would understand.
And in that moment Peter realized that he didn’t have to talk to anyone about it. He could deal with it now. All his questions were answered.
Peter had met Becky when they were both in their first year at U of T, before Cathy had arrived on the scene. There had been an awkward attraction between them. They were both inexperienced and he, at least, had been a virgin at the time. Now, though, two decades later, things were different. Becky had married and divorced; Peter had married. They knew about sex, about how it was done, about when it happened, when the time was right. Peter realized that he could easily call Cathy, tell her that his meeting had gone overtime and that he was going to spend the night here, tell her that he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. And then he and Becky could go back to her place.
He
Peter beamed up at Becky. He could feel the wounds inside him starting to heal.
“You’re a wonderful person,” he said to her. “Some guy is going to be very lucky to be yours.”
She smiled.
Peter exhaled, letting everything go, everything flow out of him. “I’ve got to get to the airport,” he said.
Becky nodded and smiled again, perhaps, just perhaps, a bit ruefully.
Peter was ready to go home.
CHAPTER 35
Sandra drove down the Don Valley Parkway to Cabbagetown, parking outside the very first Food Food store at the corner of Parliament and Wellesley. According to directory assistance, the centralized order-processing facility was located upstairs from this store. Sandra walked up the steep flight of steps and, without knocking, simply entered the room. There were two dozen people wearing telephone headsets sitting in front of computer terminals. They all seemed to be busy taking orders, even though it was only two in the afternoon.
A middle-aged woman with steel blond hair came up to Sandra. “Can I help you?”
Sandra flashed her badge and introduced herself. “And who are you?”
“Danielle Nadas,” the blond woman said. “I’m the supervisor here.”
Sandra looked around, fascinated. She’d ordered from Food Food many times herself since her divorce, but hadn’t really had any mental picture of what was at the other end of the telephone line — over videophones, all you saw were visual ads for Food Food specials. Finally, she said, “I’d like to see the records for one of your customers.”
“Do you know the phone number?”
Sandra started to sing: “Nine-six-seven…”
Nadas smiled. “Not our phone number. The customer’s phone number.”
Sandra handed her a slip of paper with it written on it. Nadas went over to a terminal and tapped the young man who was operating it on the shoulder. He nodded, finished taking the order he was currently processing, then got out of the way. The supervisor sat down and typed in the phone number. “Here it is,” she said, leaning to one side so that Sandra could clearly see the screen.
Rod Churchill had ordered the same meal the last six Wednesdays in a row — except…
“He had low-calorie gravy every time but the most recent,” said Sandra. “For the most recent, it shows regular gravy.”
The supervisor leaned in. “So it does.” She grinned. “Well, our low-cal stuff is pretty vile, if you ask me. It’s not even real gravy — it’s made from vegetable gelatin. Maybe he just decided to try the regular.”
“Or maybe one of your order takers made a mistake.”
The supervisor shook her head. “Not possible. We always assume the person wants the same thing they ordered last time — nine times out of ten, that’s the case. The CSR wouldn’t have rekeyboarded the order unless there was a specific change.”
“CSR?”
“Customer Service Representative.”
“If there’d been no change,” said Nadas, “the CSR would have just hit F2 — that’s our key for ‘repeat order’.”
“Can you tell who processed his most-recent order?”
“Sure.” She pointed to a field on the screen. “CSR 054 — that’s Annie Delano.”
“Is she here?” asked Sandra.
The supervisor looked around the room. “That’s her over there — the one with the ponytail.”
“I’d like to talk to her,” said Sandra.
“I can’t see what difference all this makes,” said the supervisor.
“The difference,” said Sandra coolly, “is that the man who ordered that meal died from a reaction to the food he ate.”
The supervisor covered her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said. “I — I should call my boss.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Sandra. “I just want to speak to that young lady over there.”
“Of course. Of course.” The supervisor led the way over to where Annie Delano was working. She looked to be about seventeen. She’d obviously just received a repeat order, and had done exactly what the supervisor said she would do — tap the F2 key.
“Annie,” said Nadas, “this woman is a police officer. She’d like to ask you some questions.” Annie looked up, eyes wide.
“Ms. Delano,” said Sandra, “last Wednesday night, you processed an order from a man named Rod Churchill for a roast beef dinner.”
“If you say so, ma’am,” Annie said.
Sandra turned to the supervisor. “Bring it up on screen.”
The supervisor leaned in and tapped out Churchill’s phone number.
Annie looked at the screen, her expression blank. “You changed his regular order,” Sandra said. “He always had low-calorie gravy before, but last time you gave him regular gravy.”
“I’d only have done that if that’s what he asked for,” said Annie.
“Do you recall him asking for a change?” Annie looked at the screen.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t recall anything about that order at all. I do over two hundred orders a day, and that was a week ago. But, honest, I wouldn’t have made the change unless he asked for it.”
Alexandria Philo went back to Doowap Advertising, co-opting one of the few private offices to do more interviews with Hans Larsen’s coworkers. Although her particular interest was Cathy Hobson, she first briefly reinterviewed two other people so as not to make Cathy suspicious.
Once Cathy had sat down, Sandra gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ve just heard about your father,” she said. “I’m very sorry. I lost my own father last year; I know how difficult it can be.”
Cathy gave a small, civil nod. “Thank you.”
“I’m curious, though,” said Sandra, “about the fact that both Hans Larsen and your father died very close together.”
Cathy sighed. “It never rains but it pours, eh?”
Sandra nodded. “So you think it’s a coincidence?”
Cathy looked shocked. “Of course it’s a coincidence. I mean, goodness, I had only a peripheral involvement with Hans, and my father died of natural causes.”
Sandra looked Cathy up and down, assessing her. “As far as Hans goes, we both know that what you’re saying isn’t true. You had some sort of romantic involvement with him.” Cathy’s large blue eyes blazed defiantly. Sandra raised her hand. “Don’t worry, Ms. Hobson. How you choose to run your life is your own affair — so to speak. I’ve no intention of exposing your infidelity to your husband — or to Hans’s widow, for that matter.
