Gail Bowen - The Endless Knot

Howard nodded.

Zack picked up his cell, and within minutes it was settled. Howard asked us to stay until Margot arrived, then, in a gesture that was unprecedented when there was a woman around, he went into the kitchen to make coffee.

I went to Zack and rested my hands on his shoulders. “I’m glad you suggested another lawyer.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even if it was Margot?”

“Even if it was Margot.”

“Good, because to be honest, I haven’t got the stomach for this one. Usually, I get a real rush when I smell a red-meat case, but not this time. I know too much, and everything I know makes me sad.”

“Me too,” I said. “So we’ll introduce Howard and Margot and go back to our measuring?”

“Let’s give it a shot. I’d rather watch our house take shape than spend fourteen hours a day working on a murder case.”

“I can’t believe those words are coming out of your mouth.”

“Neither can I,” he said. “I guess the Statue of Liberty is inching towards Lake Ontario, after all.”

Howard came back with a pot of coffee – real coffee on a tray, a carton of half-and-half, a bowl of sugar, and four mugs that appeared to be clean. Then he went to the window and threw open the drapes. “Nobody’s going to tell us what’s happening. We’re going to have to find out for ourselves.”

Howard’s timing was impeccable. Zack had just moved closer to the window when the EMS crew came out with a gurney bearing a body in a body bag. My knees began to shake. Zack reached his arm around my legs to steady me.

Howard spoke for us all. “Such a small bundle to cause so much grief.”

The three of us were silent as the gurney was loaded into the ambulance, and the ambulance drove off. It was impossible not to be stunned by the horror of what was unfolding, but the ceremony of dealing with the coffee helped. I poured three mugs full. “Who found the body, Howard?” I asked.

He dumped a heaping soup-spoon full of sugar into his mug and stirred. “I overheard one of the cops say it was her kid.”

“Kathryn never mentioned that she had a child,” I said.

“And I never saw a kid there,” Howard said. “Must have been pretty quiet.”

At that moment, a sleek black BMW made its way through the barricades and sidled up to Zack’s car.

“Here’s Margot,” Zack said.

Margot had a few words with the cops outside and then, briefcase in hand, she marched ahead. Her blonde hair was casually tousled, as if by a friendly wind; her lipstick was very red, and her open camel-hair coat revealed a creamy form-fitting dress that clung to a form that deserved to be clung to. Zack performed the introductions. When it came to me, his smile was playful. “I believe you two have met,” he said.

Margot’s eyes found mine. “Not my finest hour,” she said.

“Nor mine,” I said, extending my hand.

Margot took my hand. “Congratulations,” she said. “I mean that. I hope you and Zack will be very happy. Now if there’s nothing else … Mr. Dowhanuik and I need to talk.”

“Is that all right with you, Howard?” Zack asked.

Howard grunted assent.

Margot reached into her bag and removed a tiny red leather case. She opened it and handed me her business card. “If there’s anything I should know about, give me a call. Zack has my unlisted number.”

“Sounds like the bases are covered,” Zack said. “Ready to go, Joanne?”

“Just a minute.” Howard beckoned me over. “Tell Charlie everything will be okay,” he growled.

Zack had to steer the Jaguar carefully to get through the onlookers and media trucks that had begun to assemble outside the barricades. I felt a twinge of guilt when I spotted the NationTV van, and an even bigger twinge when I saw Brette Sinclair pushing her way through the crowd. That said, I’d had enough. When we stopped at the corner to let a young mother with a jogging stroller cross, Zack turned to me. “So do you think Howard killed Kathryn Morrissey?”

“No, but I wish I knew what he and Margot were chatting about. What did you make of him asking me to tell Charlie that everything will be okay?”

Zack shrugged. “It’s certainly a statement ripe for interpretation. Could mean ‘don’t worry about me.’ Could mean ‘don’t worry about Kathryn’s murder because I’ve got it covered.’ ”

“Could mean a lot of things,” I said, “but let’s not go into the Twilight Zone. There was no reason for Howard to kill Kathryn. Whatever damage she could do to him had already been done. And sodden as his brain has been of late, Howard’s too shrewd to confess to murder on the off chance that Charlie might be involved.”

Zack’s glance was quick but assessing. “So you think Howard must know something?”

“Or thinks he knows something,” I said. “After the shooting, Howard kept a close eye on Kathryn Morrissey. If he was watching her place last night, it’s possible he saw Charlie.”

“Howard’s a drunk, Jo. It’s possible he sees a lot of things. The fact is there was no reason for Charlie to go to Kathryn’s house. The trial was over.”

“And justice had been served,” I said. “But Sam Parker was dead, and Charlie blamed Kathryn.”

“You talked to him?”

“No, Mieka and Peter did. Apparently Charlie was livid. He thought Kathryn should be punished for what she’d done. Pete couldn’t control him, so he called Mieka.”

“And Mieka was able get Charlie to cool it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But we should probably find out before Howard gets himself in any deeper.”

I took out my cell and started hitting the speed dial. My daughter didn’t answer, neither did my son or Charlie. “No luck,” I said. “Would you mind dropping me at NationTV – I might be able to find out something there.”

“Your wish is my command,” Zack said. He patted my leg. “I’ve always wanted to say that to a woman, but it’s so cheesy.”

“And cheesy doesn’t matter with me?”

“No, because we’re committed. We spent four hours looking at paint chips so we could find a colour we could both live with for our bedroom. You’d never put yourself through that with another guy.” He executed a neat U-turn and we were back on Albert Street. Five minutes later we were at NationTV.

“If you need a ride home, give me a call,” Zack said.

“Where are you going to be?”

“Back at our house, working on the list for the retrofitting.”

“You’re the most focused human being I’ve ever known,” I said.

Zack shrugged. “The sooner those bedroom walls are painted Lavendre de Provence, the sooner we can move the bed in.”

I gave my name to the commissionaire at NationTV. He called Rapti and she buzzed me through the door that led to the newsroom. Rapti wasn’t in her cubicle. She was by the window, with a telephone cradled between her ear and shoulder, taking notes. When she saw me, she held up a finger indicating one minute. I took a chair and perused the latest photos of Rapti’s cat, Zuben. Rapti hated cats, but she loved Zuben, with whom she shared what she characterized as a complicated and deeply textured relationship.

I was trying to decide whether a photo of Zuben in a Santa hat was ironic or deeply textured when Rapti came over. “Where have you been?” she said. “Jill’s been hollering at me because she couldn’t find you.”

“I was watching the EMS team bring out Kathryn Morrissey’s body,” I said.

Rapti sat down on the edge of her desk. “You knew about that already? That must mean your boyfriend has been hired to defend somebody.”

“No. It just means I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. However, I am prepared to exchange information. What do you have?”