"The Last Good Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bowen Gail)
CHAPTER 9
The next morning the skies were grey and there was a drizzle that looked like it had staying power. It was a day to sit on the porch, wrapped in an afghan, reading Virginia Woolf, but Taylor, Isobel, and Gracie had other plans. Recognizing that it would be difficult to keep a scheme involving a quantity of rocks secret on a horseshoe of land from which all rocks except those in ornamental groupings had been removed, the girls decided to spill the beans about their top-secret project.
Taylor’s enthusiasm for the Inukshuk book had infected her friends. Inspired by the tale of a man who had travelled almost two thousand kilometres guided only by the Inuksuit described in a song his father had taught him, the girls had drawn up plans for a series of Inuksuit that would lead a traveller around the land surrounding Lawyers’ Bay. Each Inukshuk would have a sight hole in the middle. When a lost soul peered through it, he would find his bearings and be guided along the route to the next Inukshuk. Ultimately, he would end up where he wanted to go. The girls had chosen their sites with care, sketched each Inukshuk, and made a rough estimate of the number and sizes of the rocks they would need. They had done their homework, and, in my eyes, the value of their efforts was not diminished by the fact that it was unlikely anyone at Lawyers’ Bay would ever get lost. Except for my ancient Volvo, every car there had a state-of-the-art global positioning system.
As if to offset the dreariness of the day, the girls were all wearing crayon-bright cotton shirts: Gracie’s was tangerine, and she had gathered her red-gold hair in a ponytail held in place by an orange scrunchy. With her rosy freckled skin and bright blue eyes, it was impossible to imagine that her mother was a member of the Dakota First Nation. Blake Falconer had said that his wife’s sadness at not having a daughter who was more in her image was enduring, but that morning Gracie seemed remarkably free of any marks of her mother’s rejection.
Cheerful and practical, she identified the role I’d been called upon to play in the scheme. “We need you to phone the rock company,” she said. “They won’t accept an order from a kid – take my word for it. I tried the company my mother used when she got the rocks for the gazebo and they insisted on speaking to an adult. My house is short of adults at the moment, so we thought maybe you’d help us out.”
“There’s a place in Fort Qu’Appelle we could try,” I said. “We might even be able to get what you need delivered today. Besides, I wouldn’t mind doing a little grocery shopping.”
Isobel gave me a puckish three-cornered smile. “You mean you’re unable to meet all your shopping needs at the Point Store?”
“Every so often I just have a hankering for something that doesn’t cost twice as much as it should,” I said.
Peter’s Rocks was one of those curious businesses that appear to spring up as backyard ventures, and then spill into the vacant lot next door, defying zoning laws and the dreams of fastidious neighbours. It might not have been nominated for any chamber of commerce awards, but Peter’s seemed to be exactly what the girls had in mind. Despite the misting rain, they stormed the rock piles with a passion they typically would have reserved for a sale at Old Navy. They argued good-naturedly over their selections, replaced hotly disputed choices with better choices, and generally settled in for a morning of solid trading. They were dressed for the long haul in waterproof ponchos, but the wind-breaker I’d hurriedly bought at a discount house before I came to the lake turned out to be worth exactly what I’d paid for it. It wasn’t long before I hightailed it to the shelter of the corrugated plastic roof that covered the concrete lawn ornaments.
All the usual suspects were there: jockeys, saucer-eyed fawns, huddled gargoyles, gargoyles with wings spread, Dutch girls saucily lifting the backs of their skirts to reveal ruffled concrete panties and sturdy legs, mother rabbits, bears wearing sweaters, angelic doomed children, gnomes, a flock of plaster owls that I glanced at only briefly, a solitary Sacred Heart, three Holy Families, and a phalanx of Blessed Virgins. Freed of the obligation to buy anything or pass judgement, I gave the ornaments my full attention, listened to the rain bounce off the roof above me, and tried to think of nothing at all.
