The Taken

“Why’d you say yes? There’d have been a brand new desk anywhere you wanted in the OPS. You could have gone to the big smoke if you wanted to. Why come back here?”

“Because this is what I know.” She waited for him to deliver the rest of the speech. How he could be put to best use here, how they’d be able to work out their differences and be effective together. But that was all there was, and she had to admit, she understood. He wasn’t just police, he was Westmuir police and probably six long months hung up drawing early pension was enough to convince him that taking over Westmuir was a good portion even if it meant coping with her resentment, her anger, perhaps her insubordination. Willan had calculated it would be her dinosaur moment, but she was already pretty sure she wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction.

She was silent, not allowing him the release of a reply to his astonishing news. His shoulders were halfway to his ears, as if he might disappear into his suit jacket. Finally, she said, “Are you ready?”

“No,” he said plainly. “I want it to be two years from now, when all the growing pains are over.”

“Suddenly you’re an optimist, huh? Two years?”

He appeared to find something in his glass and lifted it to his lips. A thin rill of Scotch ran down the side into his mouth. “Hazel, I know this is not the way you imagined the future, not at all. But there were a lot of ways this could have shaken down and this is one of the not impossible ones. I want you to consider the upside.”

“I already see it, Ray.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to shove this in Chip Willan’s face and I’m going to give you a stomach ulcer. And then, when I do retire, on my own clock, you can throw me a giant party.”

“If you’ll stay, Hazel, you can even choose the flavour of the cake.”

“Mine will be chocolate and yours’ll be crow.” She looked to the clock on the wall. “I presume you can find your way out?”

He seemed surprised that their conversation was already over and he stood awkwardly, as if a person of importance had just entered the room. He’d come ready to battle with her and she’d denied him that – he looked confused, as if he’d bought something he’d not meant to buy. But, after a moment, he got up and took his overcoat off the back of the chair. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you any longer.”

“I guess we’ll be talking,” she said.

“I guess so,” he said. “Thanks for seeing me.”

She let him get to the door, and then she said, “Did I have a choice, Ray?” She saw him stiffen with his hand on the knob and she braced herself. But then he took his hand off the door and turned square to her.

“Do you mean, why weren’t you consulted?”

“Sure, start there.”

“Would you have consulted you?”

He had her there. “But why punish me? I’ve done so much here. I’ve been an asset. I don’t deserve to be squeezed like this.”

He came back to the chair he’d been sitting in and leaned against the back of it. “You’ve never deserved anything but to be on the case. That’s who you are. You’re a brilliant detective, but you should never have been put in charge of anything. You became so-called ‘interim’ out of loyalty to the force, to ex-Inspector Drury, to the people the OPS has left waiting for another shoe to drop. But would you ever have chosen to be CO? Is it what you really wanted?”

“No,” she said, unable to look at him now.

“I left because when I was underneath you I couldn’t do anything about your… lesser instincts. There were cases here that almost got away from you entirely with no one to balance you out. You can’t be a maverick and a leader at the same time, Hazel – no one can. But without the pressure to wonder what a more sensible version of yourself would do in a given situation, you might actually feel free for the first time in years. It’s not a bad situation if you look at it more closely.”

“I’m sure almost anyone would be honoured to work under you, Ray. But think of how it looks for me.”

“It looks like survival, Hazel. Those who work for you can keep coming to work. Direct your pride toward them and you might see it differently.”

“Watch it. You’re not my boss yet.”

He stood his ground, wondering if he’d detected a softening, even a tiny one. He couldn’t be sure. He let go of the chair. “How’s your case coming?” he asked.

“Slowly. We’re up the creek with a paddle.”

“At least you have a paddle.” He smiled warmly, glad to be ending on a slightly better note than it appeared they would. But she was frozen, as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hazel?”

“We’ll be talking, Ray. Thank you for coming in.”

He looked confused, but then decided he wasn’t going to push his luck. He murmured okay then under his breath and saw himself out. She noticed her hand was shaking. Cartwright was standing in the doorway. “You have calls.”

“Anything pressing?”

“Maybe one.” She handed Hazel a pink sheet. The message said: Stop at A & R Electronics on your way out of town. GP.

She crumpled the note. “Jesus. She knows when I’m going to take a piss, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind. Get me Wingate.”

He appeared in her office a moment later. “Was that Ray Greene?”

“Don’t suffer future pain,” she said. “I want you to call your people again.”

“My people?” He watched her, noting how upset she seemed. “What did Ray tell you?”

“He congratulated me for being up the creek with a paddle.”

“That doesn’t sound like Ray.”

“That’s not exactly what he said. But it did trigger a thought for me. I think we’ve been squinting our eyes a little too much. We should have seen this clearly a long time ago.”

“I’m not following you.”

“The mannequin in Gannon Lake? The story in the paper… the body in the tarp? We’re looking for a drowning, James.”

He thought about it for a moment. “We might be, yeah.”

“Twenty-one has most of the waterfront, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. And the harbour as well as the Islands.”

“It could fit. I want to be there first thing in the morning.” She looked at the laptop on her desk, and the site was still dark. For the first time in a week, she closed the computer. “Call your people and set it up,” she said.

24

Monday, May 30

The huge stone and glass building that was Twenty-one Division occupied half a city block between John and Simcoe streets on Richmond Street West. Its jurisdiction was tiny: only six square kilometres of downtown, plus the waterfront and the Toronto Islands, and yet it served a population of over three hundred thousand residents and another two thousand transients. A baseball or hockey game could increase its catchment by ten percent. It went out on over fifteen thousand calls in an average year, fielded two hundred and thirty officers and twenty detectives, and was justifiably proud of its clearance rate.

Detective Constable James Wingate hadn’t passed through Twenty-one’s glass doors in almost a year. Since his leave, he’d been in and out of the building in his dreams, but not in the real world. The prospect of entering it again was not one he’d entertained since moving to Port Dundas (a rare out-of-force transfer), and as he and Hazel pulled in behind the building, he felt a fist clenching in his guts. He pulled his OPS cap down hard over his