The Brutal Heart Page 20

  Zack’s smile grew wider. “Come on – you know better than that.”

  “Did you read this journal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anyone else?”

  Zack smiled and remained silent.

  The officers may have been rookies, but they knew enough not to waste time on an immovable object. They gave Zack his receipt, thanked him for his cooperation, nodded in my direction, and left.

  A minute later Blake Falconer pulled into our driveway. I opened the door for him. Blake’s shirt was fresh, his tie smartly knotted, and his slacks had a knife-edge press, but he looked haggard and spent.

  “What were the police doing here?” he said.

  “Taking possession of Cristal’s journal,” Zack said.

  Blake winced. “Well, that was the right thing.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Zack said.

  “Here and there.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that,” Zack’s tone was scathing.

  “Can I at least sit down?” Blake said. Without waiting for an answer, he walked into the living room and sank into the armchair by the fireplace.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” I said.

  “Don’t,” Blake tried a smile. “Zack’s always easier to deal with when you’re around.”

  I sat in the other armchair. Zack wheeled close to Blake. “Okay. Where exactly is ‘here and there’?”

  “After I read Cristal’s journal, I drove around for a couple of hours.” Blake’s eyes met mine. “Did you read it?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you know that Cristal lived in hell for the last month of her life.”

  I nodded.

  “Jason Brodnitz is a fiend,” Blake said. “What he did to her was sick… inhuman.”

  Zack’s voice was soft. “No one knows for certain that Jason Brodnitz was Cristal’s boyfriend.”

  “I know,” Blake said.

  Zack’s head shot up. “Cristal told you Jason Brodnitz was her pimp?”

  “Not in so many words, but I knew Brodnitz was managing her finances. A few months ago, Cristal asked me to review her real estate portfolio. I’d handled the original purchases and she wanted to liquidate her assets. I refused. Her holdings were all in the warehouse district and prices were skyrocketing. I advised her to hold on. A few days later she called me back. She thanked me, and said she’d found someone who she trusted to protect her interests.”

  “And she told you the person she found was Jason Brodnitz?” I said.

  “Yes,” Blake said. “But I didn’t tell her what I should have told her: that Jason was a terrible choice, had a lousy track record, and was living off his wife. I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I did, I’d lose her.” Blake turned to Zack. “I know, I know – exactly the same mistake I made with Lily.” His voice broke. “Same result too. I lost them both.”

  “Blake, you look exhausted,” I said. “Why don’t you get some rest? You and Zack can talk about all this later.”

  “No,” he said. “Because I may have screwed up, and Zack should know. When I read Cristal’s journal and saw how that sick bastard Brodnitz had manipulated her, I went to his house. He wasn’t there. I pounded on the doors and on the windows, but he never came. Then I got in my car and waited for him. Apparently, I fell asleep. When I woke up, there was a car parked in front of his house – I guess it was his. I stood on the lawn and screamed his name for about twenty minutes. Then, suddenly, it was as if I could see myself – this raging beast. I thought about Gracie, growing up without either parent. I went back to my car, drove to the office, showered, changed, and came over here.”

  “Did anybody see you?” Zack asked.

  “You mean last night?”

  Zack nodded.

  “I’m sure they did. I was hardly rational. I’m surprised no one called the cops.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “I know.” He held his hand out to Zack. “Lucky in a lot of ways. Thanks. I’d better check in at home now. Let them know I’m all right.”

  Zack looked at him curiously. “Are you sure you are?”

  Blake stood. “I’m sure. The worst is over.”

  Zack and I went to the door together to watch Blake drive off. “Well, that was a hell of a way to start the day,” Zack said.

  “But you heard the man. The worst is over, and you know what I’m going to do?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going shopping.”

  “Retail therapy? That’s not like you.”

  “I’m going to food shop. How do you feel about going up to the lake tonight, just the two of us?”

  “What about Taylor?”

  “She can stay with Mieka. Taylor loves being with Maddy and Lena, and I thought I’d sweeten the pot with Mieka by offering to take the granddaughters up to the lake with us this weekend.”

