down. They may not have bothered renting one.”
“Mercury Grand Marquis. Red. Current model. They rented it from Hertz at the airport. You want the licence number?”
Cardinal laughed. “You’re good.”
“I try to be, Officer.”
As Cardinal headed back toward his car, she caught up to him from behind. She spoke breathlessly, words colliding into each other. “Listen, I hate to sound forward and everything. I’m really not a pushy person, despite how it may look. But I’m sick of eating at the hotel and I’m hoping you’ll go to dinner with me. Someplace nice. I realize you’re married and I’m not trying to pick you up. In fact, I’d love to meet your wife, so bring her too and it’ll be my treat, okay? What do you say? I can put it on expenses and it won’t even be a lie. Say yes. You can explain Algonquin Bay to me. You can talk about hockey. It’ll be fun.”
It had started to snow, and a flake landed on her eyebrow and melted there.When Cardinal and Delorme got back to the station, McLeod told them how his unrelenting devotion to duty had led him to canvass the airport rental agencies and determine the make of the Bastovs’ car. An all-units alert for the Mercury Grand Marquis was already in place.
Cardinal dialed Anton Bastov’s number again. No answer. He looked up Donna Karan, dialed the DKNY corporate headquarters and finally ascertained his whereabouts. Anton Bastov had been overcome by severe food poisoning after a return flight from Paris. He was expected to recover but was still in hospital. Cardinal got the name of the hospital and called them and was told the patient was not well enough to receive bad news or be interviewed.
Cardinal typed up his supplemental reports, wondering if he should mention Donna Vaughan in them. He decided against it. She was press, not a witness, and others had garnered the same information through the usual police footwork.
D.S. Chouinard stopped by Cardinal’s cubicle on his way out. “Word to the wise. Just had a call from the FBI’s New York office. They’re going to be sending a man up here. Special Agent Mendelsohn.”
“What for?”
“We’ve got a couple of dead American citizens and they want to have a look-see. Naturally, we’re going to be the model of international co-operation.”
At seven-thirty, Delorme put on her coat. “You want to watch a video later, or are you too tired?”
“I’m pretty beat,” Cardinal said.
“You staying all night?”
“Nah, I’m just about done.” He didn’t feel like telling Delorme about his dinner date, he wasn’t sure why.
“Who was the blonde at the warehouse?”
“Donna Vaughan. Reporter from the States.”
Delorme’s brown eyes lingered on him for a moment, then she was gone.
—
DeGroot’s restaurant had opened up on Main Street the year before. It couldn’t boast the elegance of Champlain’s but, with its snug wooden booths and its red plush banquettes, it did offer a pleasant mixture ofprivacy and conviviality. It didn’t hurt that the food was good too. When Cardinal had warned Donna that it was a steakhouse, she said, “Fine with me, Detective. I’m good with red meat.”
She was already seated in a booth when he got there. “Typical pathetic single, right? Asks the guy out, gets there first, already into the wine.”
“Pathetic is not the word that comes to mind,” Cardinal said. “You look amazing.”
He hadn’t said anything like that to any woman other than Catherine for nearly thirty years. It was completely true, of course. He wasn’t sure if it was the colour of her sweater, or something she had done to her hair, or the silver earrings.
“I’m really embarrassed now about being so forward,” she said, “and suggesting you bring your wife. I looked you up on the Internet and, boy—brilliant move, Donna.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Cardinal said. He twisted his ring. “I know I should take it off. It’s been more than a year now. But we
“Mercury Grand Marquis. Red. Current model. They rented it from Hertz at the airport. You want the licence number?”
Cardinal laughed. “You’re good.”
“I try to be, Officer.”
As Cardinal headed back toward his car, she caught up to him from behind. She spoke breathlessly, words colliding into each other. “Listen, I hate to sound forward and everything. I’m really not a pushy person, despite how it may look. But I’m sick of eating at the hotel and I’m hoping you’ll go to dinner with me. Someplace nice. I realize you’re married and I’m not trying to pick you up. In fact, I’d love to meet your wife, so bring her too and it’ll be my treat, okay? What do you say? I can put it on expenses and it won’t even be a lie. Say yes. You can explain Algonquin Bay to me. You can talk about hockey. It’ll be fun.”
It had started to snow, and a flake landed on her eyebrow and melted there.When Cardinal and Delorme got back to the station, McLeod told them how his unrelenting devotion to duty had led him to canvass the airport rental agencies and determine the make of the Bastovs’ car. An all-units alert for the Mercury Grand Marquis was already in place.
Cardinal dialed Anton Bastov’s number again. No answer. He looked up Donna Karan, dialed the DKNY corporate headquarters and finally ascertained his whereabouts. Anton Bastov had been overcome by severe food poisoning after a return flight from Paris. He was expected to recover but was still in hospital. Cardinal got the name of the hospital and called them and was told the patient was not well enough to receive bad news or be interviewed.
Cardinal typed up his supplemental reports, wondering if he should mention Donna Vaughan in them. He decided against it. She was press, not a witness, and others had garnered the same information through the usual police footwork.
D.S. Chouinard stopped by Cardinal’s cubicle on his way out. “Word to the wise. Just had a call from the FBI’s New York office. They’re going to be sending a man up here. Special Agent Mendelsohn.”
“What for?”
“We’ve got a couple of dead American citizens and they want to have a look-see. Naturally, we’re going to be the model of international co-operation.”
At seven-thirty, Delorme put on her coat. “You want to watch a video later, or are you too tired?”
“I’m pretty beat,” Cardinal said.
“You staying all night?”
“Nah, I’m just about done.” He didn’t feel like telling Delorme about his dinner date, he wasn’t sure why.
“Who was the blonde at the warehouse?”
“Donna Vaughan. Reporter from the States.”
Delorme’s brown eyes lingered on him for a moment, then she was gone.
—
DeGroot’s restaurant had opened up on Main Street the year before. It couldn’t boast the elegance of Champlain’s but, with its snug wooden booths and its red plush banquettes, it did offer a pleasant mixture ofprivacy and conviviality. It didn’t hurt that the food was good too. When Cardinal had warned Donna that it was a steakhouse, she said, “Fine with me, Detective. I’m good with red meat.”
She was already seated in a booth when he got there. “Typical pathetic single, right? Asks the guy out, gets there first, already into the wine.”
“Pathetic is not the word that comes to mind,” Cardinal said. “You look amazing.”
He hadn’t said anything like that to any woman other than Catherine for nearly thirty years. It was completely true, of course. He wasn’t sure if it was the colour of her sweater, or something she had done to her hair, or the silver earrings.
“I’m really embarrassed now about being so forward,” she said, “and suggesting you bring your wife. I looked you up on the Internet and, boy—brilliant move, Donna.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Cardinal said. He twisted his ring. “I know I should take it off. It’s been more than a year now. But we
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