around in the back seat of the squad car, still mouthing multiple thank yous as the car turned right on MacIntosh and headed north for the trip back to the Algonquin Bay jail.
10
L ISE D ELORME WAS ANNOYED to be shunted aside on the Matlock case. What Cardinal had said was quite true: she had worked with Musgrave before and they got along fine, even though he was a chauvinist nightmare. But no, D.S. Chouinard had wanted Cardinal on Matlock, and Cardinal it would be—which meant that while Cardinal was deep in the juiciest case to come along in a year, Delorme was left to handle whatever run-of-the-mill stuff might happen to be phoned in.
She had been eating at her desk when the call came in from St. Francis Hospital about a missing person. Delorme had taken down a few particulars and promised to be there in twenty minutes.
Missing persons. The trouble with missing persons is, they’re usually not missing at all. Not the adults. In most cases they’re simply fed up—with their mate, their job, their life—and they’ve decided to take a powder. A spontaneous sabbatical. But there were elements in this particular “misper” that warranted immediate investigation, even though the subject—a single female in her thirties—had not yet been gone for even twenty-four hours.
“I’m here to see Dr. Nita Perry,” Delorme said to the duty nurse. “Could you page her for me?”
Delorme went to wait in the sunroom. On the television in the corner, Geoffrey Mantis, premier of Ontario, was explaining why teachers would have to work longer hours.
“Oh yeah,” Delorme said to the screen. “As if you’re going to work longer hours.” All Mantis seemed to do was vote himself pay raises and go on vacations. Delorme had never thought of golf as a year-round sport before. But she had learned to keep her political opinions to herself around the station. Definitely Tory turf, except for Cardinal. As far as she could tell, they were the only two cops on the force who didn’t consider Mantis a hometown hero.
A young woman in surgical scrubs came into the sun-room. She was small—a good two inches shorter than Delorme—and her red hair was held back from her face with two severe-looking clips. “I only have a few moments,” Dr. Perry said. “I’m just on my way into surgery.”
“You’re a surgeon?” Delorme asked.
“Anaesthetist. They can’t start till I get there.”
“You called in a missing person report on Dr. Winter Cates?”
“That’s right. I have the picture you asked for. I managed to scrounge it up from our security people.”
The photograph showed a pretty woman in her early thirties, with curly black hair and a crooked smile that gave her a faintly sardonic expression.
“It doesn’t do her justice, believe me.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Dr. Cates?”
“Last night, about eleven-thirty. I called her to tell her Road Warrior was on the late show. She’s a real Mel Gibson fan—well, we both are. But she had rented a movie to watch. She certainly sounded fine, then. Not a care in the world.”
“Eleven-thirty seems late to be calling someone. Even a good friend.”
“Oh, no. Winter’s a real night owl, like me. I don’t think I’d call her after one A.M. , but any time up to then. We often speak late at night. We were joking about ‘going to the farm’—that’s our code for watching TV and scarfing down a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies. Winter was just opening the bag when I called.”
“When did you first become concerned about her?”
“This morning. We had a procedure scheduled for eight o’clock, and she didn’t show. That would make you worry about anyone, but particularly someone as conscientious as Winter. She’s just someone you can count on—the way you can’t count on most people.” A shadow crossed Dr. Perry’s vividly blue eyes, as if she were recalling the myriad people who couldn’t be counted on. “And Winter and I have become good
10
L ISE D ELORME WAS ANNOYED to be shunted aside on the Matlock case. What Cardinal had said was quite true: she had worked with Musgrave before and they got along fine, even though he was a chauvinist nightmare. But no, D.S. Chouinard had wanted Cardinal on Matlock, and Cardinal it would be—which meant that while Cardinal was deep in the juiciest case to come along in a year, Delorme was left to handle whatever run-of-the-mill stuff might happen to be phoned in.
She had been eating at her desk when the call came in from St. Francis Hospital about a missing person. Delorme had taken down a few particulars and promised to be there in twenty minutes.
Missing persons. The trouble with missing persons is, they’re usually not missing at all. Not the adults. In most cases they’re simply fed up—with their mate, their job, their life—and they’ve decided to take a powder. A spontaneous sabbatical. But there were elements in this particular “misper” that warranted immediate investigation, even though the subject—a single female in her thirties—had not yet been gone for even twenty-four hours.
“I’m here to see Dr. Nita Perry,” Delorme said to the duty nurse. “Could you page her for me?”
Delorme went to wait in the sunroom. On the television in the corner, Geoffrey Mantis, premier of Ontario, was explaining why teachers would have to work longer hours.
“Oh yeah,” Delorme said to the screen. “As if you’re going to work longer hours.” All Mantis seemed to do was vote himself pay raises and go on vacations. Delorme had never thought of golf as a year-round sport before. But she had learned to keep her political opinions to herself around the station. Definitely Tory turf, except for Cardinal. As far as she could tell, they were the only two cops on the force who didn’t consider Mantis a hometown hero.
A young woman in surgical scrubs came into the sun-room. She was small—a good two inches shorter than Delorme—and her red hair was held back from her face with two severe-looking clips. “I only have a few moments,” Dr. Perry said. “I’m just on my way into surgery.”
“You’re a surgeon?” Delorme asked.
“Anaesthetist. They can’t start till I get there.”
“You called in a missing person report on Dr. Winter Cates?”
“That’s right. I have the picture you asked for. I managed to scrounge it up from our security people.”
The photograph showed a pretty woman in her early thirties, with curly black hair and a crooked smile that gave her a faintly sardonic expression.
“It doesn’t do her justice, believe me.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Dr. Cates?”
“Last night, about eleven-thirty. I called her to tell her Road Warrior was on the late show. She’s a real Mel Gibson fan—well, we both are. But she had rented a movie to watch. She certainly sounded fine, then. Not a care in the world.”
“Eleven-thirty seems late to be calling someone. Even a good friend.”
“Oh, no. Winter’s a real night owl, like me. I don’t think I’d call her after one A.M. , but any time up to then. We often speak late at night. We were joking about ‘going to the farm’—that’s our code for watching TV and scarfing down a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies. Winter was just opening the bag when I called.”
“When did you first become concerned about her?”
“This morning. We had a procedure scheduled for eight o’clock, and she didn’t show. That would make you worry about anyone, but particularly someone as conscientious as Winter. She’s just someone you can count on—the way you can’t count on most people.” A shadow crossed Dr. Perry’s vividly blue eyes, as if she were recalling the myriad people who couldn’t be counted on. “And Winter and I have become good
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