“Yeah. He’s been dead – what? Four hours? Bryn’s already got the whole situation wrapped up and put away. When Dad died, I was a fucking zombie for months.”
“People handle things differently,” I said.
“I guess,” Angus said. “But all Bryn seems to care about is whether she’s still going to go to New York for New Year’s Eve. Don’t get me wrong. I feel sorry for her, but she weirds me out.”
“Then stay away from her,” I said. “Take Willie for his walk, and I’ll help Bryn get settled.”
“I don’t think she needs any help,” Angus said. “She’s watching Miracle on 34th Street. She said that when she gets tired, she’ll go to bed.”
“I’ll get her some towels,” I said. “I’ll even put that lavender aromatherapy candle you gave me in her room. It might help her relax.”
Angus sniffed the air. “If she wants to relax, she should just stand here for a while. Somebody’s got themselves some pretty sweet ganja.”
“Jill and her lawyer needed to unwind,” I said.
“So the next time I’m tense, I can roll a spliff?”
“Is that what they call it now?”
“Yeah. Spliff, doob, dart. Joint is still perfectly acceptable though.”
“You’re quite the font of information,” I said.
“Well you know how it is, Mum. Every so often I just check out High Times on the Internet.” He read my look. “Time for me to hit the trail before I dig myself in any deeper?”
“You’re a clever lad,” I said.
Watching Willie pull Angus through the snowdrifts was a powerful antidote for a lousy day. The combination of a boy, a dog, and a contact high had made me feel almost human again when a silver Audi I knew only too well pulled up in front of my house.
There had been times when Alex Kequahtooway and I had been so eager to touch one another that we had come together like teenagers, but those times were long past. Tonight, Alex came up the walk slowly, and I watched him approach with my arms folded across my chest. Under the harsh porch light, his face looked grey and tired, but mindful of Jill and Kevin in the living room, I didn’t invite him in.
“I know I’m persona non grata around here,” he said. “But I’m going to have to insist that someone in Jill’s little wedding party comes down to make a formal identification of Gabriel Leventhal’s body. We haven’t been able to locate Felix Schiff, and we need to move before the trail gets any colder.”
“What trail? Gabe died of a heart attack.”
“Maybe not,” Alex said. “Apparently the medical examiner found something that raised a red flag for him. He says we should treat this death as a potential homicide.”
“Gabe was murdered?” I said, and as soon as I’d formed the words, I knew the possibility had been in the back of my mind all along. Perhaps that’s why instead of reacting with tears or disbelief, I was suddenly furious. Gabriel Leventhal was one of the good guys, the kind the rest of us hope will stick around. “This is all so wrong,” I said.
“Then do what you can to make it right,” Alex said. “Come down to the morgue, so we can get moving on the investigation.”
“I’ll get my jacket,” I said. As I passed by the living room, I opened the door a crack. Jill and Kevin were together on the couch, talking quietly. “Alex is here,” I said. “They can’t find Felix, so it looks like I have to make the identification.”
Jill started towards me. “Jo, you don’t have to do this. Gabe didn’t have any family. There’s no rush.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” I said.
I pulled the door closed and went back to Alex. “I’ll be ready in two minutes,” I said.
He stared studiously out the window as I put on my boots and coat. “Ready,” I said finally, and that was the only word that passed between us until we walked into Pasqua Hospital, a health centre that contains a first-class cancer facility, medical offices where specialists treat the myriad weaknesses to which our flesh is heir, and a wing devoted to discovering how the dead came to be dead. That night, Pasqua’s lobby was festive. Alex gazed with distaste at the lights that framed the entrances to the coffee and gift shops, the shook-foil garlands that hung from the ceiling, and the tree decorated with homemade paper angels. “I hate hospitals at Christmas,” he said. “Bad enough to be sick and scared without having to look at decorations that remind you of a time when you were happy.”
Unless your personal happy times involved the scent of body parts floating in formaldehyde, there was nothing in the Pasqua morgue to trigger a madeleine moment. The medical examiner on duty was a Charles Addams cartoon of a man: tall, pale, and sepulchral. When we came in, he was hard at work, and as luck would have it, the cadaver he was working on was Gabe Leventhal’s. Battered, bloody, bruised, and broken, it seemed impossible that any new indignity could be visited upon the body of this decent man, yet the Y-shaped incision that bisected Gabe’s torso looked fresh.
My head swam. Out of nowhere, a memory: Alex at my kitchen table telling me there was a rule about rookies and autopsies – the bigger the rookie, the faster he fell. “It takes them a while to learn to disassociate,” he had explained. I closed my eyes, trying to distance myself. Behind me, the medical examiner’s voice resonated with the confidence of a bass in a church choir. “Breathe deeply, then just look at the face, and say the name.”
I followed instructions. “It’s him,” I said. “It’s Gabriel Leventhal.”
“Thank you,” the medical examiner said. “The woman at the desk outside will give you the appropriate papers to sign.”
I’d been dismissed, but I didn’t head for the door. A window ran the length of the lab, and I gravitated towards it. As I stared at the snow-stilled city, Alex and the M.E., oblivious to my presence, talked shop.
“So what have you got?” Alex asked.
“For starters, a real pharmaceutical stew in the bloodstream – I can’t be more specific until we get the rest of the lab results, but for the nonce, let’s just say the preliminary screens are puzzling. And there’s the bruising.”
“Two tons of truck backed over him,” Alex said.
“Acknowledged,” the M.E. said. “As is the fact that he apparently spent the night in a snowbank. All the same, some of those bruises look old to me – and here’s the capper: there are traces of skin and blood under his fingernails.”
“He was in a fight,” Alex said.
“Or defending himself against an assault,” the M.E. said. “Whatever the case, someone’s given you a Christmas present, Alex. All you have to do is find a match for the DNA under Leventhal’s fingernails.”
“Start with a sample from Evan MacLeish,” I said.
The two men turned towards me. From their expressions, it was clear they had forgotten I was in the room. The medical examiner pointed to the door. “The exit’s that way,” he said.
“Let her stay,” Alex said. “She may be able to shed some light on this.”
The M.E. shrugged. “Your call, Alex.” Then he turned to me. “So start shedding light.”
“This morning I noticed Evan was wearing concealer,” I said. When the two men looked blank, I explained. “It’s heavy-duty makeup – the kind you use to cover a blemish. Evan said he’d cut himself shaving, but his jaw was swollen.”
The M.E. beamed “Your lucky day, Alex. Not only are you getting an early Christmas present, it’s tied up with a pretty bow.”
Alex shook his head. “This present’s more shit than pony,” he said. “Have you had any deliveries in the last hour or so?”
“I don’t know,” the M.E. said. “I’ve been stuck in here. This is our busy season. We’ve got a woman from pathology helping out. She’ll be able to tell you if we have any new arrivals.”
“No need to trouble her,” Alex said. “Evan MacLeish was murdered this afternoon.”
The medical examiner’s expression grew even more lugubrious. “Well hell,” he said. “Just when I was starting to believe there really was a Santa Claus.”
When Alex dropped me at our house, Angus was outside, shovelling snow.
“Being kind to your old mum?” I said.
