Deadline

by Maher, Stephen

  Then her eyes were back on Jack. “What do you think you meant?” she asked.

  “Shit,” said Jack. “It does sound like a suicide note, doesn’t it? Shit.” He looked around. “Do you think you can get me some more water please?”

  She refilled his cup, then stayed standing next to his bed after she gave it to him, looking down at him.

  “What did you mean?” she asked.

  “Well,” he said, “I lost my job yesterday, in a very, uh, I guess you could say humiliating way.”

  “I know about that,” she said.

  “I went to see my friend Sophie, who I may have a crush on.” He shrugged. “I wanted some sympathy from my friend. And she was busy. She was with somebody in her apartment, a man, and wouldn’t let me in, and I took that hard. I think I wanted to hurt her, to let her know that she had hurt me. I can’t be sure that I really wanted her to think I was killing myself. I hope not. Because that’s a pretty shitty thing to do. What’s it say again?”

  She read it aloud again.

  “I would like to think that maybe I was going to write more, and drunkenly hit send by mistake,” he said. He had to look away from her eyes. “But it’s possible I wanted her to worry about me. I know that must seem childish.”

  She sat back down. “What’s the last memory you have of the night you and Ed were drinking at Pigale?”

  Jack stared at her. “Did Sophie tell you about that?”

  She shifted in her seat.

  “Well?” she said.

  He realized his mistake.

  “You’re not a counsellor,” he said. “You’re Ashton.”

  She gave him a big smile. “Yes,” she said. “That’s right.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You just lied to me, gave me the impression I was talking to a counsellor, so I would open up to you.”

  “I didn’t say I was a counsellor,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “You didn’t, but you let me think that. I could lose my job if I did that.”

  Then he laughed. “Or I frigged up a really big story,” he said. “I could lose my job for that, too. Anyway, you police can get away with lying. I can’t ever misrepresent myself. The first thing I have to do when I talk to anyone on a story is identify myself as a reporter. It’s interesting that you don’t have to do that.”

  She looked at him hard for a moment. “We are trying to catch killers. It’s different. We can’t say just anything, because we could run into problems in court, but there’s a different, um, onus on us.”

  “I guess that’s right,” he said. “But you should be careful. When Flanagan interviewed me the first time he kept telling me lies and it made me defensive. Anyway, my last clear memory of Ed is having a smoke with him outside at Pigale. It was cold. He was bragging about how he was going to make a move, how he would hire me to be a d comms – director of communications – after he got his next job. Just drunk bragging, I think. He’s like that. Part of his charm.

  “I remember one funny thing he said to me. He said, ‘The definition of a transition period is, the period between two transition periods.’ I think he was counting on a promotion if Donahoe wins the leadership.”

  “You don’t remember anything after that?” said Ashton.

  “Not much,” said Jack. “I remember little flashes. Sitting down watching the strippers. I remember him leaving to go for a lap dance. I remember staggering out to a cab. That’s about it.”

  “You don’t remember taking his BlackBerry?”

  “No. Not at all. I don’t remember if I had it or not.”

  “Did he talk to you about his files?”

  “Not much. I’m a reporter, remember? He wasn’t supposed to talk to me about his files. We would talk about politics, though. The upcoming leadership race, that kind of thing.”

  “How did he get on with Sophie?” she asked.

  “Great,” he said. “She was good for him. They were happy together. I saw them a fair bit and there was a kind of mutual respect between them that I admired.”

  “Did you spend time at their apartment?”

  “Yeah. Scattered time. Stop by for a drink or whatever.”

  “What did Ed use the computer for?”

  “Email. Porn. Warcraft. The usual. Sophie would read celebrity gossip blogs, Perez Hilton, check the weather.”

  “So they both use it?”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “Why?”

  “Never mind why. Last time it ended up in the newspaper.”

  Jack laughed. “No danger of that now.”

  “Have you seen Sophie use the computer since Ed got hurt?”

