Forty Words for Sorrow

"I've heard about you, too," Delorme told him, and Dyson shot her a dark glance. Musgrave had killed two men in the line of duty. Both times there had been hearings about the use of excessive force, and both times he had got off. Delorme thought: We really get our man.

"Corporal Musgrave is with the Sudbury detachment. He's their number two man in Commercial Crime."

Delorme knew that, of course. The RCMP no longer maintained a local detachment, so Algonquin Bay fell within Sudbury 's jurisdiction. As federal police, the RCMP worked any crimes of national import- drugs at a national level, counterfeiting, commercial crime. Now and again, the Algonquin Bay police would work with them on major drug busts, but, as far as Delorme knew, Musgrave himself never put in an appearance.

"Corporal Musgrave has a little bedtime story for us," the chief said. "You won't like it."

"Have you heard of Kyle Corbett?" Musgrave's eyes were the palest blue Delorme had ever seen, almost transparent. It was like being scrutinized by a husky.

Yes, she had heard of Kyle Corbett. Everyone had heard of Kyle Corbett. "Big drug dealer, no? Doesn't he control everything north of Toronto?"

"Obviously Special Investigations keeps you off the street. Kyle Corbett cleaned up his act at least three years ago when he discovered counterfeiting. You're surprised. You thought when Ottawa changed to colored bills we stumped the counterfeiters, right? Bad guys all moved on to those oh-so-boring and oh-so-easy-to-copy American bills. You're absolutely right, they did. Then a small thing came along called a color copier. And another little item called a scanner. And now every Tom, Dick, and Harry's going into the office on Saturday morning and printing himself a batch of phony twenties. Major headache for the Treasury. And you know what? I couldn't care less." Those arctic eyes sizing her up.

Delorme shrugged. "It's not costing the taxpayer enough?"

"Good," Musgrave said, as if she were his pupil. "Bogus Canadian currency costs businesses and individuals some five million dollars a year. Chicken feed. And, like I say, it's mostly weekend counterfeiters."

"So why the fuss about Corbett? If you don't care about phony money…"

"Kyle Corbett is not counterfeiting money. Kyle Corbett is counterfeiting credit cards. Suddenly we're not talking five million dollars. Suddenly we're talking a hundred million. And that's not Bob's All-Nite Esso getting hit. Or Ethel's Kountry Kitchen. We're talking major banks, and believe me, when Bank of Montreal and Toronto Dominion get upset, we hear about it loud and clear. Which is why our guys and your guys- not to mention the OPP's guys- have been working a JFO for the past three years, trying to take Corbett down."

Dyson leaned forward, apparently worried at being left out of the conversation. "Joint Forces Operation. November 1997."

"November 1997. JFO includes our guys, Jerry Commanda with OPP, and your guys McLeod and Cardinal. We have solid information that Corbett's happy band of brothers has a stamping machine, five thousand blanks, and a very expensive supply of holograms at his club out behind Airport Road. But when the forces of righteousness swoop down, Corbett and Co. are doing nothing more exciting than playing pool and drinking Molsons."

The chief was now thrashing at the fire with a poker, sending sparks flying. "Tell her Episode Two."

"August 1998. Solid intelligence puts Corbett and his merry men in West Ferris with Perfect Circle. You've never heard of Perfect Circle so don't pretend you have. Perfect Circle runs the biggest counterfeiting operation in Hong Kong. They have reciprocity with Corbett. In other words, they exchange stolen account numbers for use overseas. You buy a new Honda in Toronto with an American Express card out of Kowloon, and before anyone's the wiser, you've driven it to hell and gone. And vice versa. Perfect Circle, as their name suggests, also manufacture dead-perfect holograms. They're Asian, right? High tech is in their blood.

"Meanwhile, our two Horsemen have gone their separate ways: one's quit to go into the private sector, the other's doing fifteen-to-life for killing his wife."

"Right. The high-rise guy."

"If you'd met his wife you'd know why. Your Detective McLeod gets wired to the Corriveau murders, and the OPP has Jerry Commanda sequestered in Ottawa on some no-doubt crucially important training course."

"There's no need to malign ongoing officer education," the chief put in. "Your point is, Detective Cardinal turns out to be the single unit of law-enforcement continuity on Kyle Corbett."

"Exactly. Drum roll, please."

Kendall turned to Dyson. "Didn't you tell me there were rumors about Cardinal when he worked in Toronto?"

"We did our homework, Chief. There was nothing substantial."