What's Left Behind Read online

  Other Joanne Kilbourn Mysteries

  by Gail Bowen

  12 Rose Street

  The Gifted

  Kaleidoscope

  The Nesting Dolls

  The Brutal Heart

  The Endless Knot

  The Last Good Day

  The Glass Coffin

  Burying Ariel

  Verdict in Blood

  A Killing Spring

  A Colder Kind of Death

  The Wandering Soul Murders

  Murder at the Mendel

  Deadly Appearances

  Copyright © 2016 by Gail Bowen

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication is available upon request

  ISBN: 978-0-7710-2403-0

  ebook ISBN: 978-0-7710-2404-7

  Published simultaneously in the United States of America by McClelland & Stewart, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company

  Library of Congress Control Number is available upon request

  McClelland & Stewart,

  a division of Random House of Canada Limited,

  a Penguin Random House Company

  www.​penguinrandomhouse.​ca

  v3.1

  For Maggie Siggins and Gerald Sperling,

  who have supported artists and

  the arts for so many years

  with gratitude and love

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER

  1

  When I picked up the phone on the morning of my son Peter’s wedding and heard Warren Weber’s deep, bourbon-cured bass, I smiled. Warren and his wife, Annie, were among my favourite people, but Warren was eighty years old, and he didn’t believe in preamble, so my pleasure was short-lived.

  “I hope this is an unnecessary phone call, Joanne, but I thought you and Zack should know that my son signed himself out of Valleyview this morning. His doctor doesn’t believe Simon is ready to be released, but he entered Valleyview voluntarily so he was free to leave.”

  My nerves clenched. “Do you think Simon plans to show up here?”

  “I don’t know, and the doctor didn’t say, but Simon’s obsession with Lee Crawford drove him to the hospital in the first place. Lee is her sister’s maid of honour. We have to consider the possibility that Simon may be headed for the wedding.”

  “Lee’s been worried about that,” I said. “Did Simon’s doctor have any advice about how to handle the situation if he does show up?”

  “Dr. Fidelak suggested that we focus on preventing that from happening,” Warren said. “Annie and I are still in the city. One of my oldest friends died this week, and I’m helping his widow with the arrangements. As soon as I’m through, Annie and I will come straight to Lawyers’ Bay. If we haven’t heard from Simon by then, we’ll park outside the gates and wait. If Simon arrives, we’ll get him across the lake to our cottage before he does anything we’ll all regret.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know what else we can do. I just hope you don’t have to wait around on the road.”

  Warren chuckled. “Sitting in an air-conditioned limousine with a beautiful twenty-five-year-old who loves me? I’ll be fine, Joanne. So will Annie. And so, I hope, will Simon. One way or another we’ll see that he gets the treatment he needs.”

  “I hope so. Zack was still at Falconer Shreve when Simon started with the firm, and he thinks highly of him.”

  “Good because I may need Zack’s help getting my son back to the hospital,” Warren said, and then he broke the connection.

  Every season has its own rhythm at Lawyers’ Bay. In summer, the lake is alive with the squawk of shorebirds, the thrum of motorboats, and children’s shrieks of terror and delight as they leap off the high board of the diving tower. In fall, the cheers and groans of touch football and the honking of Canada geese flying south echo across the water. In winter, the screams of tobogganers shrill through air sharp and clear as ice. But on that foggy May morning, the only sounds in our silent world came from Zack’s all-terrain wheelchair rolling along the sand and my footfalls. Ahead of us on the beach, our dog, Pantera, chased a squirrel.

  The wedding would take place in front of the gazebo at the tip of the bay’s west arm. The setting was striking. So was the gazebo, an octagonal structure of wood and glass supported by stones carefully chosen and trucked down from Northern Saskatchewan. Noah Wainberg, the husband of one of Zack’s law partners, was a gifted carver, and one of his most eloquent pieces hung from the base of the structure like a figure on a ship’s prow. The carving was of a woman: her arms and legs long and graceful, her breasts full – a powerful woman, but her face was etched with an ancient and private grief.

  As Zack and I moved towards the point, the mist that had shrouded the familiar markers was lifting. Two summers earlier, our daughter, Taylor, and her friends Isobel Wainberg and Gracie Falconer were captivated by a book that showed how our ancestors created landmarks to guide those who came after them. Inspired, the girls built a series of inuksuit along the shoreline of Lawyers’ Bay. As the eerily human, ghostly figures emerged from the haze, I remembered the determination on the girls’ young faces as they pushed rock-laden wheelbarrows through the sand to ensure that future travellers could find their way. It was one of my best summer memories.

  Being alone with my husband on a beach that was as much a part of us as our handprints was another gift to savour, so I hadn’t mentioned Warren’s phone call. But when I saw the solitary figure standing inside the gazebo looking out at the water, I lowered my voice instinctively. “That’s Simon Weber,” I said.

  Zack turned his head abruptly. “I thought he was at Valleyview.”

