chose not to. Are you advising him to continue down that road? You know where it will lead.”
Nolan let out a long, slow exhalation through his nostrils. “Suppose my client-purely hypothetically-were to admit that his prints are likely on both the For Sale sign and the bed. There are any number of explanations for this. He’s a real estate agent who was asked to sell the house.”
“But never showed it,” Cardinal said. “So how do his fingerprints end up on the headboard and bedside table in the master bedroom?”
“I can clear this up,” Wishart said.
“You don’t have to say a word,” Nolan said. “Let me do the talking.”
“No, there’s a simple explanation. I’m sorry,” Wishart said to Cardinal. “I wanted to take a video of the house. The Schumachers had said no before, but I went ahead and did it anyway. I may have straightened the bed a little. You know, you want it to look the best possible.”
“That video is evidence,” Cardinal said. “You’re going to have to produce it.”
“I’m not sure if I still have it. I may have recorded over it.”
“You went out there against the Schumachers’ wishes to shoot a video-and broke the law by entering without their permission-but you may have recorded over it?”
Nolan looked at his client. “Now will you let me do the talking?”
Wishart slumped in his chair.
“There’s no reason why a video of an empty house is of evidentiary value,” Nolan said.
“Excuse me,” Delorme said. “A video taken the same day as the murders?”
Wishart sat up fast. “I didn’t say it was the same day. I told you where I was that day. I thought you were going to check with Troy.”
“I did,” Cardinal said. “And I just may talk to him again.”
Nolan put a restraining hand on his client’s wrist and glared him into submission. Then he turned to Delorme. “Now you’re implying not only that my client was there, but when he was there. Fingerprints-even if they are his, which we are a country mile from granting-do not, as far as I know, come with a date stamp. Kindly tell us the nature of the evidence that puts my client at that particular house on that particular day.”
“Are you denying it?” Cardinal said to Wishart.
“He doesn’t have to deny or admit anything.”
“Hey, Counsellor, here’s an equation for you. I’ll let you do the math.” Cardinal had sworn to himself he wouldn’t let Nolan get to him, but he had to struggle to keep his voice calm. “The snow was fresh on Thursday, putting Mr. Wishart’s Acura with the Bridgestone Blizzard Grip tires there on that day. Either he was there for some entirely unrelated reason, in which case he’s only obstructing justice, or he was there to commit or abet a double murder. So rather than have him face a life sentence, I’d suggest you encourage him to admit one, that he was there on Thursday, and two, the reason he was there.”
“Do you have moulds from his tires?”
“We will soon enough.”
“Do you have any blood? Any hair? Any fibre? You don’t-or he’d be charged. Do you have evidence of prior association with the victims-these Russians from New York? You do not. So unless you have a security tape or an eyewitness who puts him there on Thursday night, you have absolutely nothing and you’re wasting everybody’s time.”
“If you weren’t at the Schumacher house,” Delorme said softly, “suppose you tell us where you really were.”
“I worked late-till six-thirty or so-and then I went over to Troy’s house. We watched the game and then I went home, around eleven-thirty. My wife was in bed, so she can’t confirm that, but Troy will.”
“Who won the game?”
“Montreal, 4-1 over the Leafs. Lost it all in the third.”
“What did you think of Rosehill’s penalty?”
“Rosehill didn’t get any penalties. He’s still out with a torn ligament.”
“Nice try,” Nolan said.
“Let me lay it out for you, Randall,” Cardinal said. “I think you have a girlfriend. I think you have a little something on the side. I think you have hot little rendezvous with her in empty houses.”
“No, no, no.” Nolan put up a hand like a traffic cop. “Unless you have this hypothetical other woman outside, that is totally inappropriate.”
“Randall knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, Randall? What’s her name, Randall?”
Wishart shook his head. “There isn’t anyone, I swear.”
“You’ve got a high-powered wife and you’re sitting pretty in her father’s firm. If this comes out, all of that could be blown sky-high. You can tell us now, or you can wait for us to find her, and if we do-”
“That’s all, Detective.” Nolan put his legal pad into his briefcase, snapped the locks on it and stood up. “My client has been more than co-operative.”
“Oh, good. I guess that means he’ll be supplying us with a set of fingerprints.”
“No, it does not.”
“And I guess it means he’ll be handing over that video of the house he took.”
“No, it does not. Not if it’s been recorded over.”
“Are you available for another meeting tomorrow morning at ten?”
“No. I’m in court. What possible reason could there be for another meeting?”
“There isn’t. I just wanted to hear you say no one more time. Something about the way you say it, Counsellor. I just can’t get enough.”
“Keep breaching my client’s charter rights and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”
16
Curtis Carl Winston, who called himself Papa, knocked on the bathroom door. He had disabled the lock, but he gave it a moment before entering. The old man was standing in the corner, hands folded before him, secured by the plastic ZipCuffs that bound his thumbs. He stood erect, a certain nobility to his posture, but even this impressive front couldn’t hide his fear. Much that was wrong in the world could be traced to a shortage of fear, and Papa did what he could to supply it.
“How are you doing, Lloyd? Got enough to read?”
“Mister, I’m seventy-five years old. Why don’t you just take what you want and leave? I can’t do anything about it.”
“Did you have enough to eat?”
“Yes. Look, I’m an old man, I can’t sleep in a bathtub.”
“If there was room for a mattress in here, I’d requisition one for you, but there isn’t. And I can’t have you needing the bathroom every five minutes, can I?”
“Lock me up in the master bedroom. It’s got the ensuite.”
“And probably a lot of sharp objects. I’ll think about it. I don’t want to cause you unnecessary pain.”
Papa gestured at the door. He walked the old man down to the basement office and sat him in front of the computer.
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” Lloyd said. “Or what you want.”
“Let’s just say winter camping gets a little hard on the nerves, Lloyd-even when you know what you’re doing. Like everybody else in the world, we appreciate warmth and comfort.”
“Uh-huh. And how long are you planning on staying?”
“That’s strictly need-to-know, Lloyd. You’re not going to be able to type with the cuffs on. If I take them off, you’re not going to give me trouble, are you? I need your word on this.” He placed a hand on his sidearm.
“How am I going to give you trouble? You’re the one with the platoon.”
“Just give me your word, Lloyd.”
“No trouble. You have my word.”
Papa bent and undid the cuff.