It took the girls an hour to make their choices and another half-hour to watch a buff young man in jeans that appeared to have been put on wet load the rocks they had selected into the back of a pickup and tot up the bill. Then it was my turn. We hit the IGA, where, in honour of customer-appreciation day, the manager had slashed 10 per cent from the cost of all purchases, excluding tobacco and drugs. A good morning’s work all around, and we drove home content.
As we warmed soup and cut sandwiches, the girls dreamily revisited the many charms of the young man at Peter’s Rocks. Clearly, breasts were not the only things budding that summer for my daughter and her friends. The goofiness and speculations continued during lunch, and I was relieved when the girls asked if they could skip dishes so they could start levelling the ground where the first Inukshuk would be built.
We were without an automatic dishwasher at the lake, and I’d just submerged my hands in warm sudsy water when I heard a car pull up. I grabbed a tea towel and headed to the front of the cottage. When I saw that the visitor trudging through the rain towards my front door was Detective Robert Hallam, I opened the door with a smile.
“Come in,” I said. “There’s still soup in the pot.”
Robert was wearing a trench coat, a Tilley hat, and a look of abject misery. He stepped inside, but as he stood dripping on the hooked rug in the entry, he made no move to take off his wet outer clothes.
I reached for his coat. “Let me take that,” I said. “Come in and dry off. If you get pneumonia, Rosalie will never let me hear the end of it.”
The mention of his wife’s name brought a faint and fleeting smile to Robert’s face. “Thanks,” he said. “But this isn’t a social visit, Joanne.”
The penny dropped. “You’re here to talk about Alex,” I said.
Robert was clearly taken aback. “How did you know?”
“Maggie Niewinski called me last night. She said some friends of Clare Mackey’s were going to force the police to find out why Alex quashed the investigation into Clare Mackey’s disappearance.”
Robert had adjusted his expression, but it was clear he was still genuinely dumbfounded. “Joanne, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never even heard of Maggie Niewinski. I came out here today because Inspector Kequahtooway has gone missing. He booked off to attend to personal business, but he was supposed to be back yesterday. He still hasn’t shown up, and no one knows where he is.”
I felt as unsteady as Robert looked. “Come in and sit down,” I said. “We need to talk.”
Robert followed me into the kitchen. He perched on the edge of a chair, but he didn’t take his coat off. His normally ruddy face was leached of colour. “I might as well deal with this right off the bat,” he said. “Joanne, I need to know exactly when you told Inspector Kequahtooway that there were questions about how he was handling the Altieri investigation.”
“I never told him,” I said. “I tried to call him a half-dozen times, but he was never there. The last time I phoned I left a message, but he never got back to me.”
The colour returned to Robert’s face. “Thank God,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, tilted his head, and exhaled. “You have no idea what a relief that is,” he said. “I could hardly keep the car on the road today because I felt so sick about what I’d done.”
“You tried to give an officer you respected a chance to get things in place so he could defend himself,” I said. “No one could fault you for that.”
“I could fault me,” Robert said, sitting upright again. “I must have gone soft in the head. Joanne, if the inspector had taken off because you’d warned him there was trouble brewing, I would have been responsible. After thirty-five years on the force I don’t know how I could have faced that kind of betrayal of my fellow officers.” Robert snapped his fingers. “And my sister officers,” he added hastily. “Rosalie tells me I have to watch that kind of stuff.” He took off his hat and placed it, dripping, on his knees. “I’m making a mess,” he said.
“It’s only water,” I said.
Robert gave me a small smile. “Is that offer of soup still open? My appetite’s come back.”
“Then you’re at the right place,” I said.
I made tea and filled Robert in on Maggie Niewinski’s phone call as he ate.
After he’d finished his soup, Robert took his bowl to the sink. He turned on the tap and, with his back still to me, said, “Can I make a personal observation?”
“Sure,” I said.
