12 Rose Street (3 page)

After I hung up, I turned to Zack. “I guess now we just wait.”

“We have our own security here today,” Zack said. “And we have volunteers from the neighbourhood. No shortage of bodies – just a question of how to deploy them.” Zack shifted his chair so he could take in the area. “Logistically, we’re in good shape.”

Shelley Gregg, the architect who designed the Racette-Hunter Centre, believed that kids who lived in a neighbourhood where they could never safely run free needed a space where they could play without fear. The eight buildings that housed the classrooms and the recreation facilities all had large windows overlooking the green. The windows were there to let in more than light. Racette-Hunter offered people a place where they could change their lives. Changing a life is difficult work. Seeing the kids every day was intended, in Cronus’s phrase, to help people keep their eye on the prize.

By the time Debbie Haczkewicz arrived, Lexi Hunter was perched on Brock’s shoulders watching Declan, Taylor, and the other volunteers spread out a dozen rainbow parachutes. The scene had the bright innocence of a Grandma Moses painting, but Debbie’s presence was a grim reminder of the cloud that hung over the children squealing with delight under the billowing silk.

As Mieka and Kerry Benjoe went through the security precautions that were in place, Debbie took notes. The children were all wearing numbered red wristbands with the R-H logo.
Adults who brought children to the centre were wearing matching numbered bands. No child would be allowed to leave the R-H Centre with an adult whose wristband did not match the child’s. The kids were on the buddy system and every fifteen minutes, a volunteer blew a whistle and hollered, “Buddies.” The action didn’t resume until every child had been paired. The children had been told to check the photo IDs worn by the adults to whom they could go if they were lost or scared.

Debbie nodded when the two women finished their report. “So as long as the children stay in this space, they’re safe,” she said.

Zack picked up on the edge in Debbie’s voice. “But there’s no guarantee the children will stay in this space,” he said.

“None,” Brock said. “In theory, they’re all to be under adult supervision at all times, but kids are unpredictable. They dash ahead. They see a friend and wander off. The question now is whether we should go public with this.”

Since her husband’s death, Margot had been determined to make Racette-Hunter a reality. We all knew hers would be the deciding voice in the decision and our heads turned her way. “We don’t go public,” she said. “If we do, we might as well shut the doors to R-H right now. We’ve done everything we can to make this facility safe. All we can do now is build on what we have. We can coordinate our security with the police. We can text safety reminders to our volunteers. We can be vigilant, and we can pray.”

Brock took Lexi from his shoulders and lifted her into the air. She giggled gleefully as he began to pump her up and down. “Margot’s right,” he said. “Let’s just get through the day.”

Brock’s words were clearly intended to bring the meeting to a close. Mieka and Kerry took the hint, said their goodbyes, and headed back to where volunteers were now distributing pails of ping-pong balls to each of the parachute groups. The
game they were about to play had been around since Mieka was little. The kids had to work together to make the parachute rise and fall so the ping-pong balls would pop up in the air. It was a team-builder. Given Cronus’s news, it seemed an inspired choice.

We all watched as Mieka and Kerry headed towards the parachute games, but when Debbie started to leave, Margot and Brock exchanged a quick glance and called her back. They summoned Zack and me as well.

Brock moved closer to Margot. “You or me?” he said.

“Me,” Margot said. “Debbie, Brock and I may be able to shed light on these threats. After my daughter was born, I decided to try to have a second child with donated sperm. Another pregnancy at my age was a big decision, and I couldn’t afford a misstep, so I boned up on genetics. The upshot of my reading was that I decided against an anonymous donor. I wanted someone I knew and respected. I asked Brock. He agreed, and I’m now three months’ pregnant.” Zack’s eyes met mine. Margot had never intimated that her donor was someone she knew.

Brock gave Lexi one final pump up and down and then nestled her in his arms. “As a gay man, I’d always figured that a child wouldn’t be part of my life,” he said. “The prospect of being a biological father was a gift. I talked it over with my partner, Michael, and he agreed. And then he changed his mind. My guess is that Graham Meighen changed it for him.”

“What’s Graham Meighen got to do with this?” I said. Meighen was a prominent developer in Regina who had always opposed the centre. He was also a vocal supporter of the current mayor, Scott Ridgeway.

