The Brutal Heart (7 page)

The scene that greeted me after Ed dropped me off at home was a familiar one. Taylor and Gracie Falconer were sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation, with a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia between them. I liked all of Taylor’s friends, but Gracie was a favourite. Bouncy with mischief and energy, her skin ruddy and sprayed with freckles, Gracie’s sunny exuberance lit up a room. She was fun to have around.

“So what are you two up to?” I said.

Gracie held out her spoon. “Pounding calories,” she said. “I refuse to read what the carton says about the percentage of fat in this, but after basketball, I am so hungry.”

“How’s your team doing?” I asked.

“Great. Of course, we have the miraculous Brodnitz twins to save us from disaster and show us how the game is played. At least that’s what Coach tells us four hundred times a practice.” Gracie dug her spoon viciously into the ice cream and raised her voice. “ ‘Young women, if you’re serious about the game, watch Em and Chloe. They know how to win. They always respond to the challenge. They never give an inch until the final buzzer sounds. They’re fearless. They pay the price without whimpering. They always give 110 per cent because they know no one ever drowned in sweat. And they know how to focus.’ ”

Gracie had a talent for mimicry, and as she ripped through the hoary sports clichés, Taylor chortled. I laughed too. Encouraged, Gracie carried on barking in high coach mode. “ ‘Em and Chloe don’t look to me to tell them what to do. They’ve assumed responsibility for their own games. That’s maturity. That’s what makes a winning athlete.’ ” Gracie pulled her spoon out of the ice cream and licked the fudge meditatively. “The coach totally
worships
those girls, but they’re not human. Even when they get hurt or they get a bad call or the crowd yells at them, they remember to focus, focus, focus. I think they’re robots.”

“Maybe they just hold everything inside,” Taylor said.

Gracie nodded. “That’s exactly what they do. A couple of weeks ago, I forgot my watch after practice. When I went back to the change room to look for it, Chloe was sitting on the bench crying. She’d taken this really punishing fall during the game, and I asked if I could help. She just about took my head off! She said she was fine, she didn’t need anybody. Then she jumped up and hobbled off.”

When I came out of the shower that night, Zack was already in bed, working on his laptop.

He patted the spot beside him on the bed. “Take a look at this,” he said.

I got into bed and slid over. The Care Bear website was on the screen. There were postage-stamp-sized pictures of each bear and, at the bottom, a note. I read it aloud. “Wherever the Care Bears go, and whatever the Care Bears do, in their soft, fuzzy, and funny way, they share their special gift of caring with everyone they meet.” I shuddered. “That makes my teeth ache.”

“Mine too,” Zack said. “But my job is to be Francesca’s advocate and her adviser. I’m supposed to understand what she wants and what she needs, and I haven’t got a clue.” He turned off his laptop and moved it to his night table. “I’ve been able to figure out ways to make justice serve the needs of psychos, sickos, and run-of-the-mill sons of bitches, but Francesca has me stymied.”

“What’s going to happen to her?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can convince the judge that locking Francesca up is not in her best interests or in the best interests of the community, but my client is going to have to control herself.”

“Has that been a problem?”

“Not in the courtroom – at least not yet – but there was another incident in the courthouse when we came back for the afternoon session.”

“What happened?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. After I took Francesca back to the office to show her that her bears were safe, we had to deal with lunch – not a simple matter as it turned out. Francesca can’t eat indoors because the artificial light makes her head buzz, so Norine ordered some sandwiches for us to take to the park. Anyway, Francesca and I had a nice time, listening to the traffic and the birds. She was relaxed, and she was lucid. I thought she was in great shape to prove to the judge that she could live safely in the community.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “So what went wrong?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Zack said. “When we were coming back into the courthouse, we ran into Ginny and Sean, and Francesca went nuts. She started screaming.”

“What was she saying?”

“Two things, over and over. ‘I know who you are,’ and ‘I know what you did.’ Sean tried to hustle Ginny away, but Francesca clawed at him. The security guy was on his way over. I didn’t want that, so I told Sean to get Ginny out of there. Once they were gone, Francesca calmed down.”

“Did you ask her why she’s so angry at Ginny?”

