The Brutal Heart (18 page)

“You sent a stranger your home address?” I said.

“Why not?” Bree said. “Strangers come to my home all the time.” She stared at her nails meditatively. “My French manicure looks like shit. Anyway, the package was delivered. Everything was there – the condoms, the pictures, the envelopes, the addresses of the people I had to deliver to – and there was a note telling me what I had to write on the girl’s picture.”

“You delivered the envelopes by hand?” I said.

“By taxi,” she said. “It was easy. I had the addresses, so I just had the taxi take me from house to house. Boy, that dead girl must have had some client list – those houses were all mega expensive.”

“Was I the only one who called you?”

“So far.”

“How much did the person give you for the deliveries?” I asked.

“Five hundred, but I had to pay for the taxi out of it.”

“Didn’t all this strike you as a little weird?” I asked.

“No. Weird is the guy who comes to my place every Sunday afternoon and asks me to peel a hard-boiled egg and stick an old-fashioned pen into it while he jacks off.” She was starting to twitch. Clearly, money burned a hole in her pocket. “Anything else you need to know? I’ve got to motor.”

“You haven’t eaten your pie.” I said.

She looked at me with her glittering eyes. “The fun was in knowing that I could,” she said.

I touched her arm. “Bree, did the person who hired you tell you his name?”

She arranged her features in an approximation of thoughtfulness. “Maybe yes. Maybe no,” she said.

I slid another fifty-dollar bill across the chrome table. “That’s all I have,” I said.

“The person’s name was Jason. It was written on the instructions,” she added helpfully.

My heart was pounding, but I tried to stay cool. I reached into my bag, removed one of my university business cards, and wrote my cell number on the back. “You can get in touch with me at that number if you hear from the person who hired you.”

“I’ll give you my number too,” Bree said.

“I already have it. Remember, I called you?”

“Then I’ll give you my MySpace address.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket, borrowed my pen, and laboriously wrote out the url.

Isobel was playing with the cats and Zack was helping Taylor with her math when I got home. He held out his arms, and I was grateful to fold into them. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said.

“Me too,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

“Downtown on an errand,” I said. “We can talk about it later. How’s the math going?”

“Better,” Taylor said. “Zack showed me how to figure out square roots and cube roots. So I’m ready for
Battlestar Galactica.”

“I could use a little escape myself,” Zack said. “It’s been a while since I studied pre-algebra.”

“Why don’t you put in the
DVD
, and the girls and I will get the drinks and popcorn.”

“Can we watch ‘Scattered’?” Taylor asked.

Zack scowled. “Isn’t that the one where Kara and Helo try to find a way to bring the
Arrow of Apollo
back to the fleet?”

Isobel stuffed her homework into her backpack. “Yes. How come you know?”

“Because we’ve watched that episode four times,” Zack said. “Why don’t we watch another one?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Because ‘Scattered’ is the episode with all the dreamy close-ups of Tahmoh Penikett.”

It had been a long day for both of us, but that night as we got ready for bed, Zack was buoyant. His meeting had gone well, and his client had flown low over the big lakes so Zack could see the islands. He’d taken dozens of pictures, and he was eager to share.

After I’d looked through them, I handed his camera back. “It really is spectacular country.”

“Gary says he’ll fly us up there any time you say the word.”

“Is Gary aware of the fact that I spent every spare moment today praying that you’d come back to earth?”

“And here I am,” Zack said. He lifted himself from his chair into bed. When he was settled, he patted the place beside him. “Come and tell me about your day.”

“The good part was that Taylor found the perfect outfit for the Farewell.”

His eyes bored into me. “And the bad part …?”

“The bad part was an adventure in bizarro world,” I said.

Zack winced when I handed him the peach envelope that had been dropped in our mailbox. But he listened without comment as I described my encounter with Bree. When I was finished he said. “Pretty stupid of Jason to give Bree his name, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“Do you think someone’s setting Brodnitz up?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He could have just slipped. We’ll have to wait until we hear from Bree again.”

Zack sighed. “It won’t be long. Whoever hired her has found a trustworthy courier.”

“So you think there’ll be more messages.”

“Sure. And I’ll bet if I turned my cell on right now, we’d discover that you weren’t the only one who got a Mother’s Day card.”

