The Brutal Heart Read online

  After Evan was out of earshot, I turned to Keith. “Makes it harder when you like the other guy, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Keith agreed. “But never lose sight of the fact that he is the other guy.”

  Evan was head and shoulders above Ginny’s other two opponents. He was smart and he’d done his homework. In truth, he’d overdone his homework. His answers would have earned him top marks in a seminar, but they were too long and too detailed for a debate, and the moderator was repeatedly forced to cut him off. As well, either out of nervousness or the belief that a debate was a discussion among four people running for the same office, Evan focused on the other candidates, and the audience repaid him by growing restive during his answers. He was a much better candidate than he appeared to be that night, and I found myself longing for the chance to sit down with him the next morning, go over the debate tapes, and talk about ways he could improve his performance.

  Ginny didn’t need my help. She was thoroughly professional, and she was having the time of her life. Her answers were crisp, clever, and often funny. The audience loved her, and she loved them back.

  “She’s having a good night,” I said to Keith.

  Keith sighed. “It scares me when a campaign is going this well. I know it’s only a matter of time till the dragon crawls out of his lair and tears us apart.”

  When I got home, Zack was already in bed with his laptop on his lap and his trial bag on the nightstand beside him.

  “How did it go?” he said.

  “Ginny was brilliant. I think Keith’s right. If she can win big in Palliser, there’ll be no stopping her.”

  “You look excited.”

  “Contact high from the crowd,” I said. “Politics can be a lot of fun.”

  “There’s something we need to talk about,” Zack said.

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It’s not good.”

  I sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes. “It would be nice to have one evening that didn’t end on a shitty note.”

  “Your call – we can talk in the morning.”

  “No. Let’s get it over with. Better to know now than be awake all night wondering.”

  Zack reached into his trial bag, pulled out a journal, and handed it to me. On the cover there was a tranquil picture of a dark-haired young girl in a silk dress sitting under a tree with her dog. There was a cat on her lap, and one on the branch above her. The girl was reading.

  “That belonged to Cristal,” Zack said.

  “So Blake got it to you,” I said.

  Zack’s forehead creased in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

  “Francesca Pope was at St. Pius tonight. She told me she couldn’t keep her appointment with you today because the light in your building was too bright. She waited outside until she saw someone she recognized.” I started to undress. “Poor Blake. Of all the people Francesca could have given it to.”

  Zack’s face was grim. “No doubt about it. Blake has all the luck. And of course, he read the journal before he handed it over to me. He’s devastated, but to be fair, Cristal’s account of her life is pretty devastating.”

  “Let me finish getting ready for bed, and I’ll take a look,” I said. When I had my pyjamas on, I sat beside Zack on the bed and opened the journal. The handwriting was precise, but so tiny I couldn’t read it without my glasses. I hooked Zack’s off his nose. “Can I borrow these?” I said.

  “Be my guest,” Zack said. “But stay close. This is ugly reading.”

  Writing in fragments, connecting her thoughts with dashes, Cristal had recorded a life of sadistic abuse with breathtaking immediacy. Nothing distanced the reader from her narrative. Every sentence was raw with pain. As I read, I could hear Cristal’s small, breathy voice, and I could feel her panic.

  The journal opened with the phrase bad day. It was a fitting epigraph for what was to follow.

  Bad day – told 3 I can’t deal with it any more. I’ll do the rest – even the ones who want me to pretend I’m their little girls, but no more hoods and no more gags – in the night my heart pounds – I’m dying because I can’t get out – choking to death – it happens – girls die. 3 says I have to trust him – our love is about absolute trust. He knows what’s best – letting a date gag me and tie a hood over my head shows 3 that I love him – knowing I’ll do whatever he wants is the way I prove my love. 3 says he never hurts my body – sometimes I think that would be easier – the worst is when he won’t speak to me or touch me – even when I’m on my hands and knees in front of him, begging him like a dog – and he ignores me until I agree to submit.

