Gail Bowen - The Nesting Dolls

It took Taylor and me an hour to feed the colonies of cats in the warehouse district and in the abandoned building across the alley from the condos on Scarth Street Mall. When we’d emptied our last bag of food on the snow, I looked across the alley and saw Louise Hunter getting into a Mercedes parked behind her building. She seemed to be in a hurry. She backed out, hit a garbage can, jerked forward, then backed out again and sped off. Angus, who had owned a series of clunkers but loved cars, would have said it was a shitty way to treat 200,000 dollars’ worth of sweet driving machine, and he would have been right.

By the time we all got home, Zack and Taylor and I were hungry and tired, so we ate early. The borscht and thick slices of dark pumpernickel from the Brokaw family bakery made for a deeply satisfying meal. When he’d finished his second bowl of soup, Zack pushed his chair back and sighed with contentment. “You know, even the lousiest day has its moments,” he said.

“And the evening has just begun,” I said.

Right on cue, Zack’s cell rang. As he listened, his face grew sombre. When the call ended, he turned to us. “That was Delia,” he said. “The police just found Abby Michaels.”

Zack was a realist. If the truth was painful, he faced it, dealt with it, and moved along. That evening after he talked to Delia, he didn’t waste time on any preamble when he spoke to Taylor and me. “Bad news,” he said. His voice was low and his eyes were filled with concern as his gaze moved between us. “Abby Michaels is dead. An hour ago, two men digging out the parking lot behind the A-l Jewellery and Pawn Shop on Toronto Street found a black Volvo with the licence plate LECTOR. Abby Michaels’s body was in the front seat. It’s early times yet but the police believe she was raped and strangled.”

Taylor’s body tensed at the news. I put my arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. “How could something like that happen?” she said.

The parentheses that bracketed Zack’s lips deepened. “I ask myself that every time I see a case like this. It’s hard to believe that human beings can treat one another so brutally. But it happens. All I can tell you is that the person who did this will be caught and punished.”

Taylor’s face was strained. “But will anyone ever know why he did it?”

Zack didn’t lie. “The Crown will present theories. The man’s lawyer will present other theories. But the only person who will ever really know what went through his mind before he attacked Abby Michaels is the man himself. Generally rapists are men who feel powerless and who feel a need to prove their power. Sometimes, the situation spins out of control, and they kill their victim. I know that’s not a satisfactory answer, but those are the facts.”

I could feel Taylor’s muscles tighten again. When she spoke she couldn’t hide her fear and frustration. “I understand that part of it, but with Abby, there are other facts. Before the rape happened, she gave away her baby. It’s almost as if she knew something terrible was coming, and she wanted to make sure Jacob was safe.”

Zack and I exchanged glances. “We’re all in the dark here,” I said. “But we’ll know more soon. Your dad’s friend, Inspector Haczkewicz, always says that a police investigation is like turning on the lights in a room where everything’s in place. You just need to see what’s already there.”

“So you think the police will find out why she gave away her baby before that terrible thing happened to her?”

“I know they will,” Zack said. “As your mother says, it’s a matter of time.”

Taylor’s voice was tight. “I guess Izzy’s parents have already told her.”

“I’m sure they have,” Zack said. He looked closely at Taylor’s face. It was pale and pinched. “Are you all right?”

Without answering, she picked up her bowl and plate, walked to the sink and rinsed them. “Isobel was so excited about having a sister,” she said.

“She could probably use someone to talk to,” I said. “Why don’t you give her a call?”

Taylor glanced at the dishes on the table. “Do you need me to help?”

“Your dad and I can handle it,” I said.

After we’d finished cleaning up, Zack took two tulip-shaped Scotch glasses from the cupboard.

I looked at him questioningly. “You’re not going over to the Wainbergs’?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do except hold Delia’s hand, and she has Noah for that. Besides, I’m tired. Tonight I need a hand to hold, and Delia’s is not my hand of choice.”

It was the first time I could remember Zack acknowledging that he was tired. “You’re in luck,” I said. “Mine is available.”

“One of my clients gave me what he claims is a bottle of excellent single malt,” Zack said. “It’s called Old Pulteney. Interested in giving it a test run?”

“You bet,” I said. “I’ll bring the glasses; you get Old Pulteney, and I’ll meet you in the family room. We can light the fire, turn on the tree lights, and try to remember that it’s Christmas.”

When we were together on the couch, I handed Zack his drink. He held the glass under his nose and inhaled deeply. “My client told me that to be fair to the single malt, I should allow myself a half-hour free of stress and distractions before I sip.” He stared at the Scotch thoughtfully. “Screw that.” He took a large swallow. “You know, this really is pretty good.”

I sipped. “More than pretty good,” I said. “Here’s to a half-hour free of stress and distractions.”

For a few minutes we sat in companionable silence, letting the warmth of the Scotch spread through our veins while we savoured the fire, the tree, and the closeness to one another. “I could get used to this,” I said.

“So could I,” Zack agreed, “but we’re going to have to talk about Abby Michaels.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be,” he said. “Taylor posed the right question. What happened? In a murder investigation, the police start with the body, then focus on the scene where the body was found and the victim’s history. The old cops call it the golden triangle, and a lot of the time they can make an educated guess about why someone was murdered just by checking out where the body was found. If a body is left in a public place, as Abby’s was, chances are they’re looking at what the cops call ‘a crime of opportunity.’ ”

“The victim is just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said.

“Right, but this time, the formula doesn’t work.”

“Because of Abby’s determination to get Jacob into the Wainbergs’ hands before she was attacked,” I said.

Zack nodded. “As Taylor says, it was almost as if Abby knew something was going to happen to her, and she wanted to make sure Jacob was safe.”

“It does look that way,” I said. “Except Abby couldn’t have had any enemies in Regina. The only people she knew here were the Wainbergs.”

“And she’d never met them,” Zack said. “So Abby Michaels comes to a city where she knows no one, gives away her son, and is raped and murdered in the parking lot behind a pawn shop.”

“Abby had an appointment in Samarra,” I said.

“You think her death was fated?” Zack said.

I shrugged. “You know the old story. A man believes he sees Death threatening him in the market in Baghdad so he runs to Samarra to escape. When he goes to the market in Samarra, Death is waiting for him, because that’s where the man was supposed to die all along.”

Zack was pensive. “I wonder how eager Abby Michaels was to outwit death,” he said finally.

I looked at him hard. “Surely you don’t think Abby brought this on herself?”