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“Everything’s fine,” Eliza said. “I’m making some decisions about my future, that’s all. I’ll let you know soon.” Barney read nothing in the newspapers other than business and fashion and art gallery openings. If the piece about Eliza from the
Gazette
had been picked up by the Vancouver papers, Barney would have missed it. Eliza didn’t want to tell her that the workout wear people might not want her anywhere near their campaign.

She headed upstairs, might as well have a bath and try to relax. She could worry in the bath as well as she could pacing the house. The staircase was wide and it made a ninety degree turn at the landing, where a large stained-glass window was set into the wall. Movement caught her eye and she glanced outside. It was early enough that the sun hadn’t quite set, and long shadows reached across the lawn from the forest edging the property. A car was pulling into their driveway. It was an RCMP patrol car, and Dick Madison sat in the passenger seat.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

“Yeah,” John Winters barked into the phone.

“Sergeant Winters? It’s Corporal Farzaneh here. Are you good to talk?”

He was sitting on the bed in his room eating another take out meal without tasting it while watching a hockey game on the old TV. The game was no more distracting than the food. He’d be more than happy to talk shop with Farzaneh. Anything would be better than watching a stupid hockey game and avoiding thinking about his wife’s tear-stained face. He’d thought about phoning her, talking to her, telling her he loved her and was on her side. But somehow he ended up switching on the TV and turning the sound up too loud.

“What’s up?”

“I saw something of interest just now, and figured you should know about it. It’s your town after all, and probably not related to the Steiner case.”

“Go ahead.”

“Before getting this post in B.C., I was in New Brunswick, doing general policing mostly, with a bit of an anti-organized crime focus.”

“Were you now?” Winters’ cop brain switched into high gear and he could guess why Farzaneh was calling. Eliza, and all their troubles, were forgotten.

“Yup. And during my time there I had occasion to run into a group out of Montreal. I saw a gentleman of my acquaintance not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

“That’s enough for over the phone,” Winters said. “Where are you?”

“Bar at the Koola Hotel where we’re staying.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He snapped his phone shut, switched off the TV, tossed the unfinished lemon chicken and fried rice into the trash, and headed for his car.

The bar of the Koola hotel was crowded on a Saturday night. It was still early; the patrons were mostly friends and family groups out for dinner. A cluster of eight or nine middle-aged women had pulled three tables together in the center of the room. One woman waved her hands over her head like a mad thing, and the others filled the room with shouts of laughter. This group came here every Saturday night, their numbers expanding or contracting depending on circumstance, the time of year, the weather, but they were always here. Jim Denton’s wife, Gale, was one of them. She gave him a wave.

Kevin Farzaneh sat at the bar. He swallowed the last of his beer, put a bill on the counter, and joined Winters. “Let’s walk.”

“Don’t know where the boss is,” Farzaneh said, rubbing the top of his hairless head. “Alison’s reworking some stuff in the lab now we know about Steiner’s brother, the maintenance…sorry, wasn’t supposed to mention that.” Winters doubted Kevin Farzaneh slipped up much. There might be dissent in the IHIT team, and this was probably Farzaneh’s way of letting him know they had a suspect. Other than Eliza.

“I went for an early dinner by myself,” the Mountie continued. I was sitting in the window at that place, the something Grill, around the corner from the Hudson Hotel, just finishing up, and who do I see walk by, other than your delectable beat constable, but François Langois.”

“And Monsieur Langois is…”

“His pride would be offended if he finds out you don’t quake in terror at the mention of his name. Langois works for a mob boss name of Guy Marias. His job, unless he’s been promoted recently, is enforcement. Marais operates in New Brunswick and Quebec mostly, because he’s more comfortable in French, although he speaks English well enough. Maybe he’s branching out into B.C. like most everyone these days. I ran a quick warrant check. Langois has nothing outstanding, more’s the pity, but he does have a nice long record, assault, extortion, uttering threats.”

Strange
, Winters thought.
Madison hasn’t bothered to tell Farzaneh that Josie Steiner is Guy Marais’ daughter
?

