Claire stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, her mind hovering between dreaming and waking. The effects of the drugs were wearing off, the sharp edges of real life sinking in. She couldn’t remember how many hours she’d been in this concrete cell, a space so small she wondered how it was possible to cram in the narrow cot, table, and toilet. The bright light shone overhead at all times. No sound came through the solid door with its small rectangle window. But none of this mattered to Claire: Ariel was dead. She had failed to protect her beautiful baby. She knew there was pain beneath her protective shell, but still she was unable to cry. She recalled the lockup at the police station, being photographed and fingerprinted, but she felt detached from her situation, an observer rather than a participant. It was as if she’d been cast as the lead in a badly written script.
Claire curled herself into the centre of the narrow bed and pulled her knees to her chest. Slowly the enormity of her loss was getting through to her. She would never see Ariel again. She would never see her baby take her first steps, never hear her first words. She would never see her start school. I don’t want to live without Ariel. A ragged sob rose and caught in her throat, but her eyes remained dry. This was everything she imagined hell to be.
Bram had been allowed to see her briefly. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered, not knowing what she was sorry for. Sorry for being depressed? Sorry for letting someone come into their house and kill their child? Lauren had promised she would do everything in her power to keep her out of prison, but that wouldn’t be enough. It’s up to me to find Ariel’s killer. I will find out what happened, Claire vowed, feeling a determination stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. No more drugs. I need to keep a clear head. She’d failed Ariel in life; she would not fail her in death. Finding her baby’s killer would be her mission, her purpose.
—
“This way,” the guard said as he led Lauren down a narrow grey corridor. As a defense lawyer, she was no stranger to the local jail. Still, she felt a tug of unease as the steel door clanged shut behind her. What must it be like to wake up this place? she wondered as she was led to a room at the far end of the corridor. “If you need anything,” the guard told her, “I’ll be just outside the door.”
Claire, wearing orange prison garb, sat at a small metal table. Harsh fluorescent lights enhanced her pale face and the dark shadows around her eyes. “Thank you for coming, Lauren,” she said.
Lauren took a seat across from her. “We need to get you out of here. The process is taking longer than I’d anticipated.”
“I’m sure you’re doing your best.”
“I am, Claire, trust me.” Lauren was pleased to see her friend so alert. “I’ve talked with the homicide police. Patrick Shaw says he rang your doorbell around noon. I’m sure they’ll ask him to be more specific about the time.”
“I went to bed shortly before noon,” Claire said. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.” She frowned. “You say the police are questioning Patrick?”
“They are interested in the fact that you gave him a key at one time.”
“That was months ago. Do they think he had a copy made?”
“I’m sure the police are considering that. In any case, Patrick was at your door that day. He may have noticed something unusual.” Lauren reached for her notepad. “Is there anything at all that you remember?”
“Not much,” Claire admitted. “I recall making a pan of squares for your visit. Afterwards, I felt tired and went to lie down. Ariel was already down for her nap.” She shrugged. “I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t remember calling the clinic, or Anya coming to the house.” Claire looked away. “Even after the police arrested me…it didn’t seem real.”
Lauren nodded, recalling how detached Claire had appeared that day. “The police haven’t ruled out your neighbour, Walter Rodden, as a suspect.”
“No, the Roddens are our friends. I gave them a key shortly after they moved here—more than a year ago now. Milly, Walter’s wife, works at the clinic. Bram told me she was on duty when I called. Milly telephoned Walter in case the door was locked.”
“Apparently, you wouldn’t open the door,” Lauren said. “Walter used the key you gave him to let the paramedics in.”
Claire lowered her eyes. “I don’t recall that.”
“Walter says you were walking around the house clutching Ariel, calling out her name. The paramedics had to pry her from your arms.”
Colour rose in Claire’s cheeks. “I don’t recall that either.”
“You were so distraught Dr. Kaminsky had to sedate you,” Lauren said.
Claire covered her face with her hands. “Dear God, I let someone murder my baby.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lauren protested, her heart aching.
Claire shook her head. “I let Ariel down. The only thing I can do for her now is help bring her killer to justice. And I can only do that by staying alert. I’m not taking any more drugs. I need to be clear-headed.”
