by Gail Bowen
“Lee said you were like family.”
“We were,” Bette said, and her voice was dead. “We were like family.” She breathed deeply. “Now, let’s go into my little hideaway, enjoy our refreshments, and watch the swans.”
After we’d had our tea and cake, we cleared away the dishes and Bette brought out a manila envelope of photos. “I’m sparing you from going through all the albums,” she said. “I chose some pictures that showed Lee at different ages. Maisie can do what she likes with them, but I’ve had a copy made of one I hope she’ll use.”
Bette removed an eight-by-ten photograph from the envelope and held it out to me. “Lee was seven when she asked me to take this. She’d been outside, and she came running up to the house, out of breath, with her hair every which way. The words just seemed to tumble out of her. She said, ‘I was lying in that field of grass by the canola watching the sky. All of a sudden the wind came up. When it blew through the field, it sounded like the grass was singing.’ ”
As she lay on the ground Lee’s copper curls were indeed going every which way. With a smudge of dirt on her nose and her smile showing two gaps where her baby teeth were missing, it was impossible to imagine a child more blissful or more triumphantly alive. “I’ll make sure this one is included,” I said.
Bette’s eyes were filled with tears. “Lee was easy to love,” she said. “Somehow I’d forgotten that.”
Annie and Warren Weber were on the terrace with Zack when I got home. Annie had painted her generous lips the cotton-candy pink of Warren’s Bermuda shorts and her golf skirt.
Warren rose when I joined them, and as always, he moved directly to the matter at hand. “We just got back from a meeting with Simon’s lawyer,” he said. “According to Asia, the situation is not good. The police investigation is closing in around Simon. None of the other leads are panning out. Piper Edwards seemed like a real possibility. The police have questioned the people present at the CPG meeting that morning and everyone remembers Ms. Edwards’s animosity towards Lee, but Ms. Edwards’s alibi is holding up – at least so far. Simon doesn’t have an alibi and the circumstantial evidence against him is damning. When Angus discovered him at the scene of the murder, Simon didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how he had got to the barn, and he didn’t know how long he’d been there. The police haven’t found the murder weapon. Simon says he doesn’t remember what happened to his phone. Lee wasn’t wearing her engagement ring when her body was found, so the police have been hunting for that. Until this morning, it appeared that the engagement ring, like every other piece of hard evidence, had vanished into thin air, but this morning when George Sawchuk was doing chores, he stuck his pitchfork into a bale of hay, and there it was.”
“And the police hadn’t found it before now?” I said.
“No, and they say they had been rigorous, but that old adage about the needle in the haystack held true until this morning. Their theory is that the murderer tossed the engagement ring away after he ripped it off Lee’s finger. And that’s more bad news for Simon. It’s not general knowledge, but Lee’s finger was bruised and broken by her attacker. Asia says mutilating the finger is common when a lover kills his once-beloved. She thinks the Crown will argue that Simon was enraged that Lee was marrying another man and the damage to Lee’s finger came when Simon pulled off the engagement ring.”
“How’s Asia planning to handle this?” Zack said.
“As of now, she doesn’t have many options,” Warren said. “She’s talked to Simon’s psychiatrist and she’s talked to Angus. Dr. Fidelak believes that when Angus saw Simon, Simon was in a dissociative fugue state caused by the fact that he either witnessed or committed a traumatic event. Both Asia and Angus believe the trauma began when Simon walked into the barn and saw Lee and her dog dead. They believe that he really did try to revive Lee and that he put his head against Gabby’s bloody chest to see if the dog’s heart was beating. And they both believe that Simon arrived shortly before Angus did – certainly after the murder had been committed.”
Zack sighed. “Unfortunately, Asia and Angus’s faith in Simon won’t count in a court of law.”
Warren was stoic. “It won’t. Asia has said all along that the Crown will argue that because of his own mental illness Simon is knowledgeable about psychiatry and that as a lawyer he would be aware of the advantages of feigning a dissociative fugue state to muddy the waters about exactly what happened in the barn. She believes the Crown will argue that Simon’s action in washing the blood off himself was premeditated. He knew that by removing any gunshot residue, a GSR test to see if he’d recently fired a gun would be rendered meaningless.”
