Childress’s news was going to be the most important. She took a deep breath outside her office, and then opened the door confidently. Childress wasn’t even sitting. She stood by the window, staring at the door, her eyes wild. She spoke in a whisper. “Are you crazy?”

“I gather your boss got my package.”

“You don’t send the chief of the biggest division in Toronto a human hand to his desk.”

“Where does he like to take delivery of such things?”

“He threw up. Into the box.”

“That sounds like he’s taking it more seriously now.”

“You better think twice before you ever go back to Toronto.”

Hazel went around the desk and stood behind it, leaning on the blotter. “Look, I don’t care if Ilunga shat his pants, Constable. I want to know what he’s doing. Is he doing anything? Or is he still in denial?”

Childress sighed, as if it gave her pain to even speak. “He ordered the removal of the boat and its oars. He told me to tell you he’s charging the whole thing to OPSC. All due respect, but he asked me to repeat this verbatim to you. He says after they get the bill, he hopes they string you up.”

“That’s nice. When do we hear back?”

“They’re working on it now.”

“Childress? When will I know?”

“Tomorrow morning. At the earliest.”

“Go back to your B &B and wait for word,” she said.

“He told me to come back to Toronto.” She hadn’t looked up at Hazel again, too afraid to see the look in her eyes. “I’m to leave right after speaking to you.”

Hazel pressed her intercom. “Melanie? Send in Constable Jenner.”

Jenner appeared within a minute.

“Jenner? Accompany Constable Childress to The River Nook and install yourself in the hallway to ensure she doesn’t leave.”

“You can’t hold me,” said Childress, angrily.

“You’re seconded to me until this investigation is completed. That’s how I’ve decided to interpret Superintendent Ilunga’s agreeing to get you to drive me here. So you are under my command until further notice.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

Childress stood up, passing a look behind her to Jenner. “He’s going to make you a personal hobby,” she said. “I’ll stay. You don’t need to send me a babysitter.”

“Do I have your word?”

Her mouth was set in a straight line. “My word is worth something. You have it.”

After she went out, Hazel said, “Call Dianne MacDonald and ask her to let us know if Childress tries to leave the building.” Jenner nodded smartly and left.

Next was Sunderland. His hair was flat against his forehead where the weather had plastered it down. He’d prepared a presentation, laying out the last two weeks of the Westmuir Record on the tabletop. When she entered the room, he was standing behind the table and he made an expansive gesture at them. “Ah, here she is, Shiva the destroyer. And look, here is her handiwork. Five numbers of our proud paper of record, reduced to a high school ’zine.” He came around the front of the table. “You are feckless, power-hungry, thoughtless, arrogant, and foolish, you know that?”

“How was Atlanta?”

“I’m going to make you front-page news, Hazel. I’m going to tell all our readers what you consider fair game. That you think strong-arming anyone you care to into doing your will is the way to run the Port Dundas P.D. I’m thinking of maybe doing a summer-length exposé. ‘The Rot at the Heart of Westmuir.’”

“If you’re thinking of ruining me, you’d better get in line. You have competitors.”

“They can go on the record. I know I won’t have any trouble finding them.”

She peered down at the five newspapers arrayed on the table. She’d probably had more to do with their contents than Sunderland had. She pushed them apart with her hands. “You know what’s wrong with your paper, Gord?”

He set his jaw. “That it’s within a five-minute walk of the station house? And that members of this police force have, for years, been using it as their own personal bulletin board?”

“No,” she said patiently, “it’s that it’s run as a cult of personality. Which would be fine if you had a personality, or if you had any competition. If the people had a choice of what to read.”

His cheeks were shaking and she thought there was a very good chance he might sweep the papers off the table that separated them and crawl over it to wrap his fingers around her throat. She sort of relished the thought of it, calling for backup, someone being forced to use their truncheon to pull him off her. “I’m going to be here long after you, Hazel. But I’ll promise you one thing: I’ll keep your name alive.”

He made to pick up the papers, but thought twice of it and walked around the table. “I’ll close these doors so tight to you, Gord, that when you print news about Port Dundas, you’ll have to put it beside the horoscope.” He stopped. “Why don’t you think for once? You’ve been running a short story that was probably penned, in part, by a murderer. The Record is actually part of the story this time. And if you want to find out how it ends, you’ll change your tone.”

“Oh yeah, and what is it, exactly, you can do for me? You going to write the editorial apologizing for the dog’s breakfast we’ve been putting out the last two and a half weeks? You going to refund the people who actually pay to read this newspaper?”

“No,” she said. “But if you can keep it in your pants, Sunderland, I may be able to help you save face.”

He screwed up that round, fratboy’s face at her and she thought maybe he’d spit. But instead, he was at a loss for words. She had rarely seen him like that and it told her he needed her much more than she needed him.

“I know about Ray Greene,” he said. “That’s going into Monday’s paper.”

“You want a comment from me?”

“I’ll do without.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “You hold the Monday edition and I’ll give you the end of this Eldwin story before the weekend is out. It’ll be something special, unlike any other kind of story you’ve run before. It’ll make you look like a genius. Haven’t you always wanted to be confused for a genius?”

“I’m finished talking to you, Hazel.”

He made for the door. “You know the Toronto Star is going to pick this up,” she lied. “It has a Toronto angle. You’re going to need a slam dunk if the Record isn’t going to look like it’s reprinting a wire story from the Big Smoke.”

“I detest you,” he said.

“I like your tan,” she said.

She stood in the hallway outside of interview 2, hoping not to hear screams. She could see the back of Wingate’s head. She prayed he was taking the initiative and starting without her. She dreaded this, but she straightened her cap and went in.

31

Claire Eldwin’s face was streaked red and white, her hands wrapped tightly around a water glass. On the table between them was the cage with the mouse in it.

“What’s that mouse doing here?” Hazel asked Wingate.

“I just… she was crying. I thought an animal might calm her down.”

She sat at the end of the table. Mason was sniffing the air. “Did it?”

“No,” said Claire Eldwin. “Is it true the man who kidnapped my husband sent this poor animal in a box to you?”

Hazel hesitated; she didn’t know if Eldwin knew about her husband’s hand. “Yes,” she said. “He did. It wasn’t… very nice. But he’s okay now.”

“Who?”

“The mouse. Mason.”

Claire Eldwin put her hand out toward the cage and put a finger between the bars. Mason pushed himself up against an opposite corner. “This is my husband,” she said. “In a cage somewhere.” She looked up at Hazel and began to cry again. “I take back everything I ever said about him… I just want him home. Why haven’t you found him?”

“We’re close, Mrs. Eldwin. We are. We have… we know the man who abducted him.”