Deadline (25 page)

She was swivelling in her chair, thinking about it, when Murphy caught her eye. He was walking across the newsroom to her, moving fast.

“Ellen,” he said. “Did you see nationalnewswatch?”

“No,” she said, and immediately minimized her sound files in the background and pointed her browser to the popular news aggregator site.

“It’s a hot one,” said Murphy.

There was a picture of Greg Mowat looking smug – it was a shot from Question Period from Tuesday – and a big headline: Mowat Tried To Drown Wife.

She clicked on the link and quickly scanned the story.

“Holy fuck,” she said. “This will kill him.”

“I need you to get down to the Hill now and cover the reaction to this,” said Murphy. “But be careful. We haven’t seen the report. Every time you mention it, call it unconfirmed.”

Jack’s phone started to ring as soon as the story went up online. Most of the calls were from other reporters, congratulating him and asking if he would give them the report. He enjoyed accepting their congratulations and telling them that he couldn’t give them the report, although the appeal started to wear thin after a while, and he started to begin the conversations by saying that the paper was not, at this time, sharing the report.

Simms was the first TV reporter on the story, standing in the lobby, ready to interview MPs as they arrived for Question Period.

Jack watched from his desk, with his digital recorder next to the TV, to gather quotes for a reaction story.

“Lorne, we’re waiting for MPs to arrive to get their reaction to an explosive story that has just gone up on the Internet,” said Simms, looking serious but beside herself with excitement. “A Newfoundland newspaper is reporting that Public Safety Minister Greg Mowat tried to drown his wife in a domestic dispute in 1996. The paper, quoting an RCMP report, says that Mowat held his wife, Maude Mowat, underwater in the pool in the backyard of their home until she saw stars.” The screen showed a picture of Mowat and his wife holding hands at a fundraiser. “According to the report, Mrs. Mowat called police after the attack, but decided not to press charges after the two got down on their knees and prayed together.”

“Ellen, is this a confirmed report?” asked the anchor.

“No, Lorne,” said Simms. “I should point that out. The
Telegram
, a Newfoundland daily, claims to have a copy of the police report, but Mowat’s office is denying the allegation, saying it is totally and completely false and without foundation.”

“What’s the reaction so far, Ellen?”

“Well, we’re waiting now for MPs to arrive for Question Period,” she said. “As minister of public safety, Mowat is the man in charge of the RCMP and other security agencies, so we anticipate that the Opposition will call for his resignation. Mowat is also rumoured to be in the running to replace Prime Minister Bruce Stevens, but this report would likely pose severe problems for his candidacy.”

“But there is no independent confirmation of this report?”

“No, Lorne, that’s quite correct,” she said. “The report is unconfirmed. It is being reported by a Newfoundland daily, but the minister’s office says the story is totally and completely false and without foundation.”

Simms turned to look at Eileen Cross, who was approaching the doors to the House of Commons.

“Here’s Liberal justice critic Eileen Cross, Lorne, with reaction. Ms. Cross, what do you have to say about this news?”

“Well, I haven’t seen the police report, Ellen,” she said. “But if this is true, it will make it impossible for him to continue as Minister of Public Safety. Remember this is the politician who once referred to feminists as ‘radicals and lesbians.’ We think the prime minister has no choice but to remove Mowat from his post immediately.”

Jack took his phone off the hook as he watched Simms. He was sweating heavily and his heart was pounding. He chewed on his pen. He was at the centre of a whirlwind, and it was exciting and stressful. He wondered if he should ask his editor what to do if TV wanted him to do interviews. No. He should just do them. Let his editor find out when he saw him on TV. He looked down at his rumpled suit. Maybe he should rush home and change. But his other suit was dirty.

He glanced at his BlackBerry. There were dozens of messages. His eye jumped to one from Sophie. Without opening it, he called her.

“Jack, what’s wrong with you?” she said.

“Hey Sophie, how are you?”

