The Brutal Heart Page 13

  “So you went to a prostitute.”

  Blake nodded. “Cristal came highly recommended. She was safe, and she was discreet. She also turned to be my salvation. Everybody knew about Lily, of course, but I never talked to anyone about our marriage – not even Zack, and he’s the one I’m closest to. But from the moment I met Cristal, I knew I could tell her everything, and she would understand.” As he talked, Blake had kept his head down; now he turned and looked into my face. “Cristal made me understand why Lily was so determined to destroy our life together.”

  “And what Cristal told you made sense?”

  “Given Lily’s past, it did. Cristal said she understood women like Lily because she was like that herself. She said Lily didn’t believe she was worthy of a good life, and so she did everything she could to make sure that she got the kind of life she deserved.”

  I remembered how often and how harshly I’d judged Lily. My throat tightened. “Blake, I’m so sorry.”

  “You couldn’t have done anything. Lily was determined to destroy us, and she did. At least now I understand why she did it.”

  I looked across the lawn. Gracie and Taylor, in their matching Luther hoodies, were running towards us. “Here come the girls.”

  “Time to shape up.” He squared his shoulders and tried a smile. “Convincing?”

  “You’re in luck,” I said. “It’s dark.”

  He gave me a quick glance. “Jo, Zack should know this. I don’t want him thinking Cristal was just another whore.”

  “I’ll tell him,” I said.

  Gracie barrelled into her father. “Everybody says if it weren’t for the Miraculous Brodnitz Twins, I could have been the game all-star.”

  Blake held his daughter’s shoulders. “Life is full of Brodnitz twins,” he said. “But there are rewards for the rest of us too. How about we go to the Milky Way and get some ice cream?” He glanced at me. “Joanne?”

  “Why not?” I said. “But I’ll buy. We’ll have to take something for Zack, and he is not a cheap date.”

  When we got home, there were two empty liquor bottles by the kitchen door, destined for the recycle, and Zack was putting drink glasses into the dishwasher.

  “Looks like you had yourself quite a party,” I said.

  “Nobody had any fun,” he said. He spotted the sundae Taylor was carrying. “Is that for me?”

  Taylor handed it to him. “Yes, because you missed the game, but the ice cream’s melting, so you’d better eat it fast.”

  “That will be no problem at all,” he said. “Thank you, ladies.”

  “I’m going to have a shower,” Taylor said. “It was super hot in the gym, but it was a great game, wasn’t it, Jo?”

  “It was,” I said. “Why don’t you tell Zack about it?”

  Taylor grinned. “Like I know a single thing about basketball. Luther won, and I had a blast. That’s it!” She kissed us goodnight and vanished.

  “Hard to believe that’s the girl who made me understand the significance of Monet’s windows,” Zack said, spooning ice cream and butterscotch sauce.

  “How did the meeting go?” I asked.

  “If the intent was to figure out what the hell’s going on, it was a waste of good Scotch. But you’ll be relieved to hear that our Glenfiddich smoothed the way to some serious male bonding. My group of seven has decided to stick together.”

  “Like the seven dwarfs,” I said.

  Zack dug into the chocolate ripple. “Are you pissed off?”

  “No. Just bemused.”

  “If it’s any consolation, these guys are sweating bullets. They’re all guilty as hell when it comes to fidelity to their marriage vows, but they all swear they had nothing to do with Cristal’s death. That said, they’re savvy enough to know that sooner or later the police investigation will turn up their names.”

  “You’re all lawyers,” I said. “Someone must have floated the idea of going to the police before the police came to you.”

  “Actually, everybody here tonight was a defence lawyer and that means they know how to play the odds. Somebody sent them DVDS of their private activities, which is weird but also legal because there was no threat and no attempt to extort. In short, there is no crime. So the consensus was that the potential loss outweighed the potential gain.”

  “So everyone was cool.”

  “No. They’re going through hell, waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “And the other shoe would be…?”

