Headhunter

'To tell you the truth, it feels damn good to be back. So look upon me as fresh reinforcements and let's work this one together. And the first thing that I suggest we do, is have you get some rest. Let me hold matters here at the fort and you take tomorrow off.'

DeClercq shook his head. 'I'm all right,' he said. 'Robert, please, as a friend, just do as I say. Don't make me have to order you not to come in tomorrow.'

6:35 p.m.

The Superintendent left Headhunter Headquarters by one of the side doors. As he walked outside he noticed a knot of riot police hidden within an alcove out of sight of the crowd. They looked edgy.

For a moment as DeClercq climbed into his car he surveyed the size of the crowd. There were now more than three thousand candles burning out on the street.

As DeClercq drove away he thought to himself: Come tomorrow morning they'll be calling for my head.

Light in the Greenhouse

6:45 p.m.

They went home disappointed.

As Rusty Lewis accelerated to enter the 401 Freeway, Monica Macdonald said: 'You live near here, don't you?'

'Yeah, just off Willingdon.'

'If you've got booze at your place I wouldn't mind a drink.'

'I've got booze,' he said.

Five minutes later they climbed the stairs that led to his apartment. Once inside, Lewis brought out a bottle of Canadian Club and a liter of 7-Up. He mixed them both a strong one.

As with nearly everyone else on the Squad they had worked right through the night and then through the day. When the written report had finally come in from Special O stating that Matthew Paul Pitt had been under the eyeball of at least ten Members during the period when Natasha Wilkes had been killed, the two Constables knew it was time to call it quits. When Lewis had offered to drive her home, Monica had accepted. They both needed company.

'You know. Rusty, I was so sure that the Headhunter was Pitt.' With a sigh of released frustration, Macdonald put her drink down on the small kitchen table.

'If it's any consolation, so was I,' the man said. 'Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. We'll be a winner next time.'

'Yeah, sure,' the woman said. Then she knocked back a stiff swallow of rye which burnt her throat going down. 'Would you believe that I once made a choice between going to Art School and joining up with the Force. I had plans to open my own interior design studio. It was going to be called The Finishing Touch. What do you think of that?'

'Sounds sexy,' Lewis said.

The woman laughed. 'That's nothing,' Macdonald said. 'My original idea was to call it Monica's Interiors.'

At that Rusty smiled. 'My ultimate reason for joining the Force was to be in the musical ride. I still plan to get there. Besides, we put forth a good try and I think you're a good cop.'

'May I ask you a question?' 'Fire away,' he said.

'Instead of as a cop, what do you think of me as a woman?'

Rusty Lewis blinked. 'You're just like one of the guys,' he said, then added, 'I'm only kidding.' 'How would you like to find out?' The man blinked again.

'Are you hungry?' Monica asked. 'I'm offering to buy you dinner. Ply you with a little wine — not too much — and let you think it over. We'll go somewhere ritzy.' 'I'm hungry,' Lewis said.

'Good, let's go,' the woman said, rising from the table. 'But understand one thing, my man. I'm going to spend some money on you, so you'd better come across later.'

And then she gave him a wink and added: 'Ever since I've been dating, that's been a rule of the game.'

7:05 p.m.

'Okay, let's make a decision,' Bill Tipple said. 'Should we call in Special O?'

'My vote's no,' Rick Scarlett said. 'Me too,' Spann agreed. 'Why?' the Corporal asked.

'In a nutshell,' Scarlett said, 'because I want to be promoted. I think we're on to something big, 'cause I think Hardy's the Headhunter. Whoever makes the collar, his career is laughing.'

'Or her career,' Spann added.

'Look, Bill,' Scarletfsaid. 'You know as well as I do that this Force has got too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Quite frankly, I have no wish to remain a Constable for the next ten years. I want up the ranks. This case is the best crack I've had at making a quantum leap. I'm sure Rackstraw is going to lead us to Hardy. Why should Special O get the credit for our investigation? I say let's do the round-the-clock ourselves.'

'Here, here,' Tipple said laughing. 'My sentiments exactly. Just testing you out. A future Sergeant should do that, before an issue's settled.'

'Yes,sir,' Spann said — and then all three of them laughed.

They were sitting in a windowless black van parked on the street half a block away from Rackstraw's recording studio. Although the telephone bugs from the building were channeled into West 73rd Headquarters, the listening devices in the walls had been channeled into this van. In the rear of the truck behind them, several Uher machines stood idle and waiting. As they sipped their lukewarm coffee out of styrofoam cups, one of the tape recorders cut in by voice activation and its reels began to revolve.

They all three picked up headphones and listened to what was being said.

7:31 p.m.

Tonight Genevieve had a faculty dinner, so Robert DeClercq arrived home to an empty, lonely house. The first thing he did was pour himself a straight, stiff drink of Scotch. It was the first hard liquor that he had had for eight and a half years. It seared his throat going down, but it calmed him and that's what he wanted. He took the drink through the greenhouse and walked down to the sea.

Tonight storm clouds were blowing in quickly, surging and exploding like nuclear bombs across the Straits of Georgia. He sat down in the driftwood chair and took another belt of Black Label.

You're all washed up,he thought.

For a while he slouched there wondering how Genevieve would enjoy living with a failure. A man who had no future and who was twenty years older than she was. It hurt him to think of all the effort that she had put into trying to patch this Humpty Dumpty together again, only to find it worthless. And then he thought of Jane.

Oh why did you have to die, Janie?he asked. Then took another drink.

It was more than an hour before DeClercq climbed back up to the house. He walked through the greenhouse — still cluttered with all his dying plants and the multitude of papers and reports on the Headhunter case — then he went into the living room and turned the stereo on. He poured another drink.

With the glass in one hand he searched among their albums until he found the recording of Wilhelm Kempff playing Beethoven's Fifth Piano Concerto. He placed the disc on the turntable and cranked the volume up loud, then he crossed to the center of the room and stood directly between the speakers. As he slammed back another hit of Scotch the first chords of 'The Emperor' shook the walls of the room. An involuntary shiver wormed its way down his spine. Then he closed his eyes and let the music take him away.

When the first movement was finished, DeClercq came to himself to find that he had one of his fists clenched and that his lips were repeating again and again: 'This is not going to break me!'

For a moment he was embarrassed. Then as the slow second movement began, he unclenched his fist, took