“Zack, this isn’t about money, is it?”

“No,” he said. “I think it’s about something a lot uglier than money.” He reached over and turned out the light. “Jo, why did you go downtown tonight?”

“Because Taylor could easily have been in the room when I opened that envelope. I don’t want this filth touching her life. I want this over, Zack, and I’m going to do what I have to do to make it stop.”

CHAPTER
9

Zack met the seven dwarves at his office on Saturday morning. As he’d predicted, they had all received envelopes in their mailbox the day before, and they were all eager to talk. Four of the wives had opened the cards, but the men were all trial lawyers, skilled at turning the cube of reality, and they had convinced the women in their lives that the cards were some kind of sick joke. When Zack told them what I’d learned at Nighthawks, they agreed to a man that a meeting was in order.

I had my own meeting. As soon as Zack left, I called Vera Wang. Our conversation got off to a rocky start when I announced myself as Joanne Shreve.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“We met at Ed Mariani’s last week,” I said. “Ed introduced you as Joanne Kilbourn.”

“Kilbourn was my name before I remarried. I still use it professionally.”

“Is your husband Zachary Shreve?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “That must be interesting,” she said finally.

“It is,” I said. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“I was just going off in search of black pansies,” she said. “But that can wait.”

“Dutch Growers has some,” I said. “I was planning to go out there after I talked to you. I’d be happy to pick up a flat of pansies and drop them by your house.”

“Good. I can answer your questions then,” she said.

“I’ll be there within an hour,” I said. “As you pointed out in our previous meeting, time is money.”

Vera met me out front and led me through a side gate into her backyard. It took my breath away. Her street was resolutely suburban – with well-kept split-level homes and landscaping that was mature, pleasing, and unexceptionable – but her yard was a work of art. The elements of rock, water, trees, and flowers had been arranged with an eye to proportion and variety, and the result was an intimate space that conveyed a sense of balance and harmony. We walked slowly around the garden, with Vera pointing out the shape of a particular tree, the way in which the reflecting pool had been positioned to catch the sunrise, and the pattern of the stones on the footpath. As she had been at Ed’s, she was dressed in the softest of greys, and again she was wearing gloves. She never removed them. We had tea by the koi pond, and as soon as she’d poured, Vera got down to business.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

I gazed at her garden. “This is a place of such beauty,” I said. “It feels wrong to bring ugliness here.”

Vera bent to watch her koi. “Ugliness paid for this beauty, Joanne. What’s your question?”

“What do you know about Jason Brodnitz?”

“Two things,” she said. “He was into rough sex, and after his career dealing with legitimate clients failed, he approached a number of high-end call girls about acting as their investment counsellor.”

“What kind of man is he?” I asked.

“He’s weak,” Vera said. “Apparently, the need for rough sex didn’t come from his childhood the way most of these behaviours do. It came to him late.”

“After his marriage failed.”

Vera smiled. “You are a romantic. Actually, it was after his business failed. I’d retired by then, but, of course, one stays in touch.”

“Was he a client of Cristal’s?”

“He couldn’t have afforded her. At least not at the beginning. Cristal’s rates were high and she insisted on a minimum two-hour booking. She wasn’t a girl who gave blow jobs in an alley.”

“Would Jason Brodnitz have used women who were –”

“Affordable? Of course. When the need is great, any whore will do.” Vera shifted her chair so she could watch the progress of her koi. “Joanne, unless a girl gets off on entrapment and panic, she doesn’t do
S&M
. If a man needs it, he has to go cheap or go young.”

My stomach lurched. “How young?”

“As young as he has to.”

“And Jason …?”

“From what I hear, he went young.”

I thought I was going to vomit, but I hung on. “So Jason got these young sex workers to invest through him.”

“Joanne, workers that young don’t have anything to invest. Their money goes for drugs, and if there’s any left over it goes to support the habits of those nearest and dearest to them. They live day to day.” Vera’s tone was faintly condescending. I was proving to be a dull pupil.

“So who did Jason invest for?”