  “Give Mieka a chance to invite Sean over for a candlelight dinner?”

  “No. I think that fizzled. I haven’t heard anything about Sean in a while. Mieka seems to have decided that she and the girls are doing fine on their own.”

  “Well, that solves a problem for me.”

  “What to do about Sean?”

  Zack nodded. “Actually, Sean may have solved the problem himself. I’m pretty certain he’s going to work for Ginny. If Mieka’s heart won’t be broken, it’ll be a win-win situation all around. Good for Sean, good for Ginny, and good for Falconer Shreve. Disgruntled associates have a way of poisoning the well. Now, I’d better get going. I’m in court this afternoon, and if I don’t want to step on my joint I should go through the files again. There’s other stuff, but I guess I can take that to the lake with me.”

  “No,” I said. “You can’t.”

  Zack grinned. “Right you are, ma’am.”

  That afternoon, all my needs were met on three blocks of 13th Avenue. My first stop was UpSlideDown. There was a birthday party in progress, and it was time for cake. Eight red chairs had been drawn up to two yellow tables and eight mothers were trying to herd eight little boys into place. There was a Bob the Builder cake, Bob the Builder party hats, and Bob the Builder balloons and noisemakers, which were wholly redundant because the noise level was already ear-shattering.

  I smiled at my daughter. “Testosterone central,” I said.

  Mieka looked wistful. “You know how much I love my ladies, but I always thought it would be fun to have a boy too.”

  “You have time.”

  “True, but you need either a man or a turkey baster to get things started, and I’m still using my turkey baster for basting turkeys.”

  “Funny girl. What happened with Sean?”

  “Nothing. Apparently a lot of women get a crush on their divorce lawyers. You’re feeling vulnerable and all of a sudden you’ve got somebody who’s on your side and taking care of all your problems.”

  “And that’s all it was? Just a crush?”

  “I wanted more. I guess Sean didn’t. Mum, I really am fine with this.”

  “So if Sean were to take a job with Ginny and move to Ottawa, you wouldn’t be heartbroken.”

  My daughter picked up a noisemaker and blew. The sound it produced was somewhere between a wheeze and a death rattle. Mieka grimaced. “Unlike this noisemaker, I will survive,” she said. “Now, pushy mama, I’ve got a Bob the Builder cake to dole out. Do you want to give me a hand with the drinks?”

  “Sure,” I got the juice boxes from the fridge and put one at each place. Mieka brought the cake with the candles blazing and the mothers sang, “Happy Birthday.”

  I put my arm around her. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

  “About a thousand times,” she said. “But, hey, shut up some more.”

  “Listen, I have a favour to ask. Could Taylor stay overnight at your place tonight?”

  “That’s no favour. Taylor plays hide and seek with the girls for hours, and she helps with baths.”

  “I thought in
return, Zack and I could take the girls to the lake for the weekend.”

  Mieka’s eyes widened. “Now that’s a favour.” She smiled impishly. “Gives me a chance to try out a new turkey baster.”

  After I left Mieka’s I went to Pacific Fish, a shop that, despite its name, had the best pickerel and northern pike south of Lac La Ronge; then to Bernard Callebaut for our favourite dark chocolates; and finally to the Cheese Shop where, Dacia had assured me, I could get the Boursin au Poivre Zack loved. The Cheese Shop had only been open since the beginning of May and this was my first visit.

  Dacia was with a customer, so I had a chance to look around. On the counter by the cash register was a simple glass vase of gerbera daisies: white, yellow, and flaming orange. The mingled smells of a world of cheeses were heavenly. Dacia was wearing white overalls and an orange shirt, and her pretty hair was tied back with an orange and white striped kerchief. Her skin was olive and already tanned – she looked very Mediterranean and, as Angus said, very lovely in a round way. When her customer left, she came over. “My spies tell me you’re on the lookout for some Boursin au Poivre,” she said in her lyrical storyteller’s voice.

