LITMIR.BIZ

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about Twiggy. Tomorrow he would put out an APB on her and get all the patrols looking for her. They would visit the hangouts, talk to the homeless, and double-check the community health centres.

      And while the patrols did that, he would solve this damn case and bring this deadly killer down before he got anyone else.

      He slept finally, dreamlessly, until the first rays of dawn crept onto his bed.

      * * *

      August 12. Gracac, Sector South, Croatia.

      This is the first time I feel like I’m writing to this diary. Not to Kit, who I haven’t had a letter from in two weeks. These thoughts are not for Kit, they’re for me, because I’ve put away a whole bottle of Frenchwine and I still feel like shit. We lost one of our own today. Not bysniper fire or a landmine, which we always thought would happen,but by one of our own stupid trucks rolling on him. What the fuck arewe doing over here anyway? The UN can’t get their act together and thelocals don’t want us, they just want us to get out of the way so they cankill each other.Today at parade there were all the usual speeches about himand about the great sacrifice he made and how proud we shouldbe of the important job we were doing. The CO said we can’t letthis get us down, we’re soldiers and we have a job to do.Like what?

      TWENTY

      Green was up before seven o’clock the next morning in order to get the APB on Twiggy out in the morning parade. By the time he emerged from his study, both Modo and Tony were clamouring for their breakfast and Sharon was standing in the hallway, fixing him with knowing eyes.

      “It’s Sunday, Mike.”

      He kissed the top of her tousled head. “Go back to bed. I’ll feed them.”

      She grunted, wrapped her pink robe around her and headed back into the bedroom. “A coffee in bed might be nice,” she tossed over her shoulder.

      He had fed the dog and was toasting a bagel for Tony when the phone rang. It was Sullivan, sounding as if he’d been awake for hours.

      “I saw the APB on Twiggy, so I knew you were up.”

      Green chuckled. “I can tell you really hate being back in Major Crimes. You have to drag yourself in to work every morning.”

      “You’re one to talk. Anyway, I was thinking I’d get an early start on Richard Hamm this morning.”

      The toaster popped up, and Tony crowed with glee. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Get me my bagel!”

      Green fished it out of the toaster and set it on a plate.

      “Daddy, put cheese on it!”

      Green wedged the phone against his shoulder so he could spread the cream cheese. “At this hour, Brian? Nothing like a surprise attack at dawn to catch the guy with his defences down.”

      “I doubt that. Hamm is probably the jog-at-oh-fourhundred type. I thought you’d like to know that the situation with him just got a whole lot more interesting.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “When I turned on the email this morning, there was a very excited report from your Sergeant McGrath in Halifax. You’ve got her so fired up on the case, she’s using exclamation points after every second word.”

      Green paused, the knife suspended in mid-air. “She got an ID on Daniel Oliver’s killer?”

      “No, she hasn’t got a match on that guy yet. But she got an ID on the man the killer was talking to just before the assault. The man who gave the fake name? It was Richard Hamm.”

      Green sucked in his breath. “Hamm was the drinking buddy?”

      “Without a doubt. She recognized him herself, then got independent corroboration from the bartender. I thought you should know, in case you had any last minute instructions before Leblanc and I go after the guy.”

      Green glanced at Tony, who was perched on his bumper seat, watching the bagel preparations eagerly. Tony had Sharon’s dark curls and huge chocolate eyes, but his intensity and single-mindedness were all Green’s. Green hesitated, loathe to disappoint him and to miss this lazy Sunday morning family time, but his own single-mindedness gave him little choice. If he stayed home, he would chafe with impatience all morning and drive the whole family crazy anyway.

      “Give me an hour. I’ll get some things out of the way here and be right with you,” he said. He gave Tony his bagel and brewed up the coffee. Then, remembering the warmth of Sharon’s arms around him the night before, he slipped a bagel into the toaster for her and headed out into the backyard. A pale morning sun warmed the small flower garden tucked into the corner against the brick wall, and already Sharon’s massive fall bulb planting spree was paying dividends. Vivid yellow daffodils crowded the space. He pinched off one, hoping it would cheer her up after the long, ice-bound winter. Hoping too that it would make amends.

      A smile lit her face when he walked into the room bearing the breakfast tray, but it faded slightly at the sight of the flower on the tray. She had heard the phone ring, and she was not fooled. He left her snuggling her son next to her as she picked up her coffee for her first sip. With her free hand, she waved him away.

      “Go. The sun’s shining, and we’re all here today. Your loss, Green.”

      Steeped in guilt, he slunk out of the house. On the drive downtown, he forced his mind to refocus on McGrath’s latest discovery about Hamm. It threw his theory about Oliver’s killer and the war crimes cover-up out of whack. Hamm had fit the scenario to a T . He had been one of the few men in MacDonald’s unit with the knowledge and capability to suppress a war crime. He had the strength and military training to kill Oliver with his bare hands, and he was also one of the few people interviewed by Peters before she was attacked.

      This latest discovery did not exonerate him completely from the actual murders that had been committed; indeed ten years ago, he had lied to the police about his identity and very likely about his relationship to Oliver’s killer. But he had not been the one to throw the punch. Which meant they had someone else to find.

      Sullivan’s prediction proved to be uncannily close to the mark, except that Hamm had not only put in an hour-long pre-dawn jog, but he had swum a few dozen laps at the hotel pool afterwards. He was now sitting in the hotel restaurant, his wet hair glistening and his cheeks ruddy with exertion, enjoying the full spread of the breakfast buffet. Our tax dollars at work, thought Green as he eyed the sausage, omelette, waffles, grilled tomatoes and fresh fruit that overflowed the man’s plate. Hamm didn’t look surprised to see them, only slightly nonplussed at having his routine disrupted.

      “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said cheerfully, signalling the waiter to bring them all coffee. “I’ve been expecting a visit from some more senior men. My sincere sympathies about your detective. Terrible to think such a thing could happen in Petawawa, but I guess rapists know no bounds. It’s one of the things I worry about with the women under my command. It’s an added vulnerability that men don’t have, and in some parts of the world, it makes them fair game. What better way to strike at the enemy.”

      Green inclined his head to accept the sympathies, then waited for the performance to end. Once the man had established his importance in the pecking order, he shook his head as if to chide himself.

      “But I won’t keep you longer than necessary, because I know you’ve got your hands full. What can I do for you?”

      “Tell us about your relationship with Ian MacDonald.”

      Hamm frowned as if searching his memory. “Ah. Still barking up that tree, I see.”

      Green waited.

      “Ian MacDonald was a corporal in my platoon overseas in Croatia, as I’m sure you already know. I never saw him before,nor since.”

      “He killed himself in 1995.”

      Hamm cut his sausage into meticulous quarters. “I did know that. At least, I assumed it was intentional. He knew how to handle that

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