“Did Langois spot you?”

“No. Might not matter if he did, I don’t know he’d recognize me. I spent some time on surveillance, watching him, but we never came face to face.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” They came to a corner and waited for the light to change. “Don’t suppose you know where Langois is staying?”

“He spends plenty of time in the gym, but’s not the type to get exercise by going for a long walk in the spring air. I’d guess he’s at the Hudson.”

“He has a record you say? Then it would be well within my responsibilities to pay him a visit, and make sure he understands we’re a quiet, peaceful little town and don’t need outsiders causing trouble.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Hey, there’s Molly.” Farzaneh grabbed Winters’ arm. “Call her over, will you, Sarge? Let her know how helpful I’ve been.”

Molly Smith was heading toward them on the other side of the street. She was taking her time, walking slowly, her eyes moving.

He lifted a hand and waved. She looked at him and he beckoned her over.

“Great, thanks, Sarge,” Farzaneh said, straightening up and brushing off the front of his shirt.

“Afraid you’re too late, my boy,” Winters said. “The lady’s spoken for.”

“That can always change,” the Mountie said. “I note there is no wedding ring.”

***

Smith caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over to see Sergeant Winters calling her. He was standing outside Wolfe River Books with the good-looking Mountie from IHIT. She was pleased to see it. If Winters was back working with IHIT then his wife must be cleared. She waited for a break in the traffic.

Amy’s brother Mike had been at the Bishop when Smith had dropped in, and upset at what she had to tell him about his sister’s shopping habits. “She’s working at that place that takes care of dogs during the day. Dog day care they call it, for God’s sake. What’s wrong with leaving your mutt with a bowl of water and kibble when you’re at work? Some people have more money than they know what to do with. I can give them a couple of suggestions. No matter, it’s a good job for Amy. They like her there, say the dogs get on well with her. Now she wants to get a dog for Robbie.” He made a face. “That’s all I need.”

“What does she do with Robbie when she’s working?” Smith sipped at the glass of ice water the bartender had poured her. She and Mike had pulled stools up to the bar. The Bishop and Nun was almost empty. A couple of guys were setting up instruments on the postage stamp-sized stage, and the light was very poor. A cheap bar could be a depressing place early in the evening.

“She works three days a week, for four hours at a time. The women’s support center helps her out. She pays a small amount out of her salary and they supplement it so Robbie can go to a lady’s house. The plan isn’t to have Amy supporting herself, that’s never going to happen, but to give her a feeling of independence. Her boss is already asking if she can work more hours, but I think it’s enough for a start. She’s so proud of earning money.” He sighed. “I guess I forgot to tell her that you have to have the money in your pocket to pay for what you want, not just the promise of it coming in at the end of the week.”

A loud crash and the room turned blue with swearing. One of the musicians had knocked over the drums and the other started berating him.

“Hard lesson to teach someone,” Smith said, turning back to Mike, “when she must see people all the time holding up plastic cards and then walking out with stuff.”

“We’ve got a cousin couch surfing with us at the moment. Maybe I can get her to take Amy shopping, show her how to figure out if she has enough money to pay for things she needs.”

“That would be a good start.”

“Sometimes I wish I was so innocent. Amy has no guile at all, and never wishes anyone anything but good.”

“A nice world to live in,” Smith agreed.

They arranged that Monday morning Mike would take Amy back to Rosemary’s to pay what she owed. He would try to explain about the intricacies of commercial transactions. In the meantime Smith would speak to her mom. Perhaps the support center could offer some classes on basic finance.

The last car passed and she darted across the street to join Winters and Kevin Farzaneh.

“Hi,” she said, “What’s up?”

“I can’t decide where to eat in this town,” Farzaneh said. “Too many choices. I need someone local to show me around. Say dinner tomorrow, or lunch, even breakfast?”

It was nice to be asked. She gave him a big smile, before saying, “I don’t date cops.”

“What she means by that,” Winters said with a laugh, “is that she doesn’t date you. Thanks for the tip.”

“All part of the job. Speaking of which…Oh, never mind, but I’ll be back.”

