The Delicate Storm. Giles Blunt

no longer cool. ‘Some people can’t take no for an answer.’

      She went into the examining room and closed the door. Cardinal could hear their voices but not what they said. He looked around at the consulting room. In Ray Choquette’s day it had been all chrome and vinyl. Now there were leather chairs, a ceiling fan and two glass-fronted book-cases crammed with medical texts. A deep red Persian rug gave the place a warm, inviting feel, more like a study than an office.

      Fifteen minutes later Dr Cates came out of the examining room, followed by his father, who was looking thunderous.

      She pulled out her pad and spoke while she wrote. ‘I’m giving you two prescriptions. The first one is a diuretic; that should help keep your chest clear. And the other one is a blood thinner, to keep your blood pressure down.’ She tore off the scrips and handed them to Stan. ‘I’m going to call the cardiologist myself. That way we’ll be sure to get you in. My assistant will call you to let you know what time.’

      ‘What about the driving?’ Cardinal said.

      Dr Cates shook her head. A strand of black hair came loose and curled around her neck. ‘No driving.’

      That did it for Stan. ‘Goddammit. How would you like it if you had to call someone every time you wanted to go out? Thirty years old, what do you know about anything? How do you know what I can or can’t feel – in my feet or any other damn place? I was driving twenty years before you were born. Never had an accident. Never had so much as a speeding ticket. And now you’re telling me I can’t drive? What am I supposed to do? Call him every five minutes?’

      ‘I know it’s upsetting, Mr Cardinal. And you’re right: I wouldn’t like it at all. But there’s a couple of things you might want to keep in mind.’

      ‘Oh, sure. Now you can tell me what to think, too.’

      ‘Let me finish.’

      ‘What did you say to me?’

      ‘I said let me finish.’

      Good for you, Cardinal thought. A lot of people were cowed by Stan’s bluster – including his own son sometimes – but this young woman was holding her own.

      ‘A couple of things to keep in mind. First, this neuropathy will probably get better. You’ve been looking after your blood sugar, and that’s the best thing you can do. Three or four more months might make all the difference. Second, everybody depends on other people. We all have to learn to ask for what we need.’

      ‘It’s like being crippled, for God’s sake.’

      ‘It’s not the end of the world. Frankly, I’m far more worried about your heart. I’m hearing a lot of fluid in your chest. Let’s get that looked after and then we’ll worry about your driving, all right?’

      When Cardinal and his father stepped back into the waiting room, a man got out of his chair and brushed by them. Something about him was familiar – the combination of blond hair and the gym-rat physique – but he entered the consulting room and closed the door before Cardinal could place him.

      Cardinal waited while the receptionist explained a referral form to his father. Angry voices issued from the consulting room.

      ‘Dr Cates get many patients like that?’ Cardinal said to the receptionist.

      ‘He’s not a patient. He’s a – well, I don’t know what you’d call him.’

      ‘Can we please get out of here?’ said Stan. ‘Believe it or not, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a doctor’s office.’

      

      Cardinal had to take it slow up Algonquin. The fog that had been blanketing the region for the past few days was thickest at the bottom of Airport Hill. The end of January and it was as warm as April. Normally this time of year you’d expect blinding blue skies and temperatures so far below zero it didn’t bear thinking about. But the fog was beginning to have a permanent look.

      ‘Of course, there’s no such thing as global warming,’ Cardinal said, trying to shake his father out of his mood.

      ‘She talked to me like I was six years old,’ Stan said.

      ‘She told you the truth. Telling someone the truth is a mark of respect.’

      ‘Like you don’t have better things to do than drive me all over hell’s half acre.’

      ‘Well, you’re always telling me I’m in a lousy line of work.’

      ‘Which is true. Why you want to spend your time chasing lunatics and vagabonds is beyond me. Or those domestics you get? Husbands so drunk they can’t stand up? You and I both know the only reason anyone ever gets caught is because the crooks are even dumber than the – Where are you going, John? That was my driveway back there.’

      ‘Sorry. Can’t see a thing with this fog.’

      ‘Look, you can just make out the squirrel there.’

      Stan Cardinal had a huge copper squirrel in his front yard, an ancient weather vane he’d salvaged years ago. The fog lent it a nightmarish cast. Cardinal made a careful U-turn and pulled into the drive.

      ‘Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll get you to the cardiologist. If I can’t do it, Catherine will be happy to – Hold on.’ His cellphone was buzzing.

      ‘Cardinal, where are you?’ It was Duty Sergeant Mary Flower. ‘We got a 10–47 at Main and MacPherson and we need everyone we’ve got.’

      ‘I’m on it.’ He clicked off the phone. ‘Gotta run,’ he said to Stan. ‘Call Catherine later and let her know what time tomorrow.’

      ‘Major crisis, is it? Another one of your domestics, I bet.’

      ‘Actually, it’s a bank robbery.’

      

      The Federal Trust was right downtown, on Main Street – a low, red brick structure that made no attempt to blend in with the century-old buildings that surrounded it. Cardinal didn’t bank there, but he remembered going inside with his father as a kid. By the time he pulled up in front, there were already three black-and-whites parked at crazy angles in the street and on the sidewalk.

      Ken Szelagy, the size of a grizzly bear and by his own description a mad Hungarian, was at the door, jabbering into his cellphone. He raised a hand as Cardinal approached. ‘Guy’s long gone. We’re trying to get access to the security tape right now. Gonna be fun looking for him in this pea soup, eh?’

      ‘Anybody hurt?’

      ‘Nope. Shaken up some, though.’

      ‘Delorme inside?’

      ‘Yeah. She’s got things pretty much under control.’

      Lise Delorme, in addition to being a first-class detective, had a calm, reasonable manner that was a real asset in dealing with the public. She had compelling physical qualities, too, but right now it was that reasonable manner that counted. Cardinal had handled several bank robberies, and usually it meant a scene of excitement verging on hysteria. But Delorme had got all the employees sitting quietly at their desks, waiting to be interviewed. Cardinal found her talking to the manager in his glass-fronted office.

      The manager himself hadn’t seen anything of the robbery but led them to the young teller who just minutes before had been looking at the barrel of a gun. Cardinal let Delorme ask the questions.

      ‘He was wearing a scarf over his face,’ the teller said. ‘A plaid scarf. He had it pulled up like an outlaw, you know, in a western. It all happened so fast.’

      ‘What about his voice?’ Delorme said. ‘What did he sound like?’

      ‘I never heard his voice. He didn’t say anything – at least, I don’t think so. He just stood there staring at me and passed a note over the counter. It was terrifying.’

      ‘Do you