The Winners' Circle

by Gail Bowen

  “You know what I can’t get past?” he said. “The tragic irony of everything that’s happened because of a stupid joke I made when Blake, Delia, Chris, Kevin, and I finished our first year at the College of Law. For us, learning the law was as natural as breathing. It was easy and it was fun, but our profs were blown away at having five students of our ‘calibre’ in the same class. Individually, we’d always seen ourselves as losers. When I referred to us as ‘The Winners’ Circle,’ I was being a smart-ass. I was pointing out that if five losers like us were considered winners because we were able to master some very simple concepts, the system was totally screwed.”

  “And no one understood the joke.”

  “No one, except for the five of us. I guess it doesn’t matter now. The game’s over, and all the pieces have been put back in the same box.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  Our family has a birthday tradition. The birthday person awakens to presents on the breakfast table and gets to eat junk cereal, oeufs en gelée, or whatever else strikes his or her fancy. The next morning was Taylor’s birthday. The police cars and the ambulance had left by the time Taylor returned from school, but Zack and I gave her the broad strokes of what had happened. Once she knew we were safe, Taylor seemed to relax, but the horror of those moments was still fresh in Zack’s mind and mine as we got ready for bed.

  When Zack came in from his shower, I told him I was about to arrange the gifts on Taylor’s birthday table. “I have presents from both of us,” I said, “but you usually get Taylor something on your own. Did you have a chance to find something this year?”

  Zack turned his chair towards his closet. “I do have something,” he said. “I’d forgotten about it, but it’s in here.” He came back with a gift-wrapped parcel that he handed to me. “This is a Matt & Nat Blinkin black crossbody bag,” Zack said.

  “With everything that’s been going on, you remembered that the crossbody bag was exactly what Taylor wanted,” I said. “You continue to amaze me.”

  “That’s always good to hear,” Zack said. “But Taylor deserves the kudos. She’s the one who sent me the little reminder about the crossbody bag that kept popping up on my phone.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” I said. “And I am going take this perfect gift and the other lesser gifts and put them on Taylor’s place at the table.”

  “Are you going to put Kevin’s gift out too?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Kevin would want Taylor to know he was thinking of her on her birthday.”

  —

  In the kitchen, I placed the gifts from the dogs and from Taylor’s cats and from Zack and me at her place at the table, and then I opened Kevin’s messenger bag. I took out the keys to the cottage and the leather guest book, but before I placed them on Taylor’s plate, I opened the guest book to see if Kevin had written anything.

  He had. On the title page Kevin had drawn an elaborately goofy birthday cake decorated with images of the things Taylor treasured: a cat; a seashell; an inuksuk like the ones she, Gracie, and Isobel had built on the shore of Lawyers’ Bay; a book of poems; and a marzipan pig. Towards the bottom of the page, Kevin had copied out a passage that Taylor and I both loved from C.S. Lewis’s The Last Battle.

  All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.

  I read the quotation through three times, then I closed the guest book, put it back on Taylor’s plate, and sat down and cried until I had no tears left. Finally, I put the messenger bag on Taylor’s chair, turned out the lights and, knowing that Chapter One was still ahead, I went to bed.

  —

  Our grandsons, Colin Crawford Kilbourn and Charlie Crawford Kilbourn, were baptized on November 29, the first day of Advent. The temperatures had continued to be above freezing, but it seemed the sun had deserted us, and the succession of grey days did nothing to lessen the pain of mourning. Zack had been back at City Hall for two weeks. He was putting in full days and dealing with Falconer Shreve in the evenings. When I asked him to slow down, he bristled, so I’d stopped asking, but we both knew he was no longer the man who could put in sixteen-hour days, play poker till one in the morning, catch a couple of hours of sleep, shower, change, and be back in the office by six the next day. We also both knew that he was working to avoid dwelling on what he had lost, but neither of us knew how to stop the downward spiral.

  After the service we were all driving out to Lawyers’ Bay for lunch. This would be the first time the Falconer Shreve families had been at the lake since Thanksgiving, and I was hoping that the baptism, the peace of the lake, and the presence of a cottage full of family, friends, and kids would get us all through.

