Authors: Gail Bowen
The girls were ready for a break. The Inukshuk was complete, but the wheelbarrow was full of rocks and more were strewn about the sand. Discovering the precise combination of stones that would fit the terrain and stack on top of one another without falling had proven difficult. Flushed with heat and effort, the girls made for the shade of the gazebo. It was the first time I’d been in the gazebo since the night Chris Altieri died, and the memories of Chris’s sadness and of Zack’s subtle menace that evening were sharp-edged and unsettling. Oblivious to anything beyond the moment, the girls poured lemonade, wolfed banana loaf, and discussed the engineering problem with which they’d been wrestling.
“When we were at the cemetery, we noticed that this arm of Lawyers’ Bay was right across the lake,” Gracie said. “We thought it would be neat to build this Inukshuk with a sight hole that pointed towards that huge cottonwood tree at the edge of the cemetery.”
“My father says that, judging from its size, that tree must have been there forever,” Isobel said.
Gracie rolled her eyes. “I thought
we
were going to be here forever trying to get the angle right,” she said. “This is the third time we’ve had to take down what we’ve built and start again, but I think we’ve got it. Maybe you’d like to have a look, Mrs. Kilbourn.”
“I’d be honoured,” I said.
The girls came with me as I walked out to the Inukshuk and peered through the sight hole.
“Third time’s the charm,” I said. “You’ve got it.”
They barely had time to exchange high-fives before we heard the squeal of brakes and the slam of a car door behind us. All day I had been carrying an image of Lily Falconer as frightened and vulnerable, a broken child who grew into a damaged adult. The wrathful woman who exploded out of the front seat of her Jeep and ran towards us was a shock.
Lily’s face was contorted with rage and her voice was acid. “Put those rocks back,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re destroying.” She didn’t give the girls a chance to obey or explain. Instead, she went to the Inukshuk and ripped out a flat stone from the base. Within seconds, the meticulously planned and executed structure collapsed.
Clutching her prize, Lily dropped to the beach and began exploring the support under the gazebo. She was desperate, as if she had to slide the rock into place before everything fell apart. She narrowed her focus on her daughter.
“Where did you take this from, Gracie?”
The colour had drained from Gracie’s face. Her freckles looked painted on, like a doll’s. I was afraid she was sliding into shock. I stepped between Lily and her daughter. My hands were shaking, but my voice was steady. “No one destroyed anything, Lily. We bought the rocks in Fort Qu’Appelle. I drove the girls in myself to get them.”
Lily looked at me with loathing. “It’s so easy for you to be the good one,” she said. Her comment stunned me. So did the fact that she was still holding the rock she had ripped from the Inukshuk. For a moment it seemed entirely possible that she would hurl the rock at me. Instead, she dropped it on the beach, walked back to her Jeep, threw it into reverse, and sped off.
Gracie watched her mother’s car disappear from sight. “Welcome home, Mum,” she said. Then she picked up the stone her mother had dropped, placed it back where it belonged, and began patiently to restore the Inukshuk.
I stayed with the girls while they rebuilt what had been destroyed. Without discussion, they realized the importance of their task, and they worked silently and deliberately. Finally, it was done.
One by one the girls checked the sight hole, then Gracie nodded to me. “Your turn,” she said.
I stared across the lake at the graveyard. When I spotted the cottonwood tree, I said, “Better than ever. Why don’t we call it a day and go home?”
Gracie’s smile was battle-weary. “Good plan,” she said. “But can I go to your home, not mine?”
CHAPTER
12
Not long after the girls had settled down with a video, Rose appeared at our door.
“I’ve come for Gracie,” she said.
“She’s in the living room with Taylor and Isobel watching a movie,” I said. “Before you get her, we should probably talk for a minute. There was … an incident.”
Rose stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Lily told me,” she said. “How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad,” I said.
Rose’s small body sagged with defeat. “More unravelling.” She took a deep breath. “I’d better get my girl, see what we can salvage.” She frowned, seeming to turn something over in her mind. “Do you think it would be easier for Gracie if Taylor and Isobel came back with her? I could give them all dinner.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “When in doubt, proceed as if life is going on as usual.”
