12 Rose Street (33 page)

When she saw me, she tried a smile. “Am I going to live?”

“You’re going to live,” I said.

Her smile became tentative. “Are you glad?”

I covered her hand with my own. “Very glad,” I said.

She closed her eyes and for a few seconds, I thought she was asleep. “I hurt,” she said. “He raped me, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said. “Zack and I talked to your doctor. I know it doesn’t feel that way now, but you were very lucky. They don’t know how long you were unconscious, but your brain is working, and your other wounds will heal. Dr. Nagel-Zeller’s concern, and ours, is how best to help you deal with what happened. The doctor feels that for the next few days at least, there should be someone with you all the time.”

“To make sure I don’t kill myself?”

“No, to be there to let you talk when you’re ready. I’d sign on, but there are only two days before the election …”

Jill raised her hand to wave off my explanation. “I understand. I’ll be all right.”

“We’re getting a nurse to stay here with you tonight. A couple of years ago Zack had a bout with a pressure ulcer and the flu. I needed help, and we hired a nurse from a company called Whitman Convalescent. He was excellent and
the company has a very good reputation, but their staff is mostly male. Dr. Nagel-Zeller wondered if you might prefer a female nurse.”

She shook her head wearily. “No. Anybody they send will be fine.” She closed her eyes again. “Jo, why are you doing this for me?’

“Because you’d do it for me,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

Taylor and Declan were on the couch when we got home. They sprang apart as soon as they heard us come in the door. Both were both fully clothed, but their hair was mussed and their faces were rosy with joy and guilt.

“How’s everything with Jill?” Declan asked.

“She’ll be all right,” I said. “But it’s going to take a while.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Taylor said.

“Thanks, but no. Your dad and I are going to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Taylor frowned. “It’s not even eight-thirty.”

Zack looked at his watch. “You’re right. And Declan’s going back to Toronto tomorrow. Since it’s still early, let’s have a visit. What can I get everybody to drink?”

“V-8,” Taylor said.

“A healthful choice,” Zack said. “But I’m in the mood for a beer.”

“Beer sounds good to me,” I said.

Declan leaped up. “I’m all over it,” he said. And he was. When Zack suggested that we stay downstairs to talk to the kids, I’d been less than enthusiastic, but sipping a Corona and feeling the electricity between our daughter and Declan as they talked about classes and friends and jointly hosting a party for Taylor’s sixteenth birthday was tonic. That night I was badly in need of an infusion of belief in the future. Taylor and Declan gave me that, and when Zack and I said
our goodnights and promised to call Declan with the election results, we were all smiling.

Two calls came before we finally turned out the lights. In very different ways, both turned out to be reassuring. The first was from Luke Forbes, the nurse who’d been assigned to Jill’s case. Jill was sleeping now, but they’d talked briefly. She didn’t want to go back to the hotel, so he suggested that when she was released from the hospital she spend a few days at the rest and rehab facility that Whitman Nursing ran. Luke and Dr. Nagel-Zeller had agreed that if Jill seemed ready, she could be moved to Whitman Convalescent late the next day.

Our second call was from Debbie. Graham Meighen had been arrested at the airport, on his way to Belize. It turned out that the Meighens owned a winter home there. Graham was carrying a significant amount of cash, and he put up a fight when the officers approached him at the airport. Debbie said that the arresting officers were surprised at Meighen’s physical strength and at the level of violence he exhibited. They suspected he was using anabolic steroids. He was being held in the Provincial Correctional Centre, just east of the city limits, and as a danger to others and a flight risk, it seemed unlikely that Meighen would be granted bail. Debbie assured us he would be there for a while.

Zack immediately called Maisie Crawford to tell her that it was now safe for Eli to go the police. Maisie had arranged for legal representation for the other young men who’d been involved with Graham Meighen. Eli and his friends could supply key pieces to solving two crimes. Now that Meighen was locked up, they could be open about how he had used them to do his dirty work. It had been seven weeks since Cronus’s death. Debbie needed an arrest, and Zack was hopeful she’d go easy on the people who could put Graham Meighen where he belonged.