  St. Paul’s Cathedral was built in downtown Regina in 1895, and that makes it one of the oldest structures in our prairie city. The building is not grand, but it is welcoming, and I walked through the doors and breathed in the mingled scents of fresh-cut evergreen boughs and melting candle wax I was overwhelmed by memories of other Advents and other Christmases. The baptismal font of St. Paul’s is at the back of the cathedral, and by the time we arrived, our family and friends had already gathered in the pews that would be closest to the action. They were not alone. Twin two-month-old boys with springy copper curls were a magnet, and Peter, Maisie, and their sons were surrounded by well-wishers. Mieka was the godmother of both babies, and Angus was Colin’s godfather, but Peter had asked his childhood friend Charlie Dowhanuik to be godfather of the boy who was named after him.

  Charlie D., as he was known professionally, was a magnet too. For ten years he had been the heavy-hitter on-air personality for the Toronto-based CVOX (“All Talk All the Time”), a privately owned radio network. The title of his call-in show, The World According to Charlie D., said it all. The music reflected Charlie’s eclectic tastes; his riffs on subjects ranging from erotomania to the art of cool were funny and smart; and when it came to discerning exactly what his callers needed to hear, he had perfect pitch. Every night a half-million people tuned in to The World According to Charlie D. Charlie’s six-figure salary plus stock options reflected how crucial he was to CVOX’s success. He was famous, revered, and well paid, but in mid-November, when his contract came up for renewal, Charlie had explained that it was time for him to explore options. He left Toronto and came back to Regina.

  I had known Charlie literally since the day he was born, and I had always loved him. The reasons he returned to Saskatchewan were a mystery to many, but not to me. During a trial involving Charlie’s father, Zack had offered Charlie support and friendship. Charlie was returning the favour, and I was grateful. Zack and I had always shared everything, but we had both been rocked by grief and we were trying to spare each other. There were moments when both of us needed to cry and to mourn. I had Mieka to talk to, but three of Zack’s lifelong confidants were gone. Charlie D. had an extraordinary ability to recognize and respond to the needs of others. That ability had brought him great success as a call-in host; now he was bringing his gift to Zack, and I was grateful beyond measure.

  When he spotted us entering the church, Charlie D. leapt effortlessly over the back of the pew where he’d been sitting, embraced me, hugged Taylor, and shook hands with Zack. Zack gave Charlie the once-over. “Looking good,” he said. “Yesterday, when you dragged me to the gym to shoot hoops, you were wearing a T-shirt that says, ‘I leave bite marks.’ ”

  Charlie D. shrugged. “It didn’t seem quite right for a baptism.”

  “Good call,” I said. “And Zack’s right. You make a very handsome godfather.”

  Indeed he did. Charlie D. had inherited his mother’s classic features: her sleepy hazel eyes and sensitive mouth. He was reed slim, and his three-piece dove-grey suit was closely tailored; the Windsor knot of his navy-and-grey striped si
lk tie was perfect; his dark hair was freshly barbered; and his black leather lace-ups shone.

  We settled into the pew: Angus, Charlie D., Mieka, Madeleine, Lena, Taylor, me, and, next to me in his wheelchair, Zack. As soon as Zack and I were ready, Maisie and Peter brought the boys to us. The Ayershire christening dresses Charlie and Colin wore were family heirlooms. Maisie and her twin, Lee, had worn the same delicate ivory gowns when they were baptized. The gowns were exquisite, but Maisie and Peter’s sons had neither the build nor the temperament for flowing dresses. Charlie and Colin had Peter’s green eyes and full lips, but they had inherited Maisie’s broad shoulders and athletic lankiness. The tiny pearl buttons on the boys’ gowns were already straining.

  As the choir sang the first thrilling notes of the plain-song “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel,” the boys squirmed. When I leaned close and whispered, “Hang tight. Grand-dad and I will get you out of those dresses in two hours max,” Zack chuckled, and for a fleeting moment his face lost its haunted look.