“People like Cristal. I said he couldn’t afford her. I didn’t say he didn’t know her. From what I heard, he was a frequent visitor and she recommended him to other women. Development in the warehouse district was still in its early stages. Jason was encouraging sex workers to buy into the neighbourhood. And from what I hear, they’re doing well.”

“Is it possible he became more than just an investment adviser to Cristal?”

“You mean her boyfriend? I suppose anything’s possible.”

“I have another question,” I said. “Do you know a girl named Bree? She has a website where she lists herself as a person who does ‘odd jobs.’ ”

“The name’s no help. Those girls change their names frequently. Most often, they name themselves after their favourite soap opera characters. So what kind of odd jobs does Bree perform?”

“Sexual,” I said. “Fetishes. She told me she has a client who brings a hard-boiled egg to her room every Sunday and has her peel the egg and inject it with an old-fashioned fountain pen while he masturbates.”

Vera’s face was impassive. “If Bree has those kind of dates, she’s at the bottom of the tank. It’s strange, but the girls who worked for me didn’t like fetishes. Fucking in all its permutations and combinations didn’t trouble them, but satisfying those odd little quirks made them uneasy. Of course, I never forced any of my girls to do anything they found repugnant.”

“I don’t think Bree has anyone to protect her from those kinds of clients.”

“She works alone? That can be a mistake, but if she’s into drugs, the dangers won’t matter to her. If you want to know about Bree’s world, check out some of the cruder porn sites. Look at the eyes of the girls performing. They don’t even know where they are.”

I stood. “You’ve been very helpful,” I said.

“Yet, you’re clearly unsettled.”

“Sometimes I think I’m a very naive fifty-six-year-old.”

Vera laughed softly. “There’s something to be said for holding on to one’s illusions. Thank you for the black pansies, Joanne. I hope we’ll meet again.”

When I got home, I took my own bedding plants outside. It wasn’t long before Zack wheeled onto the deck to watch as I arranged the little pots of sweet potato vines and purple and blue pansies in a planter.

“That’s going to be pretty,” he said.

“Not as pretty as Vera Wang’s garden.”

“When were you at Vera’s house?”

“This morning. I called her after you left, and she invited me over.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll notice I’m not saying anything.”

“I’ve noticed.” I took out the pots and started digging. “Is Vera a reliable source?”

“Very.”

I began planting the pansies in clusters of purple and blue. As I worked, Zack knocked the individual plants loose from their pots with his palm and handed them to me. When I’d finished with the pansies, I sat back on my heels and checked the effect. “What do you think?”

“Looks great,” he said.

I reached into the planter to pat down the soil around a plant that looked vulnerable. “Zack, those rumours that have been circulating about Jason are true.”

“He’s a pimp?”

“I don’t know, but he is handling investments for women who work as escorts.”

Zack whistled. “No wonder he backed down on the custody thing. A man whose income comes from sex workers isn’t exactly a candidate for father of the year.”

“Vera says Jason’s into rough sex with young girls.”

Zack rubbed the back of his neck. “What a prince. You know, I try not to judge, but people who hurt kids make me crazy.”

“There’s a lot about this that makes me crazy,” I said.

“So where do we go from here?”

“To the ornamental sweet potatoes,” I said.

Zack grinned, loosened the first small sweet potato vine, and handed it to me. I placed it so its bright leaves would trail over the planter’s rim.

“Zack, when you represented Vera, what was the charge?”

“Attempted murder.”

“And the victim was …?”

“A john. It was an outcall in a hotel, and the date was going badly. The girl managed to alert Vera, but by the time she arrived, the girl was just about dead. Anyway, Vera beat this guy senseless with nunchuks, then she dialed 911 and left.”

“And you got her off.”

“It wasn’t easy, but I was able to show that Vera had sustained a trauma earlier in her life that put her actions that night into context.”

“What was the trauma?”

“When Vera’s husband found out she was leaving, he knocked her out, bound her hands and feet in rags, poured lighter fuel on the rags, and set them on fire. She managed to get her hands loose and she pounded out the flames on her feet, so she could run. Both her hands and her feet are pretty well fried.”

“Hence the gloves and the slow movement.” I said.

Zack nodded. “Hence the gloves and the slow movement.” He held out another sweet potato plant. “Do you want this or have you had enough?”