  “Your spies are right,” I said. “It’s Zack’s favourite.”

  “And your favourite is Gorgonzola,” she said. “Here, have a taste.”

  “Keep paying those spies,” I said. “That is superb.”

  “There’s more where that came from,” she said. “We have an Oka that is the best I’ve sampled.”

  “Bring it on,” I said. As we tasted and talked, Dacia told me what to look for in various cheeses.

  “How did you get so knowledgeable?” I said.

  “My grandmother had a cheese shop in Saskatoon. I grew up working there. She decided it was time to expand, so she bought this shop for me when I graduated from university.”

  “What’s your degree in?”

  “Comparative religion. My grandmother thought I’d need a way to support myself while I found truth.”

  “Very sensible.”

  “My grandmother’s a very sensible woman. Speaking of family, Peter and I had dinner with my parents last night.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Peter was a hit. He’s a great listener, which is lucky because both my parents are great talkers. And you’ll be relieved to hear that his name is numerologically sound. My last boyfriend’s name was Walter Johnson, and my parents were always trying to get him to change his name to Volter Ivanovski – more positive vowels. My parents take it very seriously. For me it’s just a party trick – something fun to do when you meet somebody new.”

  “So the name Jason Brodnitz would be…”

  Dacia did some quick figuring. “He would be a six.”

  “So much for that theory,” I said.

  “What theory?” Dacia asked.

  “Zack’s working on a case in which someone is identified by a number. I had a hunch about the numerology thing, but it didn’t work out.”

  I paid for my purchases, invited Dacia to join us at the lake for the July long weekend, and went out to my car. Once again, I’d left my cell on the dash. It was ringing – Zack’s ring tone. I picked up. “God, I’m glad to get you,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Buying you Boursin au Poivre. Zack, is something wrong? You sound a little… tense.”

  Zack’s laugh was short. “I’m more than a little tense, Jo. Jason Brodnitz is dead. Ginny called me. She’s at Jason’s house. She went there to talk to him and found him with a knife in his chest.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Suddenly the sunshine I had welcomed in the first hours of the day seemed too bright and too harshly revealing. I thought of Jason Brodnitz, the broken, defeated man I had seen in court on the day he withdrew his suit for custody of his girls; then I thought of 3, the sadistic monster in Cristal Avilia’s journal. Two lives running their parallel courses: one public, one hidden – both now ended. All the secrets would be unpacked. The agony that lay ahead for Ginny and her girls was unimaginable.

  “Are you going to represent Ginny?” I asked.

  “Looks that way,” Zack said. “And I’ve got a call in to Sean. Ginny trusts him, and he’s familiar with Brodnitz’s background.”

  “This is all so terrible,” I said.

  “Agreed,” Zack said. “But there’s work to be done. I’m going to be holed with my client and the cops for a while. Could you call Keith and let him know what’s happened? And, Jo, I’d be grateful if you’d track down Blake and tell him to get away for a few days till the dust settles.”

  Leopold Crescent, the tree-lined street of handsome old houses where Jason Brodnitz lived and died, was in our neighbourhood. Getting from here to there in a city the size of Regina is seldom a logistical problem, but it can be an emotional one. Often the shortest distance between two points is a straight line that leads past the house of an ex-husband, an ex-friend, or an ex-lover. That day every route between my parking space in front of the Cheese Shop and my house took me past streets that were arteries to the Brodnitz house. I calculated the odds, drove straight down 13th Avenue to Albert Street, and made it home without running into a police barrier.

  As soon as I walked in the door, I called Keith. There was no way to break the news of Jason Brodnitz’s murder gently, and when Keith heard he sounded stricken. But he was an experienced politician, accustomed to assessing disaster and moving on. He hadn’t known Jason Brodnitz except as an impediment to Ginny’s future, so he didn’t waste any energy on crocodile tears. His analysis of the situation was cogent: the faster Ginny was cleared of suspicion, the better, and the lawyer he wanted to do the job was Zack.

