LITMIR.BIZ

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the important ones, Sharon. The ones that could get my officers killed. I should control those.”

      “So you’ve taken up clairvoyance now, besides trying to control everyone’s life?” Her soft chuckle sounded through the phone, but when she resumed, her voice was gentler. “I could come down there and bring you a cup of tea. Give you a hug. Out of view of the troops, of course. On a dark street corner somewhere.”

      “A cup of tea and a hug would be wonderful. But I can’t leave here yet. Things have got to start happening soon.” He leaned back against the brick wall, picturing her tender chocolate eyes. “Sorry I missed Shabbat dinner. Did you pick up Dad?”

      “Yes. He missed you, but you know how much he adores Hannah. He’d pinched her cheeks raw by the end of the night.”

      “He’s the only one who could get away with that.” He felt a bittersweet pang. Hannah had been enchanted by her grandfather from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, but then her grandfather hadn’t deserted her sixteen years ago. He banished the twinge of envy; their domestic struggles seemed so inconsequential while Peters lay inside, dancing with death.

      “Well, give her forty years, and you’ll have earned the right too,” she said.

      He laughed as he hung up, his spirits lifted. Next he put in a call to update Barbara Devine and Gaetan Larocque, both of whom were still tied up in the meeting with the senior brass. When he returned to the waiting room, there was still no sign of the doctor, but there were half a dozen familiar faces. Gibbs was back, looking slightly less fragile. Perhaps some anger was beginning to take hold, for he marched straight over to Green. His jaw was tight.

      “Weiss is here. Asked how she was, then walked off. Not a word of explanation. Not even an apology.”

      “Did you ask him?”

      “I can b-barely talk to the guy.”

      “Where is he now?”

      Gibbs nodded to a cluster of chairs at the far end of the room. Green turned to see a man leaning against the wall in the corner. His arms were crossed and his chin thrust out, as if in defiance. Green squared his shoulders and was just preparing to do battle when the swinging doors opened and two doctors emerged. They were dressed in stained hospital scrubs, and exhaustion was etched in their faces. The older, a man in his fifties with a polished bald pate and cadaverous cheekbones, introduced himself as Doctor Vargas and asked if the next of kin was present. To Green’s surprise, a young man rose from the corner. He was a male clone of Sue Peters, down to the frizzy red hair and the riot of freckles across his cheeks. Beneath the freckles, he was the colour of bleached flour as he approached the doctors.

      “I’m her brother, Mark Peters. How is she?”

      Vargas inclined his head noncommittally. “She’s a strong, healthy woman, and that’s got her this far. But her condition is still critical, and it will be touch and go for the next fortyeight hours. There are a few things we won’t know until she regains consciousness. If she does.”

      “If?”

      “She’s suffered significant trauma to the brain, and with brain injuries of this type, it can be weeks, even months, before we see the extent of the damage.”

      A collective groan rose from the officers who had clustered around to hear.

      “So you’re saying she could be...a vegetable?” Mark managed. His voice quavered.

      “Let’s get her through the next forty-eight hours before we worry about that.”

      Dr.Vargas went on to detail all the test results and surgical procedures they had performed, but after a while, Green’s mind glazed over. It really did sound as if they’d had to stitch her back together bit by bit.

      After the doctor’s departure, friends and colleagues gathered in clumps to talk in hushed tones, and Green noticed that Weiss was no longer there. Curious, he set off in search, starting with the corridor next to where the man had been standing. That corridor ended in a bank of doors, all of which were locked.

      He retraced his steps and tried another corridor, peeking into rooms along the way. Linen supplies, bathrooms, offices and more doors marked “authorized personnel only”. The corridor jogged and twisted at unexpected points, following the shape of the aging, multi-winged building. It came to an abrupt halt at a heavy steel door marked “exit”.

      Green yanked open the door and peered down a flight of iron stairs into the semi-gloom. There, sitting in the middle of the bottom stair, was Constable Weiss, hunched over, staring at his shoes. He didn’t stir when Green clanged down the stairs, didn’t even raise his head, but Green saw that his whole body was vibrating. Green’s anger softened a touch.

      “Jeff? What’s going on?”

      “Needed some air.”

      “I’m Mike Green, by the way.”

      Weiss gave a strangled grunt. “I know who you are. Come to tell me I’m a fuck-up, a moron, a disgrace to the uniform?”

      “What happened?”

      “I told all that to the cops up in Petawawa.”

      Green’s anger crashed back. He grabbed the man’s chin and jerked his head up to face him. “Listen, asshole, I don’t give a shit who else you told. I’m her superior officer, and you’re damn well going to tell me how you almost got her killed.”

      To his surprise, Weiss’s eyes flooded with tears. He twisted his head away and dashed his knuckles across his cheeks. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

      “Talk to me!”

      “I can’t.” Weiss sucked in his breath and wrestled for control. “I don’t know what to say! I should have known it was a crazy idea, but she was the boss. No, that’s no excuse. I should have stopped her.”

      “You should have backed her up!” Green thundered.

      “It was a routine canvass. I thought she had everything under control.”

      “Canvass of what?”

      “Bars, restaurants... I took half, she took half.”

      “Bars! Why the hell were you canvassing in bars?”

      “We were trying to track the dead woman’s movements. Find out what she was after.”

      “So you left Peters alone in bars?”

      “It was three o’clock in the fucking afternoon!” Weiss shot back. “In a two-bit little town, not New York City.”

      “A two-bit town that might just harbour our murderer.”

      “Well, I—we—didn’t think of that.”

      “You goddamn well should have!”

      Abruptly Weiss sagged back against the step. Tears brimmed in his eyes again as he nodded his head up and down. “You’re right, you’re right. God, what a mess.” He plunged his face into his hands and began to rock.

      Green watched him in silence for a few minutes. Weiss’s reactions puzzled him. Not the grief itself, not the guilt, not even the flashes of defensive anger. But the extremes of them all, and the erratic swings from one to another like a man ricocheting free fall from one violent feeling to the next. Was the man unstable? Or was he faking it?

      Green squatted in front of him, willing him to return to the real world. He spoke grimly. “Jeff, tell me what you do know.”

      Weiss stopped rocking but didn’t raise his head. Green waited, feeling the seconds tick by in the dank, ill-lit stairwell. Finally, Weiss heaved a deep, shuddering sigh and spoke through his hands.

      “She dropped me at this bar and told me to meet her at the car by the hotel where the bus station was. There were only twelve places to canvass—the hotel, three shitty restaurants, a fast

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