“Thanks.” The senator looked at him, the whites of his eyes webbed with red. “Siddown. And call me David.”
Some kind of western flatness in his voice. Cardinal remembered that Senator David J. Flint had grown up in the Yukon.
“I’ll tell ya, a time like this, whatever else it is, is utterly fuckin exhausting. I hope you don’t mind a little cussing.”
“You swear all you want, Senator.”
“Nobody’s got the least crumb of an idea what this is like. Not one fuckin micron. Couple of my friends, sure, their wives have died — but this is just a whole different… I just-this is not somethin a man can prepare for.”
“I know,” Cardinal said.
The senator closed his eyes, and Cardinal knew what he was thinking. Before he opened them again, Cardinal said, “My wife was murdered too.”
The senator opened his eyes. “Really.”
“A couple of years ago now.”
“And you’re still walkin around.”
“I don’t know what else you can do.”
“You tell that to a lot of people you deal with? Bereaved people? Gain their trust?”
“You’re the first. It’s not the kind of thing they recommend. You’ll either trust me or you won’t. I don’t expect to earn it with a few words.”
“Well, you talk good. You want some coffee?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Fuckin cold rain out there. Warm you up. Let’s hit the kitchen.”
The kitchen was large, mostly white tile, with a round pine table in one corner. A pair of French doors looked out on snowdrifts pocked with rain. The senator opened a cupboard, got a coffee filter out and put it in the basket. He opened the fridge door and spoke to the interior. “People seem intent on provisionin me. Bringin me so much food, I can’t find anything. Nice of ’em, though. Real nice.”
He brought out a can of President’s Choice coffee and filled the basket and switched on the machine.
“Better put some water in that.”
“Water.” The senator snapped his fingers. “Right.” He dealt with the water and sat down. “You got questions, you better get at ’em. I don’t promise to be coherent.”
Cardinal took him through the usual questions, ground the Ottawa police had already covered. Senator Flint made no complaint about repeating the answers. It took half an hour.
“Just a couple more points, Senator, and then I’ll leave you alone. Your wife’s car was left at her therapist’s office, the last place she was seen. Appointment finished at four p.m., and this was a regular thing she had, right? Weekly, I think you said?”
“Marjorie was forever tryin to fix herself. She didn’t need fixin, but she imagined she did. She was a busy woman, charity work every which way, and three unpaid positions. I think she just needed the reprieve-a little sliver of time that was hers and hers alone. An hour of reflection never hurt anyone. She liked her therapist.”
“It’s very unlikely we’re looking at a chance encounter here. Your wife’s abductor seems to have known her schedule, meaning this was either someone already familiar with her routines or someone who had tracked her movements for a time.”
“I’m not aware of anyone who would wish Marjorie harm. You could not hope to find a less contentious person. Generous. Kind. Jesus…” The senator pinched the bridge of his nose. He shaded his eyes with his hand. “Sorry. Uh, try to collect myself here.”
“Take your time.”
The senator dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose. “I’m not generally an emotional person.”
“Human, though.”
“ Hah. All too.”
“I know I’m repeating myself, but are you absolutely sure there were no unusual visitors to the house leading up to your wife’s disappearance? Maybe some unexpected workmen? Some survey takers? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Strangers of any kind?”
“I don’t stand at the window lookin for strangers. And I don’t stare into my rear-view neither. No doubt that’d make me a terrible detective. Anyways, neither me nor Marjorie is home that much. Someone could have got in here, I don’t know. Didn’t see any sign of it. Christ, you think someone planned this? In God’s name, why? Why Marjorie?”
“If I could answer that question I could probably tell you who killed her. Keep in mind it could’ve been you they were after, Senator.”
“That would at least make sense. I piss people off now and again. Sometimes I don’t even intend it. But I got to tell you-I’m a senator, not an MP, and senators in this country are appointed, not elected. It’s undemocratic and frankly it’s outright dumb, but one thing it means is you’re freed of a whole lotta political nastiness. Senate’s a collegial bunch. Used to be, anyway.”
“What about from before? You were an electrical engineer?”
“Power systems. Micro-power systems. Fortune favoured me in my work life same as in my home life. I don’t know why. Couple of patents came my way and paid for all this extravagance. We don’t live high, but I won’t deny we’re fortunate. Wealthy. I retired at fifty, ran for office, failed at that right quick. Worked for a couple of candidates behind the scenes after that, did my rain dance for ’em, and voila-Mr. Flint goes to Ottawa. Ridiculous, but it may as well be me stedda some of the yahoos they appoint. Ain’t got the sense of a doorknob, most of ’em. I’m just prayin Dear Leader sends up a bill to abolish me and the whole bunch of us. I’ll rubber-stamp that puppy in a flash. Opponents, yes. But outright enemies? No.”
Cardinal reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet, opened it and took out a ticket. “This was in your wife’s wallet.”
The senator took it and contemplated it. Turned it over and looked at the number. “It’s from a fundraiser.”
“You need a ticket for that?”
“Naw, they always have a giveaway of some sort. You pay your thousand bucks to attend and you get a chance to win something-artwork, signed first edition, whatever. So you hang on to the ticket.”
“And the number on the other side? Number 25?”
“Table number. This one was at the Chateau Laurier. World Literacy, if I recall. I’d a never thought of it, but Marjorie would.” He handed back the ticket.
Cardinal opened his briefcase and dropped the ticket inside, along with his notebook, and snapped it shut again. “Senator, thank you. Once again, I apologize for intruding at a time like this.”
The senator waved him off. “I’m just sorry I can’t be of more use.”
They went out to the foyer and the senator stood looking out the sidelights of his front door while Cardinal put on his galoshes and coat.
“You ever find the guy that killed your wife, Detective?”
“Yes, I did. He’s doing life in Kingston.”
“I’m glad. And what about this bastard now?”
“No guarantees. I’ll do my best.”
“Listen, I don’t want to interfere or nothin, but could you use the RCMP on this?”
“We’re already using their forensic services, and they’ve offered further assistance if we need it. The Ottawa police are being very helpful too.”
“Well, let me know if I can help any other way.”
“If it’s all right, I’d like to take a look around your property.”
“Fine with me. You’ve been very understanding, Detective. I appreciate it.”
Cardinal didn’t know what to say to that. He asked a question instead. “Do you have any connection with a woman named Laura Lacroix? Or do you know if your wife had any?”
“Laura Lacroix? I don’t think so. Mind you, I meet a lot of people. Too many people.” Flicker of a smile, a memory passing by.
Cardinal pointed at a life-sized portrait of the senator’s wife. It was big and colourful, but it looked like a