Robert kept rinsing his bowl, and I remembered how uneasy he had always been about dealing with women. “I know you and the inspector are no longer an item,” he said. “But I thought you’d be a lot more worried about him than you seem to be.”
“I probably would have been more worried,” I said, “except that last night when I called Alex’s apartment, a woman answered.”
“Whoa,” Robert said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Robert, I think that bowl’s clean by now. You can probably stick it in the drainer.”
Robert turned off the tap and faced me. “There are always problems when a man lets his John Thomas do his thinking,” he said sagely.
“His John Thomas?” I said.
Robert picked up on my confusion. “Husband-and-wife talk. I’m sorry. I crossed a line there. All I meant was that Inspector Kequahtooway isn’t thinking clearly, and he needs his friends.”
I poured more tea. “I don’t think Alex considers me a friend any more.”
Robert’s eyes met mine. “Well, if he comes to you, give him a break – please. I know he disappointed you; he disappointed me too, but he’s in a lot of trouble, and he needs a hand.”
Detective Hallam’s car had barely cleared the turn when Zack Shreve appeared at my door.
“Don’t you ever work?” I said.
“I was working,” he said. “But the case is problematic, and I’m procrastinating.” Zack leaned forward, looking around. Finding nothing, he kept wheeling until he was in the kitchen. Willie, intrigued by the wheelchair, stuck with him. “So who was your company?”
“A detective from the Regina Police Force,” I said.
Zack stroked Willie’s head. “What did he want?”
I pointed to the cups on the table. “Tea,” I said.
“One-forty klicks round trip,” Zack said. “You must make a mean cup of Earl Grey.”
“Can I get you one?” I asked.
“No,” Zack said. “But thanks. I came to ask you to have dinner with me tonight. No kids. Just us. There’s a place down the road that opened up on the May long weekend. A young couple runs it. They have a pleasant seasonal menu and, like Magoo’s, they make everything from scratch. Unlike Magoo’s, they don’t have much of a clientele. I don’t give the place six months, but we might as well enjoy it while we can.”
“It’ll have to be early,” I said. “My son and his friends have an Ultimate Tournament.”
Zack frowned. “What’s Ultimate?”
“Come along and see for yourself,” I said. “Is six o’clock okay for dinner?”
Zack winced. “That’s when children eat,” he said. “But beggars can’t be choosers and I need a diversion.”
“The problematic case?”
He nodded morosely. “My client is alleged to have taken a knife to the lover who betrayed her.”
“Another case of a man led astray by his John Thomas,” I said.
Zack raised an eyebrow. “Somehow you didn’t strike me as a John Thomas woman. Be that as it may, the victim’s John Thomas isn’t going to lead him astray any more.”
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“No, but he is without his John Thomas.” Zack’s smile was wolfish. “So I’ll make a reservation for six o’clock?”
“Perfect,” I said.
I saw Zack out, then turned to Willie. “What do you want to do for the next five hours?”
Willie didn’t keep me on tenterhooks waiting for an answer. He went to the hook where I kept his leash, and we were on our way. We ran the horseshoe of Lawyers’ Bay, stopping only to check on the girls’ progress. Project Inukshuk was right on schedule. Seeing Taylor reminded me that I had to make some arrangements for her to have dinner, so Willie and I changed direction and headed for the Point Store. Through the screen door I could see Leah restocking the chocolate-bar display.
Willie hated being tied up, and I hated tying him up, so I just leaned closer to the screen. “How’s it going?” I said.
Leah came over, pushed the door open, and stood on the threshold. “Great,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve found my life’s work, but not many people have summer jobs that involve unlimited access to Werther’s Originals.”
“Since you’re having so much fun, maybe you wouldn’t mind doing me a favour.”
“Anything,” Leah said.
“Could you and Angus give Taylor dinner tonight before the tournament? I’m coming, but I’m going to have meet you at the field.”
“No problem,” said Leah. “So where are you having dinner?”
