Forty Words for Sorrow

Last year's filing, a joint one, was in Cardinal's handwriting and showed that he told Revenue Canada exactly what he earned. It also indicated that Catherine Cardinal made little more than pocket money as a part-time photography instructor up at Algonquin College. But there was a second file that was of considerably more interest, a return for the U.S. Internal Revenue Service. It was for Catherine Cardinal but filled out in Cardinal's messy but intense hand. You'd never hire an accountant, would you? Far too vain about your mental faculties. The form showed that Catherine Cardinal had earned eleven thousand U.S. dollars in rental income from a Miami condominium. Apparently it was vacant for most of the year.

"Date of purchase," Delorme whispered aloud, flipping through the unfamiliar form. "Come on, now. Date of purchase. You claim depreciation, somewhere you've got to say when you bought the damn-" She sat back on her haunches, gripping the blue-and-white form. Catherine Cardinal had bought the condo in Florida three years ago, with a down payment of forty-six thousand dollars U.S., just six weeks after the first Corbett fiasco.

Careful, now, Delorme's inner voice said. You don't know anything. You keep looking and you keep your mind open. We are in collecting mode here, not judging.

Cardinal had claimed a portion of his homeowners insurance policy as a deduction. Delorme found the file marked Insurance. The amount of the policy seemed low at first glance, but then she remembered that it was the property, not the house, that was expensive. The file contained receipts for large purchases- Cardinal's Camry, a new refrigerator, a table saw- but then Delorme came upon a receipt that made her catch her breath. It was from the Calloway Marina in Hollywood Beach, Florida, in the sum of fifty-thousand dollars for a Chris-Craft cabin cruiser. Dated October, two years ago. That would put it just two months after the second Corbett raid went bad.

Again, Delorme made an effort to calm her beating heart, told herself not to jump to conclusions. Jumping to conclusions turned you into a danger to everyone who got near you. But that amount, and on that date- well, it was damaging, no question.

At the rear of Cardinal's bottom drawer, she pulled out a file marked Yale. She scanned the contents swiftly, correspondence from Yale on expensive letterhead that confirmed what she already knew: that John Cardinal was paying a damn fortune to send his daughter to a famous school. Over twenty-five thousand a year in Canadian dollars, not including living expenses, and then there were travel costs and art supplies on top of that. Cardinal had said Kelly was in her second year of grad school, so he was looking at close to seventy-five thousand dollars and she was not even done yet.

Delorme put the papers back and closed the drawer. Stop while you're ahead, she told herself: the boat, the condo, they're more than enough to follow up.

She put Cardinal's half of the pizza in the fridge, washed her plate, and put on her coat. She switched off the light, wondering why on earth her partner would allow her to search his place when there was so much incriminating evidence around. It didn't make sense.

Driving into town, she called Malcolm Musgrave on her cell phone. "I've been looking at some very interesting receipts- large purchases right after your Corbett raids. But I can't tell you where I found them just yet."

"He's your partner, I understand that, but you're not running this investigation on your own."

"Ninety-six thousand dollars U.S. That's in addition to a kid at Yale."

"Probably our exalted commissioner makes that much, but I don't and you don't and neither does your partner."

"It looks bad, I know. But he doesn't live high. He doesn't spend a lot of cash."

"You're forgetting there's a considerable stick here as well as the carrot. Once someone like Kyle Corbett gets his pincers into you, you don't just decide you're tired of the game. You do what he wants, or he'll get you where you live. You might want to interview Nicky Bell on that subject. Oh, that's right, he's dead. Silly me." Musgrave told her to hang on a minute.

While she was waiting, she saw John Cardinal driving back out to his place. She raised her fingers off the wheel to wave, but he didn't see her. Suddenly Delorme regretted making the call. Then Musgrave came back.

"Look, I'm gonna need to know more about these receipts. We don't have time for prima donnas here, sister."

"Sorry. I don't think I can do that. Not yet, anyway."

Musgrave pressed her. Gave her his You're-playing-with-the-big-boys-now basso aria.

"Look, I'm doing my job, all right? I'm investigating the guy. That's all you have to know right now." Musgrave started in on her again, but Delorme clicked off the phone.