Dead Politician Society (30 page)

Jonathan wanted Annabel to stay forever, to take down his story in one long, gushing tale.

“What was the question again?”

“It was why.” Annabel spoke softly.

He liked her better today. She seemed less like a whore reporter, more like a person who cared.

“Why the letters? Why was I in love with her? Or why didn't I go the normal route, and turn Jessica in when I saw her poison Pritchard's dessert at the Working Child benefit?”

“I'm interested in all of that. Start with Jessica.”

Jon's hair was in his face. He'd only been in custody for two days, but it had been ages since he'd even had a trim. He wondered when someone would think to cut it.

“I'd known her — wanted to date her — for two years. I'd been having this relationship with her in my head — have you ever done that? Songs would come on the radio, and I'd imagine her listening to them, thinking about me. And when we started spending time together for real, she was more amazing. She had all the qualities I'd given her, but spicier. More three-dimensional. I won't call it love, because I know I was delusional. But there was no way I could turn her in.”

“So why write the letters?”

“What else could I do?” Jonathan felt like he was exploding, in a good way. It felt incredible to talk finally, out loud, to a real person. “I couldn't do nothing. She had to be caught.”

“Were you hoping I'd tell the police about our correspondence earlier?”

“At first, yes.” Jonathan nodded slowly. “I never even tried to encrypt what I sent you, like I did with the letters to the
Star
. I was trying to give you clues, and then I'd wish I hadn't said anything. I think I had no idea what was going through my own head.”

“Utopia Girl sounded arrogant, almost like she was having fun. Were you having fun with this, at any point?”

“Um.” This was a hard one. “I wasn't glad that anyone died, so I wasn't having fun with the murders. But I was on this constant high because of Jessica. I thought there was nothing I couldn't do. Does that explain things?”

“Maybe.” Annabel gave a slight grin. “As you so eloquently said one time, I'd make a terrible psych student. Did you ever tell Jessica you knew?”

“I dropped hints here and there, and who knows what she thought I meant by them? But no, I never said anything to her directly.”

“How did you know I was frustrated with my job?”

“Lucky guess,” Jonathan said. “Obituaries aren't exactly a winning destination out of journalism school. Plus you wanted the story, so clearly you weren't moving up on your own.”

“And in the end, when you tried to make me fear for my niece's life . . . ?”

Jonathan looked at the gray walls surrounding him. Would it be this drab when he finally got to prison, or a psychiatric institution, or wherever he was going to spend the time he needed to learn how to live in the real world?

“I needed it to be over. I needed you to pack it in, tell the cops everything you knew, and catch Jessica once and for all.”

“Did you ever think you'd be arrested instead of her?”

“I didn't care.”

The metal from his chair was becoming uncomfortable.

“And now?”

“Now?” Jonathan felt his face contort into a painful expression. “I'm just petrified of being raped in prison.”

“Do you feel bad for your mother?”

“Don't you mention my mother!” Jonathan was out of his chair and about to attack Annabel's throat when two guards intervened. He worried that they would take him back to his cell and end the meeting early, so he forced himself to act calm. “I'm sorry. My mother is a sore spot. She's alone now, and I would prefer not to talk about her.”

To Jon's relief, the guards released him.

“I'm sorry I upset you. Would you like to continue the interview later?”

“Yes.” Jonathan didn't have any life left. “You'll come back, right? I'll sign a contract and everything. I promise I won't back out on you.”

Annabel nodded. She put her pen and notebook into her briefcase, and stood up. “Of course I'll come back.”

Cloutier handed Clare a black coffee and took a seat on the park bench beside her. “Still wanna resign, hot shot?”

“I already have. The force doesn't want someone who bails at the first sign of failure.”

“On the contrary.” Cloutier took a cigarette for himself, then offered his pack to Clare. “You kept working when you weren't technically employed.”

Clare accepted the cigarette and a light.

“I wouldn't make quitting a regular thing. But if you're interested in being a cop, I think that we can convince the powers that be that it would be in everyone's interest to disregard your resignation.”

“You'd help me?”

“You did good work.”

Clare glanced slowly around Queen's Park Circle, the lush green space that separated the eastern and central St. George campus. The parliament buildings provided a majestic backdrop. In not even two weeks, she had come to love her life here, as a student.

“I would love my job back.”

“Good. So are you gonna tell me how you figured Jessica for the killer?”

“I opened my mind.” Clare took a drag and held it in a moment before exhaling. “Jonathan didn't sit right with me, but it was Brian I was looking at, not Jessica.”

“Why Brian?”

“He was obvious. He was the one with the frustrated mandate. And I was willing to part with him.”

“You were what?” Cloutier looked blank.

“Jessica was my friend — she made me feel good about myself.” Clare had been horrified when she'd realized that this had prevented her from looking at Jessica as suspect. “And then I considered her, for the first time with an open mind, and I realized it couldn't be anyone else.” Clare was quiet for a moment. “I'm going to miss those people.”

“You're just going to miss your sexy professor.”

“Nah, I can live without a dirty old man in my life. I'm gonna try to hook up with Kevin again.”

Cloutier looked doubtful. “You still like that guy? He struck me as a bit thick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Clare said good-naturedly. “He's twice the man you'll ever be.”

“You know how to play poker?”

“I can hold my own at Texas Hold'em. I haven't played much stud or draw. Why?” She grinned. “Am I one of the guys now? Are you inviting me to a poker game?”

“Not quite. Feeling you out for another potential case.”

“Playing poker? I'll take it.”

“It's not mine to offer. There have been a couple of deaths on the pro poker circuit. All the regular undercovers are as good as made by the players, so the feelers are out for someone new. Someone who doesn't fit the same old cop stereotype.”

