"What d'you think? Anything we can use?"

"What we have is a steaming pile of circ.u.mstantial, conjectural and conditional, and not one shred of irrefutable." Stacy poured a cup of coffee for Adele, turning her head to avoid the whiff of pepperoni and cold tomato sauce. "Hard to build a murder case when all the prime witnesses are either dead, or have guilty knowledge."

"Not quite the 'nuke-ular weapon of ma.s.s de-f.u.c.king-struction,' is it?" Adele went to the window, sipped coffee and chewed leftovers, watched the southbound traffic building on the Don Valley Parkway below. A cruiser with lights flashing was weaving through the traffic flow, chasing someone. Adele watched until it disappeared from view. She snorted. "Darryl's gonna need a month at Betty Ford before we can put him on the witness stand."

"I don't think we'd make it that far," said Stacy. "We've got recordings, illegally obtained, from a questionable source, and who knows what's been done to them? Any half-decent lawyer gets them tossed pretrial."

"Well f.u.c.k! Just for my own pathetic amus.e.m.e.nt, partner, give me the highlights."

Stacy checked her notes, plugged in a ca.s.sette, reset the counter to zero and hit fast-forward. "This would have been good but the television's on in the room so some of it you can't hear." She hit stop. "Dylan and Louie. I get the feeling it's in the stairwell because of the echo."

"Is it loaded?"

"Keep it wrapped . . . want . . . your fingerprints on it."

". . . it yours?"

"Do what . . . all right? Hide it . . . your s.h.i.thole." (sound of feet clumping down the stairs to the street) "Shut your f.u.c.king mouth, forget all . . . when I want it back."

"Like when?"

"Mind your own f.u.c.king . . ." (traffic noise, door closes) "Okay, okay, I'm just saying . . . Motherf.u.c.ker, Jesus, f.u.c.k f.u.c.k f.u.c.k."

Stacy stopped the tape. "Sounded like Dylan was handing over Paul's gun."

"Yeah, well we know it sounded like that, but like you say, worthless."

Stacy popped in a new tape. Found the spot she was looking for. "This is Dylan and Louie again. Talking about where Nimchuk was staying. Maybe."

"Where on the Queensway?"

"It's a motel. All he gave me was a number."

"Give it to me."

"He just wants to talk."

"I'll call him."

(aspect changes, another room, unintelligible exchange, door opening, voices faint but clear) "He's afraid of you."

"Nothing to be afraid of. What's he holding? He say?"

"He just wants enough to get away from here."

"No problem."

(outside door slams) "So that happened before he stashed the gun with Louie, right?" Adele asked. "He had the phone number. No trick for an ex-cop to find out where it came from. He pays Nimchuk a visit at the motel, maybe picks up some jewellery, pops him, then comes back here to hide Paulie's piece. Does that add up?"

"Sort of. I'm playing them in the order they were in the box." She cued up the next ca.s.sette. "Here's a good one except it sounds like Darryl recorded the first part on toilet paper. We've got O'Grady, Grova, Siziva and, somewhere in the background, Citizen Grenkov."

(unintelligible, possibly in the kitchen) ". . . going on?" (Dylan) "This . . . to meet you." (Louie) "Yes, good ev . . . is Siz . . . , . . . gei . . . ziva."

". . . the moose?"

". . . my protection."

". . . is?" (chuckles) "(unintelligible) to stay out . . . worth s.h.i.t . . . tear him a new a.s.shole."

". . . civilized, okay? Neutral ground. Mutual interests . . . in . . . differences." (Louie) ". . . listening. . . . a cold beer at least? . . . f.u.c.k no, I've seen how you wash your gla.s.ses. You? Siz . . . what?"

(Random noises, a short exchange in Russian. Yevgeni's voice is recognizable. Sound of beer cans being popped open. Swallowing, burping.) "Okay . . . called this . . . on your mind?"

"We . . . mutual interest. . . . tor Nim . . ."

"Who he?"

". . . should. . . . not play games. I . . . he . . . happened in Montreal."

". . . Nimchuk . . . ything? . . . who gives a . . . anyway? Nothing to do with me."

(Three minutes thirty seconds unintelligible. Possible move outside.) "Wait a bit," Stacy said, "it gets better."

(Closer to mic. Entering living room?) ". . . a big man, and that makes you untouchable, you think. Yes?"

"That's not a threat, is it?"

"But, you admit, currently you have much to lose."

"Careful Ivan. You don't want to p.i.s.s me off."

"When you were a policeman you had much more control over a situation, yes? You had a gun, a badge, a code I suppose. Now you are a public figure. You seek elected office. Your image is important."

"Cut the c.r.a.p. What do you want?"

