episode. And every time Delorme had encountered Catherine Cardinal, she had wondered how that was possible.
For Catherine Cardinal, at least when she was well, was one of the few women Delorme had ever met who could with any degree of accuracy be described as ‘radiant’. The words ‘manic’ and ‘depressive’ – not to mention ‘bipolar’ or ‘psychotic’ – evoked images of the frazzled, the wild-eyed. But Catherine had radiated gentleness, intelligence, even wisdom.
Delorme, single for more years than she cared to count, often found the company of married couples tedious. In general, they lacked the spark of people still on the hunt. And they had an exasperating way of implying that single people were in some way defective. Most upsetting of all, many seemed not even to like each other, treating each other with a rudeness they would never dream of inflicting on a stranger. But Cardinal and his wife, married God knew how long, seemed genuinely to enjoy each other’s company. Cardinal talked about Catherine almost every day, unless she was in hospital, and then his silence had always struck Delorme as an expression not of shame but of loyalty. He was always telling Delorme about Catherine’s latest photograph, or how she had helped some former student get a job, about an award she had won, or something funny she had said.
But in Delorme’s experience there was something imposing about Catherine, something commanding, even when you knew her psychiatric history. In fact, it may partly have been an effect of that very psychiatric history: the aura of someone who had travelled into the depths of madness and come back to tell the tale. Only this time she hadn’t come back.
And maybe Cardinal’s better off, Delorme thought. Maybe it’s not the worst thing for him to be free of this beautiful albatross. Delorme had witnessed the toll on Cardinal when his wife had been admitted to hospital, and at such times she found herself surprisingly angry at the woman who could make his life a misery.
Lise Delorme, she cursed herself as she came to a stop at the crime-scene tape, sometimes you can be a hundred per cent, unforgivable, unmitigated bitch.
If Chouinard had been hoping his speedy dispatch of Delorme would prevent suspect number one from messing up a crime scene, he was too late. As she got out of the car, she could see Cardinal holding his wife in his arms, blood all over his suede jacket.
A young cop – Sanderson was his name – was standing guard by the crime-scene tape.
‘You were first on the scene?’ Delorme asked him.
‘Got an anonymous call from someone in the building. Said there appeared to be a body out back. I proceeded here, ascertained that she was dead, and put in a call to the sarge. She called CID and Cardinal got here first. I had no idea it was his wife.’ There was a trill of panic in his voice. ‘There’s no ID on the body. There’s no way I could’ve known.’
‘That’s all right,’ Delorme said. ‘You did the right thing.’
‘If I’d have known, I’d have kept him away from the body. But he didn’t know either till he got up close. I’m not gonna get in trouble over this, am I?’
‘Calm down, Sanderson, you’re not in trouble. Ident and the coroner will be here any second.’
Delorme went over to Cardinal. She could tell from the damage to his wife that she had fallen from a high floor. Cardinal had turned her over and was holding her up in his arms as if she were asleep. His face was streaked with blood and tears.
Delorme squatted beside him. She gently touched Catherine’s wrist and then her neck, establishing two things: there was no pulse, and the body was still warm, though beginning to cool at the extremities. There was a camera bag nearby, some of its contents spilling out on to the asphalt.
‘John,’ she said softly.
When he did not respond, she said his name again, her voice even softer. ‘John, listen. I’m only going to say this once. What we have here, this is breaking my heart, okay? Right now I feel like curling up in a corner and crying and not coming out till somebody tells me this isn’t real. You hear me? My heart is going out to you. But you and I both know what has to happen.’
Cardinal nodded. ‘I didn’t realize it was … till I got up close.’
‘I understand,’ Delorme said. ‘But you’re going to have to put her down now.’
Cardinal was crying, and she just let him. Arsenault and Collingwood, the ident team, were heading toward them. She held her hand up to ward them off.
‘John. Can you put her down for me now? I need you to put her back just the way she was when you found her. Ident’s here. The coroner’s going to be here. However this happened, we need to do this investigation by the book.’
Cardinal shifted Catherine off his knees and, with futile tenderness, turned her face down. He arranged her left hand over her head. ‘This hand was up like this,’ he said. ‘This one,’ he said, taking her other arm by the wrist, ‘was down by her side. Her arms are broken, Lise.’
‘I know.’ Delorme wanted to touch him, comfort him, but she forced her professional self to keep control. ‘Come with me now, John. Let ident do their work, okay?’
Cardinal got to his feet, swaying a little. Sanderson had been joined by lots of uniformed colleagues, and Delorme was aware of one or two people watching from balconies as she led Cardinal past the scene tape and over to her car. Bits of computer crunched underfoot. She opened the passenger door for him and he got in. She got in on the driver’s side and shut the door.
‘Where were you when you got the call?’ Delorme said.
She couldn’t be sure from Cardinal’s expression if he was taking anything in. Was he aware of the ambulance, its lights uselessly flashing? Did he see the coroner heading toward the body with his medical bag? Arsenault and Collingwood in their white paper jumpsuits? McLeod slowly pacing the perimeter, eyes to the ground? She couldn’t tell.
‘John, I know it’s a terrible time to ask questions …’ It was what they always said. She hoped he understood that she had to do this, probe the wound with the knife still in it.
When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly clear; he just sounded exhausted. ‘I was at the Birches Motel, in my car, with the mayor.’
‘Mayor Feckworth? How come?’
‘He was demanding a full missing-persons on his wife, threatening to go to the chief, the papers. Someone had to break the bad news to him.’
‘How long were you with him?’
‘About two and a half hours, all told. He came to the station first. McLeod can confirm all this. Szelagy, too.’
‘Szelagy was still staking out the motel on the Porcini case?’
Cardinal nodded. ‘He may still be there. He’ll have his radio off. You would too, if you were watching the Porcinis.’
‘Do you know why Catherine would be here at this building?’
‘She went out to take photographs. I don’t know if she knew anybody here. Must have, I guess, to get access.’
Delorme could almost hear Cardinal’s cop mind trying to click back into gear.
‘We should be checking
