What's Left Behind

by Gail Bowen

  “He’s not in an enviable position,” Milo agreed. “First, the yellowcanoeman operation and now he’s at the scene of the crime.” He unwrapped one of his chocolate bars and turned to Zack. “Time to step up to the plate, big man. You can’t win if you don’t show up.”

  Zack pulled out his BlackBerry and tapped away. When he was finished, he read out loud the tweet he’d just written. “Lee Crawford’s death is heartbreaking, but the RCMP will learn the truth and justice will come. Remain calm.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll ask Norine to arrange a press briefing for your statement about Lee’s death. Does nine this morning work for you?”

  Zack nodded. “Yep. At nine-thirty I’m meeting with city council.”

  “So Piper Edwards will be there?” I said.

  “I imagine so,” Zack said. “Why do you ask?”

  “She may be the problem,” I said. “At the meeting yesterday, Piper led the attack on Lee. She was adamant about Lee’s obligation to keep her video online.”

  Milo’s fingertips tapped out a riff on the butcher-block table. “And she got her wish,” he said.

  “She did,” I said. “Zack, I don’t trust her. Keep an eye on her at the meeting. See how she’s reacting to Lee’s murder.”

  “Will do,” Zack said.

  I looked at my watch. “We have time for a swim,” I said. Zack nodded and Milo beamed. He loved to swim and he was graceful in the water. The moment he dived in, all his ticks and jitters disappeared. Water was Milo’s element and he knifed through it with barely a ripple. “I’m in,” he said and jumped off his stool and tapped his way down the hall. “Angus, I’ve been wearing an old suit of yours – the one with Spider-Man on it. Okay if I wear it today?”

  Angus smiled. “No problem,” he said.

  My suggestion that we go for a swim was not whimsical. Zack and I were as close as two people could be. We talked about everything except the one subject that kept me awake at three in the morning: Zack’s health. Before we were married, Zack was determined that I understood exactly what I was signing on for. He arranged an appointment for both of us with his friend and physician, Henry Chan.

  Henry had been forthright. Paraplegia compromises everything, including the workings of internal organs, the blood’s ability to flow without clotting, and the skin’s ability to heal. As a paraplegic, Zack was vulnerable to respiratory ailments, renal failure, pulmonary embolisms, and septicemia. The list had been daunting, but I was deeply in love, and I said that we were all going to die of something and I wanted to die married to Zack.

  When I picked up my coat to leave, Henry asked me to stay and talk to him alone for a few minutes. He was a plainspoken man and as soon as Zack left the room, he went straight to the point. “Everyone who loves Zack is glad you came along, Joanne. He’s been living like an eighteen-year-old with a death wish for far too long. Booze, fast cars, too many women, too much pressure, no exercise, not enough sleep, eating only when he remembered to eat. It’s taken its toll, but I know Zack’s making an effort to change the way he lives. He wants to grow old with you.”

  “That’s what I want too,” I said.

  “And you’re doing all the right things,” Henry said. “But you have to accept the fact that you can’t change the man Zack is. I’ve known him for over twenty-five years and there’s no half-measure with him. He is fully alive only when he’s working. If you ask him to cut back on the number of cases he handles, he’ll do it because he loves you, but his frustration will shorten his life.”

  “How long do we have, Henry?”

  He shrugged. “None of us knows the answer to that, but I would say with luck, you and Zack will have ten years together.”

  My heart sank. I had counted on at least fifteen. “That’s not enough,” I said.

  “Make the most of what you’re given,” Henry said. Words to live by, and I did my best.

  Zack’s long-time executive assistant, Norine MacDonald, had agonized over whether to follow Zack to City Hall. She had been with Falconer Shreve from the beginning – twenty-eight years. Recently, the firm had been expanding rapidly, and the partners agreed that they needed Norine’s knowledge of their history and culture and her management skills to preserve what was best about Falconer Shreve while the firm adjusted the expectations of young lawyers who were reluctant to put in twelve-hour days until the loyalty kicked in and they could work to the point of collapse at their desks.