"I believe we have mutual interests and can help each other get what we seek."

"Get me another beer, Louie. And you, tell your big friend to sit down. He's not making me nervous, he's making me angry."

(Brief exchange in Russian. Yev is heard grumbling.) "I'm sure you don't want an altercation in this place, my friend, with all the secrets it might contain. We wouldn't want to attract the attention of the police, would we?"

(sound of a beer can releasing gas, chair sliding) "All right, whatever your name is, I'm listening."

"Viktor is worried about what might happen."

"Happen?"

"To him. What might happen to him."

"Why should anything happen to him?"

"Because of what happened to Va.s.sili. That you will do the same to him."

"I didn't do anything to this whoever."

"Va.s.sili."

"Never heard of him."

"Viktor told me about Montreal."

"Un hunh. What happened in Montreal?"

"You and Viktor and Louie here. The woman."

"Okay. I've heard enough of this. I don't know what you think you know but if it comes from Viktor Nimchuk it doesn't mean s.h.i.t. So why am I listening?"

"He would like to make an arrangement. He has another of the blue stones you are interested in."

"Yeah? What about you? What are you interested in?"

"Mine is a different colour."

"You want the diamonds? Fine. More trouble than they're worth. What else?"

"That's all. Viktor and I will arrange for you to acquire another of the blue stones. You already have one, am I correct? Viktor and I will deal with the remaining diamonds and whatever remains of the neckpiece."

"What do I get out of it?"

"Much peace of mind, I'm sure. Viktor and I will both depart the vicinity, albeit in different directions, and you can sleep well at night knowing all is clear."

"Right. And what's to stop you coming back next year and getting another bite."

"Do not forget that both Viktor and I will have engaged in numerous illegal acts as well. It would be in our best interests to get as far away from you as we can."

(long silence, sound of beer can being crushed) "You tell him to give me a call."

"I'm certain we . . ."

(tape runs out) "Darryl's never getting that job with the CIA," Adele said.

"Seems like they're in reverse order, doesn't it?" Stacy said. "Sergei sounds like he's trying to broker a deal between Nimchuk and Dilly. Then after that we've got Louie coughing up the phone number of the motel. And then we've got Dilly handing over Paulie's .357 to Louie Grova and telling him to stash it."

"If that's what was happening on that tape, because nowhere is the actual f.u.c.king weapon mentioned."

"Right. So, you'd figure he hands the weapon to Louie after he shoots the Russian in the motel. Right?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"Nimchuk was killed sometime between Sat.u.r.day night, March 12th, and Sunday the 13th. Which means that O'Grady has to show up here with Paulie's piece sometime Sunday, at the latest, Monday, because he's on the campaign trail and he can't be running around stashing guns when he's supposed to be cutting ribbons and kissing babies. But here's the thing." She needed to change the ca.s.sette and find the right spot. "Wait a sec. Here. Listen to what's on the television."

In the foreground of the section where Dylan O'Grady is clumping down the stairs and Louie is cursing, they can hear audience laughter and cheering and women's voices.

Adele spread her hands. "So?"

Stacy spread her hands as well. "So? That's Ellen."

"And that means . . . ?"

"Ellen Degeneres? She isn't on Sunday. It's a weekday show."

"You watch Ellen?"

"No, I don't watch Ellen, but I know who she is, and I know when she's on television. How come you don't know?"

"All right, so he shows up here on Monday and gives the gun to Louie. While f.u.c.king Ellen's on? What's the diff?"

"Listen again." She rewound the tape a few seconds and played it again. "Hear it?"

"Hear what? What am I missing?"

"Ellen is talking to . . ." Stacy looked embarra.s.sed. ". . . Denzel."

"Denzel? Denzel who?"

"Oh Jesus," Stacy hid her face briefly with both hands, as if about to reveal a shameful little secret. "Denzel Washington. The . . . actor?"

"So?" Adele suddenly hooted. "Ha! Wait a minute. You've got the hots for a movie star?!"

"All right. I admit it. A little crush. You happy?"

"Old Daniel Boone's leaving you alone too much."

"Okay, okay, can we get past that part and concentrate?" She wiped her hands across her face to erase the blush in her cheeks. "The thing is, I saw that show. It was on Friday. I didn't see the whole thing, I just checked it out for a minute after my workout."

"Ri-ight."

"Nimchuk was killed March 12th, okay? Sometime that night. That show was on the week before. Friday the 11th."

"You sure?"

Stacy sighed. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Holy s.h.i.t! "

"If Dylan's showing up with the gun on the 11th, then he, or for that matter, your partner, couldn't have been using it to shoot Viktor Nimchuk on the 12th."

"Motherf.u.c.ker! Murderer fingered by Ellen."