“I had a Nikon and a Polaroid. The photos from the Nikon are the ones that ended up in the next year’s yearbook. I know I took some Polaroids because I didn’t have any film left, but who the hell knows where they went.”

Fang took out a battered cigarette and lit it. “What about the pictures that didn’t make it into the yearbook? Maybe we can look through those.”

“Tyger threw them out years ago. And the negatives.” He looked across at Fang. “Is that weed?”

“Yeah, but it won’t stay lit in this fucking rain.”

Chico’s head swivelled to a spot down the street. “Bliss, isn’t that Chief Redfern’s Cherokee? Hell and damnations.”

“He isn’t stopping. But if he asks later, tell him we were just reminiscing about old times … no, wait, don’t say that. We were discussing the food bank benefit.”

“Sure, I’ll lie to the cops for you. No problem. Whatever you say, as usual.” Fang gave up on his joint and stuck it back in his pocket. “I’m leaving. Not that this hasn’t been a blast, but next time, haul up a case of beer. I can smell your neighbour’s Bud Light from here.”

Whoa, didn’t that give me an idea. A really good idea. “We need to conduct an experiment,” I said. “Both of you be back here at eight o’clock tonight. Dress for the weather. And bring flashlights.”

CHAPTER

twenty-six

“What’s going on here? People are sitting on their roofs.” Tony rolled down the passenger window and stuck his head out. “They have shovels and cases of beer. I love this town!”

After Tony interviewed Mike Bains, he insisted on accompanying Neil to talk to Mrs. Brickle. “I want to see the mastermind behind the senior citizen marijuana dessert ring you busted last summer,” was how he put it. They had finished up at her house on Sandpiper Street a block over and were headed back to the station via Morningside Drive.

“They’re shovelling the wet snow off so their roofs don’t collapse. It’s quite a social affair in this town.” He slowed so Tony had a better view.

“Geez. It’s been raining all day. Look at that trio. Two drowned crows and a duck.”

“That’s Cornwall’s house.”

“Slow down, man. So, that little yellow one in the middle is Bliss?” He craned his neck. “That looks like Fang Davidson. I wonder who the other guy is.”

Neil put his foot on the brake and looked across the street. “Charles Leeds.”

“Almost half of our suspects on one roof. A cop’s dream. Let’s get out and shake them up.”

Neil pulled away from the curb. “I have a better idea. Let’s get some coffee and discuss today’s interviews.”

Tony reluctantly closed the window. “Aren’t you anxious about your lady sitting on a roof with two men? Either one of them could be our killer.”

“Nothing I say will have any effect on Cornwall’s course of action. On anything.”

He felt Tony’s eyes appraising him, and waited for it …

“Hell, why don’t you just marry Bliss and be done with it? Then you two can duke it out in one room where you can’t hide or run away from each other.”

“It’s not that simple, Tony. Both of us have … issues.”

Tony snorted and turned down the heat. “I forgot. You’re already married.”

Neil’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Look who’s giving marital advice — a man who’s been married three times.”

As he hoped, this distracted his friend. “Stop exaggerating. I’ve been married twice. I don’t count the Vegas wedding. It wasn’t legal because Tiffany was already married. And we were stinkin’ trashed the whole weekend.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t mention ex-wives in front of Glory.”

Neil turned his head. “She doesn’t know your marital track record? I told you, Tony, it’s not right to blow into a town, sweep a lonely woman off her feet, and then blow out again with the next wind. Glory Yates is a decent person and deserves better.”

“Keep your shirt on, dude. I’ve been honest with Glory. We really connected. I don’t plan to do anything to hurt her.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? You’ve left a string of broken-hearted ex-girlfriends all over the province.”

“Well now, just maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf. You’ll just have to wait and see.” Tony spied the Tim Hortons sign coming up. “Swing in here. I need a double-double fix and a couple of Boston creams.”

While they waited for their drive-through order, Neil tried one more time. “Just keep two things in mind, will you?”

“I didn’t know you could count that high, but go ahead.”

“First, before you do something stupid, remember Glory is on the Police Services Board. And right now she’s my only ally. Mike and Andrea Bains are gunning for me because of my relationship with Cornwall. And the fourth member will vote any way the mayor wants as long as his driveway is cleared of snow for free.”

“Noted, bud.” A Boston cream doughnut disappeared into Tony’s mouth. He offered the second to Neil, who shook his head. “Still won’t eat doughnuts in public? You are one weird copper. A disgrace to the uniform. So, what’s the second thing, as if I need to hear it again?”

“Just be careful where you lay your head while you’re in Lockport.”

Except for Lavinia, the station was empty. “Everybody’s out on patrol, Chief. I left the house-to-house reports on your desk, but I read them myself. Nobody in the area saw or heard anything unusual Saturday night to early Sunday morning when Sophie Quantz died. Zilch.”

“Okay, thanks, Lavinia.” In his office, he and Tony took off their coats and opened their coffees. “Let’s hear what Mike Bains had to say.”

“In a word: nothing. He didn’t notice Faith in particular at the graduation affair. According to him, he spent the evening chatting with the chaperones, most particularly Miss Emily Czerneski, who is conveniently dead. According to this paragon, he didn’t imbibe a drop of liquor or engage in salacious behaviour of any kind. He didn’t see anything unusual except his classmates acting like a bunch of jungle apes.”

Neil laughed. “Are those his exact words?”

“No, I’m paraphrasing. He didn’t say this either, but he doesn’t like you one little bit.” Tony pulled his notebook out of his pocket and opened his laptop. “I’ll type this up while I remember every useless word the phony little bastard uttered.”

“Did you run into the formidable Mrs. Bains?”

“She was present while I interviewed her husband, reminding me that she is his lawyer. Confirmed he was with her in bed during the time Sophie Quantz was shot in the head at the church.”

Neil read through the pages of house-to-house interviews. Lavinia was right. Four reports of nothing. “Did he admit dating either Faith or Sophie?”

“Sophie. Briefly, just before spring break in March. He was very careful not to besmirch Sophie by saying she was available to everyone, especially in front of his wife, but he managed to get the point across.”

Neil turned on his laptop. “While you’re documenting the Bains interview, I’ll do the Brickle one.”

“Not much for us there, either. Another suspect with no useful information, and no alibi for early Sunday morning. Lives alone. No one to corroborate she stayed in all night.” Tony looked up. “Did you see Mrs. Brickle’s hands? They’re so twisted with arthritis, I doubt she could hold a gun, never mind affect a perfect head shot.”

“I agree. She goes to the bottom of the list.”

Tony looked up. “We have seven suspects for Sophie Quantz’s murder — as long as you insist on including Bliss — and not one of them has an alibi worth shit. Davidson, Leeds, and Bains are all alibied by their wives. Archman, Brickle, Quantz, and Bliss don’t even have that.”