  “Blackmail – like Cristal tried with Ned.”

  “But Cristal’s dead.”

  “And the DVDS still arrived in our mailboxes. That’s why people are so scared. With blackmail, it’s always a plus to know the blackmailer. That’s how you reach some mutually acceptable accord. Obviously, these men knew Cristal intimately. But because she’s dead, we don’t know who’s calling the shots. I never thought I’d say this, but in a way Ned Osler was lucky. He knew exactly who and what he was dealing with.”

  “Did he? Zack, did it never strike you as curious that, out of all of her clients, Cristal chose to blackmail the one who treated her well – the one who brought her books and believed she was, like Henry James’s character Isabel Archer, too good for this world?”

  He nodded. “It crossed my mind, but then Cristal was dead, and there were all these other problems, so I guess I just shoved that one aside. Jo, the truth is, there’s a lot I can’t figure out about this. I listened to those guys tonight, and usually when I hear the stories, I get a feel for what’s happening, but not with this one. I’m flummoxed, Ms. Shreve.” He picked up one of Taylor’s black and gold pom-poms and twirled it. “But at least Luther won.”

  “And while Luther was winning, Blake was disintegrating,” I said. “After the game, Gracie took Taylor around to introduce her to some of her friends, and Blake and I talked. He’s in terrible shape, Zack. He blames himself for not saving Cristal.”

  Zack smacked the pom-pom against his hand. “Shit. Talk about a train wreck you can see coming. Cristal was Lily all over again, you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “Blake knows too, but that’s not making the loss any easier. He says Cristal was the only one he could really talk to about Lily.”

  “Jesus, Jo, how dumb can he be? Doesn’t he understand that Cristal’s schtick was being whatever the man wanted her to be? That’s why she was able to charge $500 an hour. Remember me telling you that when I saw the tape of Cristal with Ned, I couldn’t believe it was the same woman I’d been with? Well, that was true right across the board. Every guy here tonight talked about what Cristal had been like with him. You wouldn’t have known they were talking about the same woman. She changed her act for every customer. The first night I was with her, she poured me a drink and asked me in that little girl voice of hers what my fantasy was.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said my fantasy was to be able to get it up. She said, ‘So you’re not paying for games, just expertise.’ I agreed, and I got what I paid for. Just the way every guy here tonight got what he paid for. These were commercial transactions – nothing more.”

  “Blake doesn’t see it that way. I think he loved her, Zack.”

  Zack drew his hand across his eyes. “You know I don’t think I can deal with that tonight. I’m exhausted, Ms. Shreve.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Boy, it wouldn’t take many days like this one to make a dozen, would it?”

  Zack put his arm around me. “Nope, but at least you and I are headed for the same bed.”

  “And it’s going to stay that way,” I said.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next morning when the dogs and I went for our run, fog hung over the lake and a light rain was falling. Puddles of water were spreading on the grass, so we stayed on the concrete. Willie and Pantera revelled in mud, but I didn’t, and after months of power struggles and the intervention of a dog trainer, I had established myself as the alpha or, at least, as the one who held the leashes. Running
in what my grandmother called “the Scottish mist” was always a joy to me. The familiar world was suddenly a place of Brigadoon mystery, and while heather on the hill was in short supply in Wascana Park so were bridges of doom. In my view it was a saw-off. And that day as the dogs and I made our way along the rain-slicked walkway beside the Broad Street Bridge, there was another reward. On the sandy shoreline on the south side of the bridge, a pair of American avocets was foraging in the shallow water with their elegant upturned bills.

  The southern part of our province was a favourite breeding place of the avocet, but this pair was the first I’d seen this year. I wasn’t a knowledgeable birder, but I’d always been attracted to quirky pieces of information and avocets provided a romantic one: after mating, the pair crossed their slender bills and walked away together. I was still smiling at that image when the dogs and I started home.

