"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?"

"That's what I'm doing right now. Threader, here, is a useful program. You set it up to stop in at your favorite ports of call. It visits them all at top speed then clicks back off, so it saves connect charges. Only someone who goes on-line a lot would have it."

The screen changed, showing a list of newsgroups. Cardinal read them aloud: "Email, HouseofRock, House-ofRap- rap music? That's gotta be unusual for a white kid."

"Boy, are you out of date."

"Okay, what's this Connections thing?" He tapped an icon of a kissing couple on the screen. "That a talk-dirty outfit?"

"Not necessarily. Let's log on and see what we get."

Delorme moved the mouse and clicked. There was a dialing sound, then the raspberry noise of modems shaking hands. The screen flashed, scrolled at blinding speed, and clicked off.

"It's like trolling in your favorite bays," Delorme said. "Now let's see what we hauled in."

She clicked through the messages. There was a lot of computer chat about new games for Mac users, none addressed specifically to Todd. Then there was a discussion about buying tickets for an Aerosmith concert at the Sky-Dome.

"Ah," Delorme said. "Here's his mail basket. Oh boy, he liked his e-mail hot."

"Jesus," Cardinal said. He was glad he was standing behind Delorme, because he wouldn't have been able to look her in the eye.

"See, it's all anonymous," Delorme said, pointing. "He called himself Galahad in this newsgroup."

"Well, it certainly goes with the Blueboy magazines. Looks like he's got ten different correspondents, there."

"Oop, look here. This guy knows his real name."

Todd, Cardinal read. I'm sorry things didn't work out between us. You seem like a good kid and I wish you well, but I don't think we should meet again. Probably not even talk again, but I'm open on that point. – Jacob

"John, look at the date."

"December twentieth. The night Todd Curry showed up at the Crisis Center. Hey, we could be getting warm, here."

Delorme flipped through several screens, flashing through previous "letters" from the same Jacob. The sex was explicitly detailed. There were repeated invitations to come and visit, to stay the night.

"What a perfect setup," Cardinal said. "Size up your victims over the computer lines. Reel them in, long-distance."

They read more. Not all the messages were explicit sexual fantasies. Some were more thoughtful discussions about the problems of accepting oneself as gay. Well, that's right, Cardinal thought, put the kid at ease. Next to alcohol, sympathy was probably the most potent weapon in the seducer's arsenal.

"Is there any way we can get this guy's real name and address off this?"

"Address, I doubt. Name, maybe. I'm a little rusty, though. It could take a while." Delorme set the mouse moving in circles again, while Cardinal knelt on the floor, going through the boy's collection of video games. After about ten minutes, Delorme touched his shoulder. "Look at this."

Cardinal stood up and looked over her shoulder.

"This is his sex group listing, the Jacob guy. And his e-mail address." She read out: " 'Top, body-building, oral, hot E-mail…' So far, so good. In one of his discussions he mentions Louis Riel- you remember your history?"

"Small rebellion out west, right?"

"Not that small. Anyway, I figure maybe he's into history, so I click on the history newsgroup, right?" Delorme clicked the mouse, and the screen changed. "Next stop: history newsgroup, membership directory. Put in a search for Jacob's e-mail address…" She typed in as she talked. "And look what comes up! Same address."

"That's Jacob?"

"That's Jacob. Only in this group, he's using his real name." She tapped the screen with her index finger. Cardinal read, Jack Fehrenbach, 47: e-mail (French or English). Algonquin Bay.

"Fehrenbach's a teacher at Algonquin High. We sure that's his real name?"