again,” Wayne said in a more serious tone, “you’d think you would have learned a lesson or two from the last go-round.”
Touché, I thought. “I wish I could be as good a friend as you, Wayne.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em. Anyway, give Maria a shout. I’ll get all the gory details during supper tonight.”
Before hanging up, Wayne told me not to be a stranger and asked if I was planning to visit Delta in the near future. We’d actually discussed going home for the next long weekend, however under the current circumstances, a trip didn’t look practical. I said he’d have a better chance of seeing Linda than me.
“I highly doubt the police would be too pleased if I skipped town, even though I haven’t been charged with anything.” I let out a laugh. “With my licence suspended and no new work coming in, it would be a great time for a mini-vacation, although there would be no point. Once this new scandal goes public, everyone in town will hate me.”
“Actually,” Wayne broke in, “don’t be so hard on yourself. The fact is most everyone with kids already hates you.”
“Why?”
“For making Linda leave her library job.”
“I didn’t make her leave.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Thanks for that update, pal. I feel so much better now.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
When I got off the phone with Wayne, I felt depressed and pissed off with myself. Once again I had let my old friends down with my selfishness. Although no one in Delta knew, Linda and I had been having a difficult time adjusting to our life together. After years wrapped in the comfy warmth of a small town where everybody knew your name, Linda wasn’t prepared for the coldness of Darrien. She was also ill-prepared for my long days on the road and the ever-changing plans. And let’s not get into those overnight marital cases.
In a nutshell: Linda was living in a strange city with no friends and a boyfriend who may or may not be home for dinner.
Even then I think this new lifestyle arrangement was more stressful for me. You see, I loved having someone to come home to, but my job ultimately dictated my arrival time. This concept was foreign to Linda. As a librarian she was used to saying, “The library closes at 6:00, so let’s meet for dinner at 6:05, okay?” It’s for this very reason many police officers marry fellow cops. Both understand the fluid nature of the job; that the last call you’re dispatched to may involve hours of overtime filling out paper work. No huge deal. No guilt trips. (Of course, I had also managed to screw up that arrangement. More on that later.)
I should have stopped Linda from moving, but at the time I too was thinking with my heart instead of my head. Our ill-advised quickie engagement only made matters worse as we were still getting used to each other’s habits and personalities. Then came Samantha. When I hired her part-time, I’d actually convinced myself I was on solid ground and nothing would happen between us. She was in a committed relationship and proudly showed off her engagement ring to everyone, including our subjects, who thought nothing of bedding another man’s woman. With Linda now living at my place, we were also very serious. Sam and I had no plans of screwing things up—literally or figuratively.
For the first couple of months, we had a great employer-employee partnership and were a successful team. There was flirting involved; harmless verbal fun in the context of the sleazy work we were doing. Then things began to go sideways for us: Linda and I argued about my insane work hours, while at the same time, Samantha’s fiancé accused her of sleeping with me, which she rightfully denied. On a stake-out one day, I told Sam I had often accused my lover of cheating in order to cover up, or later justify, my own extra-curricular activities.
A few days later, Samantha arrived at the office in a very foul mood.
“Her name is Lucy and she lives in the east end on Myers Avenue.”
Having no idea what she was talking about, I asked, “Who is this Lucy person and why should I care?”
Samantha stopped in mid-stride and glared daggers in my direction. “You should care because she’s the little tramp Richard is doing behind my back!”
“As in, Do you take Samantha to be your lovely bride, Richard?”
“That’s the one,” she said, as she made her way to her desk, where she let out an angry grunting sound. “To love, honour and cherish—my ass! He’s a dead man.”
“I agree,” I quipped. “Any man who doesn’t love, honour or cherish your ass must be dead.”
“You got that right.”
It was this type of goofy flirtation which passed as typical conversation between the two of us. In the true business world, my comment would have landed me in jail for sexual harassment. My office however, doesn’t actually exist or operate in the real world; it’s located somewhere on the underbelly of the real world, out of sight and out of mind. When I hired Samantha, I did so for three reasons: she was smart, attractive and engaged to be married. It was only when we became more comfortable working together, her politically incorrect self emerged. To an observer, our constant sexually charged come-ons and put-downs meant only one thing: we desperately wanted to get into each other’s pants. I again state categorically that was not the case—at least not until Richard began to see other women and Linda began to hate me. (Note: Unlike Richard, Linda never accused me of shagging my work partner, although I’m certain the idea crossed her mind a time or two.)
“So, did you catch them together?” I asked.
“Not in the physical sense.”
“Then how can you be sure Richard is having an affair?”
Samantha opened her purse and pulled out a stack of papers. “You’re an investigator—investigate these.” She handed me a pile of e-mail messages written between Richard and Lucy.
“Did you find these filed under ‘Tramp’ in his desk?” I asked as I began to read the forbidden love letters.
“He’s smart,” Samantha admitted, “just not that smart.”
“Then how?”
“Ever hear of an e-tracker?”
“Enlighten me.”
“An e-tracker is a program that records every keystroke a person types when using a computer. They could be writing a letter to Grandma, playing a game, or working on a cost datasheet for their business. Regardless, this program stores every hit on the keyboard.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, looking up into Samantha’s now triumphant face. “And what government agency did you go through to get this top-secret software, which essentially bypasses every privacy law ever written? And what was the agent’s name? We might need to use him in the future.”
“The agency goes by the name of The Computer Emporium on Ouellette Avenue—next to the Burger King. As for the agent, I don’t know what his real name is but his little yellow nametag had ‘Willy D’ typed on it.”
“Probably his undercover alias.”