“No, because I didn’t want another outburst. But I did tell her that she was going to have to control herself if she wanted to keep living on her own on the street with her bears.”

“How
does
she live, Zack?”

“Handouts. Her new neighbours give her money – guilt, I guess. The gentrification of the neighbourhood has pushed people like Francesca out of their little warrens.”

“So she gets by.”

“Yes,” Zack said. “She gets by.”

“And you’re acting for her pro bono.”

Zack met my gaze. “No, the file is being billed at the usual rate.”

“So who’s picking up the tab?”

Zack’s smile was wry. “I’ve been waiting for that question. If you’d asked me yesterday, I could have told you I didn’t know, and that would have been the truth.”

“But now you do know,” I said.

“Yes, Blake called just before you got home. He said you’d been by the office, and that you might bring up the subject of billing. Blake thought you should know that the person who was paying for Francesca’s defence was Cristal Avilia.” Zack shifted his body so we were face to face. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I honestly wasn’t aware of this till this afternoon.”

“How could you not know?” I said.

Zack shrugged. “Law firms have people who take care of billing. That’s their job. My job is to get the best possible outcome for my clients. Period.”

“And nobody ever told you that a woman you’d been intimate with was paying the shot for a case you were handling?”

“Blake was the only person who knew there was a connection between Cristal and me. As long as the money was handled according to Hoyle, it didn’t matter. Money laundering is a huge issue for law firms and for the Law Society, so we’re careful. If a client wants to pay cash, both the client and a representative from the firm have to sign the receipt. If a client pays by a cheque, a credit card, or debit card, the account number can be traced. And it’s not just the Law Society who has an interest in this. It’s us, the partners. The money for legal services has to be accounted for. If it isn’t, we breach our partnership agreement.” He looked at me hard. “Too much information?”

“No,” I said. “Not enough information. Blake brought the case to you, but you were the one who knew Cristal. Why didn’t she get in touch with you herself?”

“Because I’d stopped seeing her, and Blake hadn’t.”

“Blake was seeing Cristal too?”

“Yes.” Zack reached down and rubbed my foot. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I don’t know what to say. Gracie was here this afternoon. The idea of her father spending time with a high-priced escort is pretty repellent.”

“You know what Blake’s marriage to Lily was like,” Zack said. “He had this aching love for her, and half the time he didn’t know where she was or who she was with.”

“So he found solace with Cristal.”

“Apparently.”

“And he was still finding solace with Cristal when she died.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Lily’s been dead for almost two years. Blake’s alone. He’s good-looking; he’s successful; he’s charming. Without even trying, I can name a dozen women who’d be delighted to be with him. Why would he still be paying for sex?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he even had sex with Cristal.”

“Then what was he paying for?”

Zack dropped his eyes. “Intimacy? Blake’s relationship with Lily just about killed him. If he hadn’t had Gracie, I suspect he would have just checked out.” Zack ran his hand across his head. “Jo, I’m not a shrink. Blake and I are probably as close as two guys can be, but even when I could see that Lily’s infidelity was destroying him, I never brought up the subject.”

“So he carried all that inside him,” I said.

“Apparently not,” Zack said. “He told me this afternoon that he talked to Cristal about it. I guess he talked to Cristal about a lot of things. Go figure. Blake’s surrounded by people who love him, and he still has to pay for a friend.”

“Zack, did Blake say why Cristal paid for Francesca Pope’s defence?”

Zack’s face relaxed. “Actually, that’s a question I can answer. According to Blake, Cristal wanted to help Francesca because Francesca was being dicked around by men. Cristal said she knew what that was like.”

“So she was just being a good Samaritan?”

Zack shook his head. “No. Francesca wasn’t a stranger to her. There’s a little shed at the back of the warehouse next to Cristal’s condo. It’s one of Francesca’s favourite haunts. It’s abandoned, so nobody cares that she’s there.”

“Francesca and Cristal were neighbours.”

“Oh, I think it went beyond that,” Zack said. “According to Blake, Cristal gave him a very large retainer and told him she’d pay whatever it took to keep Francesca free.”