Annie sat next to Warren on a wicker loveseat. She leaned forward so she could look directly at me. “We have to do something, Joanne. If we could prove Simon received a text from Lee’s phone, that would help establish the time that he arrived at the barn. But Lee’s phone is also missing.”
“Unless one of the phones miraculously shows up, there’s no proof at all that the text was sent and received,” Warren said.
“How is Simon dealing with all this?” I said.
“Not well,” Warren said.
“Everyone is under so much stress,” Annie said.
“Annie is trying to fit Simon’s behaviour into some sort of normal pattern,” Warren said. “But his behaviour is becoming increasingly irrational. He spends almost all his time out on the lake in his canoe. He’s still staying in the apartment over the boathouse, but he doesn’t have his meals with us any more. Three times a day, Annie takes a tray to the boathouse. Simon eats whatever he’s given, washes his dishes, and leaves them outside the door. When Annie and I try to talk to him, he answers in monosyllables.
“Dr. Fidelak comes over every day for an hour. She and Simon sit together, but according to her he often doesn’t say a word. She believes hypnosis might help him remember the missing details about what happened from the moment he received Lee’s text until the moment when he saw Angus. Simon refuses. He says now that Lee’s dead, he doesn’t care what happens to him.”
“Meanwhile, Lee’s killer walks around free,” Zack said.
“We’ve tried to make that point,” Annie said. “It doesn’t seem to matter to Simon.”
“Is there a friend who could talk to him?” Zack said.
“Simon never had many friends,” Warren said. “And the few he did have have fallen away since he checked himself into the hospital.” He turned to me. “Perhaps Angus?”
“Angus would do it,” I said. “But he’s just started his first major trial and he’s still so torn up about Lee’s death that he’s finding it difficult to focus.”
“Then Angus is out,” Annie said flatly. “He deserves his chance. Lee was your daughter-in-law’s sister. Maisie must be as desperate as we are to know what happened that afternoon. Joanne, maybe you could convince Simon to undergo hypnosis.”
Remembering the wildness in Simon’s eyes as he told Zack and me he’d do anything to be with Lee, I felt a chill. “The truth might not help Simon,” I said.
“Not knowing the truth is killing him,” Warren said emphatically. “Joanne, Simon can’t go on like this. None of us can. For all our sakes, please talk to Simon.”
The image of Simon choosing the perfect matching beach towels at the firm’s Canada Day party flashed through my mind. That afternoon he told me he had met the woman who could save him. I wasn’t Lee, but if I could save Simon from the hell of not knowing, I knew I didn’t have a choice.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll do my best.”
As I set out the next morning, my mood was as sombre as the weather. Lowering skies, light rain, and heavy mist made the familiar landscapes seem alien and unknowable. I was having grave doubts about the wisdom of agreeing to speak to Simon, but it was too late to turn back.
Annie and Warren greeted me at the gate, and then Annie ran into the cottage and returned with two travel mugs of coffee for me to take to the boathouse.
There was a slope between the cottage and the lake. A third of the way down Simon startled me by appearing out of the mist. I handed him one of the mugs, and we walked to the beach together. The rain had stopped. Simon gestured towards two red Muskoka chairs facing the lake. “I’ve dried these off,” he said.
He wore jeans and a white T-shirt. He looked well; his dark hair was long and he was thin, but he was tanned and his eyes were clear.
For a few minutes we sat in silence. The day was cool and the coffee, strong and hot, was welcome. Most often when we visited the Webers on rainy days, we could look directly across at Lawyers’ Bay and see rectangles of light from the windows of the cottages that dotted the horseshoe of land around the bay. That day there was nothing – just a thick blanket of impenetrable fog. When I couldn’t see our cottage I felt a stab of existential panic. Simon sensed my unease.
“It’s terrifying when something that’s always been there disappears,” he said.