  April 7 – This is hell – 3 says I have to tell N I can’t see him any more – that he disgusts me. N doesn’t disgust me – he makes me feel valuable. He gave me a book – Portrait of a Lady – he says I’m like Isabel. To become a lady, she had to learn to live with sadness and disappointment, and N says that’s what I have to do too. He says I’ve earned the right to be happy.

  This afternoon I forgot to turn off the camera when N and I were talking. When 3 was reviewing the tapes he heard N tell me I have to get out. It’s never been this bad – he spit on me and then he walked out – anything’s better than this.

  I looked up. My voice was shaking “Zack, I can’t read any more of this.”

  “Just read April 13,” Zack said. “That explains why Ned was the client singled out for blackmail.”

  I turned the pages of tiny handwriting. There were references to encounters with other men, but always the number three was there dominating, manipulating, wounding. Finally, I came to the notation.

  April 13 – 3 made me write to N – tell him I’ll put the pictures of us on the Internet unless he pays me off. 3 says N has to learn that a whore is a whore is a whore is a whore.

  April 14 – N is dead – shot himself – my fault, my fault, 3 says. He’s right. Could my 3 be 666? Evil – Evil.

  I handed Zack the journal. “That day you took her the cheque, Cristal asked if you believed in evil. She was starting to see the truth, wasn’t she? She was beginning to realize 3 was a monster. Ned died because 3 had to show Cristal that she was nothing – just a whore who needed to be taught a lesson.”

  Zack tented his fingers. “I guess the next question is who is 3? The current wisdom seems to be that it’s Jason Brodnitz.”

  “I can’t believe that,” I said. “Ginny Monaghan was married to Jason. He was a husband and a father.”

  “Sociopaths don’t have horns, Jo. I’ve defended some. They blend in. That’s how they get away with the things they do.”

  “But if Jason is such a ruthless manipulator, why would Ginny shield him?”

  Zack shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want her daughters to know their father was a monster. Maybe she was safeguarding her reputation. Living with a sadist isn’t exactly evidence of sound judgment.”

  “Zack, none of this makes sense. Cristal wasn’t a stupid woman. Why would she let herself be abused like that?”

  “According to Blake, Cristal thought that’s what she deserved.”

  “No wonder Blake was devastated.”

  “Devastated and furious. I’ve never known Blake to lose control. He’s always been able to keep it together – even when Lily was putting him through all that shit. But tonight if Jason Brodnitz – or whoever 3 is – had walked through that door, Blake would have ripped him apart.”

  “More misery,” I said. I took my husband’s hand. “I want us out of this,” I said. “It’s like that old story of the tar baby – every time we touch this Cristal Avilia mess, we get in deeper. Let’s walk away. Tomorrow morning call Debbie Haczkewicz and tell her you’ll bring the journal down to headquarters. Then get a hold of Blake and suggest he go out to the lake for a few days – get some rest – figure things out.”

  Zack didn’t hesitate. “Okay. I’ve had enough too.” He reached over and turned off the light. “Tomorrow will be better,” he said.

  “It had bet
ter be,” I said, and even I was surprised at the anger in my voice.

  The next morning when the dogs and I stepped outside for our run, the air was mild and sweet, and the sun was shining. Its beams were weak and watery, but they were persistent. The grass, after so much rain, was dazzlingly green, and the flower bed closest to the deck was shining with daffodils. The prospect of having breakfast outside was seductive.

  When I got back, Zack was on the front porch taking the morning papers out of the mailbox. Pantera leapt towards his master and tore the leash from my hand. Even for a mastiff, Pantera was big and there’d been more than one occasion when he’d knocked Zack’s chair over. Zack never minded. “I’m just grateful he’s on my side,” he’d say. This morning we were lucky. Pantera was enthusiastic but restrained.

  “The daffodils are putting on a show,” I said. “Do you want to have breakfast on the deck?”

  “Sure. Everything’s ready to go. The porridge and coffee are made, but you might want to stay inside. That hyper kid who’s running Ginny’s campaign called.”

