Dead Politician Society (27 page)

An arrest? That's wonderful news.” Laura clenched her teeth together as she waited to hear the name.

“A kid called Jonathan Whyte.” Penny spoke quickly. She clearly had a thousand places to be. “He's a poli sci major at U of T.”

“Wow.” Laura sat down at the kitchen table. “Were we anywhere close with our motive?”

“Don't know yet. The police have a confession, but they haven't granted me that interview yet.”

“You must be so excited.”

“Excited?” Penny seemed not to have heard of the word. “Certainly gratified.”

“Well, congratulations. I won't keep you. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You're welcome.” Penny paused. “It's been a pleasure reconnecting with you. We should go for drinks. Or dinner.”

“Sounds great.” Laura knew Penny was only being polite.

“Maybe one night this week. I'll be in touch once I have a better grasp on my schedule.”

Laura clicked off the handset and stared out the window into her backyard. It was less than a week since she'd watched Susannah muck around with the tomatoes. What she wouldn't give to have that week to live differently.

What can I do?” Annabel sat glumly with her sister in the dingy Tex-Mex restaurant. “I've messed this up so badly.'“You still have your job,” Katherine said.

“For now. I don't know what the inspector plans to tell Penny in her precious exclusive interview.”

“You're alive. No psycho killer came through the window or sliced you up in the shower.”

“That's something.”

“So what's eating you up? You got out of this unscathed.”

“The guilt. I could explode from all the guilt. How many people might still be alive if I'd called the police as soon as I'd established contact with Jonathan?”

“You're kidding, right? I read those letters. There was nothing in there to give any clues to Whyte's identity. He was leading you to someone else. He was making the women look guilty, the professor. Not himself.”

“But the police used my correspondence to identify Jonathan's computer. The letters he sent to the
Star
weren't traceable in the same way.”

“So you've done them a favor.” Katherine poked at her burrito, with which she didn't look enthralled. “Without you, he'd still be out there killing people.”

“Maybe.”

“Pick it up, Annabel. You're alive, you're healthy. You're in your twenties, unlike some of us.”

“For one more year. Besides, it's okay for you. You turned thirty with a husband, a daughter, and a job you love. What do I have to show for my years except a string of bad boyfriends and a boss who keeps me chained to my dead-end desk job?”

“Oh my god, where's the waiter with more caffeine?” Katherine twirled her empty mug by its stem. “First off, I don't love my job. It takes me three drinks to unwind after a day at work. Second, life doesn't come around and happen to you. You have to take control of it yourself.”

“That's what got me into this mess.” Annabel sipped at her virgin margarita. Too sweet, and not nearly slushy enough. “Look where it got me last time I decided to take control.”

“You have to keep the control.” Katherine gratefully accepted the coffee refill from the waiter. “You can't throw in the reins when they become hard to hold onto. Have you thought about going down to the jail and visiting Jonathan in person?”

“Why would he talk to me? Our last correspondence was a threatening message from him, followed by me going to the cops. I think he might blame me for the fact that he was arrested shortly thereafter.”

“Maybe he still has something to say. It's a much safer research scenario when the kid's behind a layer of tamper-proof glass.”

“Isn't that stuff plastic?” Annabel asked.

“Whatever. Maybe they'll let you sit together in a room.”

“Are you kidding? The police hate me. They think I'm a selfish little bloodhound who hampered their investigation.”

Katherine shrugged. “So give up. Wallow in self-pity and do nothing with the rest of your life.”

Unfortunately, that sounded quite appealing.

You can clean our your locker. Your assignment is finished.” Cloutier munched his chocolate-glazed donut.

“You don't have lockers at university.”“A week of education and already you're dumber. You never heard of a metaphor?”

“Well, did I manage to get you anything useful?”

Cloutier grunted. “Not this time, kid.”

“Okay.” Clare didn't know what was worse: to stay in a job she was obviously no good at, or to leave a failure and be forced to find another dream for her future. “I think I need a leave of absence.”

“Yeah?” Cloutier hooted. “What for?”

“I was hoping I could stay in school. I know I'm not enrolled through the official channels, but maybe I can talk to someone in administration . . .”

Cloutier shook his head. “You don't get a leave of absence in your rookie year. You want to stay in school and go have a bright future somewhere? I can applaud that. I'd want it for my own kid. But you can't hem and haw about whether you want to stay on the force. You're either a cop or you're not.”

