"Oh? What I heard was that you ruined Patty's life."

"Oh yes, forgot that part momentarily. And I also ruined my daughter's life, trying to 'bestow,' Erika called it."

"I think it's a great idea. Is Georgie going to handle the severance for you?"

"If it gets that far. It's a dog's breakfast of county by-laws and regulations. He's walking me through it."

"I'm seeing him this afternoon."

"Really?"

"The Harold Ruth case. He wants my advice, maybe my help."

That stopped Orwell in his tracks for a moment. "Well now," he said, for want of anything better to contribute. "That's interesting."

Diana smiled at her father's momentary consternation. "He's itching for battle," she said.

"I'll bet he is. You going to do it?"

"I don't know if my firm will let me, but I wouldn't mind a chance."

"It'll be a tough one. The man killed a cop."

"Allegedly."

"Allegedly."

She squared up to face him. "But you wouldn't mind? If I got involved. Tell me."

"My goodness, how could I mind? Meat and drink to you lawyers, isn't it?"

"Ooh yeah."

He took her hand, started walking again. "But we can't talk about it any more. You know, just to be on the safe side, legally speaking."

"We haven't talked about it at all," she said. "I have merely informed the Chief of Police that I might be representing, as co-counsel, the defendant in a murder trial."

"And while the Chief of Police, in all conscience, can't exactly wish you success in your defense of a cop-killer, excuse me, alleged cop-killer, he nonetheless hopes that the experience will be enlightening and fulfilling."

"That's grand of you, Dad."

"I thought so."

"And I'll make sure Georgie doesn't forget about your severance case."

"I don't think we need worry about that boondoggle for a while."

"Wouldn't be too sure, Dad." She was pointing.

A long field over, on the far side of the stream, two riders were cantering horses around the perimeter of a ten-acre section that would make a great pasture with a little work. A slight but wiry man was well seated on a buckskin mare and riding beside him was a blonde Valkyrie on a red horse.

"The red horse is called Foxy," said Orwell. "She just got her."

"She just got all there is," said Diana. After a moment she turned to him and smiled. "Looks like you're off the hook, Dad."

He hugged her arm. "I wasn't worried," he said. "They were made for each other."

After delivering her boss safely to his farm, Stacy had returned to the Irish House to collect the last of the party-goers, including, somewhat to her surprise, a moist and garrulous Staff Sergeant Rawluck, who had insisted on singing "Peg O' My Heart" all the way home. After that, she met Constable Maitland outside the Gusse Building who reported that except for a large orange tomcat observed coming down the fire escape around 12:45, and going back up the staircase at 02:30, all was quiet. Stacy took a walk around the building to rea.s.sure herself that dumpsters weren't harbouring villains, doorways were clear, doors were locked. Nothing. No crooks, no cats, nothing moving. The fire lane and back alley were still shining wet. Dockerty, most of it anyway, had washed and gone to bed.

She told Maitland to take his break, then see to his other responsibilities, and sat in her unmarked, across and down the street with a view of Anya's studio. Maitland brought her a coffee from Timmies, then drove off to check on a domestic call up on the Knoll. Stacy sipped and watched the window. Did it get any better than this? Murders, break-ins, bad guys lurking, missing jewels. She couldn't see how she'd be having more fun working in the city. This case had everything.

The last of the coffee was cold. She rolled down the window to empty it onto the street and caught a flicker of reflected light from the studio window. There was movement, a shadow. Stacy checked her weapon, half opened the car door and then stopped. The shadow was dancing. She recognized the movement as a series of slow pirouettes. She stood in the street for a long moment watching the shadow dance. After that she got back in the car and drove away.

The three windows overlooking Vankleek Street were tall and arched at the top and light entered the studio at an upward angle and stretched across the ceiling. She danced in the dark for an audience of one; the cat's unblinking green eyes glowing in the corner. Danced in silence, hearing only the music in her head, adagios pas seul, linked fragments of ballet scores, pa.s.sages once learned by arduous repet.i.tion and folded now into a solo piece composed by many, as arranged by Zubrovskaya.

