said. “Kill some time on this holiday Monday. Time-and-a-half isn’t worth it, I’ll tell you, Skipper, not when I could be with my kids.”
“Then take the short route,” she said.
“They’re down in Toronto with their mother.” He grimaced for her. “I got all the time in the world.”
They got into his cruiser, and he backed out of the lot and started driving north along Porter Street. “You weren’t kidding about the long way.”
“Unless your back is really bad.”
“No,” she said, “it’s a nice afternoon, and I could use a drive to clear my head.”
“Any ideas on what’s going on in this mannequin case?”
“Too many for any one to be useful. You?”
“Feels like the tail’s wagging the dog a little.”
“That’s the life of the investigator, isn’t it, Kraut? You only get the tail at first and then you hang on for dear life and try to crawl up to the head.”
He took her up north of the town and then turned onto one of the smaller highways leading to one of the little lakes that fed into Gannon. This one was called Echo Lake. A banner promising fireworks dated the night before had fallen down onto one of the little beaches. Fraser turned down onto the verge and faced the water. In the distance, pleasureboaters zipped back and forth over the surface of the lake. He turned off the motor. “In a couple of hours it’ll be peaceful out here again,” he said.
“It’s peaceful now.”
“I can always handle a little more quiet.” He powered down a window. It smelled of pine and wet earth outside. It had rained heavily overnight. “So listen, I know you got a lot to think about right now, but I felt I should give you a heads-up.”
“Oh-oh. I
thought
this drive had an ulterior motive.”
“The new guy at OPS Central, Commander Mason’s replacement?”
“Chip Willan?”
“Yeah. Well, we all got questionnaires.”
“Questionnaires.”
He reached into an inside jacket-pocket and took out a folded sheaf of papers and handed them to her. She opened the papers up – it was a fairly detailed document with the title
Ontario Police Services Central Region Work Environment Survey
. The first page was mainly demographic stuff, followed by a couple of pages asking the respondent various questions about resources, clearance rates, prevalence of certain kinds of crime in their jurisdiction, job satisfaction, and so on. She said, “This is pretty standard. In fact, it’s good to know he’s sending these around. Maybe it means he’s serious about making things better.”
“Look closer. Page five.”
She turned to that page and Fraser indicated question thirty-six with his index finger. It read, “If you were redeployed to another detachment within OPSC, which one would be your first choice?”
“Goddamnit,” she said.
“It asks for our full names and badge numbers on the last page. I showed it to Martin Ryan.”
“The sneaky sons-of-bitches. What did he say?”
“He said it was illegal to ask us to put our names to an informal internal poll, and that question thirty-six was a form of union-busting and that we should ignore the whole thing. Or at least, not answer that question.”
She turned to him in the seat, which hurt, but she needed to see his face. “Who’s ‘we,’ Kraut? You mean all the PCs got this letter?”
“And the sergeants.” He looked away from her, uncomfortable. “Anyway, Ryan says the whole thing’s illegal and we don’t have to respond, but the thing is, illegal or not, it may be the only chance any of us get to have a say. If we want one. I mean, if OPSC does decide to move any of us around, and a bunch of us ignored this letter, then maybe they can say they took an informal survey and got an idea of who wanted to go where and the rest of us are going to be sent to Bumfuck. And, Skip, I want to stay in Port Dundas, but if there is no Port Dundas, I don’t want to be in Bumfuck.”
“Oh, for
god’s
sake. So you’re going on the
“Then take the short route,” she said.
“They’re down in Toronto with their mother.” He grimaced for her. “I got all the time in the world.”
They got into his cruiser, and he backed out of the lot and started driving north along Porter Street. “You weren’t kidding about the long way.”
“Unless your back is really bad.”
“No,” she said, “it’s a nice afternoon, and I could use a drive to clear my head.”
“Any ideas on what’s going on in this mannequin case?”
“Too many for any one to be useful. You?”
“Feels like the tail’s wagging the dog a little.”
“That’s the life of the investigator, isn’t it, Kraut? You only get the tail at first and then you hang on for dear life and try to crawl up to the head.”
He took her up north of the town and then turned onto one of the smaller highways leading to one of the little lakes that fed into Gannon. This one was called Echo Lake. A banner promising fireworks dated the night before had fallen down onto one of the little beaches. Fraser turned down onto the verge and faced the water. In the distance, pleasureboaters zipped back and forth over the surface of the lake. He turned off the motor. “In a couple of hours it’ll be peaceful out here again,” he said.
“It’s peaceful now.”
“I can always handle a little more quiet.” He powered down a window. It smelled of pine and wet earth outside. It had rained heavily overnight. “So listen, I know you got a lot to think about right now, but I felt I should give you a heads-up.”
“Oh-oh. I
thought
this drive had an ulterior motive.”
“The new guy at OPS Central, Commander Mason’s replacement?”
“Chip Willan?”
“Yeah. Well, we all got questionnaires.”
“Questionnaires.”
He reached into an inside jacket-pocket and took out a folded sheaf of papers and handed them to her. She opened the papers up – it was a fairly detailed document with the title
Ontario Police Services Central Region Work Environment Survey
. The first page was mainly demographic stuff, followed by a couple of pages asking the respondent various questions about resources, clearance rates, prevalence of certain kinds of crime in their jurisdiction, job satisfaction, and so on. She said, “This is pretty standard. In fact, it’s good to know he’s sending these around. Maybe it means he’s serious about making things better.”
“Look closer. Page five.”
She turned to that page and Fraser indicated question thirty-six with his index finger. It read, “If you were redeployed to another detachment within OPSC, which one would be your first choice?”
“Goddamnit,” she said.
“It asks for our full names and badge numbers on the last page. I showed it to Martin Ryan.”
“The sneaky sons-of-bitches. What did he say?”
“He said it was illegal to ask us to put our names to an informal internal poll, and that question thirty-six was a form of union-busting and that we should ignore the whole thing. Or at least, not answer that question.”
She turned to him in the seat, which hurt, but she needed to see his face. “Who’s ‘we,’ Kraut? You mean all the PCs got this letter?”
“And the sergeants.” He looked away from her, uncomfortable. “Anyway, Ryan says the whole thing’s illegal and we don’t have to respond, but the thing is, illegal or not, it may be the only chance any of us get to have a say. If we want one. I mean, if OPSC does decide to move any of us around, and a bunch of us ignored this letter, then maybe they can say they took an informal survey and got an idea of who wanted to go where and the rest of us are going to be sent to Bumfuck. And, Skip, I want to stay in Port Dundas, but if there is no Port Dundas, I don’t want to be in Bumfuck.”
“Oh, for
god’s
sake. So you’re going on the
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