Zack turned out his light. “Score one for the good guys,” he said. “If that woman from housekeeping …”

“Annetta Kopchek,” I said.

“If Annetta Kopchek hadn’t been in the hall when you went to Jill’s suite …”

My throat closed. “Life really does turn on a dime, doesn’t it?”

“I imagine Graham Meighen’s contemplating that fact at this very moment. If you and Annetta Kopchek hadn’t opened the door to Jill’s suite, he would have caught his flight and right about now he’d be on his way to paradise.”

“The authorities in Belize would have sent him back, wouldn’t they?”

“Eventually. But Belize doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Canada. Justice would have been slow in coming. And in the meantime, Graham would have been lolling on the beach, working on his suntan, drinking salty dogs, and munching conch fritters.”

“Thank God for Annetta Kopchek,” I said. “When I saw Jill today, she was still holding the rosary Annetta gave her. Jill had been clutching it so tightly, the cross had made a mark on her palm.”

Zack shook his head. “The mark of the cross on Jill’s palm and the marks of Graham Meighen’s hands on her neck. I wonder how Jill is interpreting those images tonight.”

I reached over and turned out the light on my nightstand. “There’s an old Russian proverb,” I said. “ ‘The morning is wiser than the evening.’ Let’s save the existential questions till after we’ve had our first cup of coffee.”

Zack was making porridge when I got back from my run with Brock and the dogs. I leaned over and gave him a sweaty kiss. “I’ve decided that if we’re going to get everything done we need to do between now and E-Day, we should make lists of our priorities.”

Zack took down the magnetized pad we kept on the refrigerator door for grocery lists, ripped off a page, and handed the rest of the pad to me.

“A man of action,” I said. “Can I shower first?”

“Nope! No time to screw around,” Zack said. He’d already wheeled over to the kitchen table and taken out his pen. When we were both finished our lists, I said, “Okay, let’s trade.”

Zack slipped on his reading glasses and read my list out loud:

Zack removed his glasses. “Commendably thorough,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

I read Zack’s priority list out loud:

“You put us first,” I said.

“You and Taylor always come first. That’s why I made sure there are cashews, dried cranberries,
and
candied ginger in the porridge.”

“Time to call Taylor?” I asked.

“Yep. Breakfast is ready.”

We were just sitting down when Milo buzzed from the lobby. As always, he entered bopping, baseball hat turned backward, fingers tapping.

“How about some porridge?” Zack said. “Start your day off right.”

“Thanks, big man, but my day is already aces.” Milo took his laptop from his backpack. “Check this out.”

It took a moment to grasp what was on the screen. It was a melee – a violent free-for-all, the purpose of which was not immediately clear. When Graham Meighen hove into view, I realized that I was watching the scene at the airport when Graham had been arrested. At one point his face was pushed towards the camera and I was gratified to see that
Graham Meighen looked both vicious and desperate. Meighen was on the second floor of the terminal and about to go through security when the police caught up to him. We watched the video to the end when Graham Meighen was subdued, cuffed, and led into an elevator by two brawny cops, both female.

“Want to see it again?” Milo asked.

“Once was enough,” I said. “Graham’s luck appears to have turned.”

Zack grinned. “Yep, as one of my former clients would say, ‘If luck were shit, that guy is no longer getting a sniff.’ ”

Taylor chortled. “Good one, Dad.”

I laughed too. “That life lesson aside, our campaign did just catch a break. If this footage has already been shown on the news …”

“And it has,” Milo said.

“Then we don’t have to do a thing,” I said. “No more oblique references to Graham Meighen’s character. That video at the airport shows the kind of man Meighen is, and our latest ad makes it clear that he and Scott Ridgeway are joined at the hip. The media will be all over the mayor for a response to Meighen’s arrest. All Zack has to do is say is that Graham Meighen is the subject of a number of ongoing investigations and it would be inappropriate for him to comment at this time.”

