Free The Brutal Heart by Gail Bowen Page A

rats; and most of them were missing eyes or noses.
    As he gazed at them, Ed’s face was suffused with pity. “What’s the story there?”
    “That’s her treasure,” Blake said thoughtfully. “Zack says when the mayor kicked Francesca’s backpack, she felt as if he was kicking her children.”
    “So she was trying to protect them,” Ed said.
    “We all do terrible things for love,” Blake said. “At least Francesca still has her bears.”
    “Blake, how did Zack end up with her case?” I said. “It’s not the kind of thing he usually handles – it’s not high profile, and I’m guessing it’s not big money.”
    Blake’s answer was a beat too quick. “Just doing a favour for a friend,” he said. He took Ed’s arm and led him to the Ernest Lindner watercolour of a moss-covered stump behind Zack’s desk. “Give this one a closer look,” he said. “I didn’t see much here at first, but Joanne got me interested.” He turned to me. “This is called high realism, right?”
    “Right,” I said.
    “Lindner was fascinated by the process of decay and regeneration in the natural world,” Blake said. “At least that’s what Joanne told me.” His smile was bashful, the schoolboy found out showing off, but I wasn’t deflected.
    “So who was the friend who got Zack to take on Francesca Pope’s case?” I asked. “One of your developers with a heart of gold?”
    Blake averted his eyes. “No. The friend was me.” He glanced at his watch. “God, look at the time. I’ve got a meeting. Have fun.” He kissed my cheek and pressed the key into my hand.
    As Blake passed Ed, he patted his shoulder. Then, except for the lingering woody scent of his aftershave, Blake was gone.
    “There’s a man living a lie,” Ed said.
    “What do you mean?” I asked. I was surprised. Ed was careful with language and careful with assessments. “Blake’s had his problems, like all of us, but I would say he’s a lucky man.”
    Ed’s face was troubled. “Maybe once upon a time,” he said. “Not any more.” Ed pointed to the intricate whorl at the heart of the fallen tree in Lindner’s watercolour. “Look at that,” he said. “Even with trees, destiny unfolds from the heart.”
    Unlike Zack, I tend to drift off during trials. As a citizen I’m grateful that the wheels of justice grind exceedingly fine, but as a spectator, I’m aware only that at times they grind exceedingly slow. I knew that the outcome of the Monaghan-Brodnitz custody deliberations would alter the lives of Ginny, Jason, and their daughters, but that afternoon with the sun slanting through the courtroom windows, the air warming, and the lawyers wrangling about procedure and reading the law into the record, I found my eyes growing heavy. The parade of witnesses who marched up to be sworn in did nothing to stir my blood. In their civilian lives, these good people might have been witty and incisive, but the demands of testifying stripped them of individuality and muffled their voices in a thick fog of clichés and buzzwords. As an earnest young social worker who didn’t look old enough to flip burgers explained in jargon-riddled detail the difference between being an enabling parent and an empowering parent, Madam Justice Gorges’s sigh of impatience was audible. I wasn’t surprised when at a little after four, she declared that court was recessed.
    The scene that greeted me after Ed dropped me off at home was a familiar one. Taylor and Gracie Falconer were sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation, with a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia between them. I liked all of Taylor’s friends, but Gracie was a favourite. Bouncy with mischief and energy, her skin ruddy and sprayed with freckles, Gracie’s sunny exuberance lit up a room. She was fun to have around.
    “So what are you two up to?” I said.
    Gracie held out her spoon. “Pounding calories,” she said. “I refuse to read what the carton says about the percentage of fat in