  “Yeah. The other day I slept there. In the morning, she booted it up to check the weather. And …”

  “What?”

  “After she left, I was kind of snooping around, and I found a line to a web cam hidden in a bookshelf in the bedroom.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Are you and Sophie having a sexual relationship?”

  “No,” said Jack, shaking his head. “No. We never have. I do have a crush on her, but I’ve never made a move. She’s my friend’s girlfriend.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Any idea who was there the other night?”

  Jack shook his head. “Nope. Some lucky dude.”

  She sat back, exhaled and thought. “Do you have any idea who might have tried to drown Ed?”

  “No,” he said. “Some bad dudes.”

  He thought for a moment. “Look, there’s something I should tell you. The night after Ed wound up in the canal, when I went home, I saw these guys near my apartment. They were dressed in dark, like black boots, dark ski jackets. They both had moustaches. They were in a black Buick. Something about them spooked me, so I took off running and it seemed to me like they were pursuing me. I would run and hide and then the Buick would go by. Eventually I shook them off and went to Sophie’s.

  “They looked like cops, big guys, all in black, but I didn’t figure they were with you guys. They made me nervous. I had the creepy feeling that they were tracking me by my BlackBerry.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “Because I couldn’t shake them. I’d think I’d lost them and then I’d see the Buick again. Might be paranoia. But when I powered down my Berry, I did finally lose them.”

  “You haven’t seen them again?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if you do see them again, I want you to call me on my cell as soon as you can and get away from them. And I’m going to need a more detailed description.”

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t see them again,” he said.

  “Why?” said Ashton.

  “Because I’m leaving for Newfoundland just as soon as I can get out of this hospital. I’m finished with Ottawa.”

  Simms didn’t have to listen for long to find the edit. It was in the highlighted bit.

  In one file, the French recording matched the English transcript. “To mend this rift, they say, we need to make a new place for Quebec in the constitution, and formally recognize what is a fact of life, the distinct and rich cultural life of the province. Call it Meech II. I am with these people.”

  In the other file, there were an extra two words: ne pas. “Je ne suis pas avec ce monde,” said Donahoe, quite clearly. Someone had edited the clip to reverse Donahoe’s message. He was actually saying that he would not attempt a Meech II, and then the tape ended. He likely went on to say what he would do instead. But whoever had edited the clip cut it off there.

  So Balusi and company were trying to derail Donahoe’s leadership campaign with a fake tape, thought Simms, which would hand the leadership to Mowat. That would be an explosive story. PMO Operative Behind Dirty Tricks Campaign. She briefly thought about going to Murphy with the audio files. She would get a great scoop, but she would lose her best source.

  Or she could try to use the secret to get leverage over Balusi, and get lots of scoops.

  She sent him a PIN.

  To: Ismael Balusi

/>   From: Ellen Simms

  Subject: Bullshit

  You doctored the tape. Tsk tsk tsk.

  He responded immediately.

  From: Ismael Balusi

  To: Ellen Simms

  Subject: Bullshit

  I can explain. Free for lunch?

  After Ashton left, Jack had to sit through a session with a real suicide prevention counsellor but he was able by the end to convince her that whatever had happened the night before, he was not suicidal. After waiting for what felt like hours, the doctor came back, checked him over and he was able to remove the IV, get dressed, check himself out and smoke two cigarettes in the hospital parking lot.

  Then he went back inside, found out where Ed’s room was, and went in for a visit. The Sawatskis and Sophie were there.

  Jack said hello, then went over and said hello to Ed, who lay staring at the ceiling blankly.

  The Sawatskis greeted him so solicitously he figured Sophie had told them what happened the night before. They didn’t say anything, but they looked concerned and were watching him closely. He decided to bring things out into the open.

  “Look,” said Jack. “Sophie probably told you what happened last night.”

  The Sawatskis nodded.

  “I thought they should know,” said Sophie.

