The Devil's in the Details (2 page)

Who was I to criticize? My latest client was out of cash, out of luck, out of hope. Having a victim's advocate hadn't done her a scrap of good. She hadn't blamed me. But I blamed myself. Maybe I'd lost my way in this whole advocacy process.

My family was pressuring me to get back to the practice of law, where you could make a dollar and not get shot at. And they didn't know I'd dug into my own limited savings to keep JFV going.

Still, nothing could entice me into a corporate practice. Not even the copy of
Litigation For Fun and Profit
which my sister Edwina had presented me for my thirty-sixth birthday. And I had no intention of turning to family law. Family law
gives me hives. Before my husband Paul died, I'd spent a few years doing criminal law, mostly legal aid cases. I'd enjoyed it. But how could I return to defence after working with victims? Maybe that creep Romanek was a reminder from above to continue with the good fight.

I was so deep in thought I almost mowed down a young couple on the sidewalk. I did the kind of double-take you see in second-rate comedies. I'd almost knocked over Bunny Mayhew, my all-time favourite legal aid client.

“Wow, Camilla. I haven't seen you since your Legal Aid days. Boy, do we miss you.”

“Bunny.” I couldn't keep the grin from racing across my face. “You look terrific.”

But then Bunny always looked great. He couldn't help it. Part of it was his crooked little boy smile, the stray lock of sandy blonde hair falling over his hazel eyes. His air of utter inept vulnerability was like an aphrodisiac for most women. I was aware of this effect and not totally immune.

“You remember Tonya?”

“How could I forget?” Bunny's long-time girlfriend Tonya also looked good. Why wouldn't she? She was five ten, with curves out to here. Her tan looked real. Her legs and arms were nicely defined, and currently she sported copper, auburn and burgundy highlights in her shoulder length dark bob.

Tonya had been in court for each of Bunny's hearings: Bail Court, Plea Court, Trial. Radiating hope, trust and undying love. Tonya was a solid citizen. She had a good income from her small hair salon, The Cutting Remarque, and a recent college diploma in Business Admin. Tonya kept her figure trim, her customers happy, and paid her taxes, or at least some of them. Traditionally, Tonya posted bail for Bunny.

Tonya was part of the reason Bunny never got convicted. But
only part. Mainly, it was Bunny himself. The child of an alcoholic mother, father unknown, he'd been cursed with dyslexia,
ADHD
and a tendency toward unauthorized borrowing. He'd dropped out of school in Grade Ten. So what? He was still the best damn client ever. He lacked the anger and sense of entitlement of so many petty criminals. Plus he was the only guy I'd ever met who looked good in an orange jumpsuit from the Regional Detention Centre. Sure, over the years, he'd been charged with 138 burglaries, but no one's perfect.

Judges liked Bunny too. Next to him, the burgled homeowners and other witnesses appeared sleazy and capable of insurance fraud. Honourable police officers looked like bullies. In my opinion, Bunny Mayhew represented the best the Canadian criminal classes had to offer.

Bunny squeezed Tonya's hand. “Guess what, Camilla?”

I hate guessing. “What?”

“I'm going straight.”

“Get away.”

“It's true,” said Tonya.

“That's great news. Quite a surprise. What brought this on?”

Bunny looked shyly down at his feet.

I said, “It seems like a major career change.”

Bunny patted Tonya's flat belly. “Gonna be a family soon, Camilla.”

“Not that soon,” Tonya said.

I didn't ask how Bunny was going to get over his compulsion to liberate paintings and original bronzes. It would have seemed rude to mention it. I hoped Bunny and Tonya had a plan.

“Show her your ring, babe.”

Tonya lifted her finger and flashed a spectacular marquise diamond.

My eyebrows lifted.

Tonya frowned. “Bought and paid for. With after-tax money.”

“Amazing.” Especially the bought and paid for and aftertax parts. “This is the best news I've had all week.”

“Thanks, Camilla.” Bunny said.

“I wish all three of you well.”

Bunny blushed. “We're thinking about getting married. Maybe next year. Right, babe?”

“We owe you a lot,” Tonya said. “For keeping Bunny out of prison.”

“But that was years ago.”

“We never forgot what you did, Camilla,” Bunny said.

Tonya said, “Come by the shop some time, and I'll fix your hair.”

Bunny gave Tonya an affectionate nuzzle. “She's an artist. Aren't you, babe? Tonya can do miracles.”

As the short, dark, dumpy sister of three tall, elegant blondes, I take such comments in stride.

Tonya glanced at her Gucci watch, possibly bought and paid for. “We're going to be late.”

“Coming, babe.”

“Good luck,” I said.

My black mood had lifted. I was still beaming when I opened the door to the office.

Oh, did I say office? I must have meant voice mail hell.

BEEP

“Camilla? It's Alvin. You're probably in court, but when you get in, call. You have to change your mind and come with me and Violet. You don't know what you're missing. Watching the sun across the river. Looking down on the trees. Peace, tranquillity. There's nothing else like this in the world. We're saving a place for you for the dawn take-off tomorrow. By the way, I won't be in the office today. I'm a bit under the weather.”