CHAPTER
4

Saskatchewan is one of the few places in North America that does not spring forward for daylight saving time. In May, the time difference between Toronto and Regina is two hours. When she’d lived in Saskatchewan, Jill Oziowy and I ran together at five-thirty in the morning. She knew my schedule and, after she moved to Toronto, she often called while I was tying my running shoes.

As always, Jill wasted no time on preamble. “What do you know about the murder of that escort in the warehouse district?”

Jill and I had been friends for thirty years, but I wasn’t ready to spill the beans on this one. “The escort’s name was Cristal Avilia. Her condo cost close to three-quarters of a million dollars, and her clients paid $500 an hour, more for ‘special requests.’ ”

Jill groaned. “If I’d wanted a précis, I’d have called our newsroom. I want deep background, scurrilous details, unsubstantiated rumours, blood, gore – the works.”

“I’ve told you everything I can.”

“Zack’s firm is involved in the case?”

“Jill …”

“Okay, I’ll back off. But for the record, we had more fun before you were married to a lawyer.”

“I didn’t have more fun.”

“All right. But if you learn anything that’s going to become public knowledge anyway, I get first dibs.”

“Jill, why is the network so interested in this case? Prostitution is a dangerous business. The death of a single sex-trade worker doesn’t usually attract national attention.”

“You’re not going to like the answer. It’s money. Cristal Avilia wasn’t a strung-out fifteen-year-old in the core turning tricks to pay for drugs. From what we hear, Cristal was the crown jewel of your local escort scene, and her contact list contained some fascinating clients.”

“Come on, Jill. This is Regina.”

“Take a look around you. There’s crude oil in them thar hills – also uranium, potash, diamonds, and gold. Plus B-moviemakers who love those big prairie skies and government tax breaks. These days the hotel rooms in Saskatchewan are filled with guys with fat wallets who’ve already checked out the options on pay-per-view.”

“So they hire a call girl?”

“They hire, and I’m quoting from an escort ad in your city, ‘an escort who can give them a moment that they will cherish forever.’ That means a woman who will slide her legs around theirs on the elevator, be the perfect companion at the corporate cocktail party, then go back to their hotel room and fake an orgasm that will make them believe they haven’t lost their manly powers.”

“That’s a pretty tall order.”

“Read the ads. Better yet, talk to somebody who knows the world. Escort services are the universal panacea. Anyway, my spidey sense is tingling about this Cristal Avilia case. I think it’s going to be big. We’ve got some eager young thing looking into it, but you have some useful connections, and you might as well earn some brownie points if we’re going to pitch your Issues for Dummies series.”

“A trade-off,” I said.

“Life’s full of them,” Jill said cheerfully. “Get on it.”

Zack had already left for a breakfast meeting when I got back from my run. I was relieved. I didn’t want to keep Jill’s call secret, but I also didn’t want start my day with Zack talking about Cristal Avilia. Ed Mariani was a different matter. I was picking him up, so we’d just take one car downtown, and as soon as he settled in the passenger seat and snapped his seat belt, I pounced.

“Jill called this morning. She thinks the Cristal Avilia murder is going to be big news.”

“Jill’s right,” Ed said. “If I were more ambitious, I’d be out there knocking on doors and making phone calls.”

“Where would you start?”

“With her client list.”

“That’s exactly what Jill said, but I don’t imagine the police are handing out copies.”

“No, but other people might know who her regulars were.”

“Other people, meaning other escorts?”

“Yes.”

“Can you suggest anybody I could talk to?”

“Why this sudden interest in the Cristal Avilia murder?”

“I honestly don’t know. Jill says that if I come up with something, Nation
TV
will be more inclined to green-light my issues series. But it’s not just that. When Jill and I were talking, it occurred to me that I know nothing about the lives of those women, and I should.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Ed said. “Slapping a genteel title on the job doesn’t change the fact that escorts work in the sex trade. It’s not a pretty world, Jo. People get hurt. Look at what happened to Cristal Avilia.”

“I’m just going to ask some questions, Ed.”

Ed was silent until we drew near the courthouse. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll arrange for you to meet someone.” He smiled. “Her name is Vera Wang.”

