by Gail Bowen
Give him his due, Cronus was an enthusiast, but when he moved from rhapsodizing about how women want a man who shows them who’s boss in the bedroom and began explaining how a woman’s no often means yes, Zack looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust.
It only got worse when Cronus moved from lecture mode to personal history. When Zack asked Cronus to describe a typical evening he and Arden spent together, he said, “There’s nothing to describe. We had sex.”
“Surely you must have had dinner or gone to a movie or just taken a walk,” Zack said.
Cronus was smug. “Arden might have done that with other men, but she knew what she wanted from me, and I knew what I wanted from her.”
“And what was that?”
“Pleasure and pain.”
“How did you meet Arden?”
“In the line of duty.”
“Her duty or yours? Arden was a police officer and you are …”
“In real estate.”
“You’re a slum landlord.”
“Sticks and stones.” He smirked. “I provide a necessary service, and my ability to provide that service was being threatened, so I went to the police.”
“Threatened in what way?” Zack asked.
“An agitator in North Central was distributing lists of telephone numbers to my tenants – community lawyers, tenants’ associations, places where they could complain about my buildings. It’s always wise to know the enemy, so I hired somebody to do some digging. Riel Delorme was bad news.”
I was barely able to cover my gasp at hearing Riel’s name from Cronus’s mouth, but Zack, an experienced poker player, didn’t miss a beat.
“Because he was making problems for you,” Zack said.
“No, because he was disturbing the status quo – and the status quo worked for everybody. I didn’t need a troublemaker giving my tenants ideas. This Delorme guy was messing with them. Turns out his apartment was filled with all kinds of crap about overthrowing the oppressors – meaning guys like me – and books about people like Che Guevera, whose biggest accomplishment was to get his picture on a bunch of posters and T-shirts. There were even tapes of Delorme telling his people that the oppressed had to match the oppressors weapon for weapon. My tenants didn’t need to fight for their rights. They knew their rights. They knew that in the houses I owned, they had the right to shoot up, to entertain johns, to beat each other senseless, and to drink till they passed out. They had the right to be left alone.”
Zack was seldom at a loss for words, but the spectacle of Cronus waving the flag for tenant freedom rendered him speechless – at least temporarily. “So you took the results of your ‘investigation’ to the police. And that’s when you met Arden?” he said finally.
Cronus pounced. “You got it wrong,” he said. “Arden wasn’t the cop I gave the package to.”
Zack was suddenly alert. “You told me you met Arden at the cop shop when you went in to make a complaint –”
Cronus glared at Zack. “You’re paid to ask the right questions,” he said. “Yes, I met Arden because I was making a complaint, but when I met her I was complaining about the fact that the police hadn’t done sweet tweet about the information that I’d brought them three weeks earlier. I’d have thought those tapes would have got some pretty fast action.”
“Shit,” Zack said. “You’re right. I made an assumption I shouldn’t have made. No excuses, but this file arrived on my desk late. So you and Arden got together when she was following through on your initial complaint about Delorme.”
“Right.”
“And who was the first cop you dealt with?”
“A guy at the front desk who was obviously at the bottom of the pecking order.”
“But we could find out his name from the complaint you filed against Delorme.”
Cronus’s expression was almost pitying. “No, we couldn’t because the report disappeared, along with the evidence. Hence my second complaint.”
Zack tensed. “The file just disappeared?” This time he let his guard down enough to look over at me, brow furrowed.
“You seem surprised,” Cronus said. “When people like me deal with the cops, there are all kinds of screw-ups.”
“But you followed through.”
“Of course I followed through, and so did Arden.”
“And nothing was ever found.”
Cronus shrugged. “Big surprise, eh? Anyway, it didn’t matter because Delorme ceased to be a problem. He crawled back in his hole and left my tenants alone.”
“Any idea why Delorme backed off?” Zack asked.
“Arden had a theory. Delorme’s sister was a cop. Arden figured the sister lifted the report and the file and held them over Delorme’s head as an incentive to straighten up and fly right.”