  The firm’s managing partners had been persuasive, but in the end, Norine’s loyalty to Zack won out. From the day he was sworn in, Norine was in the office adjoining his and I was reassured. Zack’s schedule as mayor was punishing, but I did what I could to carve out periods of time for him to rest and exercise. Every Sunday night Norine sent me a copy of Zack’s schedule for the week ahead. I would go through it, circling events Brock or I could handle, and send it back. Because of the holiday weekend, scheduling for this week had been particularly heavy, and as Zack was towelling off and getting dressed for the briefing, I called Norine to see what could be done to lighten the load. As always, she was way ahead of me. She’d drafted a note to many of those with whom Zack was scheduled to meet, explaining that for the next few days family obligations would take precedence and apologizing and rescheduling.

  After three years of marriage, my loins still twitched when Zack came into the room dressed for the day. That morning his suit was lightweight mochaccino, and he was wearing a matching shirt and a patterned mochaccino-and-turquoise silk tie. “You are such a good-looking guy,” I said. “Now I wish I’d put our swimming time to better use.”

  Zack gave me a satyr’s smile. “I offer rain checks. Are we taking both cars to City Hall?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I need to keep busy. After you deliver your statement to the press, I’m going to UpSlideDown. During all the pre-wedding festivities, Lee always found time for Madeleine and Lena and they were very fond of her. It’ll be difficult for them to accept the fact that she’s gone.”

  “Difficult for all of us,” Zack said.

  “Yes. Anyway, I’m going to see Mieka and find out how the girls are doing, and then I’ll meet you at the downtown library. Your reading with the preschoolers is scheduled for ten-thirty.”

  The mayor’s office was a large, utilitarian space, more than adequate for the number of journalists who normally showed up for a briefing. When I arrived, Norine was standing outside Zack’s office checking the press credentials of a journalist I didn’t recognize. Norine had always been a Max Mara woman, but lately she’d been adding outfits created by a local First Nations designer. The clothing was conservatively stylish with subtle but striking Aboriginal details: a pattern of eagle feathers on an ivory scarf; a beadwork flower on a lapel; a swirl of powwow bright colours on the collar of a black silk blouse. That day she was wearing beige slacks, a creamy turtleneck, and a pair of exquisite turquoise and silver drop earrings.

  As soon as the journalist went inside, I joined Norine. It seemed important to keep the mood normal. “I love those earrings,” I said.

  Norine was wry. “If we’d been living in my great-grandmother’s time, that compliment would mean I had to give you the earrings.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So …”

  She laughed softly. “Not a chance,” she said. “But I’ll make sure Zack gets the number of the woman who makes them.” Her face became grave. “The hysteria has already started,” she said. “I’ve made it clear that Zack’s only making a five-minute statement – no questions. But I had to have extra chairs brought in.”

  “How’s Zack doing?”

  Norine’s brow furrowed. “Zack rolls with the punches, but I think the magnitude of the response to Lee Crawford’s death has surprised him.” She gestured to the open door. “We might as well join the circus.”

  TV cameras and reporters from the three networks that had affiliates in Regina crowded the office, but other than the TV reporters and print journalists that covered City Hall, I
didn’t recognize anybody. When Zack saw me, he gave me a fleeting smile and wheeled his chair from behind his desk so he was closer to the press.

  “Let’s get started,” he said. Camera people positioned themselves. TV lights glared. Flashbulbs went off, and the event was underway.

  Years in the courtroom had taught Zack how to dominate a room. Pushing his weight in a wheelchair eighteen hours a day had made his upper body powerful, and as he leaned forward it was impossible not to feel his strength. He had an actor’s voice, full-timbred, rich, and strong, which brought genuine feeling to whatever he was saying. When all else failed, Zack had what Milo referred to as Zack’s “fucking amazing schtick” – his wheelchair.

  Zack had been careful about the wording of his statement, but he spoke without notes, and with true emotion.