  “She needs the best, and that’s your husband,” Keith said. “I’d ask him myself, but if the request comes from you, he’ll do it.”

  “No request necessary,” I said. “Zack’s already signed on.”

  “One less hurdle to jump,” Keith said. “I don’t want Sean Barton handling this.”

  “Don’t do your victory lap yet,” I said. “Zack told me he needs Sean’s help on the case.”

  “That’s okay, as long as…” Keith stopped himself. “Forget it. Zack knows what he’s doing.” He sighed. “Life is never easy, is it?”

  “Nope. That’s why the Scots gave us Glenfiddich.”

  When Keith laughed, he sounded like himself, and I felt better. After I talked to Blake Falconer, I felt worse. His reaction to Jason Brodnitz’s murder was unnerving. He didn’t seem surprised. “People like that deserve to die,” he said, and his voice was toneless. When I didn’t respond, he ended the silence. “Is there anything else?” He didn’t question Zack’s decision that he should leave town. He agreed and said he’d be in touch. As I dropped my cell in my bag, I felt a jab of dread. Like Miss Clavel in Lena’s favourite Madeline bedtime story, I knew that something was not right.

  The morning papers were still on the kitchen table. I flipped through them. The picture of Ginny and her daughters coming out of church had made the front page of all three. It was a clean sweep.

  Until that moment I had been baffled by Jason Brodnitz’s decision to call a press conference to clear his name. He was not naive. If he was the man Cristal Avilia referred to as 3, Jason would know that media scrutiny would, in the end, expose him. But more than once, Zack had pointed out the obvious to me: if human beings were always guided by reason, there’d be no work for lawyers.

  When human beings are choked with resentment, overcome by anguish, or filled with rage, passion trumps reason. As I looked at the morning papers with their images of Ginny in possession of everything Jason must have longed for – public affirmation, a brilliant career, the love of his daughters – I understood why Jason had called the press conference. If he were destroyed, his family would not be spared. It was an ugly thought, and I felt the need to banish it. For me, the solution was to swim laps until the tension disappeared from my body and my mind was clear. I changed into my suit and headed for our pool
. Jill Oziowy’s phone call caught me just as I was about to dive in.

  As always when she was working a story, Jill’s adrenalin was pumping. “This Ginny Monaghan thing is going to be big,” she said, “and you’ve spent the last three weeks with her. You’re in the right place at the right time. Any chance you’d be willing to go once more into the breach for NationTV? On air would be great, but you can do background. We’ll take what we can get.”

  “Definitely not on air,” I said. “And I’ll have to think about the other. I may just be too close to this one. Zack’s representing Ginny Monaghan.”

  “How about trading a little information?”

  “We can give it a try,” I said. “You go first.”

  “Well, at the moment, we’re playing connect the dots with the Cristal Avilia case and this one.”

  I was shocked that someone from outside had linked the cases so quickly. “What makes you think there’s a connection?” I said.

  There was an edge of exasperation in Jill’s voice. “Oh come on, Jo. All during the campaign there were rumours about Jason Brodnitz being involved with hookers. Cristal Avilia was a hooker. And now they’re both dead.”

  “So somebody who doesn’t like hookers and johns killed them both?”

  “Or somebody who was married to a john got pissed off at him for associating with prostitutes and risking her career and reputation. Look at the facts: Jason announces a press conference where, tittle-tattle has it, he’s going to identify Ginny’s campaign as the source of the rumours besmirching his good name. But before he gets a chance to tell his side of the story, he’s murdered, and guess who finds the body? Ginny. And guess who removes the knife sticking into Jason’s chest?”

  Now it was my turn to be exasperated. “Come on. Do you honestly think someone as disciplined as Ginny Monaghan is going to jeopardize her future because her ex-husband is on the prowl?”

  Jill was measured. “I don’t know because I don’t know Ginny Monaghan. You tell me.”

  “She didn’t do it,” I said. “I’ve heard Ginny talk about her training as an athlete. Reading a situation and staying in control is second nature to her.”