  Zack was in the kitchen finishing his coffee and dressed for work in one of his beautiful silk suits. “You look like the cover of GQ,” I said.

  He smiled. “Thank you. You look like you could use a kiss and a shower.”

  “Maybe, not in that order,” I said. “I’m sweaty.”

  “I thought I detected a powerful pheromonal waft.” Zack held out his arms. “Come on, you can’t let your body send out signals like that and not let me at least cop a feel.”

  I kissed him. “Now you’re the one sending out signals,” I said.

  Zack looked at his watch. “Damn, and I haven’t got time to follow through. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour. I picked up a new case last night.”

  “One of your bad boys?”

  “No, a case that one of my bad boys was supposed to be handling. He’s in-house counsel to Peyben, the company that’s developing that new housing tract out by the airport. Peyben is being sued by a clairvoyant who claims she had a vision that the land would be developed and she passed along her vision to one of their executives.”

  “And now the clairvoyant wants some of the lolly,” I said. “How come the Peyben lawyer’s handing this off to you?”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s obsessed with the Cristal Avilia case, and he’s afraid that if he met with the psychic, she’d be able to read his mind.”

  “Oh what tangled webs we weave,” I said.

  Zack chortled. “If only you knew. I’d better get a move on, but I’ll see you at UpSlideDown for lunch.”

  “You’re coming? That’s a nice surprise.”

  “Maddy phoned last night and asked me herself.”

  “Get there early,” I said. “Ginny’s filming a campaign spot. So there’ll be cameras and lights and people.”

  “Everything’s coming up roses for Ginny?”

  “The polls say yes.”

  “I heard a bit of her interview on Quinlan Live. It seemed to be going well.”

  “You didn’t hear the whole thing,” I said. “At one point a young woman called in. She was reading from a script.”

  “A script?”

  “It happens,” I said. “Talk-show producers get to know the voices of campaign workers, so sometimes they keep them off air. That’s when organizers turn to novices to spread the good word.”

  “Using a script.”

  “Novices get off message.”

  “And this caller got off message.”

  “I don’t think she did,” I said. “I think she read exactly what she’d been given to read. The script was literate, and it started innocently enough. The girl commended Ginny for her good work in the past; then she said Ginny’s contribution was particularly praiseworthy because while she was working for her country, her ex-husband was living off the money he took from prostitutes in Regina.”

  Zack’s eyes widened. “Did the caller mention any names?”

  “No. Do you think she was referring to Cristal Avilia?”

  “These days it seems that all roads lead to Cristal, but I guess she wasn’t the only sex-trade worker servicing rich clients.”

  Zack’s words were blunt, matter of fact, and his lack of emotion infuriated me. I slammed down my mug, spilling coffee on the table. “Why is that, Zack? Do guys just finish at work for the day, close down their computers, buy an hour of love, then go home to the wife and kids?”

  Zack picked up a napkin and mopped my coffee. “It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “Can we talk about it later?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And by then, I may have some insights for you. Later on this morning I’m meeting a woman who ran an escort service.”

  “Why ever would you do that?” Zack was very still and his voice was almost a whisper. I’d seen him use that technique in court. It had a way of making witnesses feel small, foolish, and exposed. It didn’t work on me.

  “Jill thinks the Cristal Avilia case is going to be big news,” I said.

  “And she wants you to get involved.”

  “We thought it would be useful if I acquired a little knowledge.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Joanne.”

  “Well, I won’t be the first one to do that, will I?”

  Zack looked at me hard. “No, you won’t. So, do you want to take another shot at me, or can I go to work?”

  I picked up a towel and started wiping off the sweat. “Go to work,” I said. “There’s not a lot to hold you here.”

  He winced. “Jesus, Jo. Let’s not start the day this way. Can we just let this go – at least for a while?”

  For a beat we just looked at each other. The shadows under his eyes were pronounced. I knew he wasn’t sleeping well. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll start again. I saw something neat on my run this morning. The American avocets are back.”