  “Yesterday, Lee Crawford died. She was thirty-three years old. A lifetime of potential and possibilities died with her. She was bright, devoted to preserving the land, the heritage birds, and the heirloom orchards and gardens her guardian, Colin Brokenshire, left her. After her birds were killed, Lee said, ‘The world is a little poorer because they’re gone.’ My family and others who were part of Lee’s life know that today the world is a little poorer because she’s gone.

  “We don’t know who killed Lee Crawford. The RCMP is investigating. If, as citizens, we have information that might help in the investigation, we should go to the RCMP. Other than that, we must leave them to their work. They will find the person or persons who did this, and at that point, the law will take over and justice will be done.

  “Like everyone who takes a public stance, Lee had opponents. She was on the receiving end of ugly pranks, vicious emails, and anonymous phone calls. Yesterday, one of the RCMP officers asked our son Angus if Lee was afraid of the people who berated her.

  “Lee was more perplexed than afraid. She was an idealist who believed that people are good, and that if we could lower our voices and really listen to one another, we could work things out.” Zack moved his wheelchair closer to the media people. “It’s time to lower our voices and listen,” he said.

  Norine and I didn’t stay as we both knew that Zack wouldn’t be answering questions. As we stepped into the hall, Norine looked worried. “What do you think?”

  “He said all the right things, but the day Lancaster hired Slater Doyle to manage their referendum campaign, the evil genie got out of the bottle.”

  “Zack has always found a way to put evil genies in their place,” Norine said.

  “Let’s hope he hasn’t lost his touch,” I said.

  It was raining hard when I got to UpSlideDown. Parking on 13th was always a problem, so I nosed the Volvo into the employee-parking space behind the building. When I came through the back door, Mieka’s face pinched with concern. “Mum, you’re soaked, and you look like you’re freezing.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m not staying long. I just dropped by to see how Madeleine and Lena are doing.”

  Mieka sighed. “They seem okay, but they’re not.”

  “Just like the rest of us,” I said.

  “This morning Lena asked me when we’d be happy again.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I didn’t know.” Mieka’s laugh was short and angry. “Not much of an answer, was it?”

  “It’s the truth,” I said. “Mieka, we’re all just hanging on.”

  My daughter’s green eyes were miserable. “Lee’s death is just so wrong,” she said. “Mum, if I get you a towel and some dry clothes, could you hang on with me for a few minutes?”

  “Of course,” I said. Luckily, Mieka and I were the same size. After I changed my clothes, she poured me a mug of coffee.

  “We can sit in the café,” she said. “But you might want to stay here. Slater Doyle’s husband, Michael Goetz, is out there.”

  “By himself?” I said.

  “No, with Slater’s daughter, Bridie. They’ve become regulars. They’re always here on the weekend and Michael often brings Bridie in for lunch. I know you don’t like him, Mum, but he’s devoted to Bridie and she really is a sweetheart.”

  “I met Bridie here with Slater one day during the election campaign. She’s very sweet. It would be impossible not to like her.” I sipped my coffee. “Did you hear Zack’s statement this morning?”

  “I did.” Mieka’s smile was impish. “Your turn to listen, Mum. Go for it.”

  Michael was sitting at a table for four by the quiet-activity area. Because of the rain, there were plenty of kids around, but Bridie played alone, carefully moving plastic royalty through the rooms of a pink castle. She was a fairy child – delicately boned, with wavy white-blond hair and porcelain skin. Michael sat watching her, totally absorbed in her play.

  Mieka touched his arm. “Michael, I think you know my mother, Joanne.”

  He was taken aback but gracious. He stood and smiled. “Of course,” he said.

  “Mind if we join you?” I said.

  “It would be nice to have company,” he said. “As Mieka can tell you, I’m not an expert on castles and princesses, and Bridie often has questions.”

  I had never liked Michael Goetz. The first time I met him he burned with self-righteous anger and lashed out with ugly accusations. As details of his medical malfeasance emerged and he was stripped of his licence to practise psychiatry, my assessment was harsh. But humiliation and loss had changed him. That morning the suffering in Michael Goetz’s eyes moved me.

