Honour Among Men. Barbara Fradkin

him? Witnesses must have observed something during the evening. Or the bartender. They usually watch the unknowns like a hawk.”

      “The man didn’t draw attention to himself. He’d come in alone about an hour earlier, sat in the corner at the bar by himself . . .” Here she paused, wrinkling her brow in her effort to remember. “Watching TV and drinking pretty heavily over the course of the hour. The man next to him struck up a conversation at one point, and the two of them got pretty chatty. When they got up to go to a table in the corner, that’s apparently when the confrontation took place.”

      “What did this third man say about him afterwards?”

      “Claimed he didn’t know him, they just talked about the news on TV.”

      “Did you think he was lying?”

      “If I recall correctly, I did. But I don’t know why.”

      “Who was he? Local?”

      She signalled to Jim and ordered two coffees. She seemed to be using the diversion to search her memory. “If I remember, he gave a fake ID. Lots of people do, when they don’t want to get dragged into an ugly investigation of a bar fight. And this was a strip club, remember. Wives and bosses might take a dim view.”

      “Still, couldn’t he even give you the first name of the assailant?”

      His skepticism must have showed, because for the first time a trace of irritation flickered across her face. “Listen, I investigated this case for months. I interviewed and reinterviewed dozens of witnesses, checked every hotel in Halifax and Dartmouth, and turned over every rock looking for the man. If he could have been found, I would have found him. We couldn’t even work up a decent composite of him, because the witnesses were all so contradictory.”

      He held up a soothing hand, impressed by her vehemence. At that moment Jim arrived with their coffees, and they both took some time out to add cream and sugar. On the wharf nearby, seagulls squabbled over a scrap of fish, and from the harbour came the mournful blast of a distant ship’s horn. McGrath sipped her coffee and shook her head slowly back and forth, as if caught up in the memories.

      “Some cases just stick in your craw, eh?” he said gently.

      She watched the gulls in silence a moment before replying. “It was such a pointless, brutal act. Not the bar fight. Men have been beating each other senseless since they first fermented the grape. It’s just that things were starting to turn a corner for Daniel. He didn’t deserve this, and neither did his fiancée.”

      “You said earlier that she thought the fight had something to do with the past. Did you find anything useful in his past?”

      “I went through it with a fine-toothed comb. It’s all in the files, but nothing jumped out at me. He was a tough, blue collar kid who was reportedly a bit wild as a teenager, but there was nothing in the RCMP or local police files. He joined the reserves because he liked uniforms and guns, and—”

      Her cellphone rang. She checked the call display and made a face before answering. Her expression was deadpan as she listened, her eyes fixed on a distant freighter being tugged into harbour. “Yes, sir, we’re on our way,” she said and disconnected. Tossing back the remains of her coffee, she shoved back her chair. “We’d better get back. Inspector Norrich is anxious to meet you. We can check the details of Daniel Oliver’s background in the files at the station.”

      Norrich was waiting for them in the incident room, seated at a long conference table with the case files spread open around him. His massive frame overflowed the molded plastic chair, and his face had a bruised, purple hue that Green recognized all too well. When he struggled to his feet and lumbered forward to shake hands, Green detected the unmistakable whiff of booze.

      “Mike! Leo Norrich. Welcome to the finest town in all of Canada.”

      Green tugged his hand free from the meaty grip and smiled dutifully. “You may convince me yet.”

      “Your first visit?”

      Green nodded.

      “Then you must come over for dinner tonight. Annie and I will show you what real down east hospitality is all about.”

      Green was conscious of Kate McGrath standing beside him. Norrich had barely acknowledged her presence, let alone included her in the invitation. The thought of a boozy, backslapping evening on his own with the inspector and his wife made him cringe.

      “That’s very thoughtful of you, Leo. But judging from the number of boxes on that table, I may be here all night.”

      Norrich waved a dismissive hand. “Most of this is irrelevant. Witnesses interviewed five times over, who never saw anything in the first place. Or have forgotten anything they might have seen.” He winked. “It happens when you’re three sheets to the wind, eh?”

      This time Green didn’t bother with the dutiful smile. “Even so, I’d like to have a look. I’ve come all this way, might as well be thorough.”

      A scowl flitted across Norrich’s florid features. “Suit yourself. I can’t see why you think Patti Ross’s death is connected to this case anyway. This was ten years ago, just one of those pig-headed bar fights that gets out of hand when a little pussy starts ramping them up. I don’t know what things are like in Ottawa, but down here, sometimes guys just have to blow off steam. They’re cooped up all winter, jobs are scarce, and they’ve got too much time on their hands. And truth be told, Patti’s life hasn’t been all smooth sailing since then either, and she’s been known not to choose her company too carefully.”

      Beside him, McGrath bristled. Green lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been keeping track of her?”

      The subtlety was lost on the man. He beamed triumphantly. “I made some inquiries when I heard you were coming down. She was on welfare for a long time till she got this part-time dry cleaners job. She’s been living in a shitty little one-room hole, drinking away most of what she makes.” He stopped, obviously thinking he’d made his point—that a drunken welfare tramp more than asks for whatever tawdry fate befalls her.

      Green moved briskly to the table to hide his anger. “Well, that’s very helpful, Leo. Saves me some legwork. Now I won’t keep you any longer. The sooner I get to that stack of files, the sooner I can take you up on that dinner.”

      “Kate will take good care of you. And any questions, you know where to find me.” He pumped Green’s hand again and trundled out of the room, leaving a palpable tension in his wake. Green heard McGrath exhale softly and wondered if there was a silent curse in her sigh. But she was all business as she strode over to the table.

      “He could be right, I suppose,” she said.

      Green didn’t reply. It was not really good form to tell a sergeant that her senior officer was an idiot, who would never spot a suspicious coincidence through the film of booze and prejudice with which he viewed the world. Patricia had scraped together a meagre existence for ten years since her fiancé’s death, without even escaping the town in which the trauma had occurred. Then suddenly she buys a ticket to Ottawa fifteen hundred kilometres away, and less than two weeks later, she’s dead. It could be simple bad luck, but the odds were long.

      “She witnessed her fiancé’s death, right?” he said. “She saw the man who punched him?”

      “Yes, but she didn’t know him. She would have given anything to see him caught, believe me.”

      “Then maybe something happened recently, to give her a lead on him. Someone told her something, or she discovered something.” He had been sifting idly through the files, and now he glanced up, excited. “And that trail brought her to Ottawa. Either to meet the man or to find out more about him. Whatever she stirred up, someone wanted her silenced.”

      McGrath looked thoughtful. “If she was naïve enough to confront the murderer, it’s a good bet he’d kill her to