As he carried on for a few more minutes with his glowing tributes, Gwen again whispered to Chris, "If that guy is married it's a good thing his wife isn't here to listen to this." Chris nodded, his attention focused on Carmichael's concluding remarks.
"If any one of Adrienne's sterling qualities stood out more than the rest, it was her integrity. I remember one incident in particular. At the end of our graduating year in high school we were writing the provincials—exams set by the government. A friend of hers had provided Adrienne with a copy of the questions from several years back, and she had distributed them to some of her chums, including me, to help us prepare for the finals. When the exam questions were handed out, we were astounded to discover they were identical, word for word, to those in the copy Adrienne had been given. Some of us lesser mortals might have treated it as a gift from the gods, but it was too much for Adrienne's sense of fair play, and she immediately brought it to the attention of the instructor, and the exam was rescheduled with a new set of questions."
So Adrienne was a whistle-blower. Interesting, possibly significant, thought Chris as Carmichael ended his remarks with a graceful little comment about how much Adrienne would be missed, both here in Calgary and back in her home town.
On behalf of Adrienne's friends and associates in the firm, Pettigrew invited everyone to a reception at the Calgary Golf and Country Club, just up the street, and the mourners got to their feet to sing a final hymn. They remained standing when it ended, preparing to leave, until the strains of a bagpipe froze them in place. A kilted piper marched through an open doorway and stood at the front of the hall, marking time while he played a stirring Highland march. Then he did a slow march down the aisle, followed by Pettigrew, Ian Carmichael, and the rest of the mourners.
A small knot of onlookers, including a TV cameraman and reporter, plus some members of the press, stood outside as the crowd filed out into the sunlight. Chris saw the TV camera zooming in on him and Gwen but no questions were shouted at them as they walked to their van. The fact that the police had attended the memorial service for TLC's latest victim would be on the six o'clock news.
The entrance gate to the golf club was at the end of a short cul-de-sac extending west from the intersection of Elbow Drive and 50th Avenue where the funeral home was located. Ken Patterson and another Homicide detective were sitting in an unmarked police cruiser parked with other vehicles on the curb in front of a balconied apartment block. Chris carefully avoided looking at them as he drove past. A security guard standing inside a little watchtower made of dark Rundle stone waved the line of cars through. A driveway curved down to the clubhouse through lush fairways and greens dotted with golfers and golf carts.
Morris Pettigrew had stationed himself at the head of the staircase to form a one-man reception line. He frowned at the sight of Chris, and he hesitated before accepting the detective's proffered hand. "I saw you at the service," he said. The inference that the police had no business being there was clear. "I trust you will remember this is a wake for a dear and valued friend."
"A dear and murdered friend," Chris corrected him quietly, and moved on.
The firm had laid on a lavish spread: canapés, sandwiches, and other delicacies were laid out on damask-covered tables; servers circulated with glasses of champagne and wine and took orders from those who preferred something stronger. Champagne flute in hand, Ian Carmichael stood by the concert grand, shaking hands and greeting people in a sort of informal second reception committee. Chris and Gwen declined an offer of champagne from a passing server and joined the lineup waiting to have a word with the visitor from Halifax.
"I'm Detective Chris Crane and this is Constable Staroski," Chris said as their turn came to greet Carmichael. "We're investigating Ms. Vinney's murder. We would appreciate a word with you."
"Of course," Carmichael replied, not missing a beat. Putting down his empty champagne flute, he followed the two detectives over to the floor-length windows overlooking the first tee.
"I'm not sure how I can help, but I am anxious to do whatever I can. I can still hardly bring myself to accept the fact that she is gone."
"It was clear from the way you spoke, sir, that you and the victim were lifelong friends. Your remarks were very touching, if I may say so."
"Thank you. It was a task I could have done without."
"‘Scotland the Brave' was a great send-off for her, being from Nova Scotia."
Carmichael brightened momentarily. "You recognized the tune? Good for you! It was her favourite. That's the first thing I did when I arrived here—arrange for a piper. Adrienne was an outstanding piper herself, but nobody out here seems to know that."
"She played the bagpipes?"
"Superbly. She was the pipe major of an all-girl pipe band that travelled all over North America giving concerts. But the people I've talked to out here have never heard of her playing the pipes. I find it hard to believe that she would give them up just like that."
"Maybe she would go up to the mountains to play them."
"You think so? That's a wonderful thought! That's what I will tell myself she did. Thank you."
"I was particularly struck by what you said about her integrity. I got the impression it was at the core of her being? That business of the exams was very revealing, I thought."
"That was classic Adrienne. Miss Integrity. Everything had to be above-board with her. That's just the way she was." Carmichael broke off to gaze out at the dauntingly steep fairway, a fond little smile on his lips. The smile quickly faded as reality came flooding back. Without looking at Chris he said, "I'm sort of curious about why you're asking questions like this. Adrienne was the victim of a serial killer. A case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as I understand it. I don't quite see how her personality enters into it."
"Serial murders are not quite as random as people think. The killer enjoys the process of selecting his victim. He will study her habits, often stalking and watching her for days. Some of them kill when the urge comes upon them, of course. But others like to know their victim, however vicariously."
"Jesus! The thought of her being stalked like that makes me ill to my stomach." He turned to face the detective and said, "I have a question of my own. The impression I get from you who only knew her here in Calgary is very different from the Adrienne I knew. She appears to have done nothing but work, no outside interests, no extracurricular activities. Just work."
Not quite accurate. Chris kept the thought to himself as he spotted Scott Millard in conversation with Tom Forsyth. The criminal lawyer must have arrived while he was talking to Carmichael. "We both know how demanding the legal profession can be," he said to the Halifax lawyer. "Especially in a factory like McKinley. She made partner in record time, I'm told. You would have to be pretty single-minded to achieve a goal like that."
Nodding in the direction of a small group of people over by the piano, chatting among themselves and obviously waiting for a chance to speak to Carmichael, Chris said, "I'll let you go now," and handed him his card. As always, it made him feel like an insurance salesman. "But if you can think of anything, anything at all, that might be helpful, give me a call. And I would appreciate a call before you leave, in any case."
With a slight downward motion of his hand he signalled Gwen to remain behind and stay close to Carmichael, then walked over to where Tom Forsyth and Scott Millard stood, conversing easily together. "Jury still out?" he asked Millard.
"Hung," the criminal lawyer replied succinctly. "No chance of reaching a verdict, so the judge discharged them."
"That's a bit of a victory for you, I would say."
Millard shrugged. "I guess it is. Considering what we had to work with. But the Crown will lay charges again."
"But you're in the driver's seat now," Forsyth put in. "The hung jury is bound to shake the Crown's confidence."
"They'll