  “Yes, b’y,” said Mr. Sawatski.

  “Jack, you have so much to live for,” said Mrs. Sawatski, and she gave him a hug.

  “Well. I understand why Sophie told you, but I have to ask you now to keep it to yourselves. I was pretty upset, and very drunk, and somehow I took more sleeping pills than I should have, but I don’t think I was really trying to kill myself. It was an accident that could have killed me, but Sophie here saved my life.” He paused, momentarily overcome by the idea that he might have died. “Anyway, I don’t want you to worry about me, at all. Whatever happened last night is behind me. I just had a talk with the suicide counsellor, and I told her what I’ll tell you. I’ve got plans now. I’m not the least bit depressed. I’m looking forward to getting home to Newfoundland and getting on with my life. I’ll leave today if I can. But the last thing I need is for people down there to be worried about me. So please don’t mention anything to my parents, or anyone. It’s going to be hard enough to get a job in the business already. The last thing I need is people thinking that I’m cracked.”

  “What you going on about?” said Mr. Sawatski. “Everybody home already knows y’er cracked.”

  They laughed then, and Mrs. Sawatski hugged him. Then the Sawatskis went for lunch.

  Sophie stayed behind.

  “You really are better?” she said, looking at him closely.

  “I told the truth,” he said. “I really don’t think I tried to kill myself. I can’t remember what happened, but it must have been an accident. I don’t remember emailing you, but I was probably trying to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, but there it is. When I went to your place and you were there with somebody, I … ”

  He looked away.

  “Oh Jack,” said Sophie. “I’m glad you did send me an email. Otherwise …”

  They hugged then. He held her in his arms and looked down at her.

  “You saved my life,” he said. “I owe you.”

  He felt the urge to kiss her, and then felt guilty about that urge. She saw something odd in his eyes, and pulled him close into a hug again.

  “I’m just so glad you made it,” she said. “I was so scared.”

  Jack held her close and closed his eyes. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled the clean, intoxicating scent of her. When he opened them again, he glanced over to the bed where Ed lay.

  “Hey,” he said. “How you doing, b’y? Ready for a little visit?”

  Sophie pulled away and turned to the bed.

  “Oh my God,” she said, smiling.

  Ed was staring at them.

  “So I think you gave me quite a story,” said Simms, cradling a glass of Pinot Grigio in both her hands and peering at Balusi. “But I don’t think it’s the story you thought you were giving me.”

  Balusi smiled back at her but his eyes were guarded. “What story is that?” he asked.

  They were seated in the dining room at Hy’s. Around them, lobbyists, politicians and staffers were lunching, eating steaks and salads, drinking wine, looking prosperous and powerful.

  “I don’t think you’ll like it,” said Ellen. “But I know Murphy will.”

  “Okay,” said Balusi. “I give up. Tell me the story.”

  “Stevens’ Aide Doctors Tape to Discredit Donahoe.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s a very good story,” he said. “For one thing, it’s not true. I’ve never doctored a tape in my life.”

  “No?” said Simms. “Well, somebody doctored it. You sent me two files, one doctored, one not doctored. Sure looks like you were trying to sandbag Donahoe.”

  “It looks that way, but I really didn’t know the tape had been edited until you PINed me.”

  “That’s interesting. It’s still a good story. We could put you on camera saying that. And then I could ask you who did doctor it.”

  Balusi laughed with discomfort. “You’re right,” he said. “That would be a good story.”

  Simms smiled broadly. “I told you!”

  “But I don’t think you should do that story,” he said, smiling back at her. “Because then I would lose my job, and then I wouldn’t be able to give you any more stories ever again.”

  Simms took a sip of wine. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m not going to do it.”

  Balusi’s shoulders sagged with relief.

  “But you owe me a really good scoop,” she said. “Something really juicy.”

  “How about this?” he said. “Donahoe’s going to launch his campaign tomorrow. He’s going to be first out of the gate.”