“With Zack Shreve.”
Leah shivered theatrically. “Ooooh,” she said. “The man who’s mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”
“That was Lord Byron,” I said. “Someone who knew Zack in law school said he attracts women who want to get up close and personal with a chainsaw.”
Leah grinned. “You can handle a chainsaw.” She glanced over her shoulder. A customer had arrived at the checkout, and he had the air of a man who didn’t like to be kept waiting. “Duty calls,” Leah said.
“I’ll catch you later,” I said. “Is Angus around?”
“He took the truck over to Bonnie Longevin’s to get strawberries. We’re going to set up a stand out front here to lure the cottagers.”
“Marketing 101,” I said.
“Something like that,” Leah said. “Anyway, Angus should be back any minute. Help yourself to a cup of our gross coffee and catch a few rays while you wait.”
“I can expand my knowledge, too,” I said. “I always learn something when I visit Coffee Row.”
The old gents were already at their places when I slid into a spot at the picnic table next to theirs. Endzone was there, too. Morris had put a piece of rug on the ground so that the dog didn’t have to lie on the wet grass. As Willie collapsed beside me, he gave me a reproachful look.
“Your dog’s mad at you,” Morris said. “Hang on. I’ll get you something to put under him.” He shoved the stub of his cigarette between his lips, walked over to his half-ton, pulled out a hunk of carpeting, and handed it to me. “Make him a little bed,” he said, and watched until I did as I’d been told. Willie curled up happily. I picked up my coffee and the gents went back to their conversation. As always, I arrived in medias res.
“I’m betting he swallowed his gun,” Morris said.
“Why the hell would anyone swallow his gun?” Stan Gardiner asked.
“He didn’t actually swallow the gun.” Morris hawked a goober disgustedly. “It’s a figger of speech. Jesus, Stan, if you stopped mooning over the champagne lady on Lawrence Welk and watched a real man’s show once in a while, you might join the rest of us in the twentieth century.”
Stan glared at him. “The twenty-first century,” he said. “That’s where the rest of us live, Morris – in the twenty-first century.”
Aubrey entered the fray. “Where we have VCRS that allow us to watch old TV shows and movies whenever we want.”
Morris fixed his friends with a malevolent eye. “And you’re so busy watching those old shows that you lose touch with how people today talk. Nowadays when people speak of a man swallowing his gun, they mean the man killed himself.”
I was keen to see where this discussion of semantics would take us, but at that moment Angus’s truck appeared, and Willie and Endzone got into a barking match. By the time Morris and I had calmed the dogs, the thread of conversation had been broken. As I left to greet my son, the old gents were talking about what would happen to a dog that had his bark removed, a good topic but not, in my opinion, a great one.
When Angus opened the truck’s tailgate, the scent of fresh-picked strawberries was enticing. “Put a quart of those aside for us, will you?” I said.
“Help me unload the truck and I’ll knock off a couple of bucks.” He grinned, and I felt a rush of love for this handsome stranger with the easy ways and quick smile who seemed to move farther from me every day.
“Can we talk a bit first?” I asked.
My son frowned. “What’s up?”
“Have you heard from Alex lately?” I asked.
“How lately?” Angus said carefully, and in that moment I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“Within the last few days,” I said. “Robert Hallam came out to the lake after lunch. He says Alex booked off work to attend to personal business, and he hasn’t come back.”
Angus looked away. “That doesn’t sound like Alex. He’s Mr. Reliable.”
“He is,” I agreed. “That’s why this unexplained absence is so puzzling.” I stepped closer. “People are predictable,” I said. “Take you, for instance. Whenever you answer a question with a question, I know you’re holding something back.”
The corners of Angus’s mouth twitched. Once again I’d found him out. “Is this important?” he asked.
“I think it may be,” I said. “So shall we start again? When was the last time you talked to Alex?”
He didn’t hesitate. “The Sunday you went to Saskatoon to see Mieka.”
