The Winners' Circle

by Gail Bowen

  Mieka had to get back to UpSlideDown, but Gracie and I were without a destination. As soon as we’d snapped on our seat belts, Gracie said, “Are you feeling up to coming out to Standing Buffalo? I said I’d go see Esau today. I could use your support, but if you’re under the weather…”

  I did not want Gracie to go back to see Esau alone. I reached into my purse, took out my blush, rubbed it along my cheekbones, and then presented my face to Gracie. “Voila,” I said. “Instant robust good health. Let’s hit the road.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  After our previous encounter, I felt anxious about visiting Esau, but it was a beautiful day for a drive. Winter was definitely in the air, but the sun shone brightly. The road into Standing Buffalo was clear, and Gracie navigated the hairpin turns with ease. As we approached Esau’s driveway, Gracie slowed to a stop. We could smell the smoke from the fire. On the hilltop where the house once stood was a pile of rubble. Esau was sitting in front of the ruins on a folding chair, his dogs beside him. As soon as he saw us, he called out. “I’ll come down.”

  Gracie shook her head. “No. I’ll come to you.”

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “Might as well give my new DonJoy brace a workout,” she said. We hadn’t travelled far when Esau and his dogs met us. Surprisingly, he offered Gracie his arm, which she accepted tentatively. I gave the dogs a liver treat, and then the four dogs and the three of us climbed the rest of the incline together. An orange safety-barrier fence had been installed around what was left of Esau’s house. Nothing had escaped the flames. The walls were gone and beams of wood, scorched and charred from flames, lay on the ground. Broken glass littered the area around the foundation.

  Esau led Gracie to the folding chair on which he’d been perched when we arrived. The two framed photographs that had been on his wall were propped against a Saskatoonberry bush along with a smoke-damaged tin coffee canister that sat next to them. He pointed to the chair. “This is for you,” he said.

  “Philamaya,” Gracie said.

  “A he ya eh,” Esau said. He eyed me. “The girl said ‘thank you’ in our language and I said ‘you’re welcome.’ We’ll talk your language now.”

  The dogs began sniffing me. I pulled out my baggie of liver treats and scattered some more on the ground. Periodically, minute particles of burnt wood drifted from the debris into the air, but when we looked across the valley it seemed we could see forever.

  “This view is amazing,” I said.

  “The old ones knew that,” Gracie said. “Farming this land was backbreaking, but they worked hard. At the end of the day, their reward was sitting out here, looking at the valley.” She seemed relaxed with Esau. “Rose and Betty’s parents had the land next to yours, didn’t they?”

  I had been apprehensive, but witnessing the changes in the old man began to put me at ease as well. An expression of peace had replaced the rage that had gnarled his features. It was as if his anger, like his house, had mostly burned away. There was still an edge in his rusty voice, but there was kindness too. “Them girls liked to sleep outside so they could watch the stars,” he said.

  Gracie smiled at him. “Rose and Betty still talk about those summers. Did you sleep outside too?”

  Esau nodded. “Saw the same stars they did,” he said, and then he looked away.

  The dogs had gathered around my feet. I shook the last of the treats into my hand and held it out. The dogs licked my hand clean.

  “Them dogs like you,” Esau said.

  “I like them,” I said. “Since I left boarding school, I’ve always had a dog.”

  Esau’s brow furrowed. “How come they put you in one of them schools?”

  It took me a minute to realize that he’d misunderstood my words. “The place I went to wasn’t a residential school,” I said.

  “But you couldn’t have a dog,” he said.

  “No.”

  “And you couldn’t go home.”

  “No, I couldn’t go home,” I said.

  “So it was the same,” he said. “They took you away from your people.”

  “Not the same,” I said. “And my family wanted me to be there.”

  Esau narrowed his eyes. “Your people didn’t want you with them?” he said.

  “They thought it was best,” I said.

  He peered at me. Though his manner was gentler than it had been at our last meeting, Esau’s attention remained an unnerving force. “But it wasn’t best, was it?”

  My throat closed. “I don’t know,” I said. “It was just the way it was.”

