Deadline (26 page)

“We have copies for all of you,” he said. “After looking through our records from that period, we determined that this appears to be a forgery. It is a real police report from the summer of 1985, but the name of the suspect and victim in this case have been replaced with the name of the minister and Mrs. Mowat.”

Jack’s phone was ringing. He picked it up and put it down again and looked at the screen in a daze.

Simms was standing in the lobby. “So there you have it,” she said. “The Swift Current RCMP is saying that the police report in the Greg Mowat story is a forgery. This seems to make it clear that the story is, as the minister said, completely false.”

The anchor asked, “Ellen, is there any other evidence to suggest that Greg Mowat did anything wrong?”

“No, Lorne,” said Simms. “This story was broken a Newfoundland paper, the
Telegram
, which was the only media outlet to have a copy of the forged police report. It was on the paper’s web site for about an hour, and has since been taken down. In its place, there is now an apology.”

The screen filled with the
Telegram
’s web page. The main headline read: “Apology and Retraction.”

“So it looks like somebody had the wool pulled over their eyes here?”

“That’s right, Lorne,” said Simms. “We’re told that the
Telegram
has suspended both the reporter who wrote the story, and the paper’s city editor.”

“What’s the reaction on the Hill, Ellen?” said the anchor.

“Well, apparently, we’re about to have a statement from Evan Pinsent,” she said. “He’s expected to apologize for his comments about the Mowat allegations earlier today.”

Jack dialed Brandt.

“Hey b’y,” said his editor. “Lucky you got me. Just clearing out me desk.”

“Am I suspended?” asked Jack.

“Until further notice,” said Brandt. “We both are.”

“Fuck,” said Jack.

Brandt laughed. “Yup. I’m off to the pub. But hold on a minute, I’m going to transfer you.”

A moment later, a male voice said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Macdonald. This is Paul Dexter. I’m a lawyer for the Telegram Ltd. I’m sure this is a difficult time for you.”

“I just puked under my desk,” said Jack.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dexter. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” said Jack. “Go ahead.”

“I’m calling to let you know that you are suspended until further notice. We ask you to leave the office after this call, and leave anything belonging to the Telegram Limited there.”

Jack was silent. He looked down at his feet and noticed he had stepped in the puddle of vomit.

“Are you there, Mr. Macdonald?”

“Yup,” he said. “Anything else?”

“I’m sure this seems terrible to you right now,” said Dexter, “but I would caution you not to jump to conclusions. We suddenly find ourselves in a very awkward legal position. We have to demonstrate that, having defamed Mr. Mowat, that we are doing everything we can to remedy the situation. That means we have to get to the bottom of how it happened, and show that we’re taking appropriate actions. That means we have to suspend you.”

“And you may or may not give me a job again when the process is complete,” said Jack.

“That’s right,” said Dexter.

“Is there any chance at all I’ll stay on here in this current position?”

“None of that has been decided”

“But don’t bet on it,” said Jack.

Dexter didn’t say anything.

“Well,” said Jack. “Can I keep the BlackBerry, for now, until the suspension is lifted or whatever, or I’m fired?”

“Sure,” said Dexter. “We need to be able contact you in the coming days, for information about the libel suit.”

“Okay,” said Jack. “Thanks.”

“Mr. Macdonald, on a personal note I just want to tell you not to take this too hard,” he said. “These moments are very stressful, but I want to assure you that things will look a lot brighter in a day or two, and in the future you may look back on this very difficult moment and see if for what it was, a new opportunity.”

Jack laughed and hung up

“In the future, I may be very drunk,” he said.

He walked out of the Hot Room.

Ashton realized why Jack had missed their meeting when she got to Sophie’s apartment.

Sophie invited Ashton to sit down and went to the kitchen to pour them both a cup of coffee. The TV was tuned to an interview with Maude Mowat, an attractive middle-aged blonde, in the backyard of the Mowats’ home. Mrs. Mowat was pointing out that there was no pool, and saying how painful she found the brief furore surrounding the allegations that her husband had tried to drown her.

“I know it’s silly,” she said, “but I keep thinking about people who may have seen the story saying that Greg attacked me, but haven’t seen the news since then. I hate to think that some of my neighbours might think that my husband would do such a terrible thing.”

Sophie turned the volume down when she brought in the coffee.

“Isn’t that your boss’s wife?” asked Ashton.

“Yes,” said Sophie. “That’s the minister’s wife. They’ve played the same interview three or four times now.”

“What’s she talking about? I haven’t been following the news.”

Sophie quickly explained how Jack had broken the story based on a forged police report, and how it had been discredited.

“So that explains why he didn’t show up for an interview I had scheduled with him this afternoon,” Ashton said. “And why he hasn’t answered my calls.”

“Poor Jack,” said Sophie. “He’s been suspended, and his boss, too. I think the minister is going to sue them.”

“Do you know where Mr. Macdonald is?”

“Not exactly, but he’s probably in a bar.”

“Do you think he forged the document?” asked Ashton. “You’re pretty good friends, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think he did. But I really don’t know. If he didn’t forge it, who did? I can’t figure it out. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but he’s probably ignoring everybody now.”

“So, how did you get to know him?” asked Ashton.

“I didn’t know him until I started going out with Ed,” said Sophie. “They were friends at university, and after Jack moved here last year, they used to go out drinking every couple of weeks. I would sometimes have dinner with them and then they’d go off on their own.”

“Was there ever any tension between them?” said Ashton.

“No,” said Sophie. “Not that I saw. Ed never talked to me about anything like that.”

“Would he have?” asked Ashton.

“I think so,” said Sophie. “Ed didn’t keep a lot of secrets from me.”

