“Sure,” he said, as if he was going to sleep.
“He’s coming back.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Probably it will be. He’s going to be CO.”
“And you?”
“They want to give me the gold watch.”
“Will you take it?”
What she’d told Greene had been calculated to cause maximum discomfort. But now she told Wingate the truth: “I don’t know.”
He pushed his plate away. He’d taken two bites of his tuna sandwich. She wasn’t hungry anymore, either. “I hope you won’t,” he said.
They paid and left. When they were outside on the sidewalk, turning back toward the police station, she put her hand on Wingate’s shoulder and turned him to face her again. “James, look, I’m no good with the comforting word, but honestly, I feel sick right now. I just wish I could -”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m glad I told you. But I can’t talk about it anymore. If you’re worried I’m tempted to come back here, I’m not. I’m never coming back.”
She had been worried, and she was glad she didn’t have to ask.
As soon as they entered Twenty-one, the desk sergeant stood and waved them over. He looked at his watch. “Nice lunch?” he asked.
“It was fine,” said Hazel.
“I’m happy for you. The two of you have another date, this one with Superintendent Ilunga. He’d like to see you right away.”
Hazel hadn’t noticed a slender woman holding a clipboard standing at the end of the countertop. The desk sergeant gestured to her and they realized this was Ilunga’s administrative assistant: she was going to take them to him. Hazel’s sandwich gurgled in her gut. Something was wrong.
The assistant didn’t say a word as she led them up the stairs to Ilunga’s office, which was past the room they’d been given to examine records in. There was a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway with the single word SUPERINTENDENT on it. The assistant knocked and then stepped away and vanished into her cubbyhole.
After a delay of ten or so seconds, Superintendent Ilunga opened the door and gave them both a smile, his eyes lingering on them each individually. “Come in, come in,” he said, moving back toward his desk. “Close the door.”
They entered and stood in front of the man’s desk, waiting for the customary invitation to sit, but when he sat, he appeared to forget the etiquette, and they remained there, slightly uncomfortable and standing vaguely at attention.
“Do you mind if I eat?” he asked them, his hand hovering over a brown paper bag.
“Oh, not at all,” said Hazel, gesturing stupidly. She tucked her hand behind her back.
Ilunga took a tuna sandwich on whole wheat out of the bag and took an enormous bite out of it. He worked the corners of his lips around the bits that stuck out, manoeuvring a lettuce leaf into his mouth. His thin, muscular features distended powerfully as he chewed. After working the sandwich for a full minute, he swallowed and immediately took another bite as large as the first one. This too he chewed for a full minute, watching them both as calmly as if he was looking out a window. Hazel slid her eyes sideways toward Wingate without moving her head, but she couldn’t tell what his expression was.
When Ilunga finished his second mouthful, he held the sandwich out to them at arm’s length. They stared at his half-eaten lunch as if they were being hypnotized by a cobra. At last, Ilunga spoke. “Neither of you wants a bite?”
“We just ate, Sir,” said Wingate.
“So neither of you wants to eat my lunch?”
“No, Sir.”
“Strange.” He drew the sandwich back and bit the remainder in half. He seemed to be nodding thoughtfully to himself as he masticated the giant chunk of food. “See,” he said, with his mouth still partly full, “I went to Room 32 to check how the two of you were doing, and there were all your files – well, our files – but you were gone.”
“We did go out for an hour or so,” said Hazel. “Should we have notified you?”
“No, no,” Ilunga said, with an expansive gesture. “You’re free to come and go as you please.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
“Of course, it’s also good to know if you’re coming or going.” He examined the edge of the remaining quarter of his sandwich. “Because some people get confused.”
Hazel shifted on her feet. “May we sit, Superintendent?”
“Oh,” he said, pleasantly. “I’d rather if you didn’t. I don’t want any of your slime to come off on the fabric.” He finished his sandwich in the stunned silence and then clapped the crumbs off his hands. He laid them flat on the desk and looked at them both with his head slightly lowered. “I thought we treated you rather well, James.”
“You did, Sir.”
“And is that what inspired you to hook up with the Hayseed Squad and come back down to cast aspersions on us? I’m curious.”
Wingate drew the side of his forefinger down the corner of his mouth. “Sir?”
“We have our own internals to keep us in check. We don’t need any small-town cops keeping an eye on us.”
“As you’re not my commanding officer anymore, Sir, I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking frankly,” said Wingate. Ilunga remained silent and still, as threatening a stillness as either of them had ever witnessed. “I’m an OPS now, and Toronto is in our jurisdiction. Your division is in our jurisdiction. If a crime we’re investigating brings us to your doorstep, you’re obligated to assist us. We appreciate that assistance, and we thank you for it. And if there is nothing else, we’ll get back to what we were doing.”
Ilunga laughed. “Oh, I don’t believe you will, son. If you’re investigating the conduct of my officers or calling into question our results, then you can get yourself a subpoena and then we’ll talk. Maybe.”
“We’re not investigating your officers or your division. We’re investigating an abduction. The facts have brought us here.”
“Dana Goodman brought you here. You’re a pair of country suits doing triage for a disgraced officer and a certifiable lunatic. You’re just the Angels to his Charlie, yes? I hope he’s sent you your divining rods, because you’ll need them to find your way out of the pile of shit you’ve got yourselves into. Now, my advice is that you scouts pack up your knapsacks and your canteens, say your dib dib dibs, and proceed to get scarce.”
Hazel had felt an electric shiver when Wingate spoke. She wanted him to finish this arrogant prick off, but instead, Wingate appeared thoughtful. “Why was he disgraced, Sir?” he asked. “Detective Goodman.”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you, did he?”
“We haven’t spoken all that much.”
“First he appointed himself judge, jury, and almost executioner when he was a beat cop. We don’t mind turning a blind eye to some dealer who ends up with the stuffing beat out of him in some alley – hell, some junkie could have done that. But you can trace a bullet.”
“He killed dealers?” Hazel asked.
“No, but there are a few of them out there with some of Goodman’s metal still in them. We took him out of there, but of course one of his favourite crack feebs has to top herself on his new watch and he goes off the reservation. After it was ruled a suicide – and let me tell you, the evidence was conclusive, in case he’s got you both trying on your merit badges – he took it on himself to keep investigating the case. And a month after it was put to bed, he committed a home invasion on one of the victim’s associates and threatened to kill him unless we reopened the case. It took blind bombs and tear gas to get him out of that house.”
“Colin Eldwin’s house.”
“Well, he told you that much at least.”
“That’s who he’s abducted.”
Ilunga’s upper lip quivered a little. “Well, I guess he got his man then. Good for him. You want something on q.t.? Colin Eldwin is a piece of garbage – we looked into him long and hard at Goodman’s insistence. That man would have fucked a snake if he could have got it to hold still, but he had an alibi the night of Cameron’s death and it was watertight, if you’ll excuse the choice of words. If Goodman’s managed to snatch him a second time, you two should just stay out of his way and let the law of the jungle run its course.”