always thought knotty pine was exactly right for a cottage. And I like the family pictures, and the books and the stuff that belonged to the kids. This seems like a home where people have been happy.”
“From what I hear, they were,” I said.
“This is the kind of place I’d like Rosalie and me to retire to,” he said. “And if I had my druthers, I’d keep a cottage like this just the way it is. But you know my bride. She’d be decorating. You wouldn’t recognize that bungalow of ours.”
“How’s the wasabi-green bedroom working out?”
Robert blushed. “It’s rejuvenated me,” he said. Startled by the revelation, we both looked at our toes. In an effort to recover the situation, Robert walked to a shelf crowded with action figures. He named them carefully. “Batman. Aquaman. Spiderman. Mr. Freeze. Mr. Sinister. G.I. Joe. Han Solo. Darth Vader. C-3PO. Superman.” He picked up a figure and chuckled fondly. “Lex Luthor,” Robert said. “ ‘He could have been a mighty force for good in the world, yet he chose to direct his great scientific brain into evil channels.’ That’s what Clark Kent said about him.”
“Clark ought to know,” I said. “Lex Luthor was always Superman’s most dangerous enemy.”
Robert regarded the figure in his hand. “I didn’t think Lex and I would meet again this side of the grave.”
“You should take a look around,” I said. “You’d probably find a lot of old friends. This cottage is filled with heroes and villains. The moral lines are pretty strictly drawn around here.”
“Maybe that’s why I feel so at home.” Robert smiled. “Today, everybody roots for the bad guys. I never have. Even when I was a kid I thought the world was divided into two camps: there was good and there was evil.”
“Superman and Lex Luthor,” I said.
“You don’t agree?”
“I guess I’ve seen too many shades of grey. But I’m glad you chose the line of work you did. We need police who still believe in good and evil.”
“That’s why it’s a tragedy when one of them starts confusing things.” Robert’s eyes had grown steely. “Joanne, I’m a blunt man, and I don’t like beating around the bush.”
“Then say what you have to say, Robert. You and I have always respected one another.”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he said. “You know I’ve had my differences with Inspector Kequahtooway. I thought he got promoted over guys like me because he was a member of a minority. I thought the department set the bar lower for people like him. To be honest, I still think that’s true, but Inspector Kequahtooway turned out to be a good cop. He worked hard and he was honest.”
I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach. “But you don’t think that’s true any more.”
Robert looked miserable. “I don’t know what to think. There were… some questions… about the way a case was being handled. I was asked to check into things to see if an official inquiry was warranted.” He made a sound of disgust. “It would be my badge if anyone knew I was telling you this. But once these investigations are set in motion, they’re impossible to stop. I wanted to be sure of my facts.”
“That’s fair enough,” I said. “So what are the facts?”
Robert tented his fingers. “The files on this case are incomplete. Items that should be there are missing. Inspector Kequahtooway talked to a number of people the day after Christopher Altieri died, but his records of those interviews seem to be hit-and-miss.”
“Am I there?” I asked.
“Yes, and as far as I can tell the inspector’s account of his interview with you appears complete.”
“How about Lily Falconer?”
Robert cast his eyes down. “She’s one of the problem areas. According to other officers who were present, the inspector interviewed her at length. In fact, he made certain he was the only member of the force who talked to her. But he didn’t write up the interview.”
“Alex was always so careful.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m talking to you, Joanne. Every cop knows there’s a difference between what they teach you at police college and what you do on the job. In theory, you are supposed to keep a written record of everything, but every investigating officer carries material in his head. Sometimes there are good reasons not to put things down on paper. The information might just not feel right. You might be afraid of dragging an innocent person in. You might be working on a theory that you suspect could blow up in your face.”
“If you’re looking for an explanation about the problem with the records, why don’t you ask Alex?”
Robert’s gaze was steady. “I think you know the answer to that.”
My heart sank. “You don’t want to tip him off,” I said. “But, Robert, why have you come to me?”
“As far as I know, you were the only friend he had.”
Unexpectedly, tears stung my eyes. “I always assumed he had friends on the force, that he just believed in keeping his professional and personal lives separate.”
“No. Inspector Kequahtooway has always been a loner – in fact, he’s about the most alone human being I’ve ever known. He’s always polite, but he doesn’t mix with the people he works with – no beers with the guys when he goes off duty, no barbecues or hockey games on the weekend.”
“But as long as he does his job, why does that matter?”
“Because after a while, not socializing interferes with the job. Police work involves trust, Joanne. We have to be able to rely on the people we work with, not just when we’re in a tight spot, but every day. For members of the force, talk is a safety valve – it keeps us from blowing a gasket. But we have to be able to trust the one we’re talking to. That’s rule number one.”
“Alex didn’t talk to me about his work,” I said. “I wish he had.”
“Maybe he would now.”
“You think I should call him.”
“I think he deserves one last chance to come clean.”
I felt my nerves twang. I was not about to deny a good man his last chance.
“I’ll call him,” I said.
I walked Robert to the door, shook his hand, sent love to Rosalie, and invited them both to come out to the lake. Then, while the adrenaline was still pumping, I picked up my cell and called Alex. He still wasn’t answering. I left a message asking him to call back, then I rang off and turned to look at my empty house. The prospect of being alone with my thoughts did not please me.
My salvation came, as it so often did, from Taylor. She roared through the door with Isobel and Gracie, who were already in their swimsuits. As Taylor raced to the bedroom to change into hers, she carried on a conversation over her shoulder. Rose’s sister, Betty, had bought a new pair of shoes with heels that were too high and she’d taken a tumble. Rose was driving her into the city to get X-rayed. Rose didn’t want the girls to miss their diving practice, but they needed an adult. Could it be me? As we walked to the lake, Gracie confided that Rose felt Betty had learned a valuable lesson about acting her age. Then came the big news. The girls had decided on a project. It might take them a week to complete. After I’d established that the project didn’t involve danger or older boys, I let them run ahead to buzz and make plans.
As we often were, the girls and I were alone on the beach. Wealth had its privileges. The wind had come up and cooled the air. As I kicked off my sandals and walked into the lake, the water was welcoming. In my life, our cottages had always been on northern lakes, and I was accustomed to bracing myself physically and mentally for a shock when I dove in. But even on a windy day, there was no need to brace here. We all dove in quickly and began to stroke through the choppy waters towards the diving tower. I had always been a confident swimmer, and as I moved through the waves, my muscles relaxed and my mind stopped racing. In the days since the Falconer Shreve Canada Day party, I had been reeling; it seemed that finally I was ready, in my grandmother’s stringent phrase, to take hold of myself.
A few metres away from the diving tower, I began to tread water while I waited for the girls to climb the ladder and begin their dives. I watched as, one after another, they came off the board, and when all three heads were bobbing safely in the waves, I yelled that I was going to do laps but I’d be in earshot. Then I swam back towards the raft that floated a hundred metres away. My stroke was the tried and trustworthy Australian crawl. Flutter-kicking forward, my arms cutting through the sparkle of foam on the waves, my gaze turning from the bright sunlight to the iridescent shimmer beneath the surface, I felt myself moving towards strength.
When I touched the side of the raft, I started back towards the tower, where I checked on the girls and