“It is,” I said. “But the cottages are there,” I said. “And when the fog lifts, we’ll be able to see them again.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Simon said, and his despair made my heart ache.
Out of nowhere, a memory came. “When I was young, my grandmother took me to see a revival of the musical Brigadoon,” I said. “The town of Brigadoon emerges from the Highland mists only once in a hundred years and then only for a single day. In the play a young woman of Brigadoon and a man from ‘outside’ fall in love. If the young woman leaves Brigadoon, the town will disappear forever. In the end, the young man agrees to join her in Brigadoon so they can be together.”
As I told the old story, Simon was rapt. “Even though he’ll have to leave his own world behind, being with her will be enough,” Simon said, and his voice was a whisper.
“I guess the message of the play is that love transcends everything,” I said.
“Even death?” Simon’s tone was urgent. “Do you believe love transcends death?”
“I do,” I said. “And I believe that love makes it possible to go on living.”
Simon gestured towards the lake. “Even when all you can see ahead is grey space and emptiness.”
“Even then,” I said. “Because although we can’t see it, there is something there. Simon, you can’t give up. Dr. Fidelak believes hypnosis will provide some answers. Zack always says the only thing worse than knowing is not knowing. We all need to know the truth. Everyone around you will do what they can to help, but you have to take the first step.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“That’s a start,” I said.
We finished our coffee and Simon walked with me till we were halfway up the incline.
Then, without explanation, he turned and started back towards the lake. I watched until he disappeared into the mist.
Late Sunday afternoon, Peter called to confirm that the RCMP was releasing Lee Crawford’s body the following Tuesday, so the funeral would be held on Saturday, May 30.
“It will be a relief to get at least this part over,” Peter said. “Maybe now Maisie and I can focus on remembering the person Lee was and continuing her work.”
For the first time since Lee’s death, it seemed that Peter and Maisie were finding their footing, and I felt a flutter of hope.
My optimism was short-lived. Not long after I spoke to Pete, Warren and Annie arrived at our condo. Annie was carrying a gorgeous double-pink hydrangea. “This is for your terrace,” she said. “Last time we were here you said you’d lost your last double-pink to frost and you missed it.”
I took the plant from her. “You’re a good friend to think of me with everything else that’s going on in your life,” I said. “Let me take this outside, and then we can visit.” I was back in seconds. “I found just the right place for the hydrangea,” I said. “It makes me smile just to look at it. Now, can I get you tea or a cold drink?”
“Nothing, thank you,” Warren said. He leaned forward. The ordeal had aged him. “Joanne, I want to thank you for talking to Simon. Dr. Fidelak thinks he may be ready to turn a corner. She’s had Simon on a medication that’s intended to calm him so he can think coherently. It seems to be finally kicking in. Thanks to you, he’s agreed to try hypnosis. He had one session today, and he was able to supply details that he hadn’t remembered earlier. Dr. Fidelak believes that, at some point, Simon will be able to put together the pieces of what happened that afternoon.”
“That’s good news,” Zack said.
“It should be,” Warren said. “But as always seems to be the case with Simon, there’s a problem. He’s refusing to continue with the hypnosis. All along, he’s believed he was innocent. Suddenly, he’s not sure, and he’s petrified. We’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t listen. Meanwhile, Asia believes it won’t be long before the police arrest Simon.”
“Asia’s a scrapper,” Zack said. “She won’t be sitting there with her client waiting for the police to come knocking. What’s the plan?”
Warren leaned forward. “We’ve decided to take matters into our hands and look more closely into Lee Crawford’s life to see if there’s someone else who had a motive to kill her.” Warren paused. “We’ve heard the rumours about her sexual relationships.”
I felt a prickle of anxiety. “Warren, I don’t like where this is going,” I said.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” Warren said. “But please hear me out. Joanne, someone did kill Lee Crawford, and for Simon’s sake, for all our sakes, we have to find the murderer. I’ve hired a private detective agency here in the city. I’ve used Harries-Crosby before, and they’re discreet and thorough. Much of what they dig up will undoubtedly be unpleasant. There may be revelations that your family, especially Lee’s sister, won’t welcome, but we have no alternative.”