Lauren stared at her. “How does Dr. Kaminsky feel about that decision?”
Claire shrugged. “Anya’s away at the moment. Dr. Collins is taking her place.”
Lauren wondered if stopping her medication was the best thing for Claire right now. Although she appeared to be more alert, she was obviously still fragile.
“Bram wants me to go with the insanity defense,” Claire said. “Anya thinks I may have been suffering from postpartum psychosis.”
Lauren nodded. She’d spoken briefly with Anya before she left for Ontario. “It would make a good defense, Claire, but you would have to give up your innocence.”
“Never,” Claire said fiercely. “If I plead guilty, they’ll stop looking for Ariel’s killer.”
“It’s entirely up to you. If you decide to fight this, I’m with you all the way.”
“We will find Ariel’s killer,” Claire said with determination. “We have to. I keep imagining him coming into our house, picturing what he did to her.” She covered her face with her hands. “We have to find out who did this.”
“Yes, we will,” Lauren agreed, sounding much more confident than she felt. “Claire, do you or Bram have enemies? Someone who might want get to you through your baby?”
Claire folded her arms. “Nobody could possibly hate us that much, Lauren.”
“Did any of your students hold a grudge?”
“I’ve had disgruntled students,” Claire admitted. “One even filed a formal complaint with the dean. That was more than a year ago. I believe the issue was resolved.” She shook her head. “You think someone killed Ariel because of resentment they had toward me or Bram?”
“I’m trying to establish motive,” Lauren said. “It’s the lack of motive that’s got me stumped. Were you expecting anyone else that day?”
Claire shook her head. “Just you and Bailey. I don’t get many visitors.”
Lauren briefly touched Claire’s shoulder before rising to her feet. “I’ll come back to see you in a couple of days,” she promised. “Stay strong, Claire. Remember, we’re all rooting for you. I promise I’ll get you out of here.” Claire remained silent as Lauren turned to leave. “I’ve left my contact information with administration,” she said, turning back. “Have them call if you need me.”
When she returned to the reception area, Lauren found Andrew Collins seated in a plastic chair, his black medical bag resting at his feet. He was staring at a small television suspended from the ceiling.
“Hi, Dr. Collins,” Lauren said brightly as she approached him. She liked his quick smile, his gentle manner. He’d grown up in an outport not far from Paddy’s Arm and had the most endearing accent.
He stood to take her hand. “I take it you’re here visiting Claire. How is she?”
“Not too bad,” Lauren said. “Still numb from shock.”
“Shock is a wonderful survival mechanism,” Andrew said. “It can distance the mind from the most horrific trauma.”
“Dr. Collins?” A female guard clutching a clipboard approached Andrew and handed him a form. “You’ll need to fill this out before you can treat the prisoner.”
“Thanks.” Andrew turned to Lauren. “Do you have to go straight home?”
“I have a meeting with a client, but not until one.”
“I should be finished here in about half an hour. Can we meet for coffee? There’s a café just off the highway. Bella’s.”
“I could use a cup of coffee,” Lauren said. “But first I should get my car looked at. There’s a rattle on the passenger side, probably the tire.”
“Billard’s Garage is just down the road.”
“I’ll meet you at the café in half an hour then.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.” Andrew picked up his bag and followed the guard.
Lauren watched as he disappeared down the corridor. She didn’t know Andrew well, but he struck her as a pleasant, thoughtful man. She found herself looking forward to having coffee with him.
—
Bella’s was a quaint café with round glass tables and ice-cream-parlour chairs. The waitresses wore pink smocks under white bib aprons. When Andrew arrived, Lauren was already seated at a table studying a menu printed on a plastic placemat. “They have eighteen flavours of coffee,” she informed him.
“Sounds good.” Andrew pulled out a chair. “Get your car looked at?”
“It was the tire. The mechanic patched it up but said I should get it replaced.”
A waitress came to take their order. “Just coffee, black, with cream on the side,” Lauren said.
Andrew smiled at her. “Make mine decaf with double cream.”
“How is your son?” Lauren asked. “I see him all the time at Kiddy Academy.”
“Riley’s a great little guy,” Andrew said, proudly. “His mother and I are going through a difficult divorce right now, but he’s adjusting.”