“Did he just call you out of the blue?”
“No,” Angus said. “We’ve kept in touch.” He sighed.
“And you never told me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“How come?”
Angus was his father’s son, tall and dark, with an unruly forelock and an easy smile. But his eyes, grey-green and unreadable, were mine. His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I didn’t want to have this conversation,” he said. “But if you say it’s important, I guess we should.” He pointed to the tailgate. “Do you want to sit down?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Last year, just before New Year’s, I got into some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Drinking and driving.”
My stomach turned over. “Oh God, Angus, how many times have we talked about that?”
“A million. I was a mutt. Okay, I know, but that’s not the point. The point is I got pulled over in a spot check. I honestly thought I was all right. I’d eaten and I hadn’t had anything to drink for three hours, but I blew above. 04 – not that bad, but bad enough. The cop took my licence and got Leah to drive home.”
“Leah was with you.”
“And she was furious at herself, said she should have insisted on driving. We also had three people in the back who were really ripped, so the car smelled rank. That didn’t help matters. Anyway, when I got home I called Alex.”
“You didn’t ask him to intervene…?”
“Give me a little credit, Mum. The officer who pulled me over had been very clear about the consequences. I knew I’d lost my licence for a month and I knew I had to take a DUI class. But I was scared. I forgot to ask her if the charge was going to be on my record permanently. That’s why I called Alex. I just needed – I don’t know – reassurance, but Alex insisted on talking to me face to face.”
“Where was I when all this was going on?”
“Upstairs in bed.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“It was late.” Angus’s tone revealed his exasperation. “Really late. Mum, give me a break here. I was scared. I hadn’t had a chance to think through what had happened. I was hoping Alex would give me a piece of information that would sort of soften things when I talked to you.”
“But you never did talk to me.”
“Because Alex said you’d been through enough, and he was right. It hadn’t been that long since you two broke up. Then Aunt Jill was in all that trouble at Christmas. I knew you’d been gritting your teeth through the holidays. I didn’t think you needed me barrelling in to tell you I’d been arrested and your ex-boyfriend had come over to take me to Mr. Bean for coffee.”
“Nice summation,” I said. “And put that way, it sounds as if you were right. So what did you and Alex talk about?”
Angus shrugged. “Mostly about how people have to be careful about the decisions they make, because everything a person does stays with him. Pretty much what you would have said.”
“That is pretty much what I would have said,” I agreed. “I wonder why Alex felt he had to be the one to say it.”
“You’re angry,” Angus said.
“A little,” I said. “I wish Alex practised what he preached. He made a decision; he should have been prepared to accept the consequences.”
“Not being part of your life meant he shouldn’t be part of mine?” I could hear the resentment in my son’s voice.
“Angus, I’m not the bad guy here. It was Alex’s choice. He was the one who walked away. I wanted us to stay together.”
“He wanted that, too, Mum. You wouldn’t be so harsh if you’d seen him the night I lost my licence. Alex has always been on top of things. When he came to drive me to Mr. Bean, he looked beaten down. And all the time that he kept talking about decisions and dragging everything along with you, it wasn’t like a lecture. It was as if he was talking about himself.”
“Angus…”
“Mum, let me finish… please. The day after Chris Altieri died, it was worse. Alex just kept looking at me. It was bugging me so I asked him to stop. He apologized, then he said he had to convince himself that I was okay.”
“He was a day late and a dollar short there, wasn’t he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if Alex had been concerned about our family, he could have called, and he didn’t. Not once in all the months after he left.”
“He wanted to, Mum.”
“Then why didn’t he pick up the phone?”
“I don’t know,” Angus said miserably. “All I know is, the day after Chris died, Alex told me that the best time of his life was his time with us, and he’d do anything to keep us from grief. Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“No,” I said. “Maybe some day, when everyone’s feeling less fragile, we can talk about it.”
