What's Past Is Prologue, page 22
Her voice was weary but warm. “Joanne, I apologize for taking so long to get back to you, but Saturdays are always a busy day for us.”
“Jay, may I put you on speakerphone? Zack and a friend are here.”
“Of course,” she said crisply. “Nobody likes wasting time, particularly when the news is good. What I’m about to say is a mixture of conjecture and hope, but Sawyer is out of the woods and we believe that it’s possible for him to make something close to a full recovery. He has a long journey ahead, but he will be alive to make that journey. That has to be our focus at the moment.”
“That is the best news,” I said. “Jay, we want to be involved in Sawyer’s recovery. Could you please take a minute or two to explain the steps, so we can identify areas where we may be able to help?”
The process Jay described was long and involved, but it gave me a clear idea of where we could help, and when Jay was through, I asked if someone there could send us a print version of the steps towards recovery. Dr. Yates agreed to have a copy of the rehabilitation program sent to us, and the call ended.
“That was the best news,” I said. “Having all the steps laid out always makes me feel secure.”
“I’m with you on that,” Kam said. “Life would be a breeze if it came with printed instructions.”
“Count me out,” Zack said. “If life came with printed instructions, there’d be no need for lawyers.”
Kam laughed. “Time for me to move along,” he said. “Thanks for offering me warmth on a cold night, for the wine and the gyro pizza and for just hearing me out. I’m so glad I was able to hear the news about Sawyer’s prognosis. Jo, please give me a call if you hear from Seth.”
Kam turned down our offer of a ride, so Zack and I watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
“I feel as if a huge weight has just been lifted off my shoulders.”
“I know there are problems ahead, but now that we know Sawyer is going to make it, I’m ready.” Zack took my hand. “Let’s go into the family room and get comfortable. There’s something else we need to talk about.”
My husband’s health was a constant worry. Zack hated that I worried, but when he saw my reaction to his announcement that we needed to talk, he knew where my mind had travelled. “I’m fine,” he said. “Honestly. Except for the leg cramps, which really are a blessing because they at least stretch my muscles, I have never felt better in my life.”
I tried to match Zack’s matter-of-fact tone. “In that case, let’s talk,” I said.
When we were settled on the couch, Zack ploughed right in.
“I didn’t want to tell you earlier, but Hugh Fairbairn called yesterday morning. Libby was handling the Clay Fairbairn case, and Sawyer was second chair. They’d been working on the case since last September.”
I knew what was coming, and I didn’t like it, so I tried a pre-emptive strike. “If Libby and Sawyer had been working on the case since September, there must be records of interviews and evidence and theories — enough for another lawyer in Libby’s firm to pick up and work with.”
“You’re right. All that grunt work has been done. But that part of a case is just bare bones. Most lawyers, including me, carry a lot of information about a case in their heads. Everything Libby was carrying was lost when she died, but Sawyer will still be carrying a lot of what he and Libby knew.”
“Zack, we don’t know if Sawyer is up to this. He’s still in intensive care. And you heard Dr. Yates. He has months of rehabilitation ahead.”
“And a lot of that rehabilitation is psychological. Jo, you know how many times Debbie has called me asking me to talk to some young guy who has suffered a spinal cord injury and doesn’t want to live.”
“And the first one of those guys was Debbie Haczkewicz’s son,” I said.
“Dylan was a tough nut to crack. It took me almost a month to get him to listen to me. Every time I left his room, I felt like I’d had a workout. Once he got lucky and gave me a black eye, but I persisted, and he did listen and now he’s teaching English as a second language in Japan, He’s married to another teacher, and they have two little boys.”
“Who Debbie dotes on.”