Not long after Rose and the girls left, Zack drove in. I walked out to the driveway to meet him. He was pale and clearly exhausted.
“Bad day?” I asked.
He grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”
“Would a large gin and tonic help?”
“I’m not certain,” Zack said. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”
We took our drinks out to the porch, where there was at least the chance of a breeze. The scent of nicotiana, heady and seductive, drifted through the screened windows.
Zack sipped his drink and sighed contentedly. “On the drive back I was thinking about how nice it is to have someone to come home to.”
“Whoa, there,” I said. “What’s my favourite colour?”
He laughed. “You don’t think I know enough about you to move in?”
“I don’t think we know enough about each other to pass a couples’ quiz in
Cosmopolitan
magazine.”
“We can remedy that,” Zack said. “After the Friends of Clare Mackey leave tonight, come sit on my deck. We’ll watch the sunset – no sex, just the sharing of information. What do you say?”
“I’ve never been a big fan of either-or.”
“Neither have I. So let’s do both. Now, how was your day?”
“About as grim as yours,” I said. My account of the scene with Lily was brief, but I didn’t gloss over the punch-in-the-stomach gratuitous ugliness of Lily’s attack.
Zack was visibly shaken. “How did Gracie take it?”
“She was stunned, of course. She was trembling and so pale that I thought she might be on the verge of shock. Lily either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Her only concern was where the rocks for the Inukshuk came from.”
“Why would it matter?” Zack said. “The kids showed me what they’ve done. It looks like good work to me.”
“I agree,” I said. “And if there’s a happy ending to this story, it’s that Gracie didn’t let her mother destroy what she and the other girls made. As soon as Lily left, Gracie started building again.”
Zack’s smile was faint. “Way to go, Gracie,” he said.
“Kids have amazing resources,” I said.
“But no one’s resources are inexhaustible,” Zack said. “Lately, Blake has been running on empty.”
“There aren’t many things more draining than a bad marriage,” I said. “Lily’s clearly miserable. Why doesn’t Blake just accept the truth?”
Zack shrugged. “He’s in love with her, and once in a while she loves him back.”
“And that’s enough for him.”
“I guess it is. I know he’s absolutely faithful to her.”
“I underestimated him,” I said. “When I met Blake, I didn’t like him. I had him pegged as a ladies’ man.”
“How did you have me pegged?”
“As the prince of darkness,” I said.
“So you were wrong on both counts.”
“Was I?”
Zack laughed. “Probably not entirely. But I have the rest of the summer to convince you that you were wrong about me.” He finished his drink and placed the glass on the wicker table.
“Can I get you a refill?”
“Thanks, but no. I spent most of the lunch hour talking to my client, then I had an errand to run. I forgot to eat.”
“You should have said something. I’ll make us some sandwiches. Is ham okay?”
“Ham is perfect. I’m starving, and the prospect of going out to a restaurant does not appeal to me.”
“Can’t you cook?”
“Can’t even boil an egg.”
“Is that the truth or a ploy?”
“A ploy,” he said. “I’d do anything to get you to make me that sandwich.”
I brought back a tray with our sandwiches and a pitcher of milk. When we’d finished eating, Zack sighed with contentment. “You know, I might just live.”
“That’s good news.”
“You don’t look very happy about it.”
“This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I wish Clare’s friends weren’t coming out here tonight. I feel as if I’ve betrayed them.”
“Because you alerted me to the fact that they were asking questions? Joanne, if they want answers, you’ve helped them. You’ve expedited the process. Clare’s friends don’t have to jump out of the bushes and scare me. I’ll stay here and answer any questions they have.”
“I think your presence might just exacerbate matters.”
“My presence has been known to do that,” Zack said. “But I’m not sure why it would in this case.”
“Because if you’re waiting for them, it will appear that Falconer Shreve is trying to control events. Clare’s friends are trying to create a situation in which people can come to them.”