“And Arden didn’t report her suspicions to her superior?”
“No, and not because it didn’t piss her off. Arden believed in the rules. But cops don’t rat on other cops. Anyway, the situation remedied itself, like I said, and everybody was happy. Delorme had cleaned up his act, so his sister was happy; and he’d stopped being a major pain the ass for me, so I was happy. And the sister left the police force, so Arden was happy.”
Cronus turned to me. “And that’s the end of the story.”
“It sounds as if your relationship with Arden went beyond just sex,” I said. “You talked about the Delorme case.”
“The Delorme case was a matter of mutual interest,” Cronus said. “But talking wasn’t our thing. Sex was our thing, and it was great.” He leaned towards me. “And it was always consensual. We never did anything we hadn’t agreed on. Neither of us made demands. We never fought. There was no reason for me to kill her.”
His eyes shifted from Zack to me. “Do you have enough?”
I nodded.
“So do you think I should testify?”
“That’s between you and Zack,” I said.
“There are six women on the jury. How do think they’ll react to me.”
“I don’t know.” I forced myself to focus on the reason I was there. “I believed you when you said you had no reason to kill Arden. But you were patronizing when you explained the appeal of rough sex. You’re not testifying to win converts. You’re there to explain forensic evidence that otherwise is inexplicable. If I were in your position …”
Cronus raised an eyebrow. “And if you were into biting and handcuffs …”
Zack’s voice was a growl. “Back off,” he said.
I met my husband’s eyes. “It’s all right,” I said. “Cronus, I understand that you have to make jurors understand what happens between a man and woman during rough sex. But keep it factual. The release of endomorphins is solid information. Focus on the fact that you and Arden both had high-stress professions and rough sex was a way of relieving stress. And don’t challenge other people about their choices. You may be facing twelve jurors who are into vanilla sex.”
“Sounds as if you think I should take the stand.”
My eyes travelled around the cheerless witness room. “I think you and Zack should talk about it.”
Zack walked me to the elevator. “Jo, I know this coincidence with Riel is weird, but we’ll have to talk about it later. I’m under the gun, and Cronus and I have to focus on his defence.”
“I agree,” I said. “Do what you have to, but get Cronus off.”
Zack looked at me closely. “You don’t believe he killed Arden.”
“No, I don’t. But I can’t imagine how you’ll get a jury to believe that.”
“Neither do I,” Zack said. “In law school they told us that the trial lawyer’s greatest fear is having an innocent client. With a guilty client, you give it your best shot, and if you lose, you know that justice has probably been served. If you have an innocent client, and you know you can’t save him, you pretty much want to puke fifteen hours a day.”
CHAPTER
14
Wadena is two hours northeast of Regina. The weddin
g was at two-thirty in the afternoon, so we were able to drive up and back the same day. Untried buildings were always a concern for Zack, but happily the church was fully accessible, and Margot had promised she’d personally throttle any able-bodied person who used the stall in the male bathroom reserved for people in wheelchairs.
On Saturday the sun was fiercely bright and the sky was clear. It was a perfect hot, still summer day. The drive through the gently rolling farmland was pleasant, and as he gazed out the window at the countryside, the tensions that had dogged Zack since the trial seemed to lift.
Swift and graceful, a hawk swooped out the sky; it picked up a gopher and sped away. “Did you see that?” Zack said.
“I did,” I said. “Did you, Taylor?”
But our daughter, texting and listening to her iPod, was oblivious to the drama of Nature red in tooth and claw that had been played out seconds before.
“We should come out here more often,” Zack said. “Just to catch the action.”
Because Declan was under age, Zack was acting as the legal witness to Leland and Margot’s marriage, so when we arrived at the church, Zack went straight to the rector’s office to meet with the groom and his best man. Taylor and I went inside to stake out premium places near the front for us and for Barry and Ed. Margot’s wish that her Wadena friends bring nothing except jam jars filled with flowers from their gardens had been honoured. No space was empty, and the mingled scents of the vibrant flowers of June hung heavy in the air.