“When Michael moved to Regina, Meighen took him under his wing,” Brock said. “Graham was very welcoming to me too until I became director of Racette-Hunter, then the big chill hit. When I decided to run for council, Meighen and
his friends announced they were supporting my opponent, Duane Trotter, and told Michael that he had to choose sides.”

“They made Michael choose?” I was incredulous. “I can’t imagine high rollers like Meighen being involved in that kind of schoolyard stuff. Do those guys take blood oaths too?”

“Whatever they do, it’s the tie that binds,” Brock said. “Michael and I had been together two years. I thought I knew him, but he went with Meighen’s group.”

“People have a way of surprising us,” Debbie said curtly. “What’s Michael’s surname?”

“Goetz. Dr. Michael Goetz. He’s a psychiatrist.”

Zack turned to Debbie. “Dr. Goetz is responsible for all those shiny billboards Brock’s opponent is putting up all over North Central.”

“Michael’s always prepared to pay for what he wants,” Brock said. “I can deal with billboards. And I can deal with the crap that’s making the rounds about my private life. I’ve been accused of pretty well everything, and I’m still walking around.”

Lexi had fallen asleep in Brock’s arms. He turned to Margot. “Should I put Lexi in her stroller? She may not understand the words we’re saying, but she picks up on tones.”

Margot nodded. “See if you can slide her in there without waking her.”

Wide receivers are fast and agile. Brock had Lexi settled in her stroller in seconds. When she saw Lexi was content, Margot turned back to us. “Brock’s concerned about my reputation,” she said. “There’s a rumour going around that any man who wants a job at Peyben has to perform stud service for the boss.”

The anger rose in my throat. “The logical source of that one would appear to be Dr. Goetz.”

Brock lowered his eyes. “There aren’t any other possibilities,” he said. “Margot and Michael and I were the only ones who knew that I’m the father of her baby.”

Margot did her best to raise a more palatable possibility. “It’s possible Michael confided in someone,” she said. “People talk. Someone else could be spreading the rumour.”

Debbie had a way of cutting through emotion. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand,” she said. “Spreading an ugly rumour during an election campaign is not a crime. Conspiring to abduct a child from a public gathering is. Do you think Dr. Goetz is capable of making that leap?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Brock said. “In the last year, Michael has done a number of things that I didn’t believe he was capable of.”

“Such as … ?” Debbie asked.

Brock’s laugh was short. “Such as breaking off with me and going back to his old boyfriend Slater Doyle.”

“The breakup was a surprise?” Debbie asked.

“It was a body blow,” Brock said. “We were fine – enjoying our life together, making plans for the future – and then Michael started questioning everything about our relationship. It was as if he was trying to find a reason to leave.”

“And he found one,” Debbie said.

“He did. I don’t want to go into it, but what Michael did didn’t make any sense. Certainly going back to Slater Doyle didn’t make any sense. Slater is destructive and unethical and Michael knows it.”

“Brock’s right about Slater Doyle,” Zack said. “He was a lawyer, but he was disbarred for dipping into clients’ trust funds and falsifying his firm’s trust ledgers to cover his tracks.”

“Now he’s running Scott Ridgeway’s re-election campaign,” Brock said. “And he’s managed to get Michael involved with Duane Trotter’s campaign. And that’s another thing that doesn’t make sense. It’s hard for me to be objective, but Trotter has done nothing for the people of Ward 6. He’s a lackey for the developers and the only reason he wins
is because Ward 6 has such a dismal turnout at the polls. Trotter’s backers have deep pockets and that means all his campaign has to do is put up billboards in high-traffic areas, spend a bundle on media, then get out their core vote.”

“Who is their core vote?” Debbie asked.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Brock said, “they’re people who hate Aboriginals. Michael and I lived together happily for over two years. I know him. He’s not a bigot. He cares enough about at-risk kids to publish journal articles with concrete recommendations about how to save them. Now he’s backing a candidate who lards his speeches with code words like ‘hard-working,’ ‘community-minded,’ ‘law-abiding,’ ‘contributing members of society,’ ‘givers not takers.’ The phrases seem perfectly innocuous, but his supporters know that Trotter is drawing a line. On one side are people like them; on the other are people like me.”

“Dog whistle politics,” I said. “Slimy but highly effective.”

