As usual, she was analyzing the recent past in practical political terms. “This must have made your various bosses happy,” she said. “It’s not every day you get handed a half-century-old homicide and solve it overnight. I heard the governor blowing VBI’s horn on the news this afternoon-talking about how well a tactical approach can cut through the red tape.”
I let the strong aroma of hot soup fill my nostrils before taking a cautious sip. “I hope he doesn’t have to apologize later,” I said after a pause.
Her eyebrows rose. “Is there a chance of that?”
I tried a vague approach. “It’s up to the prosecutors now. It is an extradition case, after all-we can’t have at him unless the Canadians think there’s just cause. You know how that can go.”
I should have known better. Her expression turned serious. “You sound like the case might be shaky.”
“There are questions. We all think this came together pretty easily.”
“Marcel Deschamps didn’t do it?”
I made a face and shrugged. “The evidence said he did. Means, motive, and opportunity are in place. It even makes sense logically, sort of.”
“But you’re not convinced,” she concluded.
“I’ve still got inquiries going,” I admitted. “That’s what I told Bill this afternoon. Despite the supposed straight line between Jean being murdered and his son killing him, there’re a lot of messy, unexplained details and a couple of awfully convenient coincidences.”
“Was Bill sympathetic?”
“More or less. He wanted assurances that (a) nothing I had going would unnecessarily upset the apple cart, and that (b) Willy wasn’t involved in any of it.”
Gail laughed. “I can’t blame him there. What did you tell him?”
“I lied on both counts. Willy’s one of the best diggers I know, and how the hell do I know if we’ll upset any apple carts? We might. We might not.”
She gave me a rueful smile. “Hardly the best start to a new career.”
“You should know.”
It was an unnecessarily pointed comment, which she absorbed thoughtfully, concentrating on the contents of her own mug. Just a few months earlier, she’d been a newly hired deputy state’s attorney. Unfortunately, she’d quickly found it an awkward fit, given her penchant for championing the disadvantaged, and had locked horns with her boss during her first major case, winning in court and being all but fired in the process. Her advice on new careers, therefore, carried some cautionary baggage.
But I wasn’t guiltless, either. I hadn’t left a lifelong job as a municipal cop just because VBI suddenly came knocking. I’d been falsely accused of a theft a while back-a headline maker that a hungry deputy attorney general had tried and failed to mold to his political advantage. During the mudslinging, he’d suggested that I’d committed the theft out of feelings of inadequacy-being a frustrated, aging flatfoot living with a rich, attractive, upwardly mobile younger woman.
Baloney, as the woman in question and I had rationally assured each other. But the portrait had stung, and when VBI became a reality, I joined as much out of pride as for its mission’s altruism. That tainted motivation continued to nag me, especially now that we were living apart once more and in distant towns for months at a time. In Brattleboro, whether under the same roof or not, we’d seen each other all the time. Ever since those opportunities had become more haphazard, they’d been laden with doubts and worries with no real basis in fact.
Which is why I’d asked Gail from my hospital bed how we were doing.
Apparently, my rudeness had now given her pause. “I told you how I felt about us after they pulled you out of the snow,” she began almost timidly. “But I didn’t ask you the same question. Should I have?”
I shook my head, irritated with myself. “Only if you’d wanted the same answer. I’m sorry about that crack-not sure where it came from.”
“I am,” she said more confidently. “You’ve spent your entire professional life as an insider-the hometown cop. Now you’re on the outside, trying to win the trust of everyone you meet, including your own bosses. You’ve got no base, no organization, a patchwork squad, and a seriously distracted girlfriend.”
I wagged a finger at her. “Better not let your feminist friends hear you say that.”
She poked me with her toe. “They’re as sentimental as the next person. What do you think, though? Are we heading for a crash with all this career stuff, or can we make it work?”
I wanted to choose my words carefully this time. “We’ve gone through a lot worse. I’d like to think we can beat this, too. Might take some adjusting-now and then.”
She smiled warmly and snuggled down more securely into the pillows behind her. “I can do that. Tell me about Willy and Sam.”
I laughed at the abrupt shift. “I’m more of a wishful thinker there. It’s tough to tell-they’re so buttoned down about it. He’s softened up a lot, though, so selfishly speaking, I hope they can pull it off. And they are fun to watch-hardheads in love. I guess time’ll tell.”
Along with everyone else I knew, Gail didn’t like Willy Kunkle, but she also couldn’t help looking pleased. “And the team in general?”
“I like Paul Spraiger. He doesn’t talk unless he has something to say. Gary Smith and I knocked heads early on because of the VBI thing, but I think we’ve made up. And I don’t know about Tom Shanklin, except that he’s done nothing wrong and hasn’t taken any potshots. He seems to be a nice guy. Just keeps his own counsel.”
She appeared satisfied by all that, nodding ever so gently as she sipped her soup.
“Is Montpelier life living up to expectations?” I asked in turn.
Since we’d already addressed our mutual misgivings, the question was less loaded than it might have been ten minutes ago. Gail was relaxed enough now to show real enthusiasm. “Even better. It’s like everything I did before suddenly coming together. All those boards I used to be on, the selectman job, going back to law school, even selling real estate. They all make sense now-being put to use at the same time. I love making things happen that affect the whole state. The hassles are familiar, but the rewards make them more worthwhile.”
“So, you’re happily upwardly mobile,” I said.
She didn’t deny it, which made me feel just the smallest bit mournful. “Who knows?” she answered. “There’s so much going on here, so many bright people… It’s exciting to think of the possibilities.”
It was that, and I knew I was sitting with a woman who had the smarts and drive necessary to be governor or a member of Congress. I therefore couldn’t but wish her well in the pursuit of her dreams-while also casting backward to when things had been quieter and less ambitious. A farmer’s son, I was more attuned to an evolutionary pace-and not so enamored of change for change’s sake, which often seemed to rule in Gail’s new environment. I had never undersold her sense of right and wrong, but it made me nervous to see her so avid about a lifestyle society was largely trained to mistrust. Politicians and lawyer/lobbyists weren’t often credibly combined with integrity and idealism. As one-sided a view as any other prejudice, it still made me uneasy when it involved someone I loved.
Kathy Bartlett waited until I’d settled into one of the chairs in her temporary office on the second floor of the Sûreté building back in Sherbrooke. Paul Spraiger and Gary Smith were already there. I was newly returned from my trip to Vermont.
“The case against Marcel Deschamps is going soft,” she announced.