I pity a world that never saw me dance. I feel sorry for Baryshnikov that he never got to partner me. I would have been perfect for him. He could have lifted me with a caress. Of all the truly great ones, the ones who should have held me in their hands, I had only one, only one of the great ones, but he was worthy of me. And I of him. People who were present on those nights were lucky. They saw something.

Soloviev, Yuri Vladimirovich. "Cosmic" Yuri they called him, because he could fly. Yuri Gagarin orbited the Earth; Yuri Vladimirovich Soloviev didn't need a s.p.a.cecraft. His technique was flawless, far better than Rudi, the equal of Misha, with elevation like Nijinsky they said, he defied gravity, he could fly. As could she. They were as weightless as earthly creatures ever are, or can be.

After Yuri blew his brains out, after Gregor dropped her in a heap, after her years of rebuilding, strengthening, learning to be fearless again, there was her time in wilderness, with only the likes of Sergei Siziva for a partner. He was unworthy, but he didn't make mistakes. One night she chided him for dancing like a city bus, going from stop to stop. "But always on time," he said. "And not like a Moscow driver. I wait for you."

Yes, give him that. He wasn't brilliant, but he was on time. He couldn't fly, but he saw to his responsibilities: he lifted, presented, caught and held her.

And now? Still seeing to your responsibilities? Still there to catch me? It is good that you are so predictable. I will make it easy for you. There will be no more running, Sergei. I will present myself. All I have to do is fly, and you will be waiting, like a city bus.

An ambulance was pulling up to the emergency entrance. A pregnant woman was making a lot of noise as the EMT wheeled her through the sliding doors. The woman's husband stayed outside to grab a smoke. Inside it was the usual parade of pre-dawn emergencies. A big man with a bandage on his hand and an Elvis hairdo was discussing his condition with an overworked intern, two young men with bruises and b.l.o.o.d.y noses were explaining how they got that way to an OPP constable, a sad woman with an alarming cough was huddled in a chair. The pregnant woman's husband finally pulled himself together enough to come inside. His wife bellowed at him, "Where the h.e.l.l did you go?" Stacy took a deep breath and headed for the elevator.

The officer posted outside Dr. Ruth's room was happy to be relieved.

Stacy settled herself on two chairs across from the hospital bed, hoping to grab a little sleep and be nearby should the patient's condition change. Good luck with that. Why the G.o.dd.a.m.n robins had to start chirping like happy idiots so early was beyond her. The sky was still dark, there wasn't any moon. Maybe they were just happy that it stopped raining. Then the patient made a small noise and Stacy went to get a nurse.

Family disputes, especially ones fuelled by alcohol, were Constable Maitland's least favourite calls. He'd rather chase a maniac down a dark alley, at least he'd have a good idea where the danger lay. With domestics you never knew. A mousy little woman, quietly sobbing in the kitchen, picks up a cleaver and tries to behead her a.s.shole husband. A drunken man fires up a chainsaw and starts dividing the family a.s.sets down the middle, starting with that ugly f.u.c.king sofa. A wife has trouble working the slide on the pump-action shotgun, her husband laughs at her until she gets it right. At least this one didn't end with a trip to the hospital or charges laid. He should be home before his kids finish breakfast. There was time for one last check on the dancer lady.

She was standing in the doorway of the florist shop, smoking a cigarette and looking at the arrangements. Or maybe checking reflections. She spotted him the second he pulled up, turned to face him.

"You were my guardian angel all night?" She had a half smile.

"Part time, yes, ma'am."

"It was a comfort, Officer . . . ?"

"Maitland. Constable. Charles."

"Thank you, Constable Charles Maitland. I am going home now. You are relieved."

"Going straight home, ma'am?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'd be happy to drive you."

She gave him another smile, broader this time. "How thoughtful," she said. "Perhaps we could stop for just a moment. I need a cup of coffee."

"Be my pleasure."

"Pleasant young man. I would be honoured to buy you a coffee as well. Perhaps a doughnut?"

