a left toward the downtown. It was a quiet night, not many cars about and too cold for many pedestrians except the odd dog walker. He thought about getting a dog, a living being to come home to, but he had never been much of a pet man. When Kelly was a little girl, they’d had a dog, a floppy-eared mutt named Gizmo that she loved passionately. But the dog developed a brain tumour that changed him from an affectionate goof into a biter. Cardinal had been forced to have him put down, and the memory of breaking his daughter’s heart had spoiled dogs for him forever.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Quiet Pint and sat for a minute. He didn’t recognize any of the vehicles.
Perfect beef tenderloin with a red wine reduction, arugula salad, and for dessert a lemon cream concoction that Delorme could have eaten four times more of.
“Well, you were right,” she said, raising her glass. “You are one hell of a cook.”
“Thank you,” Priest said. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room and I’ll bring us some port. Much underrated, port is.”
He had announced when they sat down that he wanted no discussion of police business during dinner, and they’d been almost entirely successful in avoiding it. Delorme asked him questions about the music industry, and they’d moved on from there to talk of movies and books. She was finding it a lot harder to believe Priest had ever killed anyone. She was feeling pretty comfortable, considering, and you would never have known, to look at her, that she was breaking every rule in the investigator’s handbook.
Priest himself noted this at one point. They had shared a laugh over an amusing scene in a Tom Cruise movie and he suddenly said, “Seriously, Lise-aren’t you being a little irresponsible? If you ever did bring a case against me, you’d be in a lot of shit, wouldn’t you? Having fraternized with the accused?”
Delorme shrugged. “Algonquin Bay is small. There’s not a single detective on the squad who hasn’t had to arrest a neighbour or someone they went to school with.”
“Not quite the same, is it?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
He came into the living room now with a dusty bottle of port and sat beside her on the couch and poured them each a glass. When they were about to toast, Delorme’s phone rang.
“Sorry. Hold on, I’ll switch it off.”
“I shut mine away in a drawer when I don’t want to be bothered.”
“I’d love to, but we have to keep them with us at all times.” She put the phone back in her purse and set the purse beside her on the couch. She reached for her glass again. “Sorry about that. Cheers.”
Delorme had never tasted port before, never tasted anything like it.
“Was this made by some monks high on a mountain somewhere?”
“Not bad, is it.” Blue eyes flecked with firelight.
He set his glass down and reached for a slim green folder, then sat back and opened it. Delorme didn’t know why, but his every move was attractive to her in some elemental way. To counter this, she thought of the black mask, Regine Choquette’s contorted body, Fritz Reicher’s “games.”
“Take a look at these.”
Delorme took the folder from him, careful that their hands did not touch. She picked up the first piece of paper. A receipt from Toronto’s Windsor Arms Hotel.
“I thought you had a home in Toronto.”
“Condo. Sold it. Look at the dates.”
“I see the dates.”
“Look at the others.”
She went through the receipts one by one-dinners at expensive restaurants, tickets to a Cat Power concert, a car detailing operation, a dentist-and closed the folder.
“You can keep those. My lawyer has the originals.”
“Thank you. Leonard, can we just clear up one more small item?”
“God, you’re relentless. You’re lucky it’s sexy.”
“Why does Fritz Reicher say you ordered him to shoot Regine Choquette?”
“He doesn’t.”
“But he did. Then he changed his mind-so that’s actually two small items. Why did he say it, and why did he change his mind?”
“Fritz? Have you met Fritz? Fritz is an amiable idiot. I’m sorry, but he’s mentally defective-very attractive qualities in a servant, but not much use for anything else.”
“If he’s so dim, why did he change his mind?”
“As I understand it, he was stoned when he was picked up and babbled anything that came into his head. Then he sobered up…”
He swivelled toward her on the couch and tugged at a lock of her hair. “Now, haven’t I been a good boy? Haven’t made a single move on you all night, despite the fact that you look absolutely gorgeous.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“You can’t really think I’m a cold-blooded killer.”
“Maybe not cold-blooded. Maybe out of control.”
“So why did you come here, Lise?”
“You invited me. I’m an investigator. You have information.”
“Ooh, such a calculating little article you are.”
“I admit I find you fascinating. In a clinical way. Sometimes you almost seem like a good person.”
“Even when I’m bad, I’m not that bad.”
“Hmm.”
He grasped her elbow lightly and shook it as if rousing her from a nap. “Don’t you ever have the urge to break the rules? Do something a little wicked? Just be bad?”
She nodded. “Sometimes I even give in to it.”
“You smile like a cat, you know that? Not the warmest smile, must be said.”
“What can you tell me about Darlene?”
“Darlene.” He swivelled away again and poured himself more port. When he reached for her glass, Delorme put her hand over it.
He set the bottle down and took a sip. “I only know one Darlene, and I’m not going to talk about her.”
“Come on.”
“Sorry. Wouldn’t be gentlemanly. How would you like it if I talked about you?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“The night is young.”
“It must be awful to be an addict. Be a slave. Feel out of control all the time.”
“It’s only an addiction if you can’t afford it.”
“Really? That your personal definition?”
“It’ll do. Just out of interest, are you wearing your gun? Perhaps a neat little automatic strapped to your ankle?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I desperately want to kiss you, but I don’t want to get shot.”
“Better be careful, then.”
He leaned toward her and she didn’t pull away-to pull away would look like fear-but she did turn her face aside.
“All right,” he said, stopping halfway. “She doesn’t want to be kissed. What does she want? Hmm, I wonder.” A hand rested itself on her breast.
Delorme didn’t move, the heat of his palm through her clothes.
“What does Lise want, he wonders.” The hand sliding to the other breast and Delorme remaining utterly motionless, remaining that way, barely breathing, as the hand slides down her chest, across her midriff, and Priest leans closer so he can reach between her legs.
She grabbed his wrist and lifted it off and placed his hand back on the couch.
“Thank you for a lovely dinner.”