BEEP

“Ms. MacPhee? Violet Parnell here. Young Ferguson tells me you have misgivings about our most excellent outing. The lad deserves a bit of excitement to help him recover from his wretched summer. People don't get over such grave problems quickly. You yourself are overworked of late, and long hours are taking a toll. Join us tomorrow.
Carpe diem
, Ms. MacPhee. You have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

BEEP

“Camilla? It's Edwina, your sister, in case you have forgotten. Pick up. I said pick up, Missy. Don't think you can get away with skipping the Labour Day activities at the lake
again. This is a family tradition, and we expect you to attend. Alexa and Donalda feel exactly the same way. If Stan can forgive you for what happened to his Buick and Conn can overlook your stunts, which we all know caused him a huge amount of embarrassment with his fellow officers, the least you can do is show up and be civil. Need I add Daddy will be disappointed if you don't come? We're setting off at noon sharp. Today. Friday. We expect you for dinner at the cottage. Bring your manners.”

BEEP

“Camilla? Alvin again. Use your imagination! 150 hot air balloons rising together and floating across the river and over the city. It's going to be awesome. Like a dream. We're still holding on to a place for you. The balloon is a spectacular shade of candy-apple red. We need to confirm that you're coming.”

BEEP

“Ms. MacPhee? Violet Parnell here. Would you be kind enough to come to my apartment, on the double? It's a matter of some urgency.”

BEEP

“It's Alvin. Holy shit, get over to Violet's place. Fast.”

I shouted into Mrs. Parnell's voice mail. “Mrs. P.? Is something wrong? Alvin? Are you there? What's happening? I'll get there as soon as I can.”

After I left the message at Mrs. Parnell's, I tried her cellphone. Nada. I tried Alvin's. Ditto. The apartment super
didn't pick up. His voice mailbox was full. I tried calling a cab. The dispatcher snickered. Fifty minutes to an hour wait. Holiday weekend.

Bad scenarios played in my head. Mrs. Parnell was coming up to her eightieth birthday and had been using a walker for a couple of years for balance. She's had a few shocks to her system and at least one trip to the
ICU
since she got to know me. Even though I knew she had the smarts to dial 911, I figured I'd better hustle. It's a fifty-minute hike from downtown to our apartment building near the Champlain Bridge. That's at the best of times, which this wasn't.

I hustled up toward Wellington, keeping an eye out for a cab. No joy. I figured it would be faster to walk. Of course, that was before I discovered my regular walking route home, the path along the Ottawa River, had been disrupted by some emergency behind the Parliament Buildings. Mounties redirected foot traffic on the path, and I had to push though a flock of confused tourists. The detour cost me an extra fifteen minutes.

I was in a lather by the time I reached our building. Mrs. Parnell's apartment is the second unit down from mine. I shot out of the elevator on the sixteenth floor and headed straight to her open door. I took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from my forehead, strode into her living room and swore.

Mrs. Parnell was positioned in front of her oversized black leather club chair, holding a tumbler of Harvey's Bristol Cream in her left hand and with her right, tracing a pattern in the air. As far as I could make out, she was in the middle of a dramatic re-enactment involving a crippled Allied reconnaissance plane and a nest of German snipers somewhere
in the mountains of Northern Italy in late 1944. The smoke from her smouldering Benson & Hedges was part of the story. Lester and Pierre, Mrs. Parnell's evil little lovebirds, shrieked in the background. Her custom-made titanium walker lay idle on the far side of the room.

Alvin Ferguson perched on the matching leather sofa, leaning forward, listening. His entire bony body was caught up in the drama, eyes wide behind his cat's-eye glasses. His beaky nose tracked the spiral of the imaginary plane, his ponytail flipped as he followed the arc of the snipers' bullets. The sun glinting off his nine visible earrings added to the magic of the moment.

“Against all the odds,” Mrs. Parnell said, “with only his pistol, the major fought his way through and single-handedly wiped out the entire nest of snipers. Of course, there was no dealing with him afterwards. Still, he reminds me a bit of you in a pinch, dear boy.”

“Lord thundering Jesus, Violet, that's one wicked story,” Alvin said.

Mrs. Parnell nodded modestly.

I cleared my throat.

“Ms. MacPhee! We thought you'd never get here.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What's the emergency?”

“Emergency?”

“Yes. You both know goddam well you left me a message.”

“I don't believe we actually said it was an emergency,” Mrs. Parnell said after a long sip of Harvey's.

“You used the word urgency.”

“Urgency, yes, but we had no desire to alarm you.”

“No? Mind telling me why you didn't answer your phone?”

Mrs. Parnell turned to Alvin. “Did you hear the telephone, dear boy?”

Alvin shook his head.

I said, “Since you are sitting less than two feet from it, I find that hard to believe.”

Mrs. Parnell made a conciliatory gesture with her sherry glass. “Perhaps you called while we were on the balcony observing some of our fellow balloonists.”

Alvin said, “Yeah. I bet that was it.”

Mrs. Parnell has a panoramic view of the Ottawa River and the Quebec shore on the other side. Even so, I wasn't falling for the balcony bullshit. Ditto for their innocent looks. “Let's see if I have this straight: there's no emergency. Nor was there an emergency at the time you called. Would that be correct?” I used my courtroom manner, usually reserved for cross-examining sleazy witnesses.

Alvin may be the bane of my work existence, but at least he had the grace to look abashed. That didn't last long.

“Sorry, Camilla. It's been hard to get your attention lately. You've been so preoccupied.”

“Really. That's because I am up to my ass in alligators. You will remember, Alvin, the name of our enterprise is Justice for Victims. The way to ensure our clients have a hope of seeing justice is to be there when they need us. In court, if they're facing a vicious cross-examination, such as happened today when you were, I believe you said, under the weather.”