Taylor was wearing the botanical print she’d worn to the All-College. She was growing her hair out. When she was making art, she either anchored her hair in a ponytail or knotted it casually atop her head. Her mother had done the same thing, but Taylor was always prickly about comparisons to her mother, so I never mentioned it. Today, Taylor’s straight dark hair fell smooth and shining to her shoulders, and her eyes were bright. Exams were over – there were good times ahead.
“Have you thought any more about what you want to do next week?” I said. “We’re going to stay at the lake tonight, but we have to go back to the city tomorrow. Your dad’s going to be busy with the trial at least until Friday. You could stay with the Wainbergs or with Gracie and her dad.”
“I’m coming back with you,” Taylor said. “I talked to Lisa Wallace. She thinks I should spend the week teaching art at the Willy Hodgson Centre. It would give me a chance to see if I like the work, and give the staff and clients a chance to see if they like me. If it works out, I can volunteer in the fall.”
I didn’t reply immediately. Taylor read my expression and her forehead creased. “You said if I wanted to do it, I should do it.”
“I still think that,” I said. “But, Taylor, those kids have a lot of problems.”
“That’s why Lisa suggested a try-out. I don’t want to make a big deal about volunteering and then drop out.” Her eyes searched my face for a reaction. “Well …?”
“I’m proud of you,” I said. “Of course, I’m always proud of you.”
“So it’s okay?” Taylor said.
“Yes,” I said. “But promise me that if you feel like you’re in over your head, you’ll let Lisa know.”
“I will,” Taylor said. She looked around the church. “Hey, this place is really filling up,” she said.
“Margot predicted it would be SRO,” I said.
When Ed and Barry came in, Barry looked around happily at the flowers and at the women in their filmy summer-bright dresses. “Good for Margot for going retro,” he said. “This takes me back. When I was a kid I used to get so excited about the weddings in Stockholm.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you lived in Stockholm.”
“Stockholm, Saskatchewan,” Barry said. “Population 323, so there weren’t a lot of weddings, but I remember every single one of them.”
The string quartet that had been playing softly as the guests arrived suddenly turned up the volume. Zack, Leland, and Declan came in from the rectory and faced the congregation. When Margot’s seventeen-year-old nephew and the young man who was first trumpet in the Regina symphony walked up the aisle, the crowd hushed. The two men raised their instruments and blew the fresh, bursting opening chords of Jeremiah Clarke’s “Trumpet Voluntary,” and a chill ran up my spine.
Margot had five brothers and all were groomsmen. The five bridesmaids had all been at Linda Fritz’s dinner party. Their dresses were of the same design as Margot’s – layers of draped silk organza petals, but the bridesmaids’ dresses were strewn with random splashes of colour. Margot’s sister, Laurie, hugely pregnant, was the matron of honour.
Margot was an incredibly beautiful bride, but as she passed us, Taylor breathed the words that, as Margot predicted, would be on everyone’s lips. “Is Margot pregnant?” Taylor whispered.
I leaned close to Taylor. “The baby’s due in December,” I said.
“So cool,” Taylor said happily.
It was cool and the joy on the faces of the newly married couple was tonic.
When the ceremony was over and the last picture of the bridal party had been taken, we went to the golf club, where Sis Gooding and her assistants had prepared a prairie feast: turkeys, hams, perogies, cabbage rolls, jellied salads in colours that matched the splashes on the bridesmaids’ dresses, homemade buns, vegetables from the garden. It was wickedly hot, but no one cared.
I was eyeing the spread. “No one will go hungry,” I said to Sis Gooding.
“That’s the idea,” she said. “So what’s your connection with the wedding.”
“I’m married to Zack Shreve. He’s one of the groomsmen,” I said.
Sis looked at me with interest. “Zachary Shreve. I’ve read about your husband. I’ll bet he keeps you hopping.”
“He does,” I said. “But he’s worth it.” I gazed at the table. “Did you and your assistants make all this yourselves?”