  “Milo.”

  “Right – the one who mainlines candy bars. Ginny’s going to be on Canada This Morning.”

  “Good for her,” I said. “But I opt for daffodils and no newspapers. Let’s just eat our porridge and let the universe unfold without us for a while.”

  It wasn’t that simple. While Zack was making calls on his cell, I got a call of my own. It was Keith saying that the interviewer on Canada This Morning had sandbagged Ginny with a question about whether her campaign had fuelled the rumours circulating about Jason’s unsavoury business alliances. There’d been some troubling follow-up questions, and Keith wanted me to watch when the show was broadcast in our time zone. He thought Ginny had handled the situation, but he wanted my opinion about whether she needed to make a statement.

  When Zack got off the phone, his expression was grim. “According to Debbie Haczkewicz, Cristal kept a journal from the time she left home. There are dozens of her diaries in a personal storage unit on the north side. The journal I have was the last one, and Debbie’s chomping at the bit to discover how it happened to fall into my hands. She’s sending someone over.”

  “No breakfast on the deck?” I said.

  “Not today, my love. And there’s another shovel of shit on the pile. I can’t find Blake. His housekeeper, Rose, says he didn’t come home last night, and he’s not answering his cell.”

  I poured more milk into the porridge, turned up the heat under it, and began stirring. “So we’ve got Ginny, Blake, and Bree Steig to worry about.”

  “I don’t think there’s much you or anybody can do to turn Bree’s life around.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about rehabilitation; I was thinking about police protection outside her room at the hospital. Zack, I don’t believe for a minute that the attack on Bree was random.”

  “You think I should call Debbie?”

  “I do.”

  Zack hit the speed-dial. When he rang off, he looked satisfied. “There’ll be a uniformed officer outside Bree’s room in twenty minutes.”

  “Good start,” I said. “Now let’s see how Ginny makes out. After breakfast you can start trying Blake again.”

  When the porridge was ready, I called Taylor for breakfast and Zack and I headed to the family room. She had just joined us with her bowl and her juice when the interview with Ginny started. “How come we’re eating in here?” she said.

  “I want to hear what Ginny has to say.”

  Taylor spooned on brown sugar, reached for the pitcher, and flooded her porridge with cream. “Is she going to win?”

  “I think so, but there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”

  “I don’t get it,” Taylor said.

  “It means life is full of surprises.”

  As the interview segment opened, there was no reason to suspect things would go badly. The establishing shots of Ginny and her daughters attending church on Mother’s Day were a portrait of family devotion, and as the host turned towards Ginny, his mouth curled in a practised smile. He didn’t look dangerous.

  “Our guest this morning is the Honourable Ginny Monaghan, minister of Canadian heritage and the status of women. Welcome, Ms. Monaghan.”

  “Thank you, Troy, I’m pleased to be here.” In a lemon suit that revealed her powerful athlete’s legs, Ginny looked like a woman who could run the country, but she had looked like a winner before. That promise had evaporated in a miasma of whispers and scabrous jokes and as Troy Selwyn framed his question, Ginny was alert.

  “This has to be a good day for you,” he said. “As far as your party’s concerned, the big picture’s still in doubt, but there’s no doubt about your future. The polls show you’re headed for victory in Palliser, and you’re already being talked about as your party’s next leader.”

  Ginny’s voice was cool. “Troy, I’m sure you’re aware that kind of talk is premature. Until the ballots are counted, nothing is certain. As for the leadership, we have a leader, and I support him.”

  It was a careful response that left the door open. Ginny knew that sound bites have the power to draw blood as well as attention, but this one was toothless. It was also ambiguous. Those steadfast in their allegiance to the prime minister would remember Ginny had reiterated her support for him; those hungering for new leadership would remember that Ginny’s statement of support had not been effusive.