“Fair enough,” Zack said. “But at least let me tell you what I know – just to clear the air.”
“And I can pass this information along?”
“Every word. For the record, I believe Clare Mackey is working for a law firm in Vancouver.”
“But you’re not certain.”
“You were at the Canada Day party, Joanne. You saw the number of juniors Falconer Shreve has. Unless I’m working with one of them, I don’t keep track.”
“So you didn’t know that Anne Millar came to Falconer Shreve to find out why Clare had left so precipitously.”
“No. I knew that,” Zack said. “It came up at a partners’ meeting. We decided that, out of respect for the privacy of those involved, we wouldn’t disclose the circumstances under which Clare left. To be honest, two adults having a love affair that went wrong didn’t seem to be anybody’s business but theirs.”
“Are you saying the woman in Chris’s life
was
Clare Mackey?”
“You sound surprised,” Zack said.
“I thought that Clare might be the one,” I said. “But until this moment I wasn’t certain.”
“I guess each of us just knew half of the story,” Zack said. “I didn’t learn about the pregnancy and abortion until you told me that night at Magoo’s. Then of course I put two and two together.”
“But you didn’t say anything to me?”
“You and I were just getting to know one another; Chris had been my friend for over twenty years. He’d kept Clare’s pregnancy secret when he was alive. I didn’t see any point in bringing it up after he was dead and Clare had started a new life.” Zack moved his chair closer. “Does that make sense to you?”
“It makes sense,” I said.
“Then we can watch the sunset together?”
I reached over and touched his cheek. “You look so tired. Go home and get some sleep. Willie and I will stop by on our walk in the morning. Sunrises are just as nice as sunsets.”
He grinned. “And this time of year they come early. Lots of time to fool around before I have to go back to the city. Hey, I got you an electric toothbrush today at lunch. It’s in the car. I’ll plug it in as soon as I get home. Like me, the toothbrush will be ready when you are.”
The members of Clare Mackey’s Moot Team arrived on the dot of seven o’clock. Anne Millar had come with them, and it was clear from the outset that she had meshed easily with the other women. They were an appealing group. All were blond, all were fit, all were dressed smartly and informally – young professionals on casual Friday. Despite their smiles of greeting, they were sombre. When the introductions were over, I started to show them into the living room, but Linda Thauberger, who appeared to have been designated group leader, asked if we could use a room with a table. I led them into the kitchen. As generations of women had done before us, we took our places and began to talk, but our topic was not men, children, or the vagaries of our own flesh, it was Clare Mackey, and her story was murky and troubling.
“As far as we can tell,” Linda Thauberger said, opening her smart red briefcase and taking out a file, “this is where it all begins.” She placed the file at the centre of the table.
The name on the label made me blink. “Patsy Choi,” I said. “That case was three years ago. What does it have to do with Clare?”
“Stay tuned,” Linda said coolly. “I’ve had more than a few sleepless nights since we discovered the connection.”
“We all have,” Maggie Niewinski said. She still had the mop of blond curls she had in her law-school grad photo, but the shadows under her eyes were like bruises. It was clear she’d had her share of insomnia.
“And we know this is just the beginning,” Sandra Mikalonis, a graceful woman with a ponytail, added.
“You’re going to have to fill me in,” I said.
“Since I’m the one who dropped the ball on this, I’ll do it,” Linda said.
Maggie shook her curls vehemently. “No hair shirts,” she said. “We’ve agreed we all would have done exactly as you did.”
“Which was nothing,” Linda said quietly.
“Because no one asked you to do anything,” Maggie said.
“You’re still a terrier with a bone when you get an idea, aren’t you?” Linda said. “Maybe we should let the facts speak for themselves. Last year, just after the August long weekend, Clare called me. She’d stayed in Regina for the holiday. At that point, she’d been at Falconer Shreve about four months, and she thought the long weekend might be a good opportunity to stay at the office and do some homework.”
“Getting caught up on her files?” I asked.