Milo dropped his iPad into his backpack and pulled out a Crispy Crunch. He flipped it to Taylor. “For recess,” he said, and with that, he was gone.

Jill was having breakfast when I got to the hospital. Luke was familiar with hospital food, so he’d brought Jill a brown bag breakfast from Whitman Convalescent: fresh-baked bran muffins, a sliced peach, a container of milk, and a thermos of real coffee. Jill was in a great deal of pain, but she
was doing her best to eat, and despite the bruising and swelling on her face she was looking better.

“We’re pushing to get Jill moved out of here today,” Luke said, then left us alone.

“Welcoming as this place is,” Jill said, “I’m ready to move along.” She shifted her body a little and grimaced in pain.

“Are you all right?” I said.

“Stitches,” she said tightly. “Did they catch him?”

“Yes,” I said. “How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“He was at the airport. He had a ticket to Belize.”

Jill’s smile was ironic. “Graham invited me to join him there. He made the offer tempting. He was eloquent about the joys of lovemaking on the white sands, but I wasn’t convinced. That particular trip to paradise would have cost me half a million dollars.”

“Graham won’t be going anywhere for a long time,” I said. “You could probably pick up Graham’s Belize property for $500,000 and it wouldn’t come with a sociopath for a lover.”

“Do the police have enough evidence to charge him?”

“Yes. And not just for what he did to you.” I lowered my voice. “I’m sure they’ll be able to prove that he killed Cronus. Cronus died from manual strangulation, and Meighen attempted to strangle you – the same modus operandi. Meighen coerced some young men from his gym into stomping on Cronus’s body, and the men are ready to talk.”

“Graham really is a monster.”

“He is,” I agreed. “And I’m certain that the police will discover that Graham was responsible for Liz Meighen’s suicide. He set out to destroy the mind of his dead daughter’s mother, and he succeeded. There has to be a special place in hell for someone capable of that kind of calculated cruelty.”

Jill hands were trembling. “Had enough?” I said.

“For now, yes. But, Jo, as soon as I’m well, I’m going to go after this story. There are big questions that haven’t been answered. Why did Graham kill Cronus? Why was Scott Ridgeway funnelling money to Graham’s company? And why was Graham so desperate for money that he drove Liz to suicide?”

“Exactly the same questions that have been plaguing me,” I said. “And, Jill, I know the answer is in plain sight. Everything is connected to that house at Number 12 Rose Street, where Zack held his press conference. I just can’t see the connections yet.”

Jill leaned forward. The life had come back into her eyes. “Tell me what you know,” she said.

And I did.

The meeting between Maisie Crawford, her client Eli Wishlow, and Debbie Haczkewicz was being held in the boardroom at Falconer Shreve. It was an imposing space, but we wanted Eli to feel that he had the weight of the law behind him. Among her many talents, Norine MacDonald knew how to dress and groom clients for court and for meetings that would have a significant impact on their future. Zack said once that Norine could make Hannibal Lecter look like a guy who deserved a second chance, and when I checked out Eli, it seemed Zack was right on the money. Eli was freshly shaven and barbered, and he was wearing a business suit and shoes with a hard shine. He looked like a young man on his way to meet his girlfriend’s parents.

Maisie and Eli had already talked several times, and they had a natural rapport. The three other young men Meighen had coerced were represented by lawyers from other firms, and Eli assured me that they were all prepared for what lay ahead. When I left Falconer Shreve, I headed for the Noodle
House, optimistic that at long last the pieces were beginning to fall into place.

Zack and I pulled into the St. Pius X parking lot at exactly the same time. I waited while he got out of his car. He gave me the once-over. “You look frisky,” he said. “Good day?”

“I may still be on a sugar high,” I said. “I spent the afternoon at the Noodle House. My lunch was three jelly doughnuts.”