  “He was,” I said. We were well out of earshot but we spoke in whispers. “Warren called when you were in the shower. Simon checked himself out this morning.”

  “Because he knew Lee would be here for the wedding?”

  “That’s Warren’s guess. Mine too. Let’s hope Simon doesn’t know Lee’s already here. Warren and Annie were planning to come over a couple of hours before the wedding, wait outside the security gates, and spirit Simon away if he showed up.”

  “But Simon short-circuited their plan,” Zack said. “Valleyview’s just outside Fort Qu’Appelle – less than half an hour away. He must have come straight to Lawyers’ Bay.” Zack’s gaze was still on Simon. “Did Warren have any idea what shape his son is in?”

  “Simon’s been in the hospital for a month,” I said. “He might have made some progress.”

  “He had a long way to go,” Zack said. As we talked we’d continued to move towards the gazebo; now Zack took my arm and we stopped. “Jo, I never told you, but Le
e came to me about Simon last month. She’s a strong woman, but Simon had spiralled out of control. He’d never had a problem with alcohol, but he was drinking heavily and showing up at her farm at all hours threatening to kill himself if she didn’t come back to him. The night before he checked himself into the hospital, Simon arrived at Lee’s farm after midnight, drunk and incoherent. He pounded on her door until she answered it, then tried to push his way into her house. Lee slammed the door on him, but he was too drunk to drive, so she went back outside to try to get his keys. He put up a fight and knocked her down. She’s sure it was an accident because when he saw her, flat on her back in the driveway, he started to cry, said he was a worthless human being who didn’t deserve to live. He begged her to forgive him. Lee’s fall had knocked the wind out of her, and it took her a moment to get her bearings. By the time she was on her feet, Simon was in his car, gunning the motor. In his haste to get on the road, Simon ran over Lee’s old tomcat. She called the police, gave them Simon’s licence number, and told them he was drunk and driving on Highway 33 about seventy-five kilometres south of the city. Then she wrapped her cat in a towel and took him out behind the barn and buried him.”

  “Oh God. Poor Lee. I had no idea the situation was that bad.”

  “Lee didn’t want anyone to know. She was trying to protect Simon, but when she came to see me she was desperate. She’d been too keyed up to sleep, and the police had been unable to find Simon. You know how it is around Lee’s place – a lot of gravel roads and abandoned farms with outbuildings. Simon probably pulled in somewhere and passed out. Anyway, he was still officially with Falconer Shreve, so we couldn’t take on Lee as a client. I arranged with Eddye Kirke to meet with her and have a restraining order issued.”

  “Zack, Simon is the son of one of your major supporters. I should have known about the restraining order sooner.”

  “I agree, but Warren wanted as few people as possible to know about it. Not long after Simon was served, Falconer Shreve put him on medical leave and he checked himself into Valleyview.”

  “Now he’s signed himself out,” I said.

  “Yes. And it’s time to see how he’s doing.” Zack’s tone was resigned. “Ready to talk to him?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.

  Simon seemed rooted to his spot in the gazebo. I’d only met him twice, and both encounters had been brief, but in retrospect they seemed significant. The first was the previous July at Falconer Shreve’s annual Canada Day party at Lawyers’ Bay. Simon was with Lee. It was mid-afternoon, and they’d been waterskiing. Lee was tanned, and like her twin sister, Maisie, she had shoulder-length copper curls. She was just a shade under six feet tall, and in her form-fitting one-piece ivory suit she was stunning. Simon was tall and fine-featured with black hair cut short. His body was boyishly slender, and he had the kind of fair skin that sunburns easily. His face, chest, and back had already turned scarlet. He was oblivious. The woman at his side captured his complete attention.

  Later that afternoon, I watched Simon choose a beach towel from the stacks we’d piled on a trestle table near the water. He went through the piles twice, rejecting snazzy cabana stripes and cartoon whales to finally settle on a matching pair in denim-blue soft cotton.

  “Good choice,” I said.

  He hugged the towels to his body. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked.

  “Maybe not quite first sight,” I said. “But sometimes knowing that you’ve met the right person doesn’t take long.”

  Simon nodded. “Today I found the person who can save me.” His smile was heartbreaking. “Now comes the hard part – convincing her.”

  The next time I saw Simon was at the firm’s black-tie Christmas party. Like Simon, our son Angus was an associate at Falconer Shreve. The two men often worked out together in the firm’s weight room, and in the five months since I’d last seen him, Simon had developed the physique of a man who looked good in a tux. That night he and Lee were a head-turning couple but not a happy one. Simon was painfully solicitous, and Lee was kind, but her smile was distant. She had moved along. Auden’s poignant lines “If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me” flashed through my mind.

  In the weeks and months that followed, Simon paid a high price for being “the more loving one.” But Lee paid an equally high price for being the one more loved. Until Simon went to Valleyview, he and Lee had been locked in a symbiosis that sucked them both dry. The man staring out at Lawyers’ Bay was a man who had seemingly lost everything.