  “A sad thing,” Esau said. He turned towards Gracie, “I heard about your father and the others,” he said. “That was another sad thing.”

  “It was,” Gracie said quietly. “Esau, I’m sorry Rose upset you when she asked if you had used bad medicine on my family. It was because I thought you might have, and she wanted to protect me.”

  Esau stared at Gracie before he replied. “The day after you got hurt, I looked until I found that rock,” he said. “When I found it I threw it in that pile down the road. Then I went away to think about what I done that night you came. I’m sorry you got hurt, Lily’s girl.”

  “My name is Gracie.”

  “I seen you jingle dance at the powwow,” he said. “You feel the drums inside you.”

  Gracie nodded.

  “I knew it,” he said. “Can you still dance?”

  “Nine months to the Standing Buffalo Powwow,” Gracie said. “I’ll be able to dance by then.”

  “Good.”

  One of Esau’s dogs wandered over and gazed up at him. Esau reached down and gave the dog an unhurried rub. After the dog curled up contentedly by his feet, Esau spoke again. “When my house caught fire, I got out the stuff that mattered – my animals and those there.” Esau pointed to the photographs and the charred canister. “I love the girl that was your grandmother, Gracie. I was too scared to tell her, so she married another man. I should a told her. That’s the thing I should a done.” He handed Gracie the framed photograph of her father and his friends that first summer they were together. “Take this,” he said. “It belongs to Rose. I took it from her house. I guess she knew, but she never said. She’ll be happy I gave it back.” He tapped the picture Gracie was holding with his forefinger. “That there is the thing I shouldn’t a done. I used up half my life hating those ones. That’s the thing you shouldn’t do. Don’t use up your life hating the ones that hurt you.”

  “I won’t,” Gracie said. She hesitated. “Esau, what’s in the coffee canister?”

  He looked surprised. “That? That’s my money. People around here have trouble with banks. Nobody ever had trouble with a coffee can.”

  “So I should keep my money in a coffee can?” Gracie said teasingly.

  Esau grinned. “I’d advise it,” he said.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Gracie said, and she reached out and touched his arm.

  As he walked us down the hill to Gracie’s car, Esau’s face showed traces of joy.

  Neither of us spoke until Gracie turned onto the highway.

  “Are you all right?” I said.

  “I will be,” Gracie said. “Jo, I was hating Emmett Keating.”

  “And now?”

  Gracie’s grey-blue eyes were determined. “And now,” she said, “I’m going to stop doing what Esau told me I shouldn’t do.”

  —

  Just past Fort Qu’Appelle my phone rang. It was Warren Weber. “Just calling to pass along the latest from Harries & Associates,” he said.

  “Gracie Falconer’s with me,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be interested. Shall I put us on speakerphone?”

  “If she agrees.”

  As soon as I’d mentioned including her in the conversation, Gracie had nodded her assent. I pressed the button for speaker mode and said, “Now, Warren, what’s the news?”

  “Well, the investigators from Harries haven’t learned much we didn’t already know,
but in their opinion it might be worthwhile to look more closely at Emmett Keating’s relationship with Darryl Colby. We know that Emmett Keating worked for Colby. Given that Keating committed suicide in Colby’s cabin, and that guests witnessed the two men sitting together at the fund-raiser dinner and having a heated discussion minutes before Keating exploded at Delia Wainberg, the investigators have decided to dig deeper.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because there may be something there. The night of the dinner, I thanked Darryl for supporting the evening by buying a ticket. He said his ticket had been a gift from a friend. I saw Colby and Keating together at dinner that night, and the reports the guests gave the Harries investigators were accurate. There was something serious going on between them. It would be interesting to know who bought Colby his ticket.”

  “Patsy Choi will have a record,” Warren said. “I’ll check with her and get back to you.”

  Gracie’s spine had stiffened. “Do you think Darryl Colby had something to do with what happened? My dad mentioned him in passing a few times. He didn’t like him.”

