Forty Words for Sorrow

FOR Cardinal, the aftermath of chasing down Woody's vehicle was mostly paperwork. His sup alone was developing the heft of Moby Dick, and on any operation involving another force, such as the OPP, the reports just multiplied. Even using the war room required a detailed accounting of equipment requisitioned, personnel involved, rounds fired, etcetera.

He wanted to question Freddie Lefebvre, but Fast Freddie, having lapsed into unconsciousness moments after his confession of intoxication, was sobering up in a well-guarded hospital bed.

The message light was flashing on Cardinal's phone. It was Karen Steen asking if there was any progress, to please call her when he had the chance. He remembered the denim-blue eyes, the absolute candor of her features. He wished he had something to tell her, some words of encouragement, but there was nothing. The ident boys, Arsenault and Collingwood, were locked up in the garage with Woody's van. There would be no point pressing them for prints for several hours.

Cardinal pulled a stack of paper from his In box. There were several fat envelopes from the Crown, the usual notices, forms, and requests for information. Then there was an interoffice envelope containing a memo from Dyson telling everyone for the hundredth time not to make idiots of themselves in court. The word contemporaneous appeared several times, underlined.

There was another piece of paper attached to the memo apparently by accident, held there by traces of something that looked a lot like honey glazing. It was a note labeled From the Desk of Det. Sgt. A. Dyson, addressed to Paul Arsenault. Arsenault was to make himself available to the Mounties' document people on an upcoming weekend. The combination of the RCMP and document experts could only be the Kyle Corbett case. And a weekend- that would mean a big production, something serious in the offing.

"Jesus Christ. Why should I testify again? I'm starting to feel like a voodoo doll. Everybody wants to stick pins in me!" McLeod was shouting into his phone and searching for something buried under the junkyard on his desk. He hung up, cursing. "Fucking Crown. It's like he wants me to have a heart attack."

"Maybe he does," Cardinal said mildly.

"It's my kid's piano recital on Thursday. I missed his birthday, courtesy of the Corriveau Brothers. If I miss this, my wife- pardon me, my former wife, Lady Macbeth with a court order- will cut me out of the picture altogether. She's already got the Family Court in the palm of her hand, I swear. Far as that place is concerned, I'm somewhere between Attila the Hun and Charles Manson. And Corriveau- what's the point of dismissing a witness if you're just gonna call him back every five minutes?"

Without warning, Cardinal was suddenly thinking of Catherine. McLeod's paranoid yowling faded into the background, and he remembered Catherine's hollow face, and the way she would look over at him from her book, peering over the tops of her reading glasses. Her gaze was so intent at such moments, as if she feared some alien had stolen into bed beside her in her husband's shape. "Are you all right?" she would ask, and the memory of those four simple words was unbearably sweet.

"Hey, where you going?" McLeod called after him. "I'm not finished whining yet. I haven't even started."

CATHERINE Cardinal came down the hall toward her husband, arms stretched out before her. Her hair was still wet from the shower. She held him tightly, and Cardinal breathed in the smell of his wife's shampoo. "How's my girl?" Cardinal said softly. "How's my girl?"

They sat on the couch in the sunroom again. Catherine was so much better, Cardinal felt a flutter of hope. She looked him in the eye, and her hand made only intermittent nervous movements- not the obsessive circles of before. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Then she turned away, and Cardinal waited while his wife wept, his hand resting gently on her knee. Finally, Catherine caught her breath and said, "I thought you'd be down at the divorce court by now."

Cardinal shook his head and smiled. "You won't get rid of me that easy."

"Oh, I will. If not this time, then next time or the time after. The worst thing is, there's not a soul in the world who would blame you."

"I'm not going anywhere, Catherine. Don't worry yourself with that."

"Kelly can look after herself now, and she wouldn't blame you one bit for leaving me. You know she wouldn't. Even I wouldn't blame you."

"Will you stop? I said I'm not leaving."

"Well, maybe you should have an affair with someone. I'm sure you come across lots of willing young women in your job. Have an affair, but just don't tell me about it, all right? I don't want to know. One of your female colleagues, maybe. Just don't fall in love with her."