“As in Vera Wang, the designer of bridal gowns?”

“No, as in Vera Wang, the woman who, until she retired, ran a discreet escort service that served two generations of our most prominent citizens.”

“And she chose Vera Wang as her
nom de guerre?”

“No, it’s her birth name. Vera’s my neighbour, and she’s quick to point out that Vera Wang the designer was born on June 27, 1949, and that she herself was born on March 4, 1940. She had the name first. Want me to call her?”

“Please,” I said. “She sounds intriguing.”

“Oh she’s that and a bag of chips,” Ed said.

By the time I found a parking spot, Ed had arranged for me to meet Vera Wang later in the week. When he clicked off his cellphone, Ed’s expression was theatrically lugubrious. “The deed is done,” he intoned. “There is no turning back.”

When we walked into court, Ginny Monaghan was sitting next to her ex-husband, with her arm resting on the bench behind him and her lips close to his ear. Even from a distance, it was clear their conversation was intense. Ed and I took our place in the front row and waited. Ginny was quick to join us. Her smile as she greeted us was edgy.

“Guess where I spent the night?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “No, don’t guess. I was in the emergency ward with Chloe. She cut herself – deliberately.”

Ed’s face drooped with concern. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Ginny said tightly. “The doctor I spoke to was most reassuring. Luckily for me, Dr. Dolcetti is a supporter, so he won’t feel compelled to blab to the media.”

“No doctor would do that,” I said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You live in an innocent world, Joanne. There’s always a way to get damaging news to the public. Anyway, Chloe’s fine. Dr. Dolcetti talked to her, then he talked to me. He says the cutting wasn’t a suicide attempt, just a way of relieving pressure.”

Ed frowned. “What did she use?”

“A box cutter that she took from her father’s house. Anyway, the wounds weren’t deep, and according to the good doctor, Chloe’s cuts didn’t indicate that she meant business.”

“So this was just a warning.”

“The doctor seemed to think so. He was puzzled because typically adolescents make cuts on their arms, and Chloe’s cuts were on her stomach. When I explained that Chloe was a basketball player with a charity game coming up this week, he seemed reassured.”

“Did she talk to you about why she did it?” I asked.

Ginny’s eyes tracked away. “She said it was a mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.”

“That’s a good sign,” I said.

“It would be if I believed her.” Ginny raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s not that I think she’s lying. It’s just that I didn’t see this coming. She and Em have always handled everything so well. Maybe we expect too much of them.”

I remembered Gracie’s poignant sketch of the lives of the miraculous Brodnitz twins. “I’m not minimizing this,” I said, “but at least Chloe has let you know she is in trouble.”

Ginny nodded. “That’s pretty much what Dr. Dolcetti said. He also pointed out that cutting is a fairly common phenomenon for girls her age. Apparently, it offers them some way of coping with the pressures of their lives.”

“But you’re still worried,” Ed said.

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Of course,” Ed said. “Did Dr. Dolcetti suggest anything?”

“He’s getting us a referral to a psychologist who specializes in adolescents. Of course, it’ll be six months before Chloe gets in. Till then, I guess we just have to muddle through.” Her eyes travelled away again. “Today’s the day the court-appointed social worker delivers her ‘Voices of the Children’ report. I guess Chloe was overwhelmed by the prospect of knowing that what she said about her father and me would be read out in court.”

“Does it have to be read publicly?” Ed said.

“It’s a public document,” Ginny said. “In my opinion, it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. Do you know how long the social worker talked to our girls? Three hours. Three hours to ferret out the truth about Jason’s and my lifestyles, assess the stability of the environments we offer the girls, evaluate the emotional ties the girls have to each of us, and form an opinion about whether Jason and I are capable of fostering a healthy relationship between our daughters and the parent who doesn’t get custody.” Ginny’s half-smile was withering. “Three hours to analyze their lives and decide their future – Jason says we shouldn’t be surprised that Chloe panicked. He says she didn’t have enough time to say what she needed to say and the cutting was her way of making us hear her voice loud and clear.”

“So he knows,” I said.

“I told him,” Ginny said. “Against the advice of my lawyer.”

