened. Maybe now the three of us can be together again.”

  “No reason why not,” I said. I touched her cheek. “Taylor, I won’t lie to you. I have no idea how we’re going to move forward. All I know is that tonight we’ll have dinner together and you’ll sleep in your own bed, and your dad and I will be just down the hall.”

  “We’re the lucky ones,” Taylor said. “A week ago, the Wainbergs, the Falconers, Kevin – all of us – we were all lucky.” She turned away and pressed her forehead against the coolness of the car window. For a time, she was very still, seemingly absorbed in watching the rain. When she spoke, her voice was full of yearning. “Why didn’t we realize it, Jo?” she said. “Why didn’t we know how lucky we were?”

  —

  Margot, a committed non-cook, had often threatened to have the appliances ripped out of her kitchen and replaced with a jungle gym for her kids, but when she and I lived across the hall from each other we always gravitated towards her kitchen to talk. That day, as soon as Brock joined us, I passed along the rumour about Zack’s health that had terrified Taylor. Margot and Brock exchanged a glance. “One more reason to rein in this situation,” Brock said.

  Brock was always well dressed, but as the director of a recreation and training centre and councillor for an inner-city ward, he most often chose outfits that were business casual. That afternoon, he wore a charcoal three-piece suit, a crisp white shirt, a cranberry-and-grey striped silk tie, and hard-polished black dress shoes.

  “Margot says you want to talk about the firm,” I said. “I take it from the three-piece suit that you’ve been at Falconer Shreve today.”

  Brock nodded. “I have,” he said. “Margot and I decided that out of respect for the late partners, we should stay closed on Monday, but we were both there when Falconer Shreve opened Tuesday morning, and we’ve both been at the office for the past two days. Jo, the situation is not good.”

  Margot nodded. “Not only are people grieving, they’re frightened,” she said. “They don’t know who’s in charge. Brock had a long talk with Delia’s EA, Lorne Callow, yesterday. Understandably, he was concerned about his job, but his concern goes beyond himself.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “The night of the dinner, the doorman at the Scarth Club was prepared to call a taxi after the incident with Emmett, but Lorne was worried about what Emmett would do if he was on his own, so he drove him to his apartment. Lorne came by our place the next day. When I thanked him for smoothing the ragged edges in a terrible situation, he said, ‘There are times when we really are our brother’s keeper.’ ”

  “The firm needs to foster that kind of presence,” Brock said. “Lorne and I also had a conversation about office morale.”

  “How bad is it?” I said.

  Brock shook his head. “Terrible. The immediate problem is leadership. People don’t know who’s in charge and they’re worried about where the firm’s heading. The story about Zack having a serious heart attack is making the rounds. We can refute that rumour, but there’s no refuting the fact that the firm’s only remaining senior partner has a full-time job as mayor of Regina.”

  “And he’s torn,” I said. “Zack’s feelings about Falconer Shreve run deep, but when he was sworn in he made a commitment to this city.”

  Margot leaned towards me. “Jo, Zack just lost his three best friends. And unless we come up with a solution fast, he’s going to lose the firm that he’s given his life to.”

  “I can’t believe Falconer Shreve is that vulnerable,” I said.

  “Other law firms certainly think it is,” Margo said. “I’ve had inquiries – discreet but pointed – about Falconer Shreve’s future.”

  “It hasn’t even been a week since Dee, Blake, and Kevin died,” I said.

  “ ‘The race is to the swift,’ ” Margot said tightly. “And the legal profession is not noted for its empathy.”

  “Margot and I are planning a meeting of the new equity partners tomorrow morning,” Blake said. “In addition to everything else, our clients are panicking. All the late partners had heavy caseloads, and like most lawyers, Dee and Blake carried a great deal of information about their files in their head. Kevin had already passed the baton to Tina, but she was planning to get in touch with him if something critical arose. There are junior lawyers at Falconer Shreve who worked closely with Delia, Blake, and Kevin in the past, but it’s tough for them to take charge of files when they can’t access the information they need.”

  “And you’re short one of your new equity partners,” I said. “Maisie’s still on maternity leave.”

  Margot and Brock both hesitated. Margot’s nod to him was almost imperceptible, but Brock picked up the cue.

  “Since Monday morning Maisie’s been putting in longer hours than anyone,” Brock said. “She’s working from home, but she’s planning to be back in the office from tomorrow on.”

  “Charlie and Colin were born less than six weeks ago,” I said.

  Margot’s voice was gentle but firm. “I know they’re very young to be away from Maisie, but we’re talking about the survival of the firm here. Your daughter-in-law understands that.”

  I remembered the flush of joy that suffused Maisie’s face when she nursed her sons. This would not have been an easy choice for her. That said, Maisie made her choice, and it was time I made mine. Politics had taught me the importance of collective action. “I understand the need for a partners’ meeting,” I said. “There are legal problems that have to be worked out quickly and confidentially, but don’t shut out the associates and support staff. Everyone at the firm needs to feel they have a role to play in giving Falconer Shreve a secure future.”

  “Agreed,” Margot said. “And they have to know that they still have a leader. Jo, we need Zack at that meeting. Do you think if we schedule it for late afternoon, say around four tomorrow afternoon, he could make an appearance? Knock together a short, inspirational speech for him. Please. Then all he has to do is show up.”

  I’d written scores of speeches for Zack, but suddenly that routine task seemed overwhelming. “I’m not going to risk Zack’s health,” I said.

  “If Falconer Shreve goes
under, Zack will never recover,” Margot said. “You know that as well as I do. We have to get out the message that, despite its tragic loss, the firm will maintain the level of excellence its clients have come to expect. Jo, the truth is that founding partners die all the time, but their law firms live on. In the next few days we have to make decisions that will convince our clients and the legal community that Falconer Shreve will not only survive, it will be stronger than ever.” Margot reached across the table and took my hand. “We can do this, Jo. The hard part will be forcing ourselves to get out of bed every morning and take that first step.”

  As Margot, Brock, and I discussed how to handle the next afternoon’s meeting, information new to me about the past few days emerged. Amid all the details, one thing was clear: Lorne Callow was a godsend. He had been with Falconer Shreve for five years, and for three of those years, Delia had been managing partner. As her executive assistant, Callow had become knowledgeable about the firm’s lawyers, the associates and the paralegals with whom the lawyers worked most closely, and the clerical staff who handled the firm’s day-to-day business.

  Now there would have to be reassignments, and that meant juggling employees who were comfortably ensconced in their positions and matching their areas of expertise and temperaments with those of associates and partners – not a simple task – and the firm’s head of HR, Raema Silzer, would be on medical leave for another eight weeks. Lorne Callow was committed to doing whatever he could to help the firm survive, and he would be in charge of any reappointments within the firm.

  Delia and Blake’s positions had to be filled quickly but wisely. Brock and Margot had approached Marion Beyea – known to all as “Bey” – a retired barrister from Margot’s old firm, Ireland Leontowich, to consult and make discreet inquiries about experienced lawyers who might be interested in joining Falconer Shreve. Zack knew and respected Bey, so Margot was confident he would have faith in her judgment.