“Right, and Dylan is the perfect illustration of what I’m saying. I’ve seen dozens of these guys, and I know what’s going on in their heads. I can put myself in their place because I’ve been in that place with rehabilitation, and I know where Sawyer is right now. He’s in traction. He can’t blow his nose. He can’t wipe his own ass. He’s in pain. He’s traumatized, but the medical people will tell him this part will end. The day will come when he’s out of traction, and he begins the next stage: physical and psychological therapy. The physical therapy could last for a year, and meanwhile the self-doubts are growing. Will I ever be able to be the person I was before this happened? Will I ever be able to practise law again?”
“So Zack, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to roll the dice. I’m going to accept Hugh Fairbairn’s offer to take on Clay’s case, and I’m going to tell Fairbairn that my acceptance is contingent on Sawyer being second chair. As soon as Sawyer is able to understand his situation and know what’s ahead, I’m going to tell him he’s second chair. That’s part of the deal.” Zack paused. “Jo, Sawyer has lost so much. He has to have a goal to work towards. I think this is the right goal.”
Zack had been watching my face closely. “I know we promised each other we’d cut back, and this will break that promise. Say the word, and I’ll tell Fairbairn to find another lawyer.”
“He won’t find one as good as you,” I said. “And he won’t find a man as good as you. A week ago, you’d barely met Sawyer, and now you’re willing to put everything on the line for him.”
“You said you think of Sawyer as a third son. That’s enough for me. So what do you think? I told Fairbairn that I’d give him my answer today.”
It took me a while to answer, but I knew there was only one answer. “Tell Hugh Fairbairn yes,” I said. “Tell him we’re in.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zack and I both slept well that night. We’d called Angus and Leah, and then Taylor and Gracie, Ed and Barry, and Margot and Brock with the good news that Dr. Jay-Louise Yates was optimistic that Sawyer might make something close to a full recovery. I’d sent out a group email announcing Dr. Yates’s positive prognosis and saying I’d send further details when I had them. And then, my town crier stint finished for the day, I slid into bed with a cup of Constant Comment and an ancient New Yorker with an article about Edward Hopper that I’d intended to take to the lake for Taylor to read. The article closed with a line that I knew would resonate with our daughter: “Once you’ve truly experienced this painter’s art, it is as impossible to ignore as a stone in your shoe.”
We had blueberry waffles for Sunday breakfast, listened to Glenn Gould play the Goldberg Variations and watched the pine siskins make short work of the fresh nyjer seed. It was a fine way to start the day, and Zack and I were both in a mellow mood for our Zoom meeting with David Shevchenko.
David was a handsome young man with an openness that won me over from the start. After we’d exchanged pleasantries, he said, “I’m nervous, Joanne. I didn’t want to waste your time by asking questions that would get us nowhere. When Zack said you’d be joining us, I checked that weekly political panel you did for Nationtv. I noticed how sharp and on point your comments were. You didn’t give the other panellists the opportunity to chew up time with malarkey, before you dealt with the core of the questions that really mattered.”
“Thanks, David. It took me awhile to learn that particular skill, but you’re right about it being useful. So did you come up with a question for me?”
“I did,” he said. “Libby Hogarth had strong ties to Ireland Leontovich. I work in their Saskatoon office, and when the imbroglio about Libby Hogarth delivering the Mellohawk Lecture started, we all followed it closely.
“For some of us, including me, that meant going back and watching the media coverage of the Delio trial. It was powerful stuff, and we all agreed that Libby’s handling of the trial itself and of the many interviews she had to give afterwards was flawless. But over the holidays, when some of us got together for a drink, one of my colleagues, a woman whose judgment I trust, said that Libby Hogarth was a brilliant lawyer, but she wouldn’t want her as a friend. So, my question for you is pretty simple, Joanne. Would you have wanted Libby as a friend?”
“Absolutely. David, I can’t tell you how much I regret that I didn’t have a chance to spend more time in her company. Libby was one of the most perceptive, interested and interesting people I’ve ever known. Our daughter, Taylor, is an artist. The first time I met Libby was at our house. She was looking at a painting our daughter had made before the holidays and Libby’s comments about how Taylor used colour to set the mood of that painting were sensitive and knowledgeable. When I said that she must be an art lover, Libby told me that she was coming late to art. She said it’s true that the law sharpens the mind, but that recently she realized that she wanted to broaden her outlook so she’d been taking virtual classes from the Art Gallery of Ontario.”
