The Brutal Heart

Leopold Crescent, the tree-lined street of handsome old houses where Jason Brodnitz lived and died, was in our neighbourhood. Getting from here to there in a city the size of Regina is seldom a logistical problem, but it can be an emotional one. Often the shortest distance between two points is a straight line that leads past the house of an ex-husband, an ex-friend, or an ex-lover. That day every route between my parking space in front of the Cheese Shop and my house took me past streets that were arteries to the Brodnitz house. I calculated the odds, drove straight down 13th Avenue to Albert Street, and made it home without running into a police barrier.

As soon as I walked in the door, I called Keith. There was no way to break the news of Jason Brodnitz’s murder gently, and when Keith heard he sounded stricken. But he was an experienced politician, accustomed to assessing disaster and moving on. He hadn’t known Jason Brodnitz except as an impediment to Ginny’s future, so he didn’t waste any energy on crocodile tears. His analysis of the situation was cogent: the faster Ginny was cleared of suspicion, the better, and the lawyer he wanted to do the job was Zack.

“She needs the best, and that’s your husband,” Keith said. “I’d ask him myself, but if the request comes from you, he’ll do it.”

“No request necessary,” I said. “Zack’s already signed on.”

“One less hurdle to jump,” Keith said. “I don’t want Sean Barton handling this.”

“Don’t do your victory lap yet,” I said. “Zack told me he needs Sean’s help on the case.”

“That’s okay, as long as…” Keith stopped himself. “Forget it. Zack knows what he’s doing.” He sighed. “Life is never easy, is it?”

“Nope. That’s why the Scots gave us Glenfiddich.”

When Keith laughed, he sounded like himself, and I felt better. After I talked to Blake Falconer, I felt worse. His reaction to Jason Brodnitz’s murder was unnerving. He didn’t seem surprised. “People like that deserve to die,” he said, and his voice was toneless. When I didn’t respond, he ended the silence. “Is there anything else?” He didn’t question Zack’s decision that he should leave town. He agreed and said he’d be in touch. As I dropped my cell in my bag, I felt a jab of dread. Like Miss Clavel in Lena’s favourite Madeline bedtime story, I knew that something was not right.

The morning papers were still on the kitchen table. I flipped through them. The picture of Ginny and her daughters coming out of church had made the front page of all three. It was a clean sweep.

Until that moment I had been baffled by Jason Brodnitz’s decision to call a press conference to clear his name. He was not naive. If he was the man Cristal Avilia referred to as 3, Jason would know that media scrutiny would, in the end, expose him. But more than once, Zack had pointed out the obvious to me: if human beings were always guided by reason, there’d be no work for lawyers.

When human beings are choked with resentment, overcome by anguish, or filled with rage, passion trumps reason. As I looked at the morning papers with their images of Ginny in possession of everything Jason must have longed for – public affirmation, a brilliant career, the love of his daughters – I understood why Jason had called the press conference. If he were destroyed, his family would not be spared. It was an ugly thought, and I felt the need to banish it. For me, the solution was to swim laps until the tension disappeared from my body and my mind was clear. I changed into my suit and headed for our pool. Jill Oziowy’s phone call caught me just as I was about to dive in.

As always when she was working a story, Jill’s adrenalin was pumping. “This Ginny Monaghan thing is going to be big,” she said, “and you’ve spent the last three weeks with her. You’re in the right place at the right time. Any chance you’d be willing to go once more into the breach for NationTV? On air would be great, but you can do background. We’ll take what we can get.”

“Definitely not on air,” I said. “And I’ll have to think about the other. I may just be too close to this one. Zack’s representing Ginny Monaghan.”

“How about trading a little information?”

“We can give it a try,” I said. “You go first.”

“Well, at the moment, we’re playing connect the dots with the Cristal Avilia case and this one.”

I was shocked that someone from outside had linked the cases so quickly. “What makes you think there’s a connection?” I said.

There was an edge of exasperation in Jill’s voice. “Oh come on, Jo. All during the campaign there were rumours about Jason Brodnitz being involved with hookers. Cristal Avilia was a hooker. And now they’re both dead.”

“So somebody who doesn’t like hookers and johns killed them both?”

“Or somebody who was married to a john got pissed off at him for associating with prostitutes and risking her career and reputation. Look at the facts: Jason announces a press conference where, tittle-tattle has it, he’s going to identify Ginny’s campaign as the source of the rumours besmirching his good name. But before he gets a chance to tell his side of the story, he’s murdered, and guess who finds the body? Ginny. And guess who removes the knife sticking into Jason’s chest?”

Now it was my turn to be exasperated. “Come on. Do you honestly think someone as disciplined as Ginny Monaghan is going to jeopardize her future because her ex-husband is on the prowl?”

Jill was measured. “I don’t know because I don’t know Ginny Monaghan. You tell me.”

“She didn’t do it,” I said. “I’ve heard Ginny talk about her training as an athlete. Reading a situation and staying in control is second nature to her.”

“So, are you sporting a Monaghan for PM button?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Got anything more?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a fair start. Keep working on the Avilia-Brodnitz murders.”

“I thought I was working on a program about women in politics.”

“Ginny Monaghan’s a woman in politics,” Jill said. “Boy, talk about a role model. Ginny’s ex-husband threatens to derail her career, so his girlfriend gets pushed off a balcony and he gets a kitchen knife in the heart. Who says women aren’t as tough as men?”

I rang off, dove into the pool, and started doing laps. On days as sunny and warm as this one, I often longed for my old outdoor pool, sometimes so much that I went over to Mieka’s and swam there. Today I was happy to be cut off from the world – safe in my house. I was still swimming when Zack came home. “Want some company?” he said.

“I’d love some,” I said.

In a few minutes, he was back, wearing trunks. He lowered himself onto the steps that led into the pool, eased in, and sighed with pleasure. “God, this feels good,” he said. “And necessary. I had fucking leg spasms this morning.”

“Because we haven’t been doing this enough,” I said.

“There’s a lot of things we haven’t been doing enough,” Zack said. We swam in companionable silence. After half an hour, Zack said. “Time to go. I’ve got to stop by the office before I go to court.”

“What about lunch?”

“I’ll grab something.” He moved towards the stairs and started pushing himself out of the pool. I climbed out too. Zack frowned. “Hey, you don’t have to stop. Stay in. Take it easy.”

“I want to watch you towel off.”

He grinned. “That means I get to watch too.”

We showered and then went to our room to dress. “Jill called this morning,” I said. “NationTV wants me to do something on Ginny Monaghan.”

Zack shook his head. “Could you give this one a pass?”

“I already have,” I said. “I told Jill that you’re representing Ginny. She understands the problem. We did, however, agree to some selective information sharing.”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Did you get anything good?”

“The media are working on the link between Jason’s murder and Cristal Avilia’s.”

Zack stopped drying his head. “And?”

“Jill floated a scenario that Ginny killed them both because she was angry about his association with a hooker.”

Zack snorted. “Jeez, the stuff that’s out there, eh? Well, here’s some info that’s not for sharing. When I got to the Brodnitz house, Ginny wasn’t alone with the deceased. Margot was with her.”