"You have a kid at university, don't you?" Delorme's train of thought seemed also to be traveling in the direction of daughters.

"That's right. Her name's Kelly."

"What year's she in?"

"Second-year grad school. Fine arts. Straight A's, too," he couldn't help adding.

"You could have stopped in to see her. We had plenty of time."

"Kelly's not in Toronto. She's studying in the States." As you very well know, Detective Delorme, despite the innocent act. Run your Special Investigation on me, if you must, but don't expect me to help.

"Why'd she go to the States? Is that where your wife's from?"

"Kelly's mother is American. But that's not why Kelly went there. Yale's about the best art school on the continent."

"Such a famous university. And I don't even know where it is." It was just possible Delorme wasn't faking. Cardinal couldn't be sure.

"New Haven. Connecticut."

"I don't know where that is, either. New Haven, I mean."

"It's right on the coast. Ugly place." Go ahead, Delorme, ask me how I can afford it. Ask me where I got the money.

But Delorme just wagged her head in wonder. "Yale. That's great. What did you say she was studying?"

"Fine art. Kelly's always wanted to be a painter. She's very talented."

"Smart girl, sounds like. Doesn't want to be a cop."

"Smart girl."

As they headed north through the snowstorm, the atmosphere in the car was tense. One of the wipers squealed every time it crossed the windshield so that Cardinal wanted to rip it out. He turned on the radio and listened to exactly one verse of Joni Mitchell singing "Both Sides Now" and switched it off again. As they approached Gravenhurst, the first rocks of the Precambrian Shield reared up on either side of the highway. Cardinal usually felt he was truly heading home when he reached that first rock cut, but now he just felt smothered.

At Forensic that morning, Cardinal had telephoned Dyson to bring him up to date. Before he could say anything, the detective sergeant broke in: "I have two words for you, Cardinal."

"Which two?"

"Margaret Fogle."

"What about her?"

"I am holding in my hand- hot off the press, so to speak- a fax from Vancouver P.D. Turns out Miss Fogle is not, as some may have thought, a victim of murder in our fair city. Turns out Miss Fogle is alive and well and having a baby in Vancouver." The glee in Dyson's voice came over the phone line loud and clear.

"Well, that's good," Cardinal said. "Alive is definitely good."

"Don't feel too bad, Cardinal. We all make mistakes."

Cardinal had let that pass, but Dyson had still managed to sour his day.

As they drove by Bracebridge, where the turnoffs were little more than vague outlines in the whirling snow, Delorme brought up the music angle again, and as they tossed theories back and forth, they both began to cheer up. Cardinal became aware that Delorme's good opinion mattered to him. Must be something to do with those sharp features, those serious eyes. There couldn't be any other reason; they didn't know each other well enough.

Okay, Cardinal thought as he opened an inner debate with himself, you have the distinct sensation that your partner is investigating you. What's the best way to handle this unpleasant state of affairs without coming off too badly? He decided he would do whatever he could to help her. Without being too obvious, he would give her every opportunity to get on with it- let her have a go at his locker, his desk (if she hadn't already). Hell, he would let her have a go at his house. Yale was the most damaging thing against him, and she already knew about that. There was little chance of her finding anything else, not at this point.

Once they were past Huntsville, Cardinal began to feel he was really on home territory again. It was always good to work with the folks in Toronto; he liked the snappy professionalism down there. But he liked the North: He liked the cleanliness, the rocky hills and forests, and the deep clarity of the skies. Most of all he liked the sense of working for the place that had formed him, the sense of protecting the place that had protected him as a kid. Toronto provided a wider variety of career opportunities, not to mention more money, but it could never have been home.

Home. Suddenly Cardinal wished Catherine was here beside him. He never knew when it would hit, this ache. Hours would go by when he thought of nothing but the case he was working; then he would notice a pressure building in his chest, a hurt and a hunger. He wished Catherine was with him- even Catherine mad, even Catherine with delusions.

It was getting darker now, and the snow was flapping around the car like lace curtains.

THE snow was still coming down the next day as Cardinal and Delorme sat in Dyson's office while he read to them from the RCMP's profile of the killer. How the detective sergeant had got Ottawa headquarters to respond so quickly was a mystery to Cardinal. The fax wires must have been humming. And now- this was so like Dyson it verged on self-parody- he was making fun of the document he had gone to so much trouble to secure.

"Analysis of site photographs is hampered by the fact that only one is the site of a murder. The island mineshaft is a dump site only. Oh, really. That's wonderful." Dyson addressed himself to the report he was holding. "Tell me something else I don't know."

He didn't look up. Just flipped through a couple of pages, breezing his way through a paragraph here, a paragraph there. "Differing causes of death… asphyxiation… blunt trauma… Blah and blah and again blah. Boy attacked while seated… facing attacker, indicating knew attacker and to some degree trusted… Well, we know all this."

Cardinal said, "What I don't understand is why you tapped the RCMP profilers so soon. I would have waited till we had more to give them."

"And when might that be?"

"You should have kept me informed. We all know the Horsemen can destroy a case faster than you can say Musical Ride. I mean, look at Kyle Corbett, for God's sake. I don't even want to speculate how they screwed that one up. But their profilers are a different story, and Grace Legault- who we may as well call Miss General Public- called me last night and wanted to know when we'd be calling them in. I told her we had no need to call in RCMP profilers, OPP profilers, or any other damn profilers and now I'm going to look like an idiot."

"Look, it was the chief's idea and it was a good one. You should be thanking him. Haven't you ever heard of a preemptive strike? This'll keep the media off our backs with this call-in-the-feds crap. And it gets us points with our brothers and sisters in red, always a good thing."

"But there's nothing here Toronto Forensic can't handle-"

Dyson didn't wait to hear the further thoughts of John Cardinal. He plowed on, "Girl taken from crowded place… no visible struggle… again indicating degree of familiarity…"

"Children, even teenagers will trust anyone if they're approached the right way," Delorme said. "Remember we had that molester a few years ago who would pretend to be from the hospital and tell them their mother was in Emergency."

"I'm just amazed that they call this a service." Dyson tapped the report.

"One dump site and thirty seconds with some photographs," Cardinal said. "No profiler's going to come up with much under those circumstances."

"Suddenly you're in love with the Horsemen? How many murder scenes has this so-called profiler worked, that's what I want to know."

"That's Joanna Prokop. She profiled Laurence Knapschaefer right down to the type of car he drove. She's got more brains than the entire O division put together."

Dyson flipped to the last page and glared at the summary he found there. "Nature of both sites indicates loner… Knowledge of mineshaft indicates local resident… Ah, here we are: This killer shows characteristics of both the organized and disorganized type. He's not afraid to face intended victims head-on. Has requisite social skills- surface ones- to entice a young person into dangerous circumstances. The abandoned house, the mineshaft, the tape recording, all indicate careful planning. Careful planning suggests attacker probably holds a steady job. May be an obsessive cleaner or neat freak, a list-maker. May hold a job that requires a high degree of organization. Todd Curry didn't look very neat to me, but no doubt we have different housekeeping standards than the Horsemen. Or Horseladies, sorry.