  Madeleine and Lena were wearing hunter-green turtlenecks, Black Watch tartan kilts, and dark-green tights. Both girls had tied their hair in a high ponytail. They were on the cusp of the next stage of girlhood, but the memory of their young parents watching anxiously as the bishop baptized first Madeleine and then, eighteen months later, Lena was vivid. Wondering if Mieka, too, was remembering the past, I glanced towards her. She was whispering in Charlie D.’s ear and they were both trying not to laugh. Clearly, their minds were focused on the pleasures of the present.

  As the dean announced that the candidates for Holy Baptism would be presented, I handed Colin to Mieka and Zack held Charlie out for Charlie D. to claim, then the twins’ parents and godparents formed a quarter circle to the left of the font, and the rest of us gathered close by. The baptism was underway. The dean of the cathedral had a young family and even the most obstreperous child grew calm in his arms, but when Charlie D. handed his namesake to the dean, and the dean poured the shell of baptismal water on Charlie’s head, the baby howled furiously. He continued to howl through the prayers, the lighting of the baptismal candle, and the walk up the aisle towards the altar where the dean introduced the newly baptized to the congregation. Charlie didn’t settle down until he was once again in Charlie D.’s arms. Colin, on the other hand, was quiet and contemplative, looking around thoughtfully throughout the ceremony, a model baptismal child. By the time we returned to our places in the pews, Charlie D. was holding a blissfully sleeping baby and wearing a Cheshire cat smile.

  —

  The boys’ hockey team at Standing Buffalo needed new hockey equipment, and Rose, Betty, and four other ladies from Standing Buffalo were raising money by catering. When we arrived for lunch at Lawyers’ Bay, the buffet was laid out on the long partners’ table in the sunroom. The food was plentiful and, with two exceptions, predictable: baked ham, potato salad, baked beans, coleslaw, deviled eggs, homemade bannock, fry bread, and crusty rolls.

  Betty had just completed a course in vegetable and fruit art in Fort Qu’Appelle, and in addition to some vegetable floral arrangements that were stunning, she had carved a pair of watermelon sea turtles for Colin and a ferocious-looking watermelon shark for Charlie. Not to be outdone, Rose had made each boy a cookie tree with branches hung with sugar cookies in the shapes of T-shirts and running shoes, each cookie iced in blue with the boys’ initials in white.

  It was a relaxed and happy lunch. Betty and the other ladies from Standing Buffalo lined up behind the table to help serve and accept compliments. The women all wore spotless white aprons and hairnets, and they were particularly solicitous of Brock, who had grown up in North Central Regina in a family broken by drugs, alcohol, poverty, and hopelessness. They made certain Brock and Margot’s children had a sample of everything. Brock noticed and was clearly touched.

  After a heated discussion, Lexi had agreed to wear civilian clothes to the baptism, but she had now changed back into her Max suit. When Brock passed us carrying his own loaded plate and a smaller loaded plate for Lexi, he said, “I’m glad our kids are growing up with this. I hope you both know that although Margot and I are working for Falconer Shreve, we’re still deeply committed to making sure kids in North Central have family parties too.”

  “We know,” Zack said. “Jo and I are working on that too.”

  Brock grinned. “Good. Take care of yourself, Zack. People are counting on you.”

  —

  After we’d eaten, we regrouped in the family room, and Maisie and Peter opened Colin and Charlie’s baptismal gifts as the little kids played and the adults oohed and aahed over the presents. Angus and Patsy’s gifts drew the most attention. They gave the boys what Patsy explained were traditional Chinese gifts for a new baby – six red envelopes of money, each marked with a separate wish: Happy Life, Good Fortune, Wisdom, Peace, Longevity, and Classic Luck. They also gave the boys a combination soother and soft plush tiger called a “WubbaNub.” Angus said that in Chinese mythology the tiger is believed to protect babies and keep them from harm. When Charlie began attacking his WubbaNub with ferocious enthusiasm, Margot asked if there was an animal that protected WubbaNubs against little fingers.

  Simon Weber lived year-round at the Weber cottage across the lake from Lawyers’ Bay, and he’d joined his father and Annie at the cathedral and come back with them for lunch. Simon was a lawyer, but his mental health had always been precarious. Living at the lake allowed him to continue seeing his therapist at Valleyview, a private psychiatric facility near Fort Qu’Appelle, and to work full-time at his passion: photography. Simon was photographing the baptism and lunch as his gift to the Crawford Kilbourn family, and I had already put in my order for duplicate prints.