Sis laughed. “If I’d ignored the offers of help from people who wanted to contribute food to Margot’s wedding, I would have been run out of town on a rail. No, what you’re looking at is the best of Wadena. Everybody in town knows who does what well. My job was simply to co-ordinate.”
“So what did you make?” I asked.
“The strawberry shortcakes,” she said. “At the risk of sounding immodest, you’ll never taste a finer dessert.”
“I’ll make sure to get in line,” I said.
“Get some for your husband, too,” she said. “He strikes me as a man who’d appreciate a fine strawberry shortcake.”
I’d met Margot’s sister, Laurie, when Margot and I paid a quick visit to Wadena the year before. I’d been impressed then by Laurie’s common sense and humour, and when I lined up for a serving of Sis Gooding’s dessert, I was pleased to see that Laurie was right behind me.
The sisters had chosen very different paths in life. Margot had wanted a successful career, and she got it. Laurie’s life had always centred on Wadena, and the child she was expecting was her fifth. Physically, the sisters were much alike: the same cornflower blue eyes, the same wheat blonde hair, but they were alike in a more significant way: neither had time for bullshit, and that day in the dessert line, Laurie and I exchanged the usual pleasantries and got down to business.
Laurie’s voice was low and musical. “I think people around here have always assumed I envied what Margot has – the recognition, the money, the great clothes – but I knew differently. Kids aren’t for everyone, but Margot always wanted them, and I’m so glad she’s not missing out.”
“She and Leland have a great future ahead,” I said.
“They really love each other, you know,” Laurie said.
“You sound surprised,” I said.
“I’m not,” Laurie said. “It’s just that mid-life marriages are often a matter of convenience.” She laughed. “Maybe all marriages are a matter of convenience – at least to a degree. Their marriage won’t be an easy one, but it will be worth the effort.” After that gnomic remark, Laurie and
I picked up our strawberry shortcake and shifted our discussion to the mysteries of adolescent behaviour.
By the third week in June, the sun sets late in Saskatchewan but most of the wedding guests were going back to Regina, so the dancing on the lawn began early. When Slim Whitman sang the first notes of “I Remember You,” and Leland took Margot in his arms for the bride-and-groom dance, I thought I had never seen two happier people.
After Slim hit his last high note, Margot approached Zack and Leland held out his arms to Laurie. Laurie laughed and pointed to her stomach, so Leland turned to me. Not surprisingly, Leland danced with precision and grace. So did Zack. Taylor kicked off her shoes and she and Declan began dancing on the grass. Then people began joining us, but when Margot noticed that Ed and Barry were staying on the sidelines, she approached them. “You guys are newlyweds,” Margot said. “How come you’re not out there?”
“Community standards,” Ed said.
Margot frowned. “Oh for God’s sake.” She held out her arms to me. “Joanne, may I have this dance?” I slid into her embrace, and we began a cheek-to-cheek number that by any criterion was a test of community standards. People smiled encouragingly at Margot and me, and when Barry and Ed joined us, there was nothing they could do but keep on smiling.
The reception was still in full swing when Zack, Taylor, and I left. We were anxious to get to Lawyers’ Bay: it had been a full week, and Willie and Pantera were waiting. As so often after a hot day, there was a storm that night. Zack and I lay in the dark and watched as sheet lightning turned the entire sky to glowing white.
“You know, I’m glad the wedding’s over,” Zack said.
“So am I,” I said. “There could have been a surprise visit from Louise or a mystery guest with explosives. But the day was perfect in every way.”
“May the perfection continue,” Zack said.
“Amen to that,” I said.
Wednesday morning, Mieka called to ask if I was free to come to a press conference in the Warehouse District at noon. Concerned about the seepage of public support for The Village, Leland had decided to make an early announcement of Peyben’s plans to build the shared multipurpose facility. Riel and Shelley Gregg, the developer who had done the renos on the Halifax Street building and who was designing the new building, would be joining Leland to answer questions. The press conference was to be held in the vacant lot where the facility would be built. The land bordered North Central and The Village, so the optics were good.