At the Chinook Tavern, she turned around and headed back into town by way of the college. Traffic was sparse now, and the city below her was all lit up. Thoughts of the Pine-Curry case were turning in her head, and she tried not to force them in any direction. She would just have her little drive and let things fall into place. A few minutes later she was cruising by a handsome, two-story stucco house in a not-quite-posh enclave all but hidden in the shadow of St. Francis Hospital. Dyson's car was parked in the driveway.

Delorme stopped at the side of the street, debating whether to pull in or not.

A pretty little girl, perhaps twelve years old, came walking uphill toward the house, accompanied by a boy of the same age or not much older. She clutched a collection of books to her chest the way girls do, and walked with head down, staring intently at the sidewalk. The boy must have said something funny because she looked up suddenly, laughing, showing a mouthful of braces. Then her mother, a bony, wraithlike figure, appeared in a side doorway and called her daughter away in a voice utterly devoid of affection.

The image stayed with Delorme all the way out to Edgewater Road. But somewhere between Rayne Street and the bypass, a plan of action had dropped into her head. She pulled into the driveway of the Swiss-style A-frame and rang the side doorbell. She had time to prepare her little speech, then forgot it all when the door was opened by Police Chief R. J. Kendall himself. "This had better be good," was all he said.

She followed him down to the basement, the same clubby room where it had all begun. The cover had been removed from what she had taken to be a billiard table. On it tiny soldiers in uniforms of red and blue did battle along the steep bank of a papier-mвchй river. Delorme had interrupted the chief in the pursuit of his passion, building recreations of famous battles in fanatical detail, and he was not about to abandon it for the sake of an unmannerly visit.

"Plains of Abraham?" Delorme asked, trying to ease her way in.

"Just get to it, Detective. General Montcalme is beyond your help."

"Sir, I've been combing the files for anything about Cardinal. Going over old cases of his, notes and everything."

"I assume you've discovered something sensational in those files or you wouldn't be breaking every rule of protocol, not to mention common courtesy, by showing up at my home unannounced."

"No, sir. The thing is, the files aren't going to lead anywhere. I'm just running in circles, and it's getting in the way of Pine-Curry."

"Look at this." The chief held out a smooth hand, palm up. A tiny cannon nestled in his palm. "Exactly to scale. There are twelve of them I have to fix into fittings that are barely visible to the naked eye."

"Incredible." Delorme responded with all the energy she could muster, but she could hear it wasn't enough.

"The files are important. A jury will expect a pattern of behavior."

"Sir, that will take forever, and it will all be old stuff impossible to prove."

"You have the Florida condo. You have the boat receipt."

"Dyson told you about those already?"

"He did. I asked to be kept closely informed."

"The receipt doesn't have Cardinal's name on it, sir." She had been about to tell him about Sergeant Langois, but no, better to wait and see what he might turn up down in Florida. "I've already contacted his American bank, but they're not exactly rushing to cooperate. What we need is something totally convincing. Something from right now. Something plain and simple."

"Naturally. If you want to ask your partner for a signed confession, go ahead. I don't expect you'll see a lot of success." He turned to her, a miniature tube of glue in his hand. "Or were you intending to interview Kyle Corbett on the subject? Excuse me, Mr. Corbett, is one of our detectives supplying you with confidential information? Gee, no, Officer, I have far too much respect for the law."

The chief was not by nature a sarcastic man. Delorme braced herself for one of his famous explosions, then plunged on. "Sir, I have an idea."

"Please. Enlighten me."

"What we do is we plant some information with Cardinal that he's sure to pass along- if he's really working for Corbett, that is. Something he'll have to let him know. Musgrave's crew will tap his phone and keep him under surveillance."

Kendall regarded her coolly, then turned back to his model, a tiny soldier pinched between thumb and forefinger. "I'll say one thing, Detective. You've got nerve."

"Sir, I think this could clear the air relatively-"

The chief cut her off with a wave of the hand. "I'm rather surprised that you're seriously- you are serious, aren't you? Yes, I can see you are- proposing to wiretap your own partner."

"With respect, sir. You're the one who assigned me to investigate him. Well, you and Dyson. If you want me to stop, I'd be happy to stop anytime."

"You see this?" Kendall pointed to a frigate parked in the midnight-blue St. Lawrence. "This assembly here, with the mainmast and stays? Just that part of this project took a week to put together."

"Incredible."

"Sometimes making a thing convincing takes a little time, Sergeant Delorme. A little patience. I hope you're not entirely lacking in that quality."

"My plan is better than thumbing through those endless files. If you look at it objectively, sir, I think you'll agree."

"I am. Hand me the little silver tube, would you? Thank you." Using the point of a pin, the chief dabbed a trace of glue onto a cannonball the size of a bug's eye, and set it onto a tiny stack. "You're still intent on leaving Special Investigations, I suppose. Hate to lose someone with a record like yours."

"Well, Chief, you're not losing me. I'm just moving over into CID."

"I know, I know. But Special Investigations- one could make the case that it's the most important part of the department. Take away Special Investigations, you've got a brain, certainly- all the motor functions are intact- but without Special Investigations, you've got a brain without a conscience. And that, my young friend, is a dangerous thing."

Delorme tucked away that young somewhere warm for later examination. "Sir, if we give him something no one else knows- even if we don't get him on the tap- we'll know he's the guy."

"I have one question." The chief was bending the limbs of a soldier into a climbing position. He dabbed glue onto each miniature hand and knee and pressed the figure into position against the face of a cliff. Then he turned to face Delorme, and his gaze was suddenly almost sexual in its intensity. "Why are you bringing this to me? Why aren't you bringing it to Dyson?"

"I'm working closely with Dyson, sir. But for this plan to stand up in court, there has to be no chance of anyone else having the same tainted information as Cardinal. You and I will be the only ones who know."

"Of course you must do it, there's no question. The sooner the better. Is Corporal Musgrave on board?"

"More than on board, sir. He can't wait."

"Good. Talk to a JP and get your approval."

"We've got it, sir. Musgrave got it."

Kendall cut loose with that big laugh of his, Hah! Hah! Hah! Delorme felt the variation in pressure on her eardrums along with considerable relief. Then the chief held her once more with that prehensile gaze. "Listen to me, young Delorme. I'm older than you and wiser- they're possibly the only reasons I'm your boss, but they're good reasons, so hear me: I have read up on Corporal Musgrave, and Corporal Musgrave is hot to trot, Corporal Musgrave is a barn-burner, Corporal Musgrave does not like our inscrutable Mr. Cardinal. If said Musgrave were under my command, which he is not, he would not be on this case. So you be careful. I'm not saying he's the type to manufacture evidence, but he is the type to blow a case with an excess of zeal. So you be sure and keep your head- which is where, at the moment?"