  Pantera wandered into the gazebo to check out the stranger. As Simon turned to acknowledge our dog, Zack’s intake of breath was audible. Simon’s body was skeletal. His clothes hung on him and his face was pale and clawed by sorrow.

  “Where’s your other dog?” he said. “You have a bouvier like Lee’s.”

  “Willie died in February,” I said. “He was twelve.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know how much it hurts to lose a part of your life.”

  Zack wheeled towards him. “Joanne and I miss Willie every day,” he said. “It’s good to be with someone who understands that. But, Simon, you know you shouldn’t be here today.”

  Simon’s grey eyes were beautiful – large, clear, and long-lashed – but they were filled with despair. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said. “Lee will be here for the wedding. For the first time in a month, I’ll be close to her.”

  I moved to Simon’s side and touched his arm. “Your father talked to your doctor at Valleyview this morning. Leaving the facility is a big step. Dr. Fidelak’s not sure you’re ready.”

  Simon laughed jaggedly. “I’ll never be ready,” he said. “Did my father tell you that Dr. Fidelak, like all the other psychiatrists I’ve seen, can’t come up with a diagnosis of what’s wrong with me? Apparently, I exhibit classic signs of borderline personality disorder, a condition – I’m quoting now – ‘that produces intense and unstable interpersonal relationships.’ Sound familiar? But no one seems able to tell me for sure. It doesn’t matter. The words wouldn’t change anything. I’ve read about borderline personality disorders online. The literature is filled with admirably careful wording about treatment and possible outcomes.” His voice tightened. “Must have been drafted by lawyers, Zack. Apparently the only magic bullet for people diagnosed with BPD is the one they use on themselves.”

  Zack gave Simon a comforting pat on the arm. “Whatever the diagnosis, you’re not alone,” he said, and his voice was strong and convincing. “Joanne and I will do whatever we can to help. But right now you have to get out of here. You have enough to deal with without violating the restraining order. Can I give you a lift?”

  “I came in my canoe,” Simon said. “It’s down there, farther along the beach. My father’s cottage is just across the lake, remember?”

  “Of course,” Zack said. “Are you going to be staying with your dad and Annie for a while?”

  The question was meant to be innocuous, but it ignited something in Simon. His face darkened and he leapt away from Zack, chopping the air with his hands. “I don’t know where I’m going to be. Don’t you get it? If I can’t be with Lee, I don’t care where I am.” Zack and I exchanged a glance. We were both overwhelmed at the quicksilver change in Simon’s mood. He had been stoic about the bleakness of his prognosis, but suddenly he was falling apart.

  Simon’s face crumpled. He looked desperately from Zack to me. “Please, talk to her. Tell her I’ll do anything to be in her life again. I won’t ask for intimacy. I just want to have a room in her house. I want to see her every day. I want to know she’ll never leave me. I need to know that I’ll never be alone again.” He reached out to me as he pleaded, grabbing hold of my wrists.

  His intensity frightened me, but I tried to keep my voice even. “Simon, what if it’s impossible for Lee to do what you’re asking?” I said.

  “You’re afraid I’ll harm her, aren’t you?” he said. When I didn’t respond, his ey
es narrowed and his hands tightened on my wrists. “You don’t understand. I would never hurt her. She’s the only one who can lift me from loneliness. She’s my last chance.”

  Zack placed two warning fingers on Simon’s right arm. His voice was gentle but firm. “Simon, you’re hurting Joanne. Please let go of her.”

  Simon looked in disbelief at what his hands were doing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to …” He was obviously contrite, but he seemed confused, and it was at least a minute before he loosened his grip, released my wrists, and darted from the gazebo. As he started down the beach, his eyes were wild. I went after him, but he was fast. When he came to the yellow canoe, he pushed the boat out into the lake and climbed in. It was a solo canoe, so as soon as Simon took his place, it levelled in the water. Grasping his paddle, he began knifing the waves. I called his name repeatedly, but he didn’t answer. Simon was an expert canoeist, and it wasn’t long before the yellow canoe disappeared from view and I returned to Zack.

  His brow was creased with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “But Simon needs to be back in Valleyview. He’s out of control.” I rubbed my wrists. “And he’s strong.”

  Zack took out his phone. “I’ll call Warren.” He entered the number and then shrugged. “Straight to voicemail,” he said.

  “Warren’s helping a friend’s widow with funeral arrangements,” I said. “Let’s wait for him to call.”

  A peal of laughter greeted us when we came into the cottage. Our sixteen-year-old daughter, Taylor, and Lee Crawford were in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher and enjoying each other’s company. Lee looked up when she heard us. “I’m here because I was in need of company,” she said. “My sister, the blushing bride, and her bridesmaids are in the other cottage sleeping. They were awake half the night re-enacting lacrosse triumphs.”

  “How did they manage lacrosse inside a cottage?” I said.

  “They’d had a few beers, and they were highly motivated,” Lee said dryly. “No property was damaged, and nobody lost a tooth, so no harm done. Anyway, Taylor took pity on me and showed me where the eggs and the frying pan were.”