“I’ve had enough,” I said. “But I can’t stop now.”

Mieka’s Mother’s Day present to me was a gathering of our family for a swim and dinner at her house. She had been offered a Sunday-afternoon catering job that was too lucrative to turn down, so we were celebrating on Saturday. Angus had sent his regrets, saying he couldn’t get away from work, so I was surprised when I walked into Mieka’s yard and my younger son was there, setting tables.

I held out my arms to him. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

“Zack called and set me straight about a few things.”

“Such as the fact that your mother might want to see you on Mother’s Day?”

Angus’s smile was sheepish. “That and a few other things – like becoming a lawyer doesn’t mean becoming an asshole. Mum, I really am sorry. I seem to be turning into a major-league idiot.”

“Is the summer job not working out?”

“No. It’s fine. Better than fine. The people at Matheson Calder treat me really well. I don’t have a lot to do, but the projects I have are really interesting. And I like everybody at the office. Some of the juniors have a softball league and they invited me to join. It’s a great job. Zack says they want me to be happy so I’ll article with their firm.”

“What does Zack think about that?”

“He says I’ll go to Matheson Calder over his dead body. He wants me to work with him.”

“Two big law firms vying for you,” I said. “You must be doing something right.”

“Not where it counts,” Angus said. “Leah broke up with me.”

My heart fell. “We love Leah. I was so sure you two would end up together.”

“That’s what I thought. But Leah says since I started law school, all I ever talk about is law and myself. She says she’s tired of both of us being focused on me, and she’s met somebody else.”

“She can’t have been involved with this other man for long. When she was here for Zack’s party, you two seemed fine.”

“She didn’t want to wreck Zack’s birthday. She told me about the other guy when we were driving back to Saskatoon.”

“Is the new man somebody she met in medical school?”

Angus’s headshake was vehement. “No. Leah said she won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she’s not getting involved with a guy who’s totally into his career. Leah’s new boyfriend is a hair stylist –
her
hair stylist. That’s how they met. Apparently, he’s Mr. Empathy. He ‘really listens’ to her.”

“Mr. Empathy may be carrying a lesson for you,” I said.

“Am I that bad?”

“You’re not bad at all, but it wouldn’t hurt if
you
actually listened once in a while.”

Angus dropped his head. “That’s what Zack says.”

“Then it must be true,” I said. “Come on, let’s get a beer and meet the new woman in Peter’s life. You can test out your new listening skills.”

“I’ve already met her,” Angus said. “Her name is Dacia, and she’s like a female Peter, except really pretty in kind of a round way.”

“What does that mean?”

Angus swooped his hands through the air in a voluptuous silhouette. “She’s curvy and very alternative. Nice hair – black and long and wavy – Birkenstocks, peasant shirt, rumpled shorts. She works in a cheese shop, and she showed Maddy and Lena how to make a whistle out of a blade of grass.”

“Sounds promising,” I said.

“Pete thinks so. At least one of your kids is lucky in love.”

I put my arm around him. “You’ve been lucky in love your whole life. Everybody in this family loves you, and Leah certainly did. My guess is that if you sat down with her and told her you realized you’d been –”

“An asshole?”

“I was going to say
self-absorbed
, but you’re closer to the situation than I am. Anyway, you and Leah invested a lot in each other. I bet that if you promise to shape up, she’ll give you another try.”

“What if she tells me to take a hike?”

“Tell her you understand. Pretend you’re Mr. Empathy.”

We both laughed. “Come on,” I said. “Why don’t you give your sister a hand with the burgers while I say hello to the woman who can make grass whistle.”

Dacia Lehrer was sitting on the grass with Madeleine and Lena. They were making up a story together that, judging by the giggle level, was absolutely hilarious.

When she saw Angus and me, Dacia sprang to her feet. “You’re Peter’s mum. He just went into the house to get us a cold drink. Storytelling is thirsty work.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. “You must be Dacia – the first Dacia I’ve ever known.”

“And probably the last,” she said cheerfully. “Not many parents give their kids the name the Romans used for southeast Europe.”

“Your parents must be history buffs.”

She laughed, showing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. “They’re everything buffs. My dad says they’re autodidacts; my mum says they’re just old hippies.”