"Len, what the hell happened? Where's our dental report?"

"Fucking dentist, I can't believe this guy. Keeps putting us off, screens his calls, doesn't show up, etcetera. Finally, I get ahold of the creep personally and we go in. Know why he's putting us off? Turns out he's been overbilling like crazy."

"What do you mean, Len? What's on the chart?"

"It's full of fillings the guy never did. Makes it look like the kid had enough fillings to pave Lake Ontario. Patient in the morgue, on the other hand, shows only five small fillings."

"But those five, Len, those five. Do they match?"

"Luckily, the work this crooked bastard really did was marked in a different color. Five little fillings marked in red pen: perfect match. Our patient is Todd William Curry."

24

TODD Curry's parents lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Mississauga, a vast sprawl on the western edge of Toronto that ranges from charmless malls and high-rises to a leafy wood shot through with rivers and streams. They did not live in the leafy part. The Currys had been told to expect the two detectives from Algonquin Bay and consequently had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare; smells of Windex and Mr. Clean hung heavy in the air. There was not a cushion out of place.

"They told us you'd be coming." Mrs. Curry greeted them at the door. "My husband stayed home from work."

"Hope that won't upset your boss too much," Cardinal said to the man who rose energetically out of a well-padded armchair.

"I'm not worried about it. Place owes me about a year's worth of vacation days." He shook hands forcefully, as if to prove that grief could not dent his manly vigor. He even managed a broad smile, but it lasted no longer than a camera flash, and then he sank back into his chair.

Cardinal turned to the mother. "Mrs. Curry, did Todd have any relatives in or around Algonquin Bay?"

"Well, there's his uncle Clark in Thunder Bay. But that's hundreds of miles away."

"What about friends. Maybe someone he met at school?"

"Well, I wouldn't know about that. But there were certainly no friends that we knew of from Algonquin Bay."

The father roused himself out of reverie. "What about that young man who came to stay last summer? The one with the mismatched sneakers."

"You mean Steve? Steve was from Stratford, dear."

"No, no. I'm talking about someone else altogether. I'm talking about a different boy."

"Well, the one with the mismatched sneakers was Steve, and he was from Stratford. You know my memory's better than yours. It always has been."

"I guess that's true. I guess your memory was always better than mine."

Once in Algonquin Bay, Cardinal had been at the scene where a gas line had exploded, removing the whole front of an apartment building and collapsing three floors. Husbands and wives had drifted through the smoke and ashes like souls in purgatory. Now, their family having been exploded by grief, Mr. and Mrs. Curry were trying to recognize each other through the smoke and ashes.

"Did Todd have any other reason to stop at Algonquin Bay that you know of?"

"No. None. Boyish curiosity. Maybe someone he met on the train. Todd's an impulsive boy. Was." Mrs. Curry's hand drifted up to her mouth as if it would push the past tense back. Her face was a picture of confusion.

Then Mr. Curry was at her side, his arm around her shoulder. "There, there, girl," he said in a low voice. "Why don't you come sit down on the couch?"

"I can't sit down. I haven't even offered them any tea. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks," Delorme said gently. "Mrs. Curry, we know Todd got into trouble with drugs at least once. Do you remember anything to do with drugs- maybe a name that came out in his court hearing- that might have led him to Algonquin Bay?"

"Todd was over his drug problem. He didn't use drugs anymore. There, I said it: was, didn't- they're just words, aren't they." She managed a ghastly smile. "Are you sure you won't have some tea? It's no trouble."

It was a new art form for Delorme, picking shards of fact from the exposed hearts of the bereaved. She looked to Cardinal for help, but he said nothing. He thought, Get used to it.

"I didn't know Todd at all, Mrs. Curry, but- well, let me put it another way, I mean- the thing is…" Delorme bit her lip, then said, "You know. A cup of tea would be very nice. Can I help you make it?"

Cardinal said to the father, "You mind if I look at Todd's room, meanwhile?"

"What? Todd's room?" Mr. Curry scratched the top of his head. In another context, the cartoonlike gesture would have been comical. He gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. I just don't know how to act. Todd's room, yes, that makes sense I guess. You need to know more about him, yes, I can see how you do. All right, you go ahead, Detective, you do your work and don't let me get in your way."

"It's this way?"

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. Second on the right. Well, I'll show you." He led Cardinal down a short hall. There were two bedrooms on the left, closets on the right, bathroom at the end; that was the whole apartment. Mr. Curry opened the door and gestured for Cardinal to enter, then stood leaning against the door frame, as if his son's bedroom were located on an exalted plane he was not worthy to enter. His eyes flicked nervously back and forth, death having infused the most mundane objects- the half-deflated basketball in the corner, a broken skateboard on a shelf- with the power to utterly undo him in front of this intruder.

"Mr. Curry, you don't have to watch, if you don't want."

"I'm all right, Detective. You just go ahead and do what you have to do."

Cardinal stood in the middle of the room and said nothing, just absorbed the relationships of various objects. There was an elaborate boom box on top of the dresser and small towers of tapes. Posters of pop stars were tacked to the wall: Backstreet Boys, Tupac Shakur, Puff Daddy. There was a small desk, the surface of which was a map of the world. A small Macintosh computer sat on top of Africa. Bookshelves were neatly fitted into either end of the desk. Cardinal was certain Mr. Curry had built them. He ran his hand along the edge of Antarctica. "Nice desk," he said, and knelt to examine Todd's books.

"Yes, I built that. It was easy really. Still, you know, a project like that takes more than a few hours. Todd hated it, of course."

"Oh, they're hard to please, teenagers."

"Todd and I didn't get along very well, that's the truth of it. I didn't know how to handle him, I guess. Tried being lenient, tried being tough. Nothing seemed to work. Now, I just wish he was here."

"I'm sure the two of you would have made it up," Cardinal said. "Most families do." The titles on the shelves: Treasure Island, Catcher in the Rye, several Hardy Boys installments, all dusty. The rest of Todd's library consisted of science fiction paperbacks with garish covers. He was tempted to tell Mr. Curry about his own daughter, how in her teens she used to tell him regularly she hated him and now they got along just great. Wrong tack to take, though.

"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."