Gail Bowen: The Endless Knot

My pulse skipped. Sam Parker was Zack’s client in the attempted murder case. “Jill, I’m not a reporter. I teach political science.”

“But you’re on sabbatical – which means you’re free during the day, and when you did the political panel for us you were great, so we know you don’t freeze on camera. And hey – are you still working on that book about the values war?”

“Intermittently.”

“Well, not so long ago Sam Parker was the great white hope of the political right in this country. He’s still a figure to be reckoned with.”

“God, I hope not,” I said. “I’ve been reading some of his old speeches on the battleground issues: abortion, same-sex marriage, Charter rights, judicial activism. He makes my blood boil.”

“You can turn down the heat,” Jill said. “Apparently Sam’s done a complete 180 on a lot of the hot-button concerns. Seeing him up-close-and-personal at the trial might get your scholarly juices flowing again. Convinced yet?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, this case is going to need a certain gravitas , and face it, Jo, you’re the Queen of Gravitas.”

“I’m also in a relationship with Sam Parker’s lawyer. Still interested?”

Jill’s intake of breath was audible three thousand miles away. “Mother of God. You’re canoodling with Zachary Shreve.”

“As often as we can manage,” I said. “Want to withdraw your offer?”

“No,” she said. “Jo, have you heard the stories that are out there about your boyfriend? He’s brilliant, but he plays rough.”

“He doesn’t play rough with me,” I said. “Now, why don’t we drop this and talk about the job?”

“Okay, but I reserve the right to discuss your love life.”

“The job , Jill?”

“Rapti Lustig will call you with the details. She’s network producer in Regina now. You worked with her when you were doing the political panel, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I said. “And I liked her a lot.”

“That’s one in the plus column,” Jill said. “And there’s more. The money’s not bad. The trial shouldn’t last longer than a month and the work’s easy – just sit in court all day, then come out and do a two-minute standup giving our eager nation the background on crime and punishment, Saskatchewan style. So what do you say?”

“I appreciate you thinking of me –”

Jill groaned. “At least mull it over.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll mull, but I hope you have more names on your list because these days I’m just content to be contented.”

Jill snorted. “Contentment’s for cows. I’m calling back in an hour, and your answer better be yes.”

She hung up and I went back to arranging my marigolds and weighing my options. I truly was enjoying my life, but there were compelling reasons for giving Jill’s offer serious consideration. Trial law was a huge area of Zack’s life, and I’d never seen him in court. And Jill was right about the allure of the Sam Parker case. Professionally and personally, Sam Parker intrigued me. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to understand how, when his son’s situation made his political and personal views collide, he chose to alter his beliefs rather than turn against his child. By any journalist’s criteria, the Sam Parker case was a plum, and Jill had handed it to me. As I twirled the last bloom into place, the deciding vote was cast. My old friend Hilda McCourt once said that marigolds carry a great life lesson: they’re blooming when you put them in and they’re blooming when you pull them out. I wanted to be like Hilda, blooming to the end, and so an hour later when Jill called, I said yes.

Jill was elated. “In addition to everything else,” she said, “you’ll be doing the media world a favour. The Sam Parker case raises some interesting questions about journalistic ethics, and I don’t want some himbo or bimbo using this trial as an audition tape for a job with Fox News.”

I laughed. “You and Bryn have a good Thanksgiving.”

“You too,” Jill said. “Wow, Zack Shreve, and I thought the most daring thing you ever did was skip flossing once in a while.”

“My turn to hang up,” I said, and I did.

Within minutes, Rapti Lustig called. We agreed it was going to be fun working together again. She promised to e-mail the background information on the case immediately, and then she congratulated me on my new boyfriend.

Jill worked fast.

As I entered Rapti’s new contact information into my laptop, I knew the ineluctable cycle of the cosmos was pressing on. It seemed only fair to let my boyfriend know that our lives were about to change.

I dialed his private line at Falconer Shreve. He picked up on the first ring. “This is nice,” he said. “I’m always the one who does the calling.”

“Then it’s time I took the initiative. What are you up to?”

“Chasing my tail,” Zack said equitably.

“Why don’t you let me chase it for a while,” I said. “Come over here for lunch. The menu’s limited, but nobody will ask how your case is going.”

“You just pushed the right button.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up – give us more time together. Is noon okay?”

“Perfect,” he said. “As are you. Do you know I slept here last night? I fell asleep at my desk, woke up this morning, and kept on working. I’m getting as crazy as a shithouse rat.”

“I’ll watch my back,” I said.

“I’m not after your back,” he said.

I was smiling when I hung up the phone, but my sense of being at one with the world didn’t last. When I turned around, I noticed a boy standing at our back door. He was framed by the screen, and I tensed at the sudden knowledge that I hadn’t been alone. I walked to the door, but I didn’t open it.

He met my eyes. “I’m looking for Taylor,” he said.

“She left for school twenty minutes ago.”

The boy didn’t move. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said. “You were on the phone.”

“That’s all right,” I said. I looked at the boy more carefully and felt my pulse slow. With four children of my own, there had been hundreds of kids through my house and there was nothing about this one to alarm. He was young – perhaps thirteen or fourteen, but he was already taller than me – at least five-foot-eight. He was slender, fine-featured, and dark-haired, a good-looking kid, dressed in a black pullover and khakis. Unexceptional except for one detail. Suspended from a hemp cord around his neck was a five-pointed gold star.

I opened the door and peered more closely. “That’s a pentangle, isn’t it?” I said. “I haven’t read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight since university, but I remember that.”

His eyes met mine. “I’ve never met anybody who’s read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” he said. “It’s the most important book in my life.” His fingers touched the pentangle. “Five perfect points, wholly distinct, yet part of one whole.”

The boy’s gaze was unnerving. For an awkward moment, we were silent. Neither of us seemed to know what to say next. Then the boy gave me a small smile. “I’d better go,” he said. “If I’m late, I’ll get another detention.”

He turned and ran across my backyard towards the alley. I watched until he disappeared, then I gave myself a shake, wiped the kitchen counter, and went upstairs to check my e-mail.

As promised, Rapti Lustig had sent files on the background of the Sam Parker case. There were no revelations, but it was grim reading. I’d followed the case closely and I was acquainted with several of the principals. Kathryn Morrissey, the woman Sam Parker was alleged to have shot at, was a faculty member in the school of journalism at the university where I taught. I knew her well enough to greet her when we passed in the hall or to chat with her while waiting for a meeting to begin, but we weren’t friends.