The Delicate Storm. Giles Blunt

typing on one side, and on the other, printed in pencil with idiosyncratic spelling: Don’t make a sound or I’ll shot. Don’t press any alarms or I’ll shot. Hand over all the money in your droor.

      ‘I emptied the top drawer and put it in a manila envelope. That’s what we’re supposed to do in this situation, we’re just supposed to do what they ask. He shoved the money in his knapsack.’

      ‘What colour was the knapsack?’

      ‘Red.’

      ‘Are you sure he said nothing at all?’ Delorme said. ‘I’m sure it happened very quickly, but try and think back.’

      ‘He said, “Just do it.” Something like that. Oh, and “Hurry up.”’

      ‘Did he have an accent?’ Delorme asked. ‘English? French Canadian?’ Her own accent was light French Canadian. The only time Cardinal noticed it was when she was angry.

      ‘I was so terrified he was going to shoot me, I didn’t notice.’

      ‘Oh my God,’ Cardinal said, staring at the other side of the note. ‘It’s Wudky.’ He stepped away from the counter and gestured for Delorme to follow.

      ‘What the hell is a Wudky?’ she wanted to know. Delorme had worked the mostly white-collar arena of Special Investigations for six years before moving to CID. There were gaps in her knowledge of the local fauna.

      ‘WDC – or Wudky – short for World’s Dumbest Criminal. Wudky is Robert Henry Hewitt.’

      ‘You’re saying you know this Hewitt’s the guy?’

      Cardinal handed her the note. ‘Hold it by the edge, there.’

      Delorme peered at both sides of the note, then caught her breath. ‘It’s an old arrest warrant. The guy writes a holdup note on the back of his own arrest warrant? I don’t believe it.’

      ‘You don’t win the title of World’s Dumbest Criminal by half-measures. Robert Henry Hewitt is a real champ, and I happen to know where he lives.’

      ‘Well, so do I. It’s right here on his holdup note.’

      

      Robert Henry Hewitt lived in the basement apartment of a miniature, rundown house tucked into the crevasse of a rock cut behind Ojibwa Secondary School. Cardinal stopped the car in a grey swirl of fog. They could just make out the row of dented garbage cans at the end of the driveway. ‘Looks like we beat him home.’

      ‘If he isn’t home by now, what makes you think he’s coming?’

      Cardinal shrugged. ‘It’s the dumbest thing I can think of.’

      ‘What kind of car does he drive?’

      ‘Orange Toyota, about a hundred years old. Even the spackling is rusty.’

      They heard the car approach before they saw it – a disembodied collection of sound effects for the Tin Man. Then it clattered past them, a dangling exhaust pipe scraping the sidewalk as it pulled into the driveway.

      ‘Open your door,’ Cardinal said. ‘Let’s be ready to move.’

      ‘But he’s armed,’ Delorme said. ‘Shouldn’t we call for backup?’ She looked at him, those earnest brown eyes sizing him up. Cardinal thought about Delorme’s eyes more often than he would have liked.

      ‘Technically, yes. On the other hand, I know Robert. We’re not in a hell of a lot of danger.’

      The Toyota’s one good tail light dimmed and went out.

      Cardinal and Delorme got out of the car and left the doors open so as not to make a sound. Stepping carefully on the wet pavement, they moved in on the Toyota.

      The driver, a small man with frizzy ginger hair and a plaid scarf around his neck, got out and opened the trunk. He pulled out a bulging plastic FoodMart bag, slung a red knapsack over his shoulder and slammed the trunk shut with his elbow.

      ‘Robert Henry Hewitt?’

      He dropped the knapsack and the groceries and started to run, but Cardinal caught hold of his jacket and the two of them fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Then Cardinal hauled him up, and Algonquin Bay’s master thief found himself face down against the trunk of the Toyota, feet spread wide behind him.

      ‘If he moves, spank him,’ Cardinal said, and patted him down. He pulled a pistol from a jacket pocket. ‘Goodness me. A firearm.’

      ‘That there is a toy,’ Hewitt said. ‘I wasn’t gonna hurt nobody.’

      ‘Wasn’t gonna hurt nobody where?’

      ‘At the bank, for Chrissake.’

      ‘Robert, what do I say to you every time I see you?’

      Wudky turned to look over his shoulder. When he recognized Cardinal, he grinned, showing splayed front teeth in appalling condition. ‘Oh, hi! How you doing? I was just thinking about you, eh?’

      ‘Robert? What do I say to you? Every time I see you.’

      Wudky thought for a moment. ‘You say, “Stay out of trouble, Robert.”’

      ‘Nobody listens to me, Sergeant Delorme,’ Cardinal said. ‘It’s a real problem. Check the knapsack there. I’d say we have probable cause.’

      Delorme unzipped the knapsack and pulled out a plump manila envelope with Federal Trust stencilled in one corner. She opened it wide and showed the contents to Cardinal.

      Cardinal gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘Quite a haul there, Robert. Why, it looks like you made off with tens of dollars.’

       2

      After Wudky was safely booked and in his cell, Cardinal went back to his desk to type up his supplementary reports.

      The amount of money Wudky had made off with was minuscule. If he’d stolen it from a cash register, he wouldn’t be likely to get more than probation, but Cardinal knew the Crown would insist on a charge of bank robbery and wrote his report accordingly.

      He was almost finished when Duty Sergeant Mary Flower called out to him, ‘Hey, Cardinal, I think you better talk to Wudky.’ She was coming out of the doorway that led from the cells to the front desk.

      ‘Wudky?’ Cardinal said. ‘How important can it be?’

      ‘He says he has information on some murder.’

      Cardinal looked over at Delorme, several desks away. She rolled her eyes.

      ‘Do you know how unlikely that is?’ Cardinal said.

      Flower shrugged. ‘Tell him. Don’t tell me.’

      Cardinal and Delorme went back to the holding area. There were eight cells that formed an L between Booking and the garage. Wudky was in the second-last cell, the only one occupied at the moment.

      ‘I ain’t telling nothing for free,’ Wudky said, trying to sound tough. He looked as forlorn a creature as Cardinal had ever seen, with his hangdog eyes and his smelly sweatshirt. ‘I want to like make a deal. Like so’s I can get out on bail maybe?’

      ‘Chances aren’t great on that score,’ Cardinal said. ‘But it depends what you have to tell us. I can’t make any promises.’

      ‘But you’d put in a good word for me? Tell them I did my duty as a citizen? I helped the police?’

      ‘If you give us some valuable information, I will tell the prosecutor that you have been helpful.’

      ‘And apologetic too, eh? Tell him I’m sorry about the bank. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

      ‘I’ll tell him. What