David was taken aback. “That’s something I would never have guessed about her.”
“There was so much more to Libby than people realized. All public figures create a persona, and Libby’s persona was that of a sharp, gifted, driven, take-no-prisoners trial lawyer. She was all those things, but she was also so much more. David, you have some wonderful discoveries ahead, and there are many people who were close to Libby who will be very happy to share what they know with you.”
We talked for close to an hour, and when we all said we were looking forward to our next visit, we were speaking the truth.
“I’m really glad we did that,” Zack said. “And David certainly loved you.”
“He had me when he used the word ‘malarkey,’ and we both confessed to being word nerds,” I said. “Now, there’s still almost an hour till church time and we have not unwrapped that package of personal miscellanea from your offices that Norine sent over. Do you want to take a crack at it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
As she’d promised, Norine had parcelled the items that had been in the partners’ offices separately, and we put aside Blake’s for Gracie, Kev’s for Taylor and Delia’s for Noah Wainberg. Zack’s package was the bulkiest because it contained the storied chunk of trunk that had followed the partners from the rat-trap on Avenue B in Saskatoon to the coolly elegant offices in the shining tower the firm now owned outright.
When he pulled out the chunk of trunk, Zack was as excited as a kid on his birthday. “Here it is,” he said proudly. “Look at that. ‘A Reasonable Doubt for a Reasonable Price.’ Signage by Christopher Altieri. Now that’s artistry.”
“Where are you going to put it?”
“I’ve been giving that some thought. It won’t mean anything to anybody working at Falconer Shreve now, and I’ll be blubbering all day long if I have to keep explaining what it is. Would you be okay if we kept it in our home office?”
“More than okay,” I said. “That office of ours could use a touch of class. What else have you got in there?”
“Mostly just photographs,” Zack said. “This is a nice one of you and Taylor outside the Hynd cottage the summer we met.”
“That is a nice one,” I said. “How come the photograph of Pantera is bigger than the photograph of Taylor and me?”
“Because Pantera is bigger than either you or Taylor. Any further questions?”
“None.”
Zack dug through the papers. “Here’s a treasure. This is a photograph of Fred C. Harney himself.”
“David would be thrilled to have that,” I said. “May I have a look?”
When I saw the photo Zack handed me, I felt the shock of recognition. “Zack, Fred C. is the man in the photograph that Devi keeps by her bed. The day she showed it to me, she said, ‘We passed the time, and the time passed us.’ Fred and Devi must have been lovers.”
Zack drew in a long breath, then exhaled. “That explains the fight Devi and Gideon Sass had in the parking lot that night. That ham-handed question Gideon asked Libby gave her the opportunity to publicly praise the man she loved.”
“And the man Devi Sass loved. Zack, when Devi replaced that photograph on the night table, her fingers lingered over the silver frame as if she didn’t want to let go.”
The phone rang, shaking Zack and me out of our reverie. I read the caller ID aloud. “Seth Wright,” I said.
I answered and Seth sounded fine. “Hi, Joanne. Everything okay there?”
“Yes. Thanks. Seth, do you happen to know where Eden is?”
“She’s sitting across the table from me. My company’s renovating a house in Southey. Remember I mentioned that I’d be out of town.”
“Right.” My brain was in overdrive. “Seth, do you know where Eden was the night of the shooting?”
“Sure. She was at Bushwakker with me. She’d had a bad day, and I thought being around people who were having fun might cheer her up.”
“So other people saw her there with you?”
“Of course. The crowd at Bushwakker is always wall to wall.”
There was a sudden note of unease in Seth’s voice. “Joanne, what’s this about?”
“Did Eden drive herself to Bushwakker?”
