Forty Words for Sorrow

Cardinal had given in. What galled him even now, fifteen years later, was that he knew that treatment in the States would be no better. He knew they would have the same drugs, the same enthusiasm for shock treatment, the same lack of success. And yet he had caved in. He couldn't bear to have Catherine's parents think he was not doing his best for her. ("Don't worry. We know the fees can be pretty steep. We'll contribute.") But they could not contribute much, and the bills at the Tamarind Clinic in Chicago quickly mounted into the thousands, and over the months, into the tens of thousands.

In a matter of weeks, Cardinal had known he could never pay the bills; he and Catherine would never own a house, never get out of debt. And so, when the opportunity presented itself, Cardinal had taken the money. It had paid off the bills, with almost enough left over for Kelly's very expensive education. The trouble was, he found when he crossed that ethical line, he had left his true self stranded on the other side.

I have no excuse, he wrote. Every penny of that money was for my benefit, to keep up appearances in my in-laws' eyes, to buy the love and respect of the daughter I spoil. For now, the most important thing is that Pine-Curry be pursued without the risk of the department's credibility being destroyed.

He wrote that he was sorry, tried to improve on that statement and found he couldn't. He printed the letter out, read it over, and signed it. He addressed the envelope to Chief Kendall, marked it Personal, and dropped it in the interdepartmental mail.

He had planned to join Delorme in the boardroom, but, suddenly exhausted, he sank back down in his chair with a deep sigh. Katie Pine's bracelet glittered dully in its plastic cocoon. Katie Pine, Katie Pine- how he would love to get some measure of justice for her before he left the department. The tiny gold instruments seemed out of character for her- or at least for the idea he had of her- of Katie the little math whiz. The tiny gold bass fiddle, trombone, snare drum, and guitar- they would be more in character with Keith London. Miss Steen had said he had a guitar with him. And Billy LaBelle had taken lessons at Troy Music Center, which Cardinal might not have recalled but for the fact that Troy Music Center was the last place Billy LaBelle had been seen alive.

"And what about Todd Curry?" Cardinal said it aloud, though he hadn't meant to.

"Are you talking to me?" Szelagy's head appeared over the top of another computer, but Cardinal didn't answer. He pulled the file across the desk; it was woefully thin.

"Billy LaBelle, Keith London, and Katie Pine were all into music. What about Todd Curry?"

He recalled vividly the boy's suburban room in his suburban house, his devastated father hanging back in the doorway. He recalled the games in the closet, the map on top of his desk- but music? What sign had there been of music? Yes, there it was in the sup on the interview with the parents: Todd Curry had belonged to music newsgroups on-line. Alt.hardrock and Alt.rapforum. That's right, he had thought it strange that a white kid was so into rap music.

Then something else fell out of the file, a scrawled note that made Cardinal's heart begin to pound. Someone, he couldn't be sure who, had taken a call from the teacher, Jack Fehrenbach, who was reporting a stolen credit card. "Szelagy, is this your handwriting?" Cardinal waved the note at him. "You take a call from Jack Fehrenbach?"

Szelagy looked at the note. "Yeah. I told you about it, remember?"

"Jesus Christ, Szelagy. Don't you realize how important this is?"

"I did tell you about it. I don't know what else you want me to…"

But Cardinal wasn't listening; he was staring at the note in his hand. An unusual charge on Fehrenbach's statement had alerted him. On December 21, the night after Todd Curry had visited him, someone had charged two hundred and fifty dollars at Troy Music Center, apparently for an elaborate turntable.

Cardinal ran down the hall to the boardroom where Delorme was on the phone, scribbling notes onto a yellow legal pad.

"It's music." Cardinal snapped his fingers at her. "Todd Curry was into rap music, remember? Wanted to be a DJ, Fehrenbach said."

"What's going on, Cardinal? You have a funny look on your face."

Cardinal held up the Baggie in which Katie Pine's bracelet floated like an embryo. "This little item is going to break our case."

49

"MCLEOD, where's your sup on the Troy Music Center? Didn't you interview them when you were working LaBelle?"

"Why you asking? It's in the file somewheres."

"It's not in the file. I'm looking at the file. You remember who works there?"

"Two guys. Alan Troy- he's the main guy- and some other guy, some guitar geek been there forever. He's the one taught Billy LaBelle."

"You remember his name?"

"Fuck, no."

"McLeod, we're trying to nail a killer here."