“I'd love to.” Clare would have clapped her hands, but she held a cigarette in one and a coffee in the other.

“Hold your excitement back for the meantime. You still don't technically have your job back.”

“Okay.” Clare tried to be cool. “But if I get it back, then will you give me this assignment?”

“It isn't up to me. And while I would recommend you based on how I've seen you work — as well as on the mistakes I know you won't make again — I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable sending you into such a tricky situation.”

“Why? Would you miss me too much?” Clare felt a drop of rain hit the top of her head, and then another.

“That's not it. You'd have to travel — the Canadian Classic Poker Tour has events all over the country.”

“I can travel.” Clare had never been outside the province. “How hard is it to get on an airplane?”

“The gambling scene is dangerous. There are lots of people willing to do horrible things to each other in the name of a couple of bucks.”

“You could come with me.” Clare tossed her cigarette onto the cement pathway. More raindrops fell, dousing the lit end in seconds. “You're big and strong. You could be, like, my handler-slash-bodyguard.”

“I have a family here. A wife and son. I can't take off on a whim.”

“It's not a whim. It's an assignment. Tell me you wouldn't want to go, if they'd let you.”

“Nothing's going to be decided this morning.” Cloutier stood up. “Take the weekend off, stay out of trouble, and keep an eye on your phone messages.”

Rain was pouring down. The roof of Matthew's car was leaking in two places; drips of rusty water were falling onto the seat cushions.

“Matthew? It's Clare.”

He shifted the phone to his left ear so he could drink his coffee and drive. “It's great to hear your voice.”

“I . . . um . . . I'm dropping out of school. I won't be able to see you for a while.”

“What? Clare, that's crazy. You're more than halfway through your degree.”

Matthew hoped she wasn't leaving because of him. Maybe the murders had been too much for her. He should make sure he offered support to the rest of the class, not only Jonathan and Jessica.

“It's nothing to do with what's been happening,” Clare said. “My dad's sick — I think I told you that — and it's eating me up not being with him and my mom through it all. Somehow listening to Jessica's story made me see that. I need to take this year off — he could be dead by this time next year.”

“But that's —” What kind of parents would let their daughter drop out of university to look after them? “How can they — ?”

“It's my choice,” Clare said. “They don't know yet.”

Matthew wished he cared so much about his own family. “Where do your parents live?”

“Up north. I thought of commuting — it's not even a two-hour drive — but I'd be spread too thin. There's no point.”

“Can I visit you there?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

She was breaking up with him. And then Matthew knew. Of course she was leaving school, cutting ties. She was an undercover cop — the arrests had been made, and it was time for her to move on.

“I'm here if you change your mind,” he said, on the off-chance he was wrong, and there really was a crisis. “Or if you want to talk.”

“Thanks, Matthew. And thanks again for, well, those nights we spent. They were pretty fucking awesome.”

Matthew smiled. “The feeling was mutual.”

“Bye.”

The news on the radio was all about the murders. Jessica had been labeled the Utopia Killer, and rumors were beginning to surface about the letters Jonathan had sent the
Star
. Matthew's name was mentioned often, mostly in reference to the society, which was being demonized beyond proportion.

This was not the road to fame Matthew had dreamt about. When he moved to change to a music station, Matthew's sleeve caught the edge of his coffee lid, and the steaming, full cup was thrown all over the passenger seat.

What was it with him and coffee? Were other people this unlucky? Annabel would tell him it was his bad karma. He grabbed some napkins from the center console and mopped it up as best he could.

He dreaded what awaited at the courthouse.

His phone rang again. Annabel.

He answered the phone as warmly as he could. “Hi there. Are you calling for a nooner?”

“No. I'm actually planning to break up with you.”

He looked forlornly at the remains of his coffee. “That's probably smart of you.”

“It's nothing personal. It's not even why I called. It's just, I've been reading this book, and I think I understand you now.”

“What do you mean? Is the book about politics?”

“No,” she said. “You're just not that into me.”

“Annabel!” Why today, of all days?

“I'm not angry. There's no law that says you have to be.”

“Of course I'm into you.” Matthew turned down the radio so it wouldn't distract him. “These past two years haven't been nothing.”

“I want to be with someone whose world is wrapped up in mine. That isn't you. So I think we should break things off.”

Matthew sighed. Of course she was right.

“I'll still consider you my friend,” Annabel said. “I was actually wondering what you're doing now. I'm kind of fired.”

“I'm so sorry. What happened?”

“It's kind of amazing.” Annabel was gushing. “I mean, I'll have to figure out my finances — maybe get another job soon — but I have a book deal, kind of all of a sudden, and it involves an in-depth interview with you.”

“Is it about your correspondence with Jonathan?”

“Yup. And Jessica's agreed to take part, have her real story told. I don't need to do the interview now. But I'm rushing with all this nervous energy. I thought maybe we could grab some lunch. You could come over to my apartment and we can go from here.”

“Are you propositioning me in the middle of the morning?”

Annabel laughed. “I already told you I'm not. I just happen to be working from home, effective today.”

“Well . . .”

Jonathan and Jessica would have to wait for Matthew to come to their side. He would be there for them through their separate trials — he was clear on that — but Annabel first.

“Hey, don't change any plans for me,” she said when he hadn't responded for several moments. “Whenever works for you is fine. I have tons I can do in the meantime to keep myself busy.”

Matthew changed lanes somewhat precariously to make a left turn onto Bay Street.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this chance for the world. I'm going to stop and grab a coffee first. What should I get for you? That half-caf, half-soy thing you're always torturing those poor baristas with?”

“Sounds great,” Annabel said. “But today give me full soy. I'm burning calories way too fast to bother counting them.”