Forty Words for Sorrow

"Todd and I won't ever get the chance to make it up, now. That's the terrible thing." Mr. Curry took a sudden step into the room, pushed by the urgency of his thought. His grip on Cardinal's forearm felt like a claw. "Detective, whatever you do in this world, don't postpone your life. Anything important that you keep putting off? Anything you keep telling yourself you'll just wait for the right moment? I mean, anything important you've been meaning to tell some loved one, or anyone- don't put it off, you hear me? Don't postpone your life. Say the words, whatever they are. Do the thing, whatever it is. All that stuff you hear on the news- I don't care if it's tornadoes or the so-called Windigo Killer- any kind of disaster, you never think it applies. But the fact of the matter is, you never know. You never know when people are just going to get up and go out that door and never come back. You just don't know. I'm sorry. This is terrible. I'm babbling."

"You're just fine, Mr. Curry."

"I'm not. I don't have much experience with this kind of thing," he said, then added as if pleading a handicap, "I'm in reinsurance."

"Tell me, Mr. Curry, did Todd use that machine a lot?" Cardinal pointed at the Macintosh. There were software manuals and video games piled under the desk, and he had noticed the line connecting the computer to a phone jack in the wall.

"Todd wasn't a hacker, if that's what you mean. He used it for homework, mostly. When he did his homework. Thing's a mystery to me. We use IBMs where I work."

Cardinal opened the closet and looked at the clothes. There was one suit, one blazer, two pairs of dress pants, not the things a boy like Todd would wear often. On the shelf above, there were stacks of board games: Monopoly, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit.

In the dresser, Cardinal found- besides the usual torn jeans and ripped T-shirts- a tangle of copper and tin bracelets, bits of chain, studded leather collars and cuffs. It didn't mean anything; a lot of kids wore them now.

"My wife's in pieces," Mr. Curry said. He had retreated to the doorway again. "That's the worst thing. It's hard to see someone you love in so much pain and not be able to-" He had spoken of grief, and now, like a demon hearing its name, it burst its bonds and pounced, possessing him utterly. Mr. Curry was transformed from robust father into a pale, crooked figure shrinking in a doorway, crying.

Cardinal didn't ignore him, exactly, but he didn't say anything, either. He looked at him briefly, then looked away out the window at the high-rise next door. From the parking lot between them came the mechanical hysteria of a car alarm. In the distance, Toronto's CN Tower glittered in the morning sun.

After a few minutes, the sobbing behind him eased, and he handed Mr. Curry a twenty-cent pack of Kleenex he had bought at the Pharma-City on Queensway. He opened Todd's dresser drawers one by one, feeling the undersides.

"Sorry about the wailing. Must feel like you've walked into a soap opera."

"No, Mr. Curry. It doesn't feel like that at all."

Cardinal could feel the magazine behind the bottom drawer. He pulled it out, mentally apologizing to the boy as he did so, knowing it was probably more secret and personal than glue sniffing or marijuana. He remembered his own stack of Playboys from youth, but the magazine now in his hand showed a naked man.

Mr. Curry stopped breathing for several seconds, Cardinal heard it. He reached in and pulled out three more magazines.

"Shows how well I know my own son, I guess. I would have never guessed. Not in a million years."

"I wouldn't put too much stress on a few pictures. Looks like curiosity to me. He's got Playboy and Penthouse here, too."

"I would never, never have guessed."

"Nobody's an open book, Mr. Curry. Not you, not me…"

"I'd like to keep this from his mother."

"Certainly. There's no need to tell her, at least not now. Why don't you take a break, Mr. Curry? There's no need for you to watch."

"She's a very strong woman, Edna, but this-"

"Maybe you better go see how she's doing."

"Thank you, yes, I'll do that. I'll just go see how Edna's doing." It struck Cardinal that, to a teenager, Todd's father must have seemed a mother hen.

From the desk, the Macintosh was staring at him with its cool blind eye. Cardinal knew enough about Macs to boot it up and find the list of programs; it only took him two minutes, but he didn't recognize anything. He went out into the living room and signaled to Delorme, who was next to Mrs. Curry on the couch, going over a family album.

Delorme was no computer specialist, either, but just that morning Cardinal had watched her put Flower's Mac through its paces. It made him feel old. It seemed like anybody under thirty-five was comfortable with computers, which frustrated Cardinal at every turn. Delorme whipped that mouse around like a slot car.

"Can we see what he's been tapping into?"