“Sean has to consider all the possibilities,” I said. “Jason could use this against you.”

“He could,” Ginny said. “But he wouldn’t.”

Ed moved closer to her. “You sound very certain.”

Ginny met his gaze. “There are things people who’ve been together for a long time know …”

“And would never tell?” Ed’s question was gentle.

“Marriages fall apart,” Ginny said. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have loyalties.” She glanced towards Jason; he had been watching her, and the look that passed between them when they locked eyes was more eloquent than words.

The name of the court-appointed social worker was Rebecca Sen. She was sixtyish and trim, with a shock of white hair, a brilliant turquoise sari, and a firm and maternal manner. She was a woman who put a premium on clarity, and her report was mercifully devoid of jargon. Much of it was excerpted from the transcript of her interviews with the girls, and as she read their responses to her questions, it was possible truly to hear the voices of the children.

To judge by their words, the Brodnitz twins were thoughtful, articulate, and assured. But within the past twelve hours, Chloe Brodnitz had deliberately and repeatedly cut herself, so I listened to her words with special care. Chloe fielded Rebecca Sen’s questions about the time she and her sister spent alone expertly, explaining that they had both taken babysitting classes and knew how to handle emergency situations. She said she felt both parents would do their best to foster a healthy relationship with the noncustodial parent. When asked which parent she would choose to live with, her reply was revealing. “Both of them, of course,” she said. “That’s what anybody would want.”

After Ms. Sen read Chloe’s answer, she looked up from her notes. “At this point, Chloe broke down. When she regained her composure, she stated that as long as she and her sister were together, she didn’t care where they lived.”

There were murmurs in the courtroom. Madam Justice Gorges didn’t need a gavel to quash the chatter. Her glance was glacial, and when silence was restored, Ms. Sen continued her testimony. “The other answer that I regard as significant came when I asked Chloe her feelings about basketball. She said that the only time she was in control of what happened next was when she was on the basketball court, and that was important to her.”

Ed swallowed hard, but Ginny was stoic. When Rebecca Sen stepped down from the witness box it was eleven-thirty. Madam Justice Gorges recessed the court for lunch and said counsel for the parents could make closing statements when court resumed.

We all rose as Susan Gorges left the courtroom. As the crowd started to disperse, Ginny picked up her bag. “I’m going to the girls’ school to check on Chloe,” Ginny said, getting to her feet. “I thought she should stay home this morning, but Em said the sooner her sister got back to normal the better, so after a night in the emergency ward, Chloe dragged herself off to class.” Ginny’s eyes took us both in. “Will you be here this afternoon?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Good. So I’ll see you then,” Ginny said, and she began pushing her way through the crowd towards the door.

Ed pointed to the courtroom’s side door. “Looks like less action over there,” he said.

“Fine with me,” I said. “We’re in no rush.”

On our way towards the lobby, we passed a men’s room. Ed pointed to the door. “I’m going to make a stop.”

“As our old premier used to say, ‘Never miss a chance.’ ”

As it turned out, Ed wasn’t the only one who didn’t miss a chance that day. Jason Brodnitz and his lawyer, Margot Wright, had followed us out the side door, and Sean Barton was right behind them. When Jason took a detour into the men’s room, Sean was on his heels, and Margot wasn’t far behind. She hit the brakes just as the door swung shut in her face.

It was a cartoon moment, and I had to suppress a smile. “Are you okay?” I asked.

She turned on her heel furiously. “No,” she said. “I am not okay. I don’t want Sean Barton in there with my client.”

“How much trouble can two men get into in a public washroom?”

Margot curled her scarlet lips. “Come on,” she growled. “You’re not that naive.”

I met her gaze. “No,” I said. “I’m not. It was a joke.”

“Thank God,” she said. “I’d hate to think Zack had saddled himself with a dunce. Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I forgot about Zack’s birthday party. I could make up an excuse, but the truth is I was working on a file and I forgot all about it.”

“The one excuse Zack understands,” I said. “But we missed you. It was a lot of fun.”

“So I heard,” Margot said. “I really do wish I’d been there. Zack’s a lot easier to take these days. You’ve curbed that mammoth ego of his. He’s almost bearable.”