Anarchy by James Treadwell Page B

from?”
    He put down his fork and leaned back. “It’s not like that. The thing you got to understand, Goose, is we did all this before. The guys tried their best, you know?”
    She cradled her mug in her hands, swirling the dregs of her coffee into a miniature whirlpool. Its steam clung to the chilly window, fogging her view.
    â€œWhat about Fitzgerald?” she said.
    â€œShawn? What about him?”
    She’d said nothing about calling the man’s home. Something about it lay slightly outside the range of conversation. There was a tincture of the unspeakable. Goose felt it by some secret instinct, like a taboo.
    â€œWhat’d he think about her?” She heard her voice waver fractionally.
    â€œShawn’s not too much of a thinker.”
    â€œHe was the duty cop one night while she was in jail.” She stared out at the row of houses opposite, the ones overlooking the inlet. “He wrote some kind of report that wasn’t in the file.”
    Jonas sighed and shifted in his seat. “Oh, man.”
    â€œRight?”
    â€œYou’re gonna sleep better if you stop thinking about paperwork.”
    â€œDid he ever say anything to you, Jonas? About Jennifer? He was the officer called to the scene that night. He must have been involved a lot.”
    â€œA lot of people said a lot of stuff.”
    The tone of his voice said it was nothing, forget it, don’t worry . She turned to him sharply and saw discomfort in his eyes.
    â€œWhat do you mean? What’d he say?”
    â€œAh. Shawn. You know.”
    Her mother would have waited no more than a few seconds before getting up and standing over his shoulder, snapping. Recognizing where the impulse came from, Goose resisted it and waited. Jonas had his own rhythms. Part of his heritage, she thought to herself, plucking the buzzword from that internal glossary of Canadianness she’d worked so hard to acquire.
    â€œShawn’s good people.”
    Goose had learned how to interpret this phrase. Jonas used it so often that at first she’d thought it represented his universal view of humanity. Then she’d noticed it was often followed by a but . It was his way of compensating for something he didn’t really want to talk about, so as to keep things in his preferred state of equilibrium. If they were talking about a wife beater with a homegrown supply of weed and a habit of posting racist conspiracy rants on YouTube, he’d get to the qualifier more or less straightaway: “He’s good people, but . . .” For less heinous individuals it might take him a bit longer.
    â€œHard worker. Tries his best, you know? Nothing too much trouble.”
    Goose had to wait while the waitress came in and refilled their coffees.
    â€œBut, you know. Thought he was gonna sort it out.”
    She waited a while longer to be certain that was as much as he had to say.
    â€œSort out what? The case?”
    â€œAh, I dunno.”
    â€œYou mean he thought he knew what had happened?”
    â€œWho knows. Ancient history.”
    â€œI was talking with Jennifer the day before yesterday. Or trying.” They both kept their voices low, though they could hear the owner yakking on the phone in the kitchen, and Courtnee had left the room again. “Two days ago. It’s not ancient history. She walked right out of that cell all by herself, Jonas. I swear she did. You want to know why I can’t sleep?”
    â€œSee.” Her colleague looked pained. “This is the thing. It gets to you unless you take it easy. Got to Shawn.”
    â€œGot to him how?”
    â€œI guess . . . He used to say how hard could it be to get a kid to talk.” Jonas looked at his plate. She felt like she was bullying a puppy.
    â€œHe said that?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œYou think he tried something?”
    â€œOh, man. Come on. Shawn’s a good cop.”
    â€œSo what was he talking