  Zack and I had always been fond of Warren and Annie, but since Lorne Callow’s arrest and confession to the murders we had been drawn closer together by the need to learn everything we could about the man who, for thirty years, had been obsessed with my husband and his law partners. Warren and Annie’s connection to the tragedies had been peripheral, but both Webers had a strong moral sense and when Annie learned that it was Lorne who had taken and distributed the video he shot of her frogmarching Emmett out of the Scarth Club, she had been troubled. Whatever troubled Annie troubled Warren. When the facts emerged and we understood as much as we could ever understand of Lorne Callow’s story, the Webers’ burden was lifted.

  That afternoon as Annie and Warren sat with Peter, Maisie, and Margot looking at the photos of the baptism Annie had taken on her tablet, their easy laughter drifted across the room, and I felt the truth of the Latin motto of the school I had attended for thirteen years: Vincit Omnia Veritas – Truth Conquers All.

  Murray Jeffreys had, in fact, been Lorne Callow’s half-brother. After Murray Jeffreys’s father died, his mother married Dwight Callow. Lorne was a late-life baby, and he idolized his much older brother. He was sixteen years old when Murray died. Desperate to talk to anyone who had known his brother, Lorne went to Murray Jeffreys’s law office.

  Darryl Colby had been Jeffreys’s junior partner. He loathed the attention given to the accomplishments of the lawyers of Falconer Shreve from the moment they graduated from the College of Law. From Darryl’s perspective, the behaviour of the golden five and their friend on the night of the Christmas party had not been blameless. Jeffreys had been drunk at the party, but so had a lot of people, and that included all the members of The Winners’ Circle, except choirboy Chris Altieri. Jeffreys’s comments about Delia Margolies had been crude, but in Colby’s opinion, Delia had it coming. Rumour had it that she put out for anybody who could help her get ahead. Colby believed that when Jeffreys left the party to run after her, he was only trying to get what other guys had helped themselves to.

  Darryl Colby knew Jeffreys’s blood pressure and cholesterol levels were high and that he was an out-of-shape smoker who drank too much. He read and reread the coroner’s conclusion that Murray Jeffreys had died of acute myocardial infarction, but he wasn’t c
onvinced that The Winners’ Circle had been innocent of wrongdoing that night. In Murray’s grieving brother, Colby found the perfect receptacle for his own suspicions. The two became close, and when Lorne graduated with a diploma in office administration from a three-year program, Colby steered him towards a position in a law office. Over the years the two men, fired by their shared conviction that The Winners’ Circle had gotten away with murder, stayed close.

  Lorne Callow had proven to be a smart, discreet, and hard-working employee, and when an opportunity to join the staff at Falconer Shreve presented itself, he pounced. Suddenly he was in a position to do real damage. The night Callow learned he’d been hired as Delia Wainberg’s executive assistant, he invited Darryl Colby out to celebrate. But it was on that night of triumph that the first cracks appeared in the men’s relationship. Darryl was a successful lawyer, and he was content to limit his revenge to fighting attempts at out-of-court settlements proposed by Falconer Shreve lawyers and mercilessly attacking them in the courtroom. Colby had been surprised by Callow’s decision to work for Falconer Shreve, though he had not believed that Callow’s dreams of vengeance went beyond those of meddling with Falconer Shreve’s business. He was wrong. Lorne Callow wanted more. He wanted blood. The student had outstripped the teacher.

  When Falconer Shreve hired Emmett Keating, Callow saw his chance, and the sequence of events that would ultimately lead to four deaths, including Emmett’s own, was set in motion. From the beginning, Lorne Callow played Iago to Emmett Keating’s all too credulous Othello. Over the years, Callow stoked Keating’s dream of an equity partnership at Falconer Shreve and fuelled his paranoia with insinuations that the partners were contemptuous of him. Meanwhile, Lorne Callow bided his time waiting for the information that would smooth his pathway to revenge. It was when he saw Delia’s terse note rejecting Emmett Keating on the list of potential new equity partners that Callow made his move. While Delia was in a meeting, he stole the list off her desk and copied and distributed it.