“No, she came with me. Devi had some kind of mishap with the BMW, so she was driving Eden’s Lexus.”
I could feel my heart pounding. “Seth, can you and Eden just stay in Southey for another day or two?”
“Sure. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
My laugh was short and hollow. “Yeah. As soon as I figure it out myself. I’ll call you later, Seth.”
Zack wheeled closer to me. “What’s going on? You look shell-shocked.”
“I am. We have to call Debbie Haczkewicz. I’m almost certain that Devi Sass was the one who shot Libby and Sawyer. Debbie should know that Devi is in Bequia with Kevin Coyle.”
“Jesus,” Zack said. He pulled out his phone and called Debbie.
“She’s on her way,” he said. “Jo, just wait a second: there’s something I need to check.” He tapped something in and waited. Whatever appeared on my husband’s screen was not to his liking. “Well, shit. Guess what? Bequia is part of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and Saint Vincent and the Grenadines does not have an extradition treaty with Canada.”
“So what happens next?”
“Debbie will have to work that out with the police force there. Right now, I think you should call Kevin.”
“And tell him what?”
“Everything, and then tell him to come home immediately and let Debbie and the cops in Bequia handle the situation.”
* * *
The call I had to make to Kevin was one of the most difficult I’d ever had to make. He was torn between his loyalty to Devi and his horror at the magnitude of what she had done. Loyalty was winning out until I put Zack on the phone. My husband pulled out all the stops. After he had described exactly what David Shevchenko and Libby Hogarth had lost and what Sawyer MacLeish was now facing, Kevin agreed to invent an emergency, tell Devi everything was paid for till the end of the month and then fly back to Canada.
Zack handed me the phone, and I told Kevin I’d pick him up at the airport. When I ended the call, I was drained. “Another life blown apart,” I said.
“Was the relationship between Kevin and Devi Sass more than just friendship?”
“No, but it could have been.” I told Zack about how the casual friendship between Kevin and Devi had deepened over the holidays, but they had decided not to risk their friendship by taking it to the next level. I was overwhelmed by sadness. “They were two people who had found something that brought meaning to both their lives. It didn’t have to end this way.”
Zack held out his arms and I leaned in. “No, it didn’t,” he said. “But when Devi Sass drove out to the Wrights’ cabin to get the rifle, she changed what might have been a happy ending to a tragedy.” He drew me closer and murmured. “God, the things we do with our precious lives.”
* * *
On Wednesday when I picked him up at the airport, Kevin was tanned and in deep mourning. After the police in Bequia read Devi the charges that she was facing in Canada, she asked for time to consult with her lawyer in Canada and consider her options. The subject of extradition was not discussed, but Devi decided there was only one acceptable choice.
Two days before Kevin left Bequia, Devi wrote a letter that was not a confession of guilt but an apologia pro vita sua, a justification of the principles that guided how she lived her life. The police in Bequia sent it to the Major Crimes unit of the Regina force, and after the police had entered the letter into evidence, Debbie Haczkewicz made a copy of the letter and sent it to us.
Devi Sass’s account of the sequence of events that led to the shootings was almost inhumanly emotionless. She began with the proverbial phrase, “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” The letter was compelling reading, in part, because Devi Sass had seemingly distanced herself not only from what happened twenty-nine years earlier but also from the night when she had aimed the Remington, killed Libby Hogarth and changed the course of Sawyer MacLeish’s life.
The arc of the story was a familiar one. Fred C. Harney was an honourable man and he admired and respected Devi. When he and Libby Hogarth became lovers, he came to Devi and told her the truth. He had not identified Libby by name but, determined to confront the woman who had “replaced” her, Devi parked across the street from Fred’s apartment building and began to watch the front door. After Libby Hogarth entered the building, Devi waited in her car all night. When Libby didn’t leave the building until morning, Devi checked her own appearance in her compact’s mirror before facing her rival. In her words, she appeared ‘old and spent’, and she went home. That morning Devi made a decision. She would wait until the time was right.