“That’d be good,” Angus said.
“I agree,” I said. “Now, reassure me. You really have learned not to get behind the wheel when you’ve had a drink?”
“I’ve learned,” Angus said. “That DUI course I took sealed it. I made friends with this guy named Pedro who got picked up on his birthday. He was so drunk from his party that he doesn’t remember getting behind the wheel. Wouldn’t want to run into Pedro on the highway. Lots of other scary stories. We got treated like infants for the whole weekend, but we deserved it. Oh yeah, the guy who was my DUI instructor was also the guy who took me out for my driver’s test. How about that?”
“Cosmic irony,” I said. “So is the charge going to be permanently on your licence?”
“Nope,” Angus said. “I was lucky. Didn’t run into Pedro. Didn’t hurt anybody else. Nothing on my record permanently. Horseshoes up my ass but I’m not going to push it.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll sleep better knowing that.” Then I put my arms around my son and, despite the gawkers in the cars going by, I held him close for a long time.
There was a message on my cellphone when I got back to the cottage. It was Maggie Niewinski. I called her back.
She sounded breathless. “Glad you caught me,” she said. “I was just on my way downtown.”
“Shall I call later?”
Maggie laughed. “No, I’m not due in court for an hour. I thought, since I was in Regina, I’d check out the sales. I was just calling to bring you up to speed.”
“Have you found something out?”
“Nothing encouraging. Sandra Mikalonis went to Clare’s apartment building and talked to the super. He remembered Clare’s leave-taking very vividly, mostly because it took place so quickly, and he didn’t deal with Clare face to face. In fact, the super doesn’t remember seeing Clare at all after the first week in November.”
“Did he usually see her?”
“Yes. She lived at the Waverly on College Avenue. It’s not one of those vast, soulless places. The super saw Clare most mornings when she came back from her run. He says what everyone says. Clare was pleasant but she kept to herself. He also says he was surprised that Clare never knocked at his door to say goodbye. He thought they were friends.”
“Was the lease up?”
“It was a sublet. The original tenant came back on the first of January. Clare’s rent had been paid until December 31.”
“Smooth as silk,” I said.
“Yes,” Maggie said. “Someone arranged for a moving company to come in and pack for Clare – everything, right down to the toilet paper on the roll, the super said.”
“Where did Clare’s furniture get shipped?”
“A warehouse in Vancouver. Joanne, it’s still there. Clare’s things were never claimed.”
I felt the last small wisp of hope escape. “Have you told the police?”
“Yes, and we think it’s time we told the partners at Falconer Shreve what we know. They think they’ve pulled this off. We have to show them that they haven’t – that we’re carrying out our own investigation and that, unlike Inspector Kequahtooway, we can’t be bribed.”
My spirits sank. “You think that’s what happened, that someone at Falconer Shreve paid the inspector to shut down the investigation?”
Maggie made no attempt to check the asperity in her voice. “Do you have a better explanation? Anyway, it’s obvious that someone at Falconer Shreve knows something. They’ve got a firewall of administrative assistants and juniors at their office. We’re thinking that if we come out to Lawyers’ Bay, we can go for a walk on the beach, make ourselves conspicuous. Then maybe someone who needs a chance to talk will realize they can talk to us. What do you think?”
I remembered the calm determination of Clare Mackey’s face in her graduation portrait. “I think it’s worth a shot,” I said. “And, Maggie, why don’t you give Anne Millar a call and tell her what you’re planning to do? She might want to be a part of it.”
Maggie sighed. “Good idea. I’ll need her number.”
I gave Maggie Anne’s number. “I guess the next step is to decide when you’re coming. Zack’s been working from his cottage and Blake and Delia both drive out after work. So I guess you can pick your evening.”
“How about tomorrow around seven?”
“Tomorrow’s fine,” I said.
“Thanks for helping, Joanne. I know that Clare is just a name to you, but she was a decent human being.”