“I could use you?”

He waved his hands around at the mess on her desk. “I can make do in the pen for the time being.”

“Are you looking forward to being a mall cop, Ray? Because that’s what Willan is dreaming of. A big shiny Cops ’R’ Us for the whole county.”

“Chip Willan is going to bring OPS Central into the twenty-first century, Hazel. You should come along.”

“Are all the kids doing it?”

He shook his head and decided to sit behind her desk. He was done trying the soft landing. “Why don’t you just do the rest of your script, Hazel? Then we’ll do mine, and then you can call me some names, and this’ll be over and done with.”

“Do you think I’m the villain in my script, too?”

He sat up straighter and leaned over the desk. “I have no idea who you are right now. It would be interesting to know that. It might help me to understand what, exactly, has been going on up here for the last week or so.”

“I’ll save it for the judge, Ray. In the meantime, Willan’s up to his shoulder in your fundament and he’s dying to work your mouth, so talk.”

She noted the faint, upward curving of his lips.

“Fine. You’ve got two attacks, some kind of insane woman armed with a stun gun, you’ve got Roland Forbes buying cigarettes again, and a detective on vacation in the midst of a huge case. Have I left anything out?”

“Looks like you have your sources.”

“I thought you might have some details to add to my outline.

“Nope,” she said. “See you later.” She made to leave, but he spoke, in a firm tone, to her back.

“You’re free to go when I’m completely debriefed.”

“You’re debriefed,” she said. “Girl kills man, cop pretends to smoke.”

“Is that what your report says?”

For the first time, she locked eyes with him. This man had been her colleague and then her deputy. A good man, a solid detective. But never much of an imagination, and, she even thought it then, a little long in the tooth. This was what Willan was replacing the dinosaurs with. And she was supposed to report to it.

“You’ll have my report when it’s done, Detec – what do I call you, anyway?”

“Hazel …”

“What’s your rank, Ray?” He didn’t answer her. Superintendent, probably. She pushed her tongue hard against her upper teeth. “Will I get a memo?”

“We’re getting six new bodies in here, Hazel. More resources. At least one more detective, and our own forensics guy.”

“You mean someone’s losing six bodies.”

“Port Dundas will be the hub for all of Central.”

“Well, good for Port Dundas, then. See you later.” She went to the door. “Did your script end this way?”

“Sort of.”

“No, it didn’t.” She was already halfway out. “I didn’t call you an asshole.”

] 17 [

It was best to stay to the sideroads. It was a strange feeling to drive; she hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car for more than two years. The feeling of freedom was incredible. She could just point the thing south and be gone. But she had a job to finish, and she was intent on seeing it done now.

When she got to Gilchrist, she drove the car down a gravel road and parked it in what appeared to be an unused garage back from the road a ways. The garage door was stuck in an open position and a rusted boat launch took up a third of the space. She was able to wedge the car in alongside. From beyond the falling-down little building, the car was in shadow. It didn’t matter now, though, if anyone found it: she was mere kilometres from her destination, and once she finished her business there, she’d be gone. No one would be able to trace the car to her, even if they did find it. This was the backcountry. No more cottagers this deep in: two hundred lakes of varying sizes seemed to be enough. That’s about how many she counted within a two-hour drive of that big city on the map: Toronto. She’d been there once for a couple of days, and she thought now of the pleasure of going back there. There was nothing keeping her here after this. And if Terry didn’t have what she wanted, Sugar would. Mr. Sugar would have it for sure. She had to leave him for last, to be safe – he was pretty close to where she’d started – and she’d figured him for it all along. But Terry, just in case. Maybe it was Terry. She’d always thought that he had no idea what he was actually involved in, he was that dumb. He was soft and dumb and he’d take whatever he was offered. And he didn’t seem like a guy with much money, anyway. It was probably a waste of time. Still, it could be him. If it was, then she’d be able to stay away from Mr. Sugar altogether. That would be a good thing.

She recognized Terry’s driveway, it was the one with the wooden cowboy silhouette whose arms spun in a breeze. It had taken her less than half an hour to walk here from where she’d stashed the car. She knocked on his door.

“Hi, Terry,” she said.

He cast his eyes out wildly beyond her, looking for something he didn’t find. “What are you doing here?”

“I come to say hello.”

He held his teeth together tightly. “I’m not alone, f’r chrissake.”

“No matter! Invite me in.”

A woman’s voice came from the hallway. “Terry? Who is it?” She arrived beside him. This would have to be the wife. “Hello there!”

“Hello, madam,” said Larysa. “I’m Kitty.”

“Kitty, what a lovely name. Come in. Are you one of Terry’s students? I mean, Mr. Brennan’s? Isn’t that so hard to say? Come in.”

Terry stood aside and she entered the house and walked through the little front hall to what Terry had told her was called an “atrium” the last time she’d been here, more than a month ago. “A very beautiful house,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Brennan. Soon she would say, “Call me Bridgit,” or whatever, and then they would be on a first-name basis. Mrs. Brennan came around her and led the way into her kitchen. “I don’t meet a lot of Terry’s students. You must be in grade twelve?”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m older. Mr. Brennan is tutoring me. I call him Terry, too.”

Mrs. Brennan’s smile did not skip a beat. “Ah, that’s right. Terry mentioned he might have to work late on and off because of you! But I didn’t realize he’d started.”

“I make time during the day,” said Terry lightly. “During lunch I fit in half an hour, and Kitty stops by my office.”

“How excellent. Sit. Come and sit.” She dropped the two of them off at the kitchen table. Then Larysa saw her make a face. Her eyes and mouth sucked up into the middle of her features and she was saying, “Ooo, ooo!” – what on earth was she doing? But then she saw it was a baby. A baby on the counter in its little rocker chair. She hadn’t known that Terry was a father. A baby with a baby. She stared at him while his wife fussed over his offspring. It looked like all of the muscles in his face had gone slack.

Terry Brennan mouthed, What the fuck?

Mrs. Brennan put on the kettle. Now Larysa saw the fat pink fist writhing above the edge of the chair. “How old is baby?” she asked.

“Five months. A total tiger. Terry can barely lift him.” Larysa walked around the table to the counter. Terry’s eyes widened. The baby was roiling in his little bouncy chair, all arms and legs and belly and diaper. He was naked except for his diaper. He looked like a raw chicken wrapped in a hand towel.

“Look at him go.”

“He’s fulla rocket fuel!” said Mrs. Brennan. She was a pretty woman. Young, probably mid-thirties. How long had she been in the picture? And what did she see in dumb, slow Terry? Larysa smiled to herself. The only thing anyone could see in Terry. He was malleable. And she’d given him a son. “You hungry, Kitty? I can always make you a quick toastie.”

Larysa laughed. “What is a toastie?”

“Bread, cheese, toaster oven. Or bread, tuna, cheese, toaster oven. What is your accent?”