  “The ones who do that crossed-bills thing? Where were they?”

  “Down on that little beach by the Broad Street Bridge.”

  “Want to go over tonight and have a look?”

  “If the rain keeps up, it might be tough to get down there in the chair.”

  “I’ll manage,” Zack said.

  “You always do,” I said. I picked up our dishes and took them to the sink.

  “So who’s the woman you’re seeing?”

  “Her name is Vera Wang.”

  “Well, you’re in good hands.”

  “You know her?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you use her services, too?”

  “Nope,” Zack said. “She used mine. Vera kept what we, in our archaic legal way, call a common bawdy house. Section 210 of the Criminal Code has a problem with her line of work. I’m a lawyer, Joanne. From time to time, people who run afoul of the law come to me.” With that, he started to wheel out of the room. “I’m not always the bad guy. Cut me a little slack.”

  Ginny’s breakfast was being held at the Pile O’ Bones Club; the name was a romantic allusion to our city’s past, but the club itself was a utilitarian concrete structure that, ugly as it was, had been constructed within Palliser riding, and that was all that mattered. When I got into my Volvo to drive to the event, I tuned in Jack Quinlan’s show. There’d been new polling the night before. Nationwide, the election was still too close to call and of Saskatchewan’s fourteen federal ridings, nine were considered in play. Palliser was one of them. The topic for the morning was predictable: what do you think the outcome will be on Monday? I recognized the voice of the first caller. Malcolm had been a staunch supporter of my old party for years. He was knowledgeable and wildly partisan. Our former premier used to say that if our party had nominated Judas Iscariot and the opposition had nominated Jesus Christ, Malcolm would have voted for Judas. That morning, Malcolm was ruminating on Ginny’s changing fortunes. He was surprisingly even-handed, saying he felt the personal attacks on her had been boorish and unfair, but expressing surprise that the polls had turned so dramatically because of the outcome of the custody suit. Malcolm’s view was that, whatever she did in her personal life, Ginny had a political record that thoughtful voters should peruse, and when they saw what Ginny was polit
ically, they would reject her for the right reasons. At first, it seemed the next caller’s comments grew out of Malcolm’s. She argued with enviably perfect diction that while the Honourable Ms. Monaghan’s personal life should not be an issue, the excesses of Jason Brodnitz – “a well-known denizen of the city’s red light district” – should concern decent citizens of every political stripe. Quinlan warned against slandering and took the next call. By that time, I was at the Pile O’ Bones Club.

  The parking lot was filled, and so were the parking spaces on the streets adjacent to the club. I had to drive three blocks to find a parking space. Ginny’s campaign was clearly moving in the right direction. In my lifetime, I had probably attended a hundred breakfast rallies. They were easy to plan because the menu was as invariable as the program. The faithful chowed down on watery scrambled eggs, greasy bacon, and cool, limp toast while a local MLA with a reputation as a wit warmed them up. Then a colleague of the candidate introduced her, the candidate took centre stage and wowed the crowd, and after party supporters had handed over their money and promised to get out to vote on E-Day, they were free to leave.

  When I walked into the Pile O’ Bones Club, Keith Harris was right inside the door. I checked out the room. “Another good sign,” I said. “You had to open the concertina wall – that means you’ve got at least two hundred and fifty people.”

  Keith smiled. “Three hundred and twenty, and counting,” he said. “And the most important one just arrived.”

  “Smooth talker,” I said.

  “I have to do something to make up for the food,” Keith said. He pointed to the steam table. “You know the drill,” he said. “Fill a plate, and listen to your arteries scream for mercy.” He smiled. “I guess a septuple bypass would indicate that my arteries have already spoken. ”

  Even after a night’s sleep and a fresh shave, Keith’s colour was not good. I reached into my bag, pulled out the container of yogurt, and handed it to him. “Eat this,” I said. “I’ve had a run, and I’ve got a long day ahead. I can use a manly breakfast.”