33
Joanne Cameron was silent in the back seat as they returned to Port Dundas. Hazel put a call in to the station house to find out if there had been any news from Toronto, but neither Ilunga nor any of his deputies had called. Wingate’s warning was still resonating in her mind, although she found it hard to believe that Ilunga would destroy evidence in a case that had its roots in his catchment. If Goodman was right about the rot in the division, then maybe, but Hazel suspected he was only right about this one case, a case that could have gone either way, depending on how deeply the investigators were willing to look into a death that looked like a suicide from every angle.
She had Wilton connect her with The River Nook, and Dianne put Constable Childress on the line. She was frosty with Hazel. “He’s had the better part of the day to check the prints,” Hazel said.
“I told you it would be tomorrow. They’ve got to thaw the goddamn thing out first, don’t they?”
“They have microwaves in the morgue. Look, it’s time your boss started taking this seriously. None of this is happening in an imaginary realm: we have to work. Now tell me how long until I hear back.”
“I don’t know,” said Childress. “I’ll try to push them for tomorrow morning. Everything’s still at CFS.”
“Well, you get yourself down to the station house where I can bug you to check in with your people every thirty minutes. If you can tear yourself away from Dianne’s gingerbread cake.”
Childress didn’t answer, just hung up.
“I want to know,” said Cameron from the back seat, “I want to know what you found on the island.”
Hazel turned in the passenger seat. “I don’t share information with potential murder suspects. Especially not about the cases they’re suspects in.”
The station house in Port Dundas was abuzz when they returned. Hazel handed Joanne Cameron off to Costamides, who led her down the back toward the cells. “Give her something to eat and clean her off. If you think anything’s broken, get a doc in here. Make sure the cell is empty except for a table and chair. I don’t want her to try to hurt herself.” Costamides nodded smartly and took Cameron under the arm. She didn’t resist.
Wilton reported there’d been no sightings of Goodman’s van. “We need aerial surveillance,” she said. “Can we get anyone up there to look in the trees or along the dirt roads? There’s too much cover to see through, and the weather -”
“The weather’s going to keep everything grounded,” said Wilton.
“I know a guy.” It was Fraser. “He’s private, though. He’ll cost.”
“Call him,” she said.
He started moving away, but then he doubled back and stuck a pile of paper in her hands.
“What’s this?”
“When you have time,” he said. “It’s the questionnaires.”
“I’ve got enough bad news as it is, Kraut.”
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“About Ray Greene?”
She was aware that the pen behind them had fallen silent. “What do you know about Ray Greene?”
“Skip.”
She looked down at the papers he’d handed her. She recognized the Ontario Police Services Central Region Work Environment Survey.
“Page five, question thirty-six,” he said.
She unfurled the questionnaires in her hand. There were twelve of them. She opened each survey to the middle page. Question thirty-six read If you were redeployed to another detachment within OPSC, which one would be your first choice? The first respondent had answered “Port Dundas.” So had the second.
“Keep going,” said Fraser.
All twelve respondents had written in “Port Dundas” as their first choice in case of redeployment.
“I think this is called shooting yourself in the foot,” Hazel said.
She noted that six of the twelve respondents were in the pen this afternoon. Her constables and sergeants, many of whom had worked for Gord Drury loyally, and for her since then, and something had convinced them it was worth putting their necks on the line. “What about your kids?” she said to them. “What about having a say in what community you serve? I met Willan: he’ll send you to the back of nowhere if he thinks you’re going to be trouble.” She looked at Fraser. “I thought you were half out of here already, Kraut.”
“Is it true about Greene?”
She hesitated a moment. “Probably. Is that why you want to stay?”
“That’s why we want to fight. We won’t work under Ray Greene. He left – in the middle of a case. That was his choice. This week, we’ve all worked together, like we should. I don’t agree with everything you do, but you do keep us together. We want it to stay that way. We’re going to fight.”
She was shaking her head. “The fight is over, Dietrich. The decisions have been made.”
“They’ll be unmade. Or there’ll be chaos.”
“Is this you or Martin Ryan talking?”
“It’s the whole union. Province-wide.”
She rerolled the papers and held them out to him. “Thank you,” she said. The room was silent; she knew she was talking to all of them now. “It means more than you can know.”
“Are you going to get behind us?” called Bail.
“I’ve always been behind you.” She returned her attention to Fraser. “Listen,” she said, “since you’re still working for me, I have a little job for you…”
“What kind of crime does Dana Goodman think we can solve?” she said to Wingate. She’d taken him under the arm when she passed back through the pen and pulled him to her office. “He obviously doesn’t think much of our investigative skills anymore.”
“Maybe he’ll light a flare beside Eldwin’s body.”
She held her door open for him. He entered and she crossed the room to her desk and punched the intercom. “Did Childress get here yet?”
“She’s waiting by my desk,” said Cartwright.
“Send her in.”
“What is going on?” Wingate asked.
“We’re going to light a flare of our own.”
Childress entered, her cap still on her head, and stepped only as far into Hazel’s office so as to officially be in the room without actually seeming to be in the room with them. “I just called down,” she said.
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Maybe we should call again.” She took the phone off the cradle. “Ask your superintendent about Goodman. Maybe he can help put us in his mindset.”
“What makes you think the superintendent knows the first thing about Goodman’s mindset? The man went off the deep end.”
“You sound like a subscriber to the Ilunga theory of Goodman.”
“You ask him if you’re not.”
“I’m not sure he and me are talking.”
Childress seemed to weigh which of her options would get her out of the room the fastest, and she crossed to the side of Hazel’s desk and dialled her boss’s number. Hazel stabbed the speaker button, and the voice of the woman with the clipboard who’d taken them to Ilunga answered. “Constable Georgia Childress calling,” she said. “Is the superintendent in?”
“Hold,” said the officious voice.
“Childress?”
“Sir.”
“I thought you were liaising with Sergeant Adiga.”
“I, um…”
“Christ,” said Ilunga. “What has she done now?”
Hazel stepped forward toward the mic. “Is he a killer? Does your Goodman have it in him to kill?”
“You’re getting all the assistance you’ll be getting from this office, Detective Inspector. Don’t look to me to water your theories.”
“Why wasn’t he charged?”
“With what? Being an asshole?”
“He committed a B & E. He threatened a witness.”
“We gave him a choice: dishonourable or quit. He chose to quit. We were happy to see him go. No lawsuits from the union, no paperwork. Just turn in your badge and off you go. You should be thinking along those lines about now, Micallef. Save everyone in the OPS brass some grief. Well, more grief.”