Ashton took out her notebook. “What files was Ed working on?”

“You mean at work?”

Ashton nodded.

“Well, his colleagues could give you more detail than I could,” she said.

“Yes. I’ve talked to them about that, but I’m interested in knowing what files he talked about with you.”

“Well, natural resources files. Mining. Oil. I didn’t find it very interesting.”

“Oil?” said Ashton.

“Yes. A lot of oil sands projects. He would talk about those sometimes, mostly just to complain about how much work they were, or the way Environment and Natural Resources would be fighting.”

“What would they fight about?”

“The guys at the Environment Department – Ed called them ecofreaks – would be trying to slow down the approval process, complaining about water or wildlife or whatever, and Natural Resources would be pushing for projects to be fast-tracked. Ed would have to write briefing notes for the minister advising what course the government should take.”

“Were any of the fights particularly nasty?”

“Not really. Not that he said.”

Ashton got up off the couch and walked over and looked out the window, then leaned against the computer desk.

“You still have no idea what happened to Ed’s BlackBerry?” she asked.

“No,” said Sophie. “Jack says he can’t remember. Could it still be in the canal?”

Ashton ignored the question.

“Did Ed have a personal email account as well as his work account?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Sophie. “Gmail.”

“What was his email address?”

“[email protected].”

“Do you know his password?”

“No,” said Sophie. “Can you get it from Gmail?”

“Did he use this computer?”

“Yes, that’s where he would play games, or cruise the Internet.”

She got to her feet. “Excuse me for just a second. I have to use the bathroom.”

Ashton turned on the computer and waited for it to boot up. When it started up, it presented her with a password prompt.

Sophie looked surprised to see her fussing with the computer when she came back from the bathroom. “Excuse me. What are you doing with the computer?”

“Do you mind?” said Ashton, turning to look at Sophie. “There might be something on it that would help us figure out what happened to Ed.”

“No,” said Sophie. “I don’t really mind, but that’s Ed’s computer. I don’t have the password.”

J
ENNIFER
,
THE BARTENDER
at Brixton’s, a Sparks Street pub, was happy to see Jack, a frequent customer, a casual friend and happy drunk. He walked up to the wooden bar and she beamed at him from behind the bar and leaned over to give him a kiss.

“You want a pint of Keiths Red?” she asked him, reaching for the glass.

“You bet,” he said. “And a shot of Jameson.”

“Oh,” she said. “Celebrating?”

Then she registered the sickly smile on his face.

“No,” he said. “Not really. Give me the whisky first.”

He knocked back the shot and chased it with about half a pint of beer, then looked up and grimaced.

“That’s better,” he said. “I just got fired, or at least I think I did. And to make matters worse, a lot worse ...”

He stopped there and thought for a second.

“I want another Jameson, please,” he said and waited until he had it in his hand. “To make matters worse, they did the right thing. Suspending me, I mean.”

“Oh my God,” said Jennifer. “No.”

He winked and knocked back the second shot of Jameson. Then he drained the pint. “I’m going to need another pint of that stuff.”

“What happened?” asked Jennifer as she poured.

“Well,” he said, “I fucked up a really, really big story, and my paper’s getting sued, and I’ve been suspended. I expect they’ll fire me soon, or maybe offer me a job back in Newfoundland. And nobody here will want to hire me.”

“Well,” said Jennifer. “I think you should get drunk. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said.

As soon as Jack had two fresh pints in front of him, Jennifer picked up her iPhone and sent a few emails to people who knew him. Before long Jim Godin showed up.

“Hey,” said Godin, slapping him on the back. “It’s the fuckhead of the hour.”

“Hey Jim,” said Jack. He shouted to Jennifer, “Jim’s gonna buy me a beer, and get him one of whatever he wants, too.”

Godin sat next to him. “So, what the fuck happened?”

Jack took a drink of beer. “I screwed up really bad. I didn’t check the story out.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Godin. “I had to write the boss’s statement apologizing, very sincerely, to Greg Fucking Mowat. Well, basically the lawyers talked and I wrote down what they said. I know you fucked up. I’m wondering why.”

Jack shrugged and stared at the line of bottles behind the bar. “I don’t know,” he said. “Guy gave me the police report. It looked legit. I wrote it up.”

Godin spoke very quietly. “Who gave it to you? Was it Donahoe’s people?”

Jack looked at him and laughed. He shook his head to stop himself from crying. “The terrible truth is I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

A couple of reporters arrived then, and came over to slap Jack on the back and buy him a beer. Jack was already a little drunk, and the free drinks pushed him quickly over the edge. Before long he wasn’t really capable of talking about his day. He sat there smiling drunkenly, not saying much. Eventually, he started proposing toasts. “To all the cocksuckers on the Hill,” he shouted, more than once, and lifted his shot glass. His colleagues drifted off after he started with that, and he ended up at the bar alone, unable to speak clearly.

The bar was full of Parliament Hill types by then, some of whom knew who he was. He ignored their looks and whispers and focused on getting more beer into his belly. Then he heard some young staffers talking at a nearby table. He thought he heard the phrase “Jack the Hack” and then they all laughed, and suddenly Jack was very angry.

He jumped to his feet and turned to the group, swaying. “Who said that?” he said, glaring at them. “Who the fuck said that?”

They looked at him with surprise. He balled his fists and stepped unsteadily toward them, teeth gritted, face red.

“One of you motherfuckers call me Jack the Hack?” he said. “Is that what I just heard?”

Jennifer rushed over and stepped between him and the guys at the table. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back. Then she put her arm around his shoulder and turned him. “Hey buddy,” she said. “Let’s go for a little walk.”

She walked him through the bar and right out the door.