"No. h.e.l.l. He thinks I'm wasted up here."

"What do you think?"

Stacy smiled. "I think that today I'm working a homicide." She looked at Adele. "Sorry. Must be really hard for you."

Adele waved off the suggestion. "So. How are things going with you and Davy Crockett?"

"Who?"

"Dan'l Boone. That Greenway guy."

"Joe?" Stacy laughed, a low chuckle deep in her throat. "Fine. Good. It works out we get to see each other maybe once every couple of weeks."

"That'll keep the romance fresh." Adele was quiet for a while. Stacy concentrated on the road. When Adele spoke again her voice was harsh, bitter. "You feel that chill in the air?" she said. "When a cop goes down. Even if it wasn't in the line of duty."

"We don't know it wasn't," Stacy said.

"Oh who knows what the Christ he was up to. Sonofab.i.t.c.h baffled the h.e.l.l out of me. Always had something going on the side. Hard to work with a partner like that."

"Haven't had a partner yet I really got along with."

"Like a marriage," said Adele. "At least that's what the married people tell me." She snorted dismissively. "Takes some fine tuning while you work out how to deal with the fact . . ." her voice rose ". . . the fact that your partner is a lying, sneaking, selfish sack of s.h.i.t who wouldn't know the truth if it bit him on the a.s.s!"

Stacy kept her mouth shut for a full klick. "What do you figure?" she asked after a while. "Jealous husband?"

"Serve the b.a.s.t.a.r.d right," Adele muttered.

The potted palms and thatched canopy over the bar were an attempt to give Lemongra.s.s a Thai motif and obscure vestiges of the pizza joint it once was. The lunch crowd had long since departed, two waitresses were setting tables and organizing flatware and linen. The bartender was watching the bar television where young men were twirling skateboards in the air. He looked up as the two women crossed his line of sight. Stacy held up her shield.

"I don't suppose you're here for the tom yum soup," said the bartender.

"No sir," Stacy said. "We're from Dockerty. You heard someone got shot over there last night?"

"Really? I just got up an hour ago. I work late."

"We're checking around to see if anybody remembers seeing the man yesterday."

"You got a picture?"

"You'd remember him," Adele said. "Six foot eight, hair like Ronald McDonald."

"The basketball player? Oh sure. He had a beer at the bar. We talked roundball . . . f.u.c.k! 'Scuse me. Was it him? Did he get shot?"

"Yes sir," said Stacy.

"Shot dead?"

"He's dead."

"Holy s.h.i.t!" said the bartender. "Oh f.u.c.k. Sorry. d.a.m.n. He was a cool guy. We talked. March Madness, you know, the NCAA tournament. Said he played college ball in the States. Syracuse. The Orangemen. I thought that was cool 'cause of the hair and . . . Aw man, that sucks."

"We're trying to find out if there was anyone here with him," Adele said.

"What? Yeah. Somebody. Somebody came in and he moved to a table. I didn't see who. It got busy."

"Would you know which waitress served them?"

"Couldn't tell you, but it was either Kelly or Lara and they're both here."

Kelly remembered them because they hadn't stayed. A woman had looked in and whispered to the tall man and they left right away. She didn't know where they went.

Stacy said, "Can you describe the woman?"

"Not really. She just stuck her head in for a second."

"Was she tall, short?"

"Ah . . . medium I guess."

Stacy asked, "How old would you say?"

"Maybe thirty five . . . ish, I guess."

"Blonde?"

"No. Not blonde. Dark hair, I think. Dark brown."

"Long hair?"

"Don't think so. Pulled back maybe? Could have been pulled back. Lara? Remember that woman who stuck her nose in for a minute and didn't stay? She left with the tall redheaded guy?"

"I wanted to leave with the tall redheaded guy," Lara said.

"That lets out the Russian woman," Stacy said as they headed back to the car. "She's short, her hair is blonde, almost white."