  “The feeling was mutual,” I said. “And Darryl’s enmity wasn’t just directed against your dad. Darryl loathed them all – Chris, Delia, Kevin, and especially Zack. Gracie, I don’t know what to think any more. I met Emmett Keating the night of the fund-raiser. I saw him twice that evening: once before dinner, when he believed the firm was about to offer him an equity partnership, and afterwards when he felt Delia had betrayed him.”

  “So what did you make of him?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve played those scenes in my mind a dozen times. Emmett Keating was certainly eccentric, and he was obsessed with The Winners’ Circle, but I just can’t see him murdering the people who he had dreamed of having as colleagues. Why would he kill the people whose approval he wanted most?”

  Gracie sighed. “Jo, it happens. A nerdy high-school kid is desperate to join the cool kids. He talks about them constantly; his social media accounts are filled with pictures of them; he follows them around. Finally, the situation hits the tipping point. The cool kids reject the nerd. He’s shattered, so he kills them.”

  “But those are extreme cases.”

  Gracie gave me a quick glance. “From what I’ve learned – especially that weird business of Emmett Keating photoshopping himself into their picture – when it came to the partners of Falconer Shreve, Emmett was operating on a pretty unusual level.”

  “You’re right, of course,” I said. “Emmett was the classic super-smart kid who wanted to be part of the in-crowd. But even given that, there are facts that can’t be dismissed.” Gracie swerved to avoid the remains of a tire shredded on the highway. “Darryl Colby had ties to Murray Jeffreys,” I said, almost to myself. “He worked for him many years ago.” Gracie glanced at me questioningly and then reverted her eyes to the road. My pulse quickened as a theory began to take shape in my mind. “Noah thinks Keating’s blackmail might have been about something other than the defalcation,” I said.

  Gracie listened stonily as I told her about the night Murray Jeffreys died, and as I rolled out the theory that Darryl Colby might have used Emmett Keating to punish Delia and the others for Jeffreys’s death. When I’d finished, she said, “So you think Darryl Colby was behind this?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I think the police should be aware of the possibility.”

  I was reaching for my phone when it rang. My caller was Warren Weber and I put him on speakerphone immediately.

  “Emmett Keating did not purchase Darryl Colby’s ticket,” Warren said. “And Darryl did not purchase a ticket for himself. I suggested a few possibilities; Patsy checked them out, and she didn’t come up with anything definitive. A number of businesses bought multiple tickets, and Lorne Callow was the only guest who purchased two tickets and came solo.”

  “So no smoking gun,” I said. “Anyway, thanks for clearing that up, Warren.”

  “You’re welcome. Gracie, Annie and I will see you on Friday at the funeral. Your father was a fine man, and he will be missed.”

  “He will,” Gracie said.

  Without discussion, Gracie and I dropped the idea of calling the police. There didn’t seem to be much point. At best, my conjecture was based on circumstantial evidence, and the case was closed. When we reached the city limits, Gracie turned to me. “Do you mind if I run into the drugstore and get some Aspirin? I never get headaches, but today I have what Rose calls a ‘humdinger.’ ”

  “I never get headaches either,” I said. “But I just might borrow an aspirin from you. There’s been a lot to process in the past few hours.”

  When we pulled into the strip mall, Gracie grabbed her backpack and began rummaging for her wallet. “I’m losing it,” she said. “I totally forgot about this.” She pulled out a worn and weathered leather passport case and handed it to me. “This was in my dad’s safety deposit box at the bank. It belonged to Chris Altieri. I don’t know how it ended up with my dad, but I thought maybe Zack would want it.”

  “He will,” I said. “These days, Zack treasures mementos.”

  “I kind of figured that,” Gracie said. “Do you want to come in with me?”

  “Thanks, I’m fine.” I said. I watched Gracie cross the parking lot. She was usually a strider, but the knee brace was hobbling her, and she was taking her time. When she disappeared through the front doors, I looked down at the wallet and felt a pang. Chris would have been carrying his passport in it when he came home from Japan. When I opened the wallet, I saw that his passport had indeed been stamped the week before he died. The edge of a photograph peeked out of the opening of the wallet’s inner pocket. I put my finger inside to nudge it out. The photo was of Gracie and Isobel. Both girls were grinning and both grins revealed missing teeth, so they would have been around six. A newspaper clipping had been tucked behind the photo.

