to hear it.”
“Listen, no one answers in your office. I tried your cellphone. Don't you ever pick up your messages? Is Lindsay all right?”
I filled her in on the situation, omitting Merv's reactions. She offered to drive me to the Leomont Building to get Alvin, to resolve any outstanding issues with the Mounties, starting with the Commissioner, and to make sure our lad was not traumatized.
“We have to wait until the police get here,” I said.
“That shouldn't take long. Poor Alvin. He has such a hard time.”
Once again, I bit my tongue.
I jumped when Merv soundlessly arrived behind me. “Good news item number one: she's sleeping,” he whispered.
I raised my eyebrows. Not because Lindsay could fall sleep—that was no surprise with her system clogged with sedatives—but there was just something about Merv tiptoeing around like a nervous auntie.
“Good news item number two: the Ottawa guys are here.” I followed him back through the living room to the front window. A cruiser, with two officers, was parked conspicuously in front of the townhouse. “There's another car in the back,” Merv said.
“They're taking it seriously. Usually it's one cop per cruiser.”
“They're taking it seriously all right. They did everything but run a DNA test on me.”
“But you're RCMP.”
“Jurisdictions, remember? No reason for a member of the force, even one on sick leave, to be here. They don't like weird stuff.”
“You'd think they'd be happy to have someone trained in security in the house looking out for Lindsay.”
“Yeah, yeah. They're cops, Camilla. They're never happy. But anyway, I passed the test. I don't hold out much hope for you, though.”
“Funny.”
* * *
Less than ten minutes later, when Elaine's SUV crested the snow bank in front of Lindsay's place, I forced myself to take a deep breath and head out. Elaine was in fine form, metres of tightly curled red hair sproinging out in all directions from under a fake leopard fez. Not an easy effect to carry off.
“I'll go in and see Lindsay first,” she said as I climbed into her SUV.
“She's out cold. Give her an hour or so.”
“Holy moly,” she said, “out cold. I don't blame her.”
“Drugs,” I said.
“What else is she going to do? Was she awake when you arrived?”
“Yes. Which reminds me, did she call you this morning and tell you about Benning?”
“No. The first I heard of it was Alvin's message. Who could believe that bastard's loose again?”
I must have had a look on my face.
“Come on, Camilla, don't start feeling guilty.”
“I don't know. If I'd done a better job on the brief to the Parole Board last spring, he wouldn't have been paroled and attacked his wife, and we wouldn't have this whole situation.”
“Get over it. Remember? You were caught up in a murder investigation. Benning's nothing but trouble and always has been. It's not you. It's not her. It's not the wife. It's him. Plain and simple.”
I gasped, less from self-insight than from the SUV spinning toward the canal as we made an illegal U-turn and didn't quite connect with the road.
“Don't be so jumpy,” Elaine said. “This guy's making you nuts.”
“Of course he is.” The little pine-tree deodorizers danced with each swerve Elaine made.
“But Merv will be a match for him.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so. Who'd argue with him? Didn't you tell me once he had special training when he was doing security stuff?”
“But he's nearly fifty years old, with a wonky gall bladder that acts up when he's under stress.”
“So what? Wasn't he a bodyguard for the Prime Minister?”
“That was then. This is now.”
“You don't lose that kind of training. Lindsay's in safe hands with Merv. Anyway, the police will pick Benning up any minute. Okay, we need to rescue Alvin.” She gunned the engine as we skidded along.
“Let me use your phone. I want to leave another message for P. J. just in case…”
“No problem.”
“Thanks, Elaine.”
“What's to thank? After all, you've helped me plenty.”
I gasped again as the SUV veered intimately close to the side of the road. “I have? Like what?”
“Like working on our sculpture.”
“What sculpture?”
Elaine applied the brakes, sending us into a one hundred and eighty-degree spin. I shrieked. I believe the driver in the oncoming lane did too.
I was still jumpy a minute later.
“Don't carry on so much,” Elaine said. “You shouldn't say ‘what sculpture’ if you don't want a reaction.”
This definitely wasn't the right time to tell Elaine I had no idea what sculpture. “You're right,” I said. “It's too important.”
“It is.”
“So, do you have a plan?” This was a safe bet because Elaine always had a plan.
“Natch,” she said.
“Of course. Watch out for the salt truck!” Merging onto the Queensway with Elaine is not something I ever want to repeat. Thank God, we were just one exit away from the Vanier parkway.
“You're not the easiest person to drive with, Camilla. You know that? It's your tendency toward theatricality.”
“No doubt you're right.” I pulled myself up from where I'd slid under my seat belt. “And so the plan for the sculpture hasn't changed?”
“No. Why should it?”
Why I was so worried? After all, how much of a problem could a sculpture be? A bit of art. A spin to Montreal to some retrospective at the musée? No big deal. Especially if I drove. Alvin's collision with the wrought-iron gates of Rideau Hall meant my car was out of commission, but I could rent. Problem solved. I felt flooded with relief, in part because we were already off the Queensway.
“Camilla?