  “Still, even you must be surprised at the turn of events in Palliser,” Troy Selwyn said pleasantly. “Two weeks ago, most political observers had written you off. You were sitting in a courtroom fighting for custody of your daughters, and the accusations about your personal life were, to say the least, damaging.”

  “My daughters are now safely under my roof,” Ginny said, but her eyes were wary.

  “So they are,” Troy said. “But your twins are with you because your ex-husband suddenly withdrew his suit for custody. You’re a powerful political figure, Ms. Monaghan. Were pressures brought to bear upon Mr. Brodnitz? Was he intimidated?”

  “He came to his senses. We both did.” The camera, hoping for a flash of fear or anger, zoomed in, but Ginny didn’t crack. Eyes on the camera, voice strong, she explained. “We were finally able to get over our anger and focus on our children. We reached the kind of agreement Canadians reach every day. We decided jointly that the interests of our girls would be best served if Jason withdrew his demand for custody and the twins lived with me.”

  “You must be aware of the rumours that have circulated about your husband.”

  “Rumours circulate about all political spouses and ex-spouses.”

  “Are you aware of the rumour that the stories about your husband’s activities originated in your campaign?”

  Ginny looked genuinely surprised. “No. I hadn’t heard that one. The stories about Mr. Brodnitz were out there from the beginning. I didn’t dignify them with a response then and I won’t now.” If she’d stopped there, Ginny would have been home free, but in politics, it’s the human moment that makes the difference – the flash of temper, the eyes welling with tears. Ginny’s discipline held, but her voice was ice. “Whatever else he is, Jason Brodnitz is my children’s father. I owe it to them to protect his reputation.”

  “Are you aware that Jason Brodnitz has called a news conference for this afternoon to discuss these rumours?”

  “No I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  Ginny smiled through tightened lips. “I think it’s ill advised.” The camera lingered on Ginny’s face, but she had nothing more to say, and so Troy Selwyn thanked her and wrapped up the interview.

  Zack clicked the remote and the screen went blank. Taylor frowned. “What was that all about?”

  Zack turned his chair to face her. “Do kids still play Truth or Dare?”

  “Little kids do,” Taylor said.

  “Well, I think we just saw the beginning of a pretty high-stakes game of Truth or Da
re.” He wheeled towards the door. “Now I’d better get a shower. I’m going to be late for work.”

  I called Keith. “What did you think?” he asked.

  “Zack says Jason’s started a game of Truth or Dare.”

  “That’s what I think too. I’m just not sure why. I know Jason’s reputation has taken a beating, but that wasn’t Ginny’s doing. All this crap about the rumours originating in our campaign.”

  “Did they?” I asked.

  There was a pause. “Good question,” he said finally. “I’ll find out. Yelling foul before I knew for sure there’d been a foul would be a pretty elementary mistake.”

  “You’ve got a few things on your mind,” I said.

  “Thanks, but there’s never an excuse for stupidity.”

  “How’s Ginny doing?”

  “She’s furious. She’s got a bunch of interviews lined up for this morning. They were supposed to be the first steps down the yellow brick road to the leadership, but now she has to deal with Jason’s press conference.”

  “Has she talked to him?”

  “He’s not taking calls,” Keith said. “As soon as Ginny’s through with her interviews, she’s going to go to Jason’s and see if she can work something out – maybe some kind of joint statement about the heat of the moment and cooperating. Anyway, I’ve changed my plane ticket. I’ll hang around Regina until this is worked out. It shouldn’t take long.”

  I’d just got out of the shower and into my jeans and shirt when the police cruiser pulled up outside. Zack greeted the officers at the door with the journal and a smile. “Here you are, and I’ll need a receipt.”

  One of the officers was female, and both were very young. The male officer scribbled a receipt and handed it to Zack. “We have a few questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You are Zachary Shreve?”

  “I am.”

  “And this journal belonged to the deceased Cristal Avilia?”

  “It did.”

  “How did it come into your possession?”

  Zack gave them his shark smile. “Can’t answer that. Lawyer-client privilege.”

  “Who’s your client?”