Maitland laughed. "Don't eat 'em," he said.

"I do."

Timmies was already doing good business, the parking lot was filling up, a few truckers outside slurping large double-doubles and pa.s.sing around a box of a dozen a.s.sorted, unkinking stiff spines, hacking their first b.u.t.ts of the day.

"A medium coffee with cream and sugar," she told the woman. "And for you, Constable?"

"No thank you, ma'am. I'm hoping to get some sleep."

"Thanks to you I had a nice sleep," she said. "And three of the honey-dipped ones."

On their way to the door, she stopped, put a hand on his arm. "One moment please," she said. She headed for a man standing by the window, stared at the back of his head until he turned to her, a big man, he towered over her, but she stood her ground, her smile was tight and polite, her eyes were bright, her voice when she spoke was clear and precise.

"Good morning, Ivan, or Igor, or whatever your name is. The next time you report to your boss, tell him I am going to Grova's p.a.w.nshop. I need to raise a little cash. I have decided to take a vacation. Somewhere quiet." She gave him a little wave as she turned away. "No need to see me home. I have an escort." She took Maitland's arm.

"Is that someone I should be keeping an eye on?"

"Do not bother, Constable Maitland. He will not be in town much longer. Are you sure you would not like a pastry? They are still warm."

"Well . . ." he said.

"Go on," she said. "You deserve one after your night's work."

"Started to come to a couple of hours ago. The doctors are still with her. It looks like she's going to be all right."

"That is very good news indeed, Detective. Any idea when she might be ready to answer questions?"

"They've got a bunch of things they want to check. She's still groggy. The doctor says maybe I can talk to her in an hour or so. I'll stick around."

Orwell was in his cubbyhole office under the stairs. He could hear bright morning conversation coming from the kitchen and smell bacon and fresh coffee. "You get any sleep?"

"I'm fine, Chief. Will you be coming to the hospital?"

"It's your interview, Detective. I'll catch up with you later and you can fill me in."

"Yes, sir."

"After they let you talk to Dr. Ruth, take another run at Ms. Daniel. She can tell you all about the crown jewels of Russia."

"Just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Having a blast, Chief."

"Good. I figure you've got until about noon Monday before we're invaded by people with bigger badges."

Orwell hung up the phone and took himself upstairs for a shower and shave and an outfit appropriate to an occasion demanding a measure of ceremony. His beloved first-born, and her fiance . . . Gary, right, were announcing their engagement with the entire family in attendance (a rare event in itself): Leda, the budding stage star, and Diana, the smart big-city lawyer, and of course his lovely wife, who, it appeared, had forgiven his numerous lapses and was preparing to feed him a decent breakfast. Definitely worthy of a suit and a white shirt and a tie of righteousness. Red paisley, that was the ticket.

"Change your tie," Erika said.

"Why?"

"Change your tie."

"Why?"

She met his eyes. "I don't think she's happy in the city."

"It's what she always wanted," he said. "Cla.s.sy law firm, nice apartment, lots of shoes."

Erika riffled through his tie selection. "She's lonely." She chose a dark blue with a small diamond pattern. "Bend your knees." She lifted his shirt collar and deftly arranged the tie around his neck. "She doesn't have any friends. Just a bunch of lawyers. And they work her too hard. She's too thin."

"She tell you why she's up here?"

"She's consulting."

"She might wind up doing more than consult."

"Good. She can have a few decent meals for a change."

"There is that." Marvin Gaye sang out from his pocket. "Yes, Staff?"

"The Daniel woman's gone back to her apartment, Chief. We watching her all day?"

"I don't think that's necessary. Stacy will be talking to her this afternoon sometime, try to get an idea if there's any real danger."

"I'll arrange a regular drive-by."

"Anything else?"

"Looks like Constable Maitland ruffled some feathers last night."

"How so?"

"Mrs. Charles Emery has lodged a complaint. Quote, I want that officer punished, close quote."

"For what?"

"Evidently Constable Maitland was rude."