“Divorce is never easy,” Lauren sympathized.
Andrew traced the scalloped edges of the placemat with his finger. “I have Riley this week while his mother is at a medical conference.”
“Is it the conference in Ontario that Dr. Kaminsky is attending?”
Andrew nodded. “Sylvia’s giving the keynote.”
Andrew’s wife—soon to be ex-wife—was an obstetrician. Lauren had been referred to her during complications in her own pregnancy. She found her to be efficient, if aloof. There were rumours in town that she was making Andrew’s life a living hell. Lauren recalled Claire telling her that Sylvia once came into the clinic yelling and screaming at him in front of a room full of patients.
“I’m fighting for full custody,” Andrew said. “I feel like I’m walking a thin line. I don’t want to make things more traumatic for Riley.”
The waitress brought their coffee, and they talked easily. Andrew was one of nine children. After the fishing industry collapsed, most of his brothers and sisters had left home to find work. “I got a call the other day from my oldest brother, Glenn. He lives in Grande Prairie,” he told her. “He says in twelve years he can retire.” Andrew chuckled. “He made it sound like he’s serving a sentence.”
Lauren smiled. “One thing I’ve learned about Newfoundlanders is that they don’t like to stray far from home.”
“That about sums it up.” His smile faded quickly and he switched to a more serious tone. “Listen,” he said, “Bram called this morning. He says you gave Claire the option of going with the insanity defense.”
“As her lawyer I have to put all options on the table.”
“Anya thinks Claire might have been in a psychotic state at the time.” Andrew spoke carefully, as if weighing his words. “I sensed Bram would like me to write a report favouring this.” He shook his head. “I can’t speak to what Claire’s state of mind was at the time of her baby’s death, but this morning she seemed coherent enough.”
Lauren sighed. “I understand Bram’s concern. He wants to keep Claire out of prison. But she’ll never go along with it.”
“I can’t imagine her confessing to a crime she didn’t commit.”
Lauren met Andrew’s gaze. “Claire’s decided to go off her medication.”
“She told me,” Andrew said. “I warned her about going cold turkey.” He shrugged. “It’s her decision. I left a prescription with the prison doctor in case she needs them.”
Lauren shuddered. “I’d need more than sleeping pills if I was in that place.”
“My heart goes out to Claire,” Andrew said sadly.
Lauren leaned toward him. “Andrew, the whole thing is so bizarre.”
“I’ve been hearing all kinds of rumours.” Andrew folded his paper napkin into tiny squares. “In fact, some of Dr. Warren’s patients have come to me with questions. There’s a rumour the baby was killed for the insurance money.”
“Where do they hear such things? There was a small life insurance policy attached to a scholarship fund. The premiums will barely cover funeral expenses.”
Andrew spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I know.”
Lauren added a dollop of cream to her coffee and stirred absently.
“What is it?” Andrew asked, picking up on her unease.
Lauren took a long sip of coffee and weighed her words. “I’m wondering if I’m doing everything right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I keep second-guessing myself.” Lauren frowned. “I mean, this issue with bail. Claire’s been in a cell for almost two days now. I should have been able to convince the judge that she is not a danger to the community. She has no prior arrests or convictions.”
Andrew leaned toward her. “I’ve heard all kinds of stories about Judge Dillard. They say he doesn’t grant bail easily. Look at Rose Carson,” he said, citing a well-known case. “She stayed in remand until her trial, and was found not guilty.”
“I remember that case,” Lauren said. Twenty-eight-year-old Carson was charged with abusing her infant son. During her trial, her lawyer called in medical experts who diagnosed the child as having brittle bones. Sighing, Lauren shook her head. “I’m starting to feel really frustrated. It’s my job to see that Claire is with her family while she awaits trial.”
“If you fight hard enough, the judge may come through,” Andrew assured her. He studied her for a long moment. “Lauren, is there something else troubling you?”
She shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not just bail that’s bothering you, I can tell.”
Lauren wondered how Andrew could sense her uncertainty. She looked him in the eye, and for the first time confessed her biggest fear. “I’m not sure I can help Claire,” she admitted. Absently, she ran a finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “Unless I can find someone with a motive, Claire may go to prison for a very long time.”