“Jack. Your story is wrong. I’m sure of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know Greg Mowat,” she said. “He wouldn’t do that. It’s not true.”

Jack switched on his recorder.

“Sophie, are you speaking on behalf of the minister?” he asked.

“No. I’m calling as a friend, and you cannot quote me. I’m at the hospital, with Ed. I haven’t even talked to the office about this.”

“How’s Ed?”

“Never mind,” said Sophie. “Listen to me. That story is wrong. I know it’s wrong. Mowat wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s just not like that. He wouldn’t lose control like that. He’s very ... I don’t know the word for it. It’s wrong, that’s all. If you’re smart you’ll take it down right now.”

“I can’t do that,” said Jack. “I’ve got a police report. I have no choice but to report on this.”

On the TV, Pinsent was approaching the camera.

“Sophie, I’ve got to go,” said Jack. “I’ll call you later.”

Pinsent faced the camera: “This is shocking news. We have long known that this is a government that shows no respect for women, but now we find out that one of its ministers – the minister in charge of our police – himself tried to drown his wife. It is the prime minister, Bruce Stevens, who appointed this man to cabinet, and this reflects on his judgment. We warned the prime minister. Greg Mowat once referred to feminists as ‘radicals and lesbians.’ Stevens knew that. Did he know about this attack on Mrs. Mowat? We need to find out.”

Pinsent walked off, entering the open doors of the House of Commons, and Simms came back on camera.

“NTV has now learned,” she said, “that the Swift Current RCMP detachment has issued a statement saying that they have thus far found no record of a police report alleging a domestic assault by Greg Mowat, but they are still searching. We go now to live coverage of Question Period, where this is sure to be on the agenda. I’m told Greg Mowat is in his chair in the House, as usual.”

Jack looked down at his BlackBerry. He had a fresh email from Brandt, subject: Call Me. He decided to wait until after the first few questions at QP.

Pinsent rose in his seat, looking impatient to begin.

“Mr. Speaker,” he said. “Today we learned that the prime minister’s hand-picked public safety minister was investigated for a domestic assault on his wife in 1996. We are told that the minister tried to drown his wife.”

The Conservative MPs howled at this, and pointed to the entrance: “Say it outside.” The Speaker quieted them and Pinsent continued. Stevens sat stone-faced on his side of the chamber.

“Mr. Speaker, the RCMP conducts extensive background checks on ministers before they are appointed to cabinet. What happened here? Did they miss this, or did the prime minister know about this attack and still appoint the member for Cypress Hills-Grasslands to his cabinet?”

Liberals applauded and Conservatives heckled and shouted. Stevens rose.

“Mr. Speaker, I would merely caution the Opposition leader that he ought to be careful about what kind of allegations he makes in this House,” he said. “My colleague may be protected from legal sanction by parliamentary privilege, but Canadians are right to judge him for making wild accusations when he does not have the facts in front of him.”

He sat down. This cautious, legalistic answer was greeted by polite applause from his side of the House, and by muted derision from the Liberals.

He isn’t sure of the truth yet, thought Jack. The story broke too soon, and they haven’t got their hands on the report so they will stonewall the opposition until they get it. They’ll wait until after QP, and then fire him by news release.

Pinsent stood again.

“Mr. Speaker, the prime minister’s blasé response is absolutely unacceptable,” he said. “It is unacceptable to Canadian women, and unacceptable to anyone with a shred of decency. According to the police report, the minister in charge of public safety committed a very serious crime. He is the minister in charge of keeping Canadians safe. And there he still sits, in spite of this revelation. How can the prime minister have confidence in a minister who would hold his hands around his wife’s neck –” Pinsent mimed the motion “– and hold her under water until she blacked out? According to the report, she told officers she ‘saw stars.’ Has the prime minister lost leave of his senses?” He sat down, shaking his head.

Stevens didn’t stand to respond, but looked down his side of the House and nodded at Mowat, who rose to his feet, holding a piece of paper in his hand. A hush fell in the House.