I tried to tamp down my anger. “Warren, on Thursday I sat down with my son, our daughter-in-law, and the minister of Wesley United Church to plan Lee’s funeral. It was excruciating. Lee was thirty-three years old and she was deeply loved by many. Later that day, I went through photographs for the memory board at Lee’s funeral with Bette Stevens. When the twins were growing up, Bette was like a mother to them. If Lee had lived, Bette would have been her mother-in-law. I understand your need to protect Simon, but what you’re proposing will inflict pain on people who are already broken.”
Warren stood heavily. “I’m sorry, Joanne. I’m truly sorry.”
“That’s not good enough,” I said. “My daughter-in-law is pregnant. She has already suffered a devastating loss. Think for a moment what excavating her sister’s past could do to her.”
Annie stepped forward. “We knew this was going to be difficult for you,” she said. “But it’s the only way.”
“Really? Let me show you something.” I took the photo of Lee out of my bag and handed it to Annie. “This is the girl whose memory you’ll be desecrating. Lee was seven when this was taken,” I said. “She’d been lying in a field at Bette Stevens’s farm watching the clouds when the wind came up and rustled the grass. She ran into the house and asked Bette to take a picture so she’d always remember how it felt to hear the grass sing.”
Annie’s eyes were filled with tears, but Warren was resolute. He took the photograph from Annie and handed it back to me. “I have to save my son, Joanne. I hope you can accept that.”
CHAPTER
11
Margot’s forty-fifth birthday was on May 29. The invitations to a lollapalooza of a bash on our building’s roof garden had been sent out a month earlier, but as Robert Burns wryly noted, “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” With the funeral set for Saturday, May 30, a big celebration was out of the question. Margot was in favour of scuttling the party altogether, but Maisie was adamant. She suggested a casual barbecue for family and friends. Margot came from a very large family, so she decided to limit the Friday celebration to her law partners and their families and celebrate with her relatives in her hometown on
Sunday.
At five-thirty the evening before the funeral, Declan, Angus, Pete, and Zack fired up the barbecues and we waited for the others to arrive. There would be about twenty of us. Together, we had known good times and not so good times. It was a warm night, fragrant with the sweet notes of late spring, but the tragedy of Lee’s death hung over us like a pall. No one, including Margot, knew quite how to behave. The birthday wishes offered by family and friends were heartfelt but muted, and as she acknowledged them, the awareness that for Lee Crawford there would be no more birthdays shadowed Margot’s face.
For the first twenty minutes, I was convinced the party had been a mistake, but the rising smoke of the barbecues, the exuberance with which Taylor, Gracie Falconer, and Isobel Wainberg chatted about their lives and the kids at their school, the fluty voices of the younger children, and the presence of two very large dogs worked their magic. By blood or by affection, we were family, and it was comforting to be together.
Mieka and Taylor were just bringing out the salads when my cell rang. On the other end of the line, Brock’s voice was strained. “Jo, I’m going to have to bail on Margot’s party. Michael just brought Bridie by the condo. He wants me to take care of her for a couple of hours.”
“Bring her to the party,” I said. “Bridie knows Madeleine and Lena from UpSlideDown and she’ll have fun with the babies.”
“I’ll ask her,” Brock said. “She’s been pretty quiet since Michael dropped her off.”
“Tell Bridie that Margot’s going to need help blowing out forty-five candles and one to grow on,” I said.
Brock’s laugh was forced. “I’ll pass that along. Thanks, Jo.”
Bridie hadn’t needed much convincing. Five minutes after Brock and I talked, he and Bridie arrived at the roof garden. She was carrying a gift-wrapped box. There was a table for presents, and Bridie walked to it, placed her gift carefully beside the others, came back, and looked up at me. “What do I do now?” she asked. Her eyes were extraordinary – large, deep blue, and, at the moment, anxious. She was a child who couldn’t risk a mistake.