"Maybe they went somewhere else," said Adele. "Maybe she saw somebody she knew and didn't want them to see her. Can you think where else they might have gone, if they still wanted a drink?"

"Liquor store. He had a bottle of JD in the room."

"Sometimes he kept one in his suitcase."

"Well, there's the liquor store, and we're here."

After that it all happened quickly. The liquor store had surveillance cameras.

"There he is," Adele said. They were in the manager's office looking at the tape from the previous evening. "He alone?"

The manager pointed at the screen. "That woman checking out the wine? She's just stalling. She's not buying anything."

"And she follows him out," Stacy said.

"Wind it back."

"Thirties, shoulder-length brown hair, collar turned up, looking around."

"There, stop." Adele said. "She looks over at him. Clear look at her face."

"We'll have to take the tape," Stacy told the manager.

"That's what it's there for."

Staff Sergeant Roy Rawluck plugged in the VCR, fast-forwarded until they reached 20:27.

"That's Dr. Ruth," Orwell said. "Lorna Ruth. Good work, you two. Roy?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Get those other Metro guys over here. We've solved one of their mysteries for them."

"Right away, Chief."

The Dockerty Police Department wasn't thanked and wasn't invited to partic.i.p.ate in the Metro/OPP joint effort, but someone involved was kind enough to inform Roy Rawluck two hours later that an arrest had been made.

"They arrested the husband, Chief," Roy said.

Orwell sighed. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

Roy checked the piece of paper he was holding. "Harold Ruth. Forty-three. General contractor. When they picked him up he had a Savage lever action deer rifle in the car. Looks like he shot Delisle through the bathroom window. One shot, through the head."

"They bringing him in now?"

"Should have been here by now. I'll check."

"All right. Let's take good care of him."

"Will do. Detective Moen wants to see you."

"Oh, sure. Send her in."

Adele Moen came in. Stuck out her hand. "Wanted to say thanks, Chief."

"Hey, thank you."

"For hooking me up with Detective Crean. Sorry she doesn't work in town. I'll be looking for a new partner."

"I'm glad you two hit it off. Sorry it had to be on this case, though."

"It's a b.i.t.c.h, but what are you gonna do?"

"You do what you did." Orwell felt an urge to put an arm over her shoulder, but resisted the impulse. Instead he walked her through the outer office to the stairs. "Locate his weapon?" he asked.

"They found a .32 short nose Smith in the bottom of his suitcase."

"Sounds like a backup piece."

"It is," she said. "He wore it in an ankle holster."

"What was his primary?"

"A .357 Smith. He was a cowboy. Liked his hog-leg."

"And no sign of that?"

"Nada," she said. "The doctor says she never saw it."

"Would he have come up here without it, do you think?"

"Possible, but I doubt it. I'll check his apartment in the city. Maybe it's there. I'll email you the particulars, in case it shows up, serial number, model number."

"Don't like the idea of a stolen handgun floating around," Orwell said.

"It's probably at his place."

"You'll let me know?"

"You bet. Just wanted to say thanks. Those other guys won't bother."

"What about Dr. Ruth? She in any trouble?"

"Maybe. She lied. Said Paul left her office that afternoon and that was the last she saw of him. I can understand her lying about it, I guess, but she could be charged with obstruction. Don't think they'll bother though, since it got wrapped up so fast."

"I'm happy with that," Orwell said. "She'll be punishing herself quite a bit, I'm sure."

"Anyway, I'm out of here. Appreciate your help."

"I'll pa.s.s it on. And I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. Stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He was a skirt chaser in the city, too. I told him his d.i.c.k would get him into trouble some day."

"You will let me know if you locate his weapon," Orwell said.

"And vice versa," she said. She stuck out her hand again. "It was good seeing you again, Chief. Even though . . ."

"You too, Detective. Safe drive home."

"Thanks." She started down the stairs.

"Oh, one other thing." Orwell came out to the landing. "Just to satisfy my curiosity if you please, could you check into this Russian man business? The one your late partner mentioned? Maybe find out a few details for me?"