He walked away, after giving Smith a most charming grin. She wondered if he practiced it in front of the mirror every morning.

“What’s up?” she asked again.

“I’ve had word that a known gang member with a criminal record is in town. I’m going to drop by his hotel, let him know I’m watching him. I thought it might be nice to have a uniform beside me. Are you free?”

“For now. Not too much happening.”

“If you get a call, take it, but come with me in the meantime. What? Do you have a problem with that, Smith?”

“No, not at all.” She’d hesitated, considering telling him about Madison’s insinuations regarding their relationship. Suppose she’d only imagined what the Mountie had been hinting at. She’d look like a fool, or worse that she was projecting. She fell into step beside the sergeant.

“Do you have a guest staying here by the name of Langois?” Winters asked the front desk clerk, showing his badge. Not really necessary, as she certainly remembered him, and Smith stood beside him in full uniform.

“Yes,” she said, without checking her computer.

“Room number?”

“310”

They took the stairs.

Without words, Smith stood on one side of the door to 310 and Winters on the other. He reached out a hand and knocked.

“Yes?”

“Police.”

The door opened.

The man who stood there was dressed in the trousers of a nice gray suit with a well-pressed white shirt neatly tucked in and an expensive pink tie properly knotted around his neck. He looked like any prosperous businessman, except for the size of his neck and the bulge of muscle underneath the shirt. His hair was buzzed down to the scalp and the remains of old acne scars pitted his face like a topographical map. His nose looked as if it had been broken more times than probably even he could remember, and his small black eyes reflected no light. Those eyes made Smith think of the rat she’d found impaled on her door. He smelled, very heavily, of tobacco.

His gaze, not quite a sneer but close, crossed Smith, dismissing her instantly, and focused on Winters. “What do you want?” He had a heavy French accent.

“Mr. François Langois?” Winters asked.

“
Oui
.”

“May we come in?”

“
Non
.”

“Do you want us to discuss business in the hallway?”

“I ‘ave no business with you.”

“I’m sure it’s not a problem, François,” a man said from inside the room. “Let the gentlemen in. We only wish to be of assistance.”

Langois opened the door and stepped back.

Josie Steiner and her lawyer were sitting at a circular table by the window. Glasses and food dishes and papers were piled high on the table. A bottle of wine nestled in an ice bucket.

Oh boy,
Smith thought
, this is awkward
. Wasn’t Sergeant Winters forbidden from any involvement in the Steiner murder?

Josie opened her mouth. The lawyer waved her to be quiet. “If it isn’t Sergeant Winters,” he said, “As I recall you’ve been removed from this investigation for personal reasons. I suggest you leave or I will be forced to make a complaint.”

“Unfortunately,” Winters said, not sounding at all concerned, “this is a small town with a small police service. We all have to multi-task, isn’t that correct, Constable Smith?”

“What? Uh, yeah, that’s right, sir.”

“I’m here on another matter. If you’d be more comfortable, perhaps you and Mrs. Steiner should leave.”

The lawyer jerked his head toward Josie. Without a word, she got up, taking her wine glass with her. She grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it out of the ice, crossed the room, and opened a door. She closed the door behind her, but the scent of her perfume lingered.

“I’m here to have a chat with Mr. Langois,” Winters said. “A private chat.”

“’e stays,” Langois said. He picked up his beer and took a hearty slug.

“I had a look at your record,” Winters said. “It doesn’t look good.”

“Mr. Langois has paid his debt to society,” Iverson said. “He can come and go as he pleases. Which, come to think of it, is more than can be said for you right now, Sergeant.”

“Nevertheless, I’m wondering what you’re doing in our fair town. Perhaps I can offer you some tips on the best sights to see. Skiing’s over for the year, do you hike?”

“What?” Langois said, confused. He put his beer on the table and threw a questioning look at the lawyer.

Iverson peered over the top of his glasses. “François is here as a friend of the family to support Mrs. Steiner in her grief. Mrs. Steiner’s father,” his eyes lingered on the sergeant, “is unable to get away at this time. As much as he would like to.”