  Hearing our voices, Bridie came over. She cocked her head and examined my face carefully. “I remember you,” she said. “You were here one time when I came with my daddy. Then we stopped coming. Did you wonder where I was?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I did.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to wonder because I’m back,” she said and then returned to arranging the complex lives of plastic royalty.

  The look on Michael’s face as he watched Bridie would have melted a harder heart than mine. “Bridie’s a beautiful child,” I said.

  “She is,” he agreed. “And now that I no longer have a practise, I have plenty of time to spend with her. Bridie is my silver lining.”

  A tussle over a rocking horse threatened the peace in the quiet-activity area, and Mieka went to calm the combatants. Michael watched her as she walked across the room, then he turned to me. “Thank you for coming to sit with me, Joanne. Given our history, I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “We have to start somewhere,” I said.

  “I heard Zack’s statement this morning when I was driving here and I’ve been following his tweets,” Michael said. “He’s right. Lee Crawford’s death should force us all to examine what we’re doing.”

  “Does Slater share your feelings about that?” I said.

  Michael fingered his gold wedding band. “Slater and I don’t share much of anything any more.”

  “If you explain to Slater that we all have to take a step back, will he listen to you?”

  His mouth hardened. “Slater only listens to me when he’s desperate.”

  “And he’s not desperate now,” I said.

  Michael ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. “Joanne, I’d really rather not talk about Slater.”

  It was an awkward moment, and I was grateful when Mieka returned. “I should take off,” I said. “Zack’s reading to a group of preschoolers at the library downtown, and I promised I’d catch his act.”

  Michael stood. “It was good talking to you,” he said.

  “Let’s keep talking,” I said. “For all our sakes.”

  I said goodbye to Bridie at the pink palace, then Mieka walked me through the kitchen to the back door. “I never thought I’d feel sorry for Michael Goetz,” I said, “but I do.”

  “He’s miserable,” Mieka agreed. “What I can’t understand is how a man like Michael would marry a snake like Slater Doyle.”

  “Michael and Slater were lovers for years before Slater came out,” I said. “They’ve been t
hrough a lot together.”

  “And now Michael’s stuck in a loveless marriage,” Mieka said.

  “But he has Bridie,” I said.

  The shoe rack outside the children’s library was a sea of crayon-bright rubber boots. Zack was already chatting with the kids when I arrived. He waited until I’d found a place to sit before he began. The audience was comprised of preschoolers, but Madeleine and Lena were not long out of preschool when Zack and I married, so he knew how to wow the junior set. First, he read The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog, one of our granddaughters’ summer favourites. When he read the pigeon’s description of a hot dog as being “a celebration in a bun,” the kids smiled with satisfaction. And as Zack pretended to stumble over the words of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, the children chimed in. By the time he got to Where the Wild Things Are and Goodnight Moon, the performance had become a collaboration, with the children’s reedy voices supporting Zack’s bass.

  Then it was question time. There were questions about caterpillars, about what Zack liked to put on his hot dog, and about whether it was fun to be mayor. Then a boy wearing Harry Potter glasses, who was perhaps four, tossed Zack a high hard one. “Why did somebody kill that lady and her birds?”

  Zack moved his chair closer to the boy. “I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is that the police will find that person. Until then, we have to tell people that hurting others is never the answer.”

  “I could tell people that,” the Harry Potter boy said. “But I’d have to ask my parents.”

  “Understood,” Zack said. “I’d be happy to talk to your parents whenever they’d like to talk.” He wheeled back so he could focus on the whole audience. “I’d be happy to talk to any of you about this or anything else,” he said. “I’ll leave business cards with my contact information at the circulation desk. Please take a card and keep it handy. We’re all in this together.”

  When we got outside I turned to Zack. “That went well,” I said. “The little guy with the Harry Potter glasses was a challenge, but his question was fair, and you treated him with the respect he deserved.”