“Um . . . and do you think . . . that I . . . I mean . . .”

“Do I think that you have what it takes? Put bluntly, no.”

Clare didn't know how she felt. “Well, congratulations on solving the case.”

“Thanks, but it wasn't my fine efforts that nabbed the kid either. I'm your handler, remember. You fail, I fail.”

“Stop saying that.” Clare stroked her helmet. “I feel bad enough for all those deaths we could have prevented.”

“At least two murders were stopped.”

Clare raised her eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“We found these in Jonathan's home computer.” Cloutier passed one final sheet of paper across the table. “Unsent.”

“September
14
was yesterday.” Clare looked up at Cloutier.

“And McFarlane is alive and well. Read the second one.”

Clare set the printouts on the counter. “I guess there's no doubt it's Jonathan.”

“Not in my mind. The courts will decide if he did it.”

“I think I've decided to quit the force.” Clare felt lighter for the decision, and she knew it was the right one. “After our meeting, I'm going to the Registrar's office to see if I can stay on as a student.”

“Yeah? Well, the job isn't for everyone.”

“Were you ever in the field?” Clare fingered her pack of smokes. “Undercover, I mean.”

“Once.” Cloutier nodded.

“Did you like it?”

“At first, I was having the time of my life. But I managed to cock up the investigation so badly that three wanted gang members walked free after trial. I was given the choice of a desk job or this one.”

“You could have left the force,” Clare said. “You have a college degree, right?”

“No,” he said. “I mean yes, I have a general arts degree. But I'm a cop — I don't want to be anything else. I have to take what they give me.”

That didn't sound nice to Clare at all. “I need a smoke. Are we all good here?”

“We're good,” he said. “Good luck, kid.”

Matthew was beginning to consider himself something of an expert on prison visitation. After taking his leave of the guard who signed him in, he strode confidently down the corridor to where Jonathan was waiting to see him.

“Was that Jessica I saw leaving out front?” Matthew asked.

Jonathan shrugged. “She wasn't here to see me. I doubt she has another friend awaiting trial.”

Matthew knew only too well what this felt like from Jessica's position. “She'll be here. It might take her some time, but she'll come.”

“So why are
you
here?” Jonathan slouched in his chair, and managed to look relaxed despite the uncomfortable metal design.

Matthew took the chair opposite, and sat down. He studied Jon, knowing that the bright mind and good looks would inevitably follow the same pattern as Elise's. Probably faster — men's prisons weren't nearly as hospitable as women's.

“I'm here to help you.”

Jonathan's eyes were wild. “What on earth could you do to help me?”

“I feel responsible, to a certain extent, for encouraging you to take radical action. The society and the class are behind you, too. I — we — are not going to sit back and watch you hang for this.”

“There's no death penalty in Canada.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I? I mean, thank you. But really. I committed a crime. Several crimes, and I was caught. I'm not going to lie about my guilt.”

Matthew admired the kid's integrity, though it might be stupid in the long run. “Have you considered that a lighter sentence through plea bargaining might give you a better chance at a future?”

Jonathan smiled wearily. “What future?”

“Have you been assigned a lawyer?”

Jonathan nodded. “He came by this morning.”

“Do you like him? Do you feel that he'll adequately represent your interests?”

“He's a legal aid lawyer,” Jonathan said. “No, I don't want to hang out with the guy. But I'm sure he'll get the job done.”

“You had Annabel terrified.”

“Good.” Jonathan sneered, which Matthew had never seen him do. “She should have gone to the police at the beginning. Instead she wanted to write her damn book.”

“You think she should have turned you in?”

“I was leading her right to the trough.”

That didn't make sense. “Why? I'd understand at the end, when you've finished killing whoever you've set out to. But why would you want to be caught before you were done?”

“Because what difference did I make? No one's standing up, taking notice, and changing policy as a result.”

“What was your objective?” Matthew said.

“I'm trying to remember.” Jonathan slouched further in his chair, then suddenly shifted himself upright. “Can you get in touch with your girlfriend for me?”

“Annabel?”

“Yeah.” Jon smiled wryly. “I don't mean your flavor of frosh week.”

“Of course I can contact Annabel. What do you want me to say?”

“Tell her I'm willing to talk. If she's still, you know, interested.”

“I'm sure she'd be interested,” Matthew said. “Look, Jonathan, I have to get back to campus, but I'll be back within the next day or two. You're not alone.”