I’m not. I am what we call General Duties.’
‘I see.’ O’Brien looked around the room that Salter shared with Gatenby, at Salter’s nearly bare desk, at the uncarpeted floor, at the room’s single decoration—a photograph from a newspaper of Gatenby saluting with one hand while he held open the door of some royal duke’s limousine with the other.
Salter thought: He thinks he’s been fobbed off with me and Frank. So he has. He said, loudly, ‘You asked for help with the questioning. What else can we do? Check up on Summers? I’ll put Frank on to it.’
‘A bit more than that, Inspector. Some of our separatists are making noises. We have our hands full.’
‘But they just lost a referendum!’
‘Yes. It’s made them angry. Like English soccer fans when their team loses. In England, I mean.’
Here we go again. ‘Or like French hockey fans when Maurice Richard is suspended.’
‘That’s right, Inspector. I remember that, too. Well, what with the separatists and one or two other things we have had no leave for a month, so we do not have much time for cases like this.’
‘Besides, it’s just unlucky that he was killed in Montreal, right?’
‘Right. What I am concerned with is screwing up at the beginning. Look. Like this. This man, at a conference with his colleagues, is hit by an enemy, or a lover, or, maybe, a whore. But if it is someone he knew, then a stupid investigator might talk to the person right away and not know it. He might miss the signs. There it is. I am busy and I am French. You see what I mean?’
‘Yes. You haven’t got the experience to watch out for English liars. So you want me to do it.’
‘Yes. If you can.’ O’Brien grinned. ‘All Anglos sound like liars to me,’ he risked.
Salter laughed. ‘That’s exactly what my wife said the other day about the French MP’s you see on TV. Especially the cabinet ministers.’
‘Tell her she’s right, will you? You can’t trust any Frenchman in Ottawa.’
They sat there, grinning at each other.
Salter said, ‘Let’s get down to it, Onree. What you are asking me to do is take over the investigation from here and give it back when I’ve got something for you.’
‘If you have the time and the men.’
‘I’ve got me, and Frank, and all the time I need. Now, what else? The suitcase. Anything unusual in it?’
‘Nothing. Underwear, shirts, socks, two books. What you could expect.’
‘The wallet?’
O’Brien read from the list. ‘One hundred and six dollars. Two credit cards. Two library cards. Driving licence. Some lottery tickets. Membership of a squash club. A dirty piece of paper with some numbers on it—they look like telephone numbers—some charge slips. Here.’ He dug into the envelope again and produced the wallet. ‘You’d better take it. Show it to the wife when you talk to her.’
Salter took the wallet and dropped it into a drawer. ‘That’s it then. Coffee now?’
‘Tea, if you don’t mind.’
‘Frank!’ Salter gave the order and waited until the door closed. ‘Anything I can do for you here in town, Onree? You know Toronto?’
‘Not much. I thought I would spend a few hours here. I have a reservation on the overnight train, so my evening is free. But you weren’t expecting me, so just point me in the right direction and I’ll leave you to solve my case.’
‘Which direction is that?’ Sherlock Holmes would have known. The tan, the windswept haircut—what did they point to? The harbour for a quick sail around the islands?
‘Greenwood racetrack. I’ve never been to the races in Toronto.’
Of course. ‘I’ve never been either. Would you like some company? I wonder what time they start.’
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘Ah. Well, then, we could go and have some dinner, and go out to the track afterwards.’
‘Fine, Inspector.’
‘Charlie.’
‘Fine, Charlie, But why don’t I come back at, say, five-thirty, and then we could go out and have dinner at the track.’
‘I don’t know if they have a restaurant, Onree.’
O’Brien looked knowing. ‘They all have restaurants. I will be back at five-thirty.’ He put his envelope back in his briefcase and shook hands with Salter.
When the door closed, Salter phoned his wife. ‘I won’t be home for dinner,’ he said. ‘I think I may have a real job.’
Annie said, ‘Fraud, arson, robbery with violence?’
‘Murder.’
‘And they gave it to you!’
‘It’s not on our turf so “DeeCee” and “Chiefie” don’t give a pinch. But it’s just like a real job to me.’
‘Now we start skipping dinner again? Working all night?’
‘Not yet. But you never know. It might come to that. I hope so. Don’t wait up. First, I’m going to the races. ‘Bye, dear.’ He hung up, agreeably mysterious.
Annie was waiting up for him when he got home.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ she said. ‘Did you win?’
‘I didn’t lose,’ he said smugly, and waited to be asked again.
‘How much?’ she asked.
‘A “C-note”,’ Salter said, out of the corner of his mouth like a regular gambler.
‘Enjoy yourself?’
‘Bloody marvellous. Want to hear about it?’
‘Of course. I’ll make some tea.’
What’s going on with her? Salter wondered. She’s acting strange.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked truculently. ‘You jealous of my night out?’
‘Don’t be silly, Charlie. Just tell me about it. What happened?’
Salter gave a mental shrug and resumed his euphoric mood. ‘The thing is,’ he began. ‘It’s harness racing—you know—chariots.’
She nodded, a little girl hearing about Daddy’s day.
‘They have two kinds of horses—trotters and pacers—you know about this? The trotters move differently from the pacers.’
