The Delicate Storm. Giles Blunt

against the wall. I’ll stand over by the door.’

      The man got off him, and Cardinal took a deep breath before he stood up and dusted himself off. Jesus, the indignity.

      Behind the snub-nosed .38 that was pointed at him stood the youngest gunman Cardinal had ever seen – blond hair cropped close to the skull, pale fuzz on the cheeks and chin. He wore a houndstooth sports jacket, as if trying to impersonate an older man. He opened the door slightly and peered out at the parking lot.

      ‘You really did come alone.’ When he spoke, the kid’s mouth gleamed with too many teeth. ‘All right, turn around and put your hands against the wall. You know the position – feet spread, on your toes.’

      The .38 glinted in the light from the window. Cardinal did as he was told and stared at the wall. ‘What are you,’ he said. ‘about eighteen?’

      ‘You’re way off. And we’ve got more important things to talk about.’ The kid patted him down, looking for an ankle holster. Cardinal didn’t carry one. ‘For starters, how do we get out of this?’

      ‘What do you mean, “we”? You’re the one who just assaulted a police officer. And I have a feeling that – unless you’re RCMP – you’re not licenced to carry that .38, junior.’

      ‘And you’re the cop who just let his gun be taken away. I don’t think we want word of that getting around town, do we?’

      ‘That would be embarrassing. Give it back and I’ll shoot myself right now.’

      ‘What do you know about Howard Matlock?’

      ‘Did Malcolm Musgrave send you? He always had a roundabout way of making a point, even for a Mountie.’

      ‘I asked you a question,’ the kid said. ‘What do you know about Howard Matlock?’

      ‘He’s an American. He’s a chartered accountant. He’s dead. Why are you so interested?’

      ‘I have the guns, so I think it’s more appropriate if I ask the questions. Why did you come back here? Your scene work must be done.’

      ‘Look, obviously you’re RCMP. Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you’re up to?’

      ‘I asked why you came back to the cabin.’

      ‘Obviously for the same reason you’re here – to find out more about Howard Matlock. When a tourist comes to visit my town and gets fed to the bears, it doesn’t look good. Except that he probably wasn’t a tourist, which bothers me too. I came back because I wanted to get a better sense of the guy. I came back because a lot of things aren’t clear to me. I came back because at the moment there’s no way to go forward. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with my job.’ Cardinal waited for a moment, listening. There wasn’t a sound from the doorway. He turned to look.

      The doorway was empty. His Beretta was lying on the kitchen table, minus the clip. He got to the doorway too late to see anything. He cursed under his breath. The missing clip would be difficult to explain.

      He closed the closet door and took one last look around the cabin before locking it up. The kid was good, he had to admit. Catches him by surprise, lifts his gun and melts away like a wisp of fog. On the way up to the parking lot Cardinal thought about putting out an all-points on blond WASPS. But when he got to his car, he found his Beretta clip sitting on the roof above the driver-side door.

      

      When he got home, Catherine was sitting in the lotus position, absolutely motionless. A candle flickered in the breeze from Cardinal’s entry. Smoke spiralled up from a stick of incense on top of the television.

      ‘You’re home late,’ she said.

      ‘Smells like Shangri-La in here.’ Cardinal always made a comment about her incense and she always ignored it. ‘How’s my swami?’

      ‘More like a Buddha than a swami. I’m never going to get rid of this hospital fat.’

      ‘You’re not fat.’

      ‘All that bread and potatoes they fed me in the O.P.H. I can’t fit into any of my clothes.’

      It was true that Catherine had put on a few pounds in the Ontario Psychiatric Hospital – she always did – but on the whole Cardinal thought his wife looked great. A little heavier in the hips, a slight increase in belly maybe, but for a woman with a twenty-six-year-old kid she looked damn good.

      As she untangled her legs, Catherine let out a long sigh. Cardinal was always glad to see her doing yoga, even late at night; she rarely got sick when she was taking care of herself.

      ‘Your dad called. He has an appointment with the cardiologist tomorrow morning. I’ll drive him over.’

      ‘That’s excellent. His new doctor really knows how to get things done.’

      ‘You look a little upset,’ Catherine said. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘Bad day at work, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.’

      ‘You want to tell me about it?’

      ‘Nope.’ He rarely did. None of the detectives on the squad talked to their wives about what happened at work. ‘Misguided chivalry,’ a friend had told Cardinal once, and maybe he was right, but he probably didn’t live with a manic-depressive. Cardinal was not about to add to his wife’s burdens. Besides, he was still too embarrassed about having given up his gun. He flopped down on the couch and breathed in the scent of sandalwood. Very high vibrations, Catherine had assured him.

      The house was beautifully quiet. His refuge. The last embers of a fire in the wood stove cast a warm glow.

      ‘This came for you,’ Catherine said, handing him a square envelope. ‘Very messy handwriting.’

      No return address, either, Cardinal noticed. He tore it open and pulled out a card decorated with a big red heart. Embossed on the front: It’s been twelve years, honey … And on the inside: … but I still love you like the day we met! Underneath this, someone had written, ‘See you soon.’

      It was unsigned, of course, they always were, but Cardinal knew who it was from. Twelve years ago he had helped put a man in prison; that man would be out soon. But the crucial message was not on the card, it was on the envelope, inscribed between the lines of Cardinal’s home address: We know where you live.

      Catherine was saying something to him, but Cardinal couldn’t quite focus. His mind was fixed on the events of more than a decade ago, the single biggest mistake of his career – of his life, really. It had cast a pall over every moment since, and now, even though he had tried to rectify it, it was presenting a threat to his home. His refuge, yes; but between his wife’s emotional fragility and the demands of his profession, not an impregnable one.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What were you saying?’

      ‘I said Kelly called a while ago. Are you sure you’re all right? What was that card about?’

      Cardinal stuffed the card in his pocket. ‘Nothing. Garbage. Funny how Kelly always manages to call when I’m out. She must have someone watching the house.’

      ‘Don’t say that, John. She asked after you. I really don’t think Kelly’s capable of holding a grudge. Not against you, anyway.’

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      ‘She’s found a new place. Sharing an apartment in the East Village. She says it’s very funky but liveable.’

      ‘God knows why she wants to live in New York in the first place. You couldn’t pay me enough money to live there. Toronto was bad enough.’

      Cardinal went into the bathroom and ran the shower as hot as he could stand it, then turned it gradually colder. The sting of the water restored his spirits a little, but his mind still kept going back to the events of a dozen years ago. He had crossed a line, and when he tried to go