  The clipping was an obituary. I didn’t recognize the face of the man in the obituary, but I certainly recognized his name. It was Murray Jeffreys. I skimmed the text to see if he’d been married or had a family. There was no mention of a spouse or children. He was survived only by “ ‘his beloved brother, Lorne Callow.’ ”

  Suddenly Lorne Callow’s biblical reference to being our brother’s keeper flashed through my mind. I was reeling, but it didn’t take me long to make a decision. I was certain now that what I’d dismissed as a prank call had been a warning for Zack, and that Callow, Keating, and Colby were cohorts in a plan to eliminate every member of The Winners’ Circle. I was on the phone with the police when Gracie got back to the car. After I hung up with them, I told her what I’d found in Chris’s passport case and then I tried calling Zack. I knew he was at home, but when there was no answer on either our landline or his phone, my heart began pounding.

  Traffic in the city was light, and Gracie was a skilful driver, but when we turned onto our street and I saw a shiny black Lincoln in our driveway, I was sure my worst fears had been realized, and we were too late. Darryl Colby drove a black Lincoln. He’d come to finish the job that Emmett had started.

  I ran towards the house. Gracie wasn’t far behind. Our front door was unlocked. The house was silent, and I stopped to catch my breath. The first shot was fired after I stepped into the front hall. It sounded as if it came from our bedroom, and I began running. The bedroom door was open, but when I reached the threshold, I stopped. For a moment, I couldn’t make sense of the scene.

  There was a man on the floor but it wasn’t Zack. It was Darryl Colby. Lorne Callow stood a little more than a metre inside the room, his back to the doorway. He wasn’t aware of my presence, but Zack was facing me. As he spoke to my husband, Lorne’s baritone was pragmatic but pleasant. “You’re the last of The Winners’ Circle still standing, Zack, so I guess you didn’t win in the end. Of course in your case, ‘standing’ is just a figure of speech, and I would enjoy knocking you out of that wheelchair and watching you crawl, but time is of the essence. If I play it right – and I will – I�
��ll be a hero of the story. I came in, heard the shot, found you dead, struggled with Darryl for the gun, and killed the man who killed you.”

  When I heard Lorne Callow’s words, my fight-or-flight reflex kicked in. I rushed him from behind and knocked him flat. As Callow pitched forward, the gun fell out of his hand and clattered across the floor. He scrambled for it, but Zack was fast.

  I had never seen my husband hold a gun, but when he picked up the Glock and pointed it at Callow, he appeared to know what he was doing. Callow clearly believed he did. Seconds later, when the police arrived, Callow was standing with his hands above his head, watching Zack with loathing.

  Gracie had called for an ambulance, and the paramedics arrived not long after the police. When they examined Darryl, his vital signs were good. He had been lucky. I listened as Zack explained to the police that Darryl had come to warn him about Callow. Later we would learn the full story, but all I cared about then was that Zack was alive. He told the police that Darryl Colby had been shot as he pushed Zack out of harm’s way.

  —

  When the police and the paramedics finally left, I told Zack what I had learned about Lorne Callow’s relationship with Murray Jeffreys.

  Zack heard me out and then shook his head in disbelief. “All that grief for a thirty-year-old grudge over one stupid, drunken evening.”

  “Remember what Lorne Callow said when I thanked him for taking Emmett home the night of your dinner?” I said.

  Zack nodded. “He said ‘There are times when we really are our brother’s keeper.’ I guess for Lorne, that moment came after thirty years.”

  For a time, Zack and I sat together in our family room watching the pine siskins at the birdfeeder and trying to somehow absorb the shock, the horror, and the desolation of the past ten days. “We’re never going to be able to make sense of this, are we?” Zack said finally, and his face was etched with a grief and a sorrow so profound that my whole body ached for him.