“Mr. Speaker, I scarcely know how to answer these allegations,” he said. “I am a public servant, and I thought I had developed a pretty thick hide. But I admit I am finding this hard to take. I have just got off the phone with my oldest daughter, who is at university, and I can tell you I did not enjoy that call. But I told her what I will tell you, and what my office told the journalist who called today. This is totally and absolutely false. This is untrue. It is absurd.”

He looked around the chamber, started to speak, stopped, shook his head and continued. “I can’t believe I have to say this. I have at no time assaulted my wife, and would not dream of doing so. The story is an invention, a ridiculous, damaging invention. We don’t have a pool. We have never had a pool. I have never kneeled to pray in front of a police officer.

“I have instructed my attorneys to do everything they can to respond to this as quickly as possible. I anticipate that we will be commencing legal action against the newspaper in question, and against the leader of the Opposition for his comments in the lobby. I would ask all of you in this place, if you have a shred of human feeling for me or my family, or for the truth, to stop repeating these false and defamatory stories about me until the facts are as plain to you as they are to me.”

As Mowat sat down, Stevens rose and started to applaud. As one, the rest of the Conservative caucus rose to its feet and applauded Mowat, who sat in his chair and looked at his notes. Some New Democrats joined in, and then all of them did. Seconds later, the Bloc Quebecois stood, and, after a hurried whisper between Pinsent and Dumaresque, so did most Liberals.

Jack picked up the phone and called Brandt.

“We have some problems here,” said Brandt. “We pulled the story down. Our lawyers advised us to do so. In very strong terms. And they sent a copy of the police report to Mowat’s office.”

“What?”

“They didn’t ask our permission, which we would, incidentally, have given. They were sufficiently impressed by whatever they heard from Mowat’s lawyers to make that decision unilaterally.”

“But ...” Jack sputtered.

“But nothing,” said Brandt. “We’re in a world of shit, b’y, you and me both. Did you check to see whether Mowat had a pool, had ever had a pool? I think I asked you to check that.”

“No,” said Jack. His stomach was cramping and he was sweating profusely. “You didn’t ask me to check that. And, no, I didn’t check.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” said Brandt. “Anyway, apparently he doesn’t have a pool, and never has. Apparently we printed a big load of shit.”

Jack didn’t say anything. He dug into his pocket and pulled out Castonguay’s business card.

“I’ll call my source right now,” he said.

“Okay,” said Brandt. “Good idea. Find out if it was a wading pool. Please, sweet Jesus, let it be a wading pool.”

“I’ll call right now.”

He turned on his recorder and dialed the number.

There was a little blast of music, and then an excited male voice. “You’ve reached Xcitement Lanes! Vous avez rejoint Xcitement Lanes! For English, press one. Pour le français, appuyer sur le deux.”

Jack stared at the phone in his hand, refusing to believe what he heard. He double checked the number on the business card and dialed again.

When he heard the music again, he bent down and noisily vomited on the floor beneath his desk. The vomit splashed onto his right shoe and sock.

He sat back up, gasping, and wiped his chin.

A middle-aged female Radio Canada reporter stepped around the corner to look at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Jack just stared at her, and then looked at the TV.

Simms was talking. “We go now, to Swift Current, where RCMP Sergeant Andrew Grant is about to make a statement about the Greg Mowat story, and the allegations that he tried to drown his wife.”

A middle-aged man in a Mountie uniform stood in front of the detachment, in front of a small group of reporters. He cleared his throat and leaned into the microphones.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Andrew Grant, public affairs officer for the Swift Current City RCMP Detachment.” He looked at his notes and then back at the cameras. “After media reports earlier this afternoon, our detachment conducted a thorough check of our files to determine if there was any truth to a story alleging that Public Safety Minister Greg Mowat assaulted his wife. We have found no such record. About an hour ago, the minister’s office provided us with a copy of the alleged police report. I have it here.” He held it up.