Linda shook her head. “No. More just getting to understand the dynamics of the firm she was working for. Juniors are famously overworked. When you’re slaving away twelve hours a day, it’s hard to see where the snakes and ladders are, but if you’re going to get ahead you have to be able to tell an opportunity from a dead end. Anyway, most ambitious young lawyers, and Clare was …
is
… ambitious, would have used the time to read through the files of their principals’ more brilliant cases so they could drop a few fawning references to them later. But Clare’s background is in accounting, so she went straight to the trust ledgers. They, of course, have their own tale to tell.”
“Remind me about the trust ledgers,” I said.
“That’s where law firms keep records of their clients’ trust funds,” Anne Millar explained. “Monies paid in, monies taken out. Typically, monies taken out would be paid into general accounts to cover services from the firm. Any other withdrawal would require a written permission. In either case, there would be some sort of record in the file that the money had been transferred. At the end of every day, there’s a trust reconciliation – that’s just like balancing your chequebook. Everything has to be accounted for and justified.”
“You haven’t lost your skills as a seminar leader,” I said.
“A seminar leader!” Maggie gave Anne a mocking smile. “You didn’t tell us that on the drive out. I’ll bet you were a tough marker.”
A frown creased Linda’s brow. “Let’s keep our focus here,” she said. “Anyway, Clare was leafing through the trust ledgers and she came upon something that set off the alarm bells. She noticed that a number of trust funds were suddenly making substantial payments into general accounts, and they were making them repeatedly.”
“I’m guessing there were no permissions,” I said.
“Bingo,” Linda said. “No written record of any kind. A clear case of defalcation – messing with trust money. Anyway, the rest of the story is quickly told. All the payments were made during a six-week period. With Clare’s background in forensic accounting, she knew how to follow the money trail. She went to the files and discovered that the major case Falconer Shreve was handling at the time was the Patsy Choi case. It was a civil case, tort of assault, wrongful touching.”
“My God, the uncle deliberately broke the girl’s fingers,” I said.
“In the law, ‘wrongful touching’ was still the charge. The plaintiff, Patsy Choi, had to prove her damages, and it was not a slam dunk for her lawyer. Clare made copies of the notes to the case. The defence got great mileage out of the uncle’s philanthropy, the fact that as soon as he’d heard about Patsy’s talent as a violinist, he spared no expense in bringing her to Canada, giving her a home, paying for her lessons.”
“And then smashing her fingers with a hammer,” I said.
“Actually, it was a wooden mallet, the kind you use to tenderize meat,” Sandra Mikalonis said mildly. “The uncle was tenderizing a piece of round steak when Patsy announced that she didn’t want to practise any more – that she didn’t want to be a freak, she wanted to be a normal girl. The defence scored some points on that little outburst too.”
“But Patsy Choi ended up winning,” I said. “She got a huge settlement.”
Maggie snorted derisively. “Well, huge for Canada, and the appeal dragged on for a long time. But you’re right. In the end, Patsy won.”
Anne Millar gave a seminar leader’s summation. “The point is that Patsy Choi proved her damages because her lawyer hired an array of professional experts who he knew were plaintiff-friendly, and they did their job. An entertainment lawyer and an impresario put a dollar figure on Patsy’s loss of potential earnings. Three psychiatrists testified that she had suffered irreparable psychological damage when her fingers were broken. A partnership of psychologists who specialize in adolescents pointed out that no one would want to have their life determined by what they said during a tantrum when they were in their early teens. But expert testimony doesn’t come cheap.”
“And Patsy’s lawyer paid the experts out of the trust funds of Falconer Shreve clients,” I said.
“Bingo again,” Sandra said. “In the normal run of things, the partners could have covered the experts’ fees out of their personal funds, but Patsy Choi’s case took place during a serious slump in the stock market. Clare’s guess was that Patsy’s lawyer knew his partners’ circumstances and didn’t even approach them. You have to hand it to Chris Altieri: when it came to the people he cared about, he was a class act.”