Lexi stirred in her sleep, and Margot knelt down to soothe her. Debbie lowered her voice. “Brock, this is a delicate situation. Nothing has happened yet. All we have is a rumoured threat that, in all likelihood, is groundless. Dr. Goetz is well liked in this city. I’ve never dealt with him personally, but his reputation is solid.” Debbie raised her hand in a halt sign. “Of course, none of that matters if he’s party to a conspiracy.”

On the green, the parachute popcorn game had reached a fever pitch. Kids were starting to scream and the parachutes were flapping violently. Mieka and the other volunteers were moving among the children, collecting the ping-pong balls and explaining the rules for a quieter game.

As he watched the scene, Brock’s broad back was to us. Finally, he turned to face Debbie. “I hate this,” he said. “But you should talk to Michael. He’s aware of how much the R-H Centre means to me, and for reasons I don’t understand, he seems determined to undermine me.”

Debbie had been taking notes. She stopped and looked at Brock. “You think Dr. Goetz is capable of becoming involved in a plan to abduct a child.”

“Michael would never hurt a child, but if the plan is originating with the Ridgeway–Trotter campaign, Michael is probably aware of it.”

Debbie closed her notebook. “In that case, I’d better pay him a call.”

After Debbie left, Margot took hold of the handles of Lexi’s stroller. “Time to get back to business,” she said. “Anybody care to join me in welcoming people to the R-H Centre?”

And so with tight smiles and anxious eyes, we greeted the community. Those of us who knew about the possibility of an abduction were waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long.

Dinner was going to be a combination barbecue–corn roast on the green. In the days when my late husband, Ian, and I had been involved in party politics, I had organized a dozen such dinners. The meal for the R-H opening followed a pattern I knew by heart. The poultry association donated three hundred split broilers and the grills and personnel to cook the chickens. Local supermarkets donated corn, and neighbourhood families brought casseroles, salads, buns, pickles and pies, cakes and cookies.

People were lining up with their plates when a young volunteer ran over to me. She was out of breath and agitated. “There’s a man over there who says he needs to find Brock Poitras. I told him that I didn’t know where Brock was, but he didn’t believe me. He’s very angry.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said. I followed her. A man was standing in front of a large sign that read WELCOME. He was a tall, lithe blond with severe brown eyes, an ironic twist to his mouth, and a sharply cleft chin. He introduced himself as
Michael Goetz. I offered my hand. “I’m Joanne Shreve,” I said. “They’re just about to serve dinner, so things are a bit chaotic, but I’ll find Brock.”

Dr. Goetz didn’t take my hand, but my offer to help seemed to disarm him. I’d noticed Zack over by the barbecue watching the man from the poultry association grill his chickens. “My husband is just over there,” I said, pointing. “He’ll know where Brock is.”

“I have no desire to talk to your husband,” Michael Goetz said. “Just come back with the information.”

“Fair enough,” I said. I went to Zack and told him about Dr. Goetz.

“He sounds like an asshole,” Zack said.

“I wasn’t charmed by him,” I said. “But this is between him and Brock, so if you tell me where Brock is, you and I can get out of the line of fire and fill our plates.”

“Not that easy,” Zack said. “Brock took Margot and the baby back to the condo. Apparently, Lexi’s diaper failed to do the job. She was certainly pungent. Anyway, Brock offered to help with the cleanup.”

“Why do I think that explanation isn’t going to calm Dr. Goetz?”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Zack said.

“God, no,” I said. “That would just make everything worse. I’ll break the news.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“The truth,” I said.

Zack chortled. “That’s a novel approach.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but it makes sense. There’s no reason to lie. Michael Goetz ended his relationship with Brock. Brock’s free to go anywhere he wants with whomever he wants.”

As I approached Michael Goetz, I could feel the anger radiating from his body. He was fighting for control, but he was losing the battle. His fists were balled and the pulse
in his neck was throbbing. His greeting was a challenge. “Well?” he said.

“Brock isn’t here,” I said.

“Where is he?”

I gazed across the green. The line for the barbecue was moving smoothly. People had been asked to bring blankets to sit on and they were returning to them with their plates and getting ready to enjoy dinner. Babies were crawling around. Little kids were running between the islands made by the blankets. It was a pastoral scene.