spot.
'What were you up to at your desk, DC
Wingate?' she said.
'I hope you don't mind, but I asked Miss
Cartwright over there for Dr Deacon's email. I had
a question for him.'
'I don't mind at all.' She smiled. 'God, I'm going
to call you "son" if I'm not careful. Did he write you
back?'
'I hadn't finished my email. I wanted to ask him
his opinion on which of the injuries killed her. I
glanced at Detective Spere's report, which said
there was some blood on her. So it occurred to me
that, maybe, she—'
'None of her injuries killed her, officer,' said
Hazel.
Wingate slowly closed his mouth to a thin line.
'Sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to get ahead of myself.'
Greene had opened his copy of the report and
was scanning it. 'What do you mean she didn't die
of her injuries?' he said.
'She was already dead before he did any of that
violence to her. From a mushroom.'
'A mushroom,' repeated Ray Greene.
They followed Wingate back to his desk. The
message had been started Dear Sir . Hazel saw a
toothbrush beside the keyboard. 'Have you got
a place to stay, James?'
'My landlady isn't expecting me until tonight.'
'So you came here to work?'
'Is that all right?'
'I can't possibly promote you until at least
Thursday.'
'Ma'am?'
'She has a rather dry sense of humour,' said Ray
Greene, leaning over Wingate's keyboard to erase his
salutation, 'which is to say it's hard to know when to
laugh.' He stood straight again and gestured at the
computer screen. 'Jack Deacon works for us, so
there's no need to kowtow. Just say, "Jack".'
'I think I'll write him later,' said Wingate.
He'd put his cap down on the desk beside the
keyboard, and Hazel picked it up and handed it to
him. 'You feel like a drive?'
'Sure. Yes.'
'Let's go for a drive then.' She strode away from
him, and he followed, but quickly doubled back to
toss his toothbrush into the desk drawer.
'I'm not invited?' said Greene.
She called back to him over her shoulder. 'Do
some work. Set an example. I'm taking the new guy
to Mayfair.'
They drove south on 41, farmers' fields on either
side of them, the brown cornstalks knocked over.
Detective Constable Wingate sat stiffly in the
passenger seat, looking straight ahead down
the highway. Silence had never bothered Hazel,
but she suspected Wingate was being polite, so she
asked him where he was from.
'Toronto born and bred,' said Wingate. 'You
know the city?'
'Certain buildings.'
'It's not easy to like unless you were brought up
there.'
'You hoping to work your way back?'
'I just want to be wherever I can do the most
good.'
She glanced over at him. 'Okay. And what's the
real answer?'
He met her eyes, and she saw confusion in his.
'That is the real answer.'
'You have scout badges, DC Wingate, don't you?'
He laughed. 'You want to guess where I keep
them?'
'In a cigar box underneath your bed?'
'My mother has them. In an envelope in her
sock drawer.'
She remembered one of the questions they asked
applicants at the academy. What kind of relationship
do you have with your mother? they asked the men.
Because good sons made fine cops. Ray Greene had
brunch with his mother every Sunday. Drove out to
the Poplars to get her, and took her to Riverside
House for mimosas and pancakes. That was the
only other woman in his life, she realized, apart
from Michelle Greene, who had nothing to worry
about, if you didn't count the boredom of being
married to a cop whose dull vice was playing the
ponies. She tried to remember the question that
had given her pause at her own interview. Thirty-two
years ago now. Yes: did she want to have a
family? She'd said she did, and one of the interviewers
had written it down.
'There are hardly any women your age in Port
Dundas,' she said. 'Hard place for a young man to
settle down.'
'I'm not thinking about that right now,' Wingate
said. 'I have enough on my plate.'
'Did you leave a girl in Toronto?'
'No,' he said. 'There's no one right now.'
At the hospital, they were given their visitor
'What were you up to at your desk, DC
Wingate?' she said.
'I hope you don't mind, but I asked Miss
Cartwright over there for Dr Deacon's email. I had
a question for him.'
'I don't mind at all.' She smiled. 'God, I'm going
to call you "son" if I'm not careful. Did he write you
back?'
'I hadn't finished my email. I wanted to ask him
his opinion on which of the injuries killed her. I
glanced at Detective Spere's report, which said
there was some blood on her. So it occurred to me
that, maybe, she—'
'None of her injuries killed her, officer,' said
Hazel.
Wingate slowly closed his mouth to a thin line.
'Sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to get ahead of myself.'
Greene had opened his copy of the report and
was scanning it. 'What do you mean she didn't die
of her injuries?' he said.
'She was already dead before he did any of that
violence to her. From a mushroom.'
'A mushroom,' repeated Ray Greene.
They followed Wingate back to his desk. The
message had been started Dear Sir . Hazel saw a
toothbrush beside the keyboard. 'Have you got
a place to stay, James?'
'My landlady isn't expecting me until tonight.'
'So you came here to work?'
'Is that all right?'
'I can't possibly promote you until at least
Thursday.'
'Ma'am?'
'She has a rather dry sense of humour,' said Ray
Greene, leaning over Wingate's keyboard to erase his
salutation, 'which is to say it's hard to know when to
laugh.' He stood straight again and gestured at the
computer screen. 'Jack Deacon works for us, so
there's no need to kowtow. Just say, "Jack".'
'I think I'll write him later,' said Wingate.
He'd put his cap down on the desk beside the
keyboard, and Hazel picked it up and handed it to
him. 'You feel like a drive?'
'Sure. Yes.'
'Let's go for a drive then.' She strode away from
him, and he followed, but quickly doubled back to
toss his toothbrush into the desk drawer.
'I'm not invited?' said Greene.
She called back to him over her shoulder. 'Do
some work. Set an example. I'm taking the new guy
to Mayfair.'
They drove south on 41, farmers' fields on either
side of them, the brown cornstalks knocked over.
Detective Constable Wingate sat stiffly in the
passenger seat, looking straight ahead down
the highway. Silence had never bothered Hazel,
but she suspected Wingate was being polite, so she
asked him where he was from.
'Toronto born and bred,' said Wingate. 'You
know the city?'
'Certain buildings.'
'It's not easy to like unless you were brought up
there.'
'You hoping to work your way back?'
'I just want to be wherever I can do the most
good.'
She glanced over at him. 'Okay. And what's the
real answer?'
He met her eyes, and she saw confusion in his.
'That is the real answer.'
'You have scout badges, DC Wingate, don't you?'
He laughed. 'You want to guess where I keep
them?'
'In a cigar box underneath your bed?'
'My mother has them. In an envelope in her
sock drawer.'
She remembered one of the questions they asked
applicants at the academy. What kind of relationship
do you have with your mother? they asked the men.
Because good sons made fine cops. Ray Greene had
brunch with his mother every Sunday. Drove out to
the Poplars to get her, and took her to Riverside
House for mimosas and pancakes. That was the
only other woman in his life, she realized, apart
from Michelle Greene, who had nothing to worry
about, if you didn't count the boredom of being
married to a cop whose dull vice was playing the
ponies. She tried to remember the question that
had given her pause at her own interview. Thirty-two
years ago now. Yes: did she want to have a
family? She'd said she did, and one of the interviewers
had written it down.
'There are hardly any women your age in Port
Dundas,' she said. 'Hard place for a young man to
settle down.'
'I'm not thinking about that right now,' Wingate
said. 'I have enough on my plate.'
'Did you leave a girl in Toronto?'
'No,' he said. 'There's no one right now.'
At the hospital, they were given their visitor
Similar Books