  “Wow,” she said. “They must think you’re on their side.”

  “They might.”

  “That’s a good start,” said Simms, “but not good enough. We can call it a down payment.”

  Balusi nodded. “But you have to go with the tape story.”

  Simms shook her head. “I can’t. I know it’s bullshit. If you hadn’t sent me two tapes, I could have, but now that I know it’s a setup, I can’t do it.”

  Balusi took a deep breath. “Well, I’ll have to give it to someone else then. I need that story to break as Donahoe’s launching his campaign. We need to kneecap him as he leaves the gate. We want this race to be over before it begins. If Donahoe is obviously compromised from the get-go, then it makes it easier for Mowat to twist arms in caucus. He can lock it up. So you can do it, or I can leak it to someone else. Luce Politi maybe.”

  Simms stared at him. “How many people know it was doctored?”

  “You, me and the guy who doctored it,” he said, “who obviously has excellent reasons to keep his mouth shut. I didn’t even know that it was doctored until you messaged me today. You are covered. Nobody will ever know.”

  “It’s a good story,” she said.

  “You’ll have the scoop of the day,” said Balusi. “It will be just like the drowning story. Everybody will have to watch you all day to know what’s going on.”

  Simms looked at him through narrowed eyes.

  “And you’ll still owe me a really big scoop,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “And I’ll still owe you a really big scoop.”

  Sophie smothered Ed in kisses while Jack stood behind her, beaming down at his friend.

  “How you doing, buddy?” he asked. “Feeling better?”

  Ed blinked twice.

  “That means no,” said Sophie. “What’s the matter? Do you want me to get the doctor?”

  He blinked twice again.

  “Well, she says it may be a while before you start feeling better,” said Sophie. “She said your brain is healing itself right now, and the more time you spend communicating with us the better it is. She says it’s likely really har
d for you, but you need to do it so you can get better.”

  Ed’s eyes flicked back and forth from Sophie to Jack.

  Sophie said to Jack: “The doctor said that in the early stages, it can be terribly painful and depressing to come out of a coma, so patients will often prefer to stay unconscious. She said it’s a lot of work to fight back.”

  She bent over Ed. “Is it painful and depressing, honey?”

  He blinked once.

  “Well I need you to fight harder,” she said. “We need to spend more time communicating.”

  Ed didn’t respond.

  Jack spoke up. “Ed, do you remember what happened after you dropped me off in the taxi after we went to Pigale? The police are trying to figure out who tried to drown you. Do you remember?”

  Ed blinked twice.

  Sophie said, “He doesn’t remember anything from that night.”

  “Ed, do you know a guy with a black moustache and a big scar on his right eyebrow?” asked Jack.

  Ed looked at Jack, then blinked once.

  “Who’s that?” said Sophie.

  Jack ignored her.

  “Do you think he might have tried to drown you, Ed?” asked Jack.

  But Ed’s eyes were blank again.

  “That’s how it is,” said Sophie. “It’s like he only has enough energy for a little chat, then he tunes out again.”

  Jack put his hand over his friend’s. “Ed, b’y,” he said, raising his voice. “You get better. I’m going back to Newfoundland. I hope to hear soon that you’re on the mend. After you’re up and around, we’ll go out on a tear and celebrate, eh?”

  “Talking louder doesn’t help,” said Sophie. “What are you going to do in Newfoundland?”

  Simms was wearing a mischievous smile on her face when she knocked on Murphy’s door. She dangled a memory stick in her hand.

  Murphy looked up from his computer. “Here’s trouble,” he said.

  “You know it,” said Simms as she sashayed in. She put the memory stick on his desktop. “Have a listen to this.”

  Murphy took the stick and plugged it into his computer. “Something good?” he said.

  “Not bad,” she said, and stretched out on his office couch. “It’s a recording of a Q-and-A session that Donahoe had with some Quebec Tories in Montreal on Wednesday. Nobody else has it.”