“Lewis now, although I’ve been divorced forever.”
She silently scrutinized him for a moment. He’d never seen anyone else with eyes quite like hers. Besides the unusual colour, there was something else about them, a quality he couldn’t quite pin down, as though they were capable of perceiving things no one else could. He’d heard of people whose eyesight extended slightly beyond the so-called visible spectrum, like certain types of raptors. Was she one of them?
“Funny, my not remembering your full name,” she said.
“Perhaps you never knew it. To everyone, I was always Joe Shoe. Or just Shoe.” Even Sara had called him Shoe.
“You, um, look different. And not so tall.”
He smiled. “You’re taller. How’s your brother?”
“Okay,” she said. “He has a copy and print shop now. He tried security after — after leaving the police, but it didn’t work out. I don’t see much of him. This job keeps me busy and he’s — well, we never were all that close.”
In fact, Shoe remembered, Hannah hadn’t got along at all with her older brother. Eighteen years her senior, and her legal guardian since their parents had died in a road accident when she was twelve, Ron Mackie had been overprotective to the point of tyranny. Not that Shoe had blamed him. In his short time with the Toronto police he’d seen far too many young women dead of drug overdoses, beaten to death by their pimps or jealous boyfriends or drunken husbands, raped and murdered by friends and strangers alike, or simply discarded like yesterday’s trash. In his ten years as a street cop, Ron Mackie had seen much more.
“How does he feel about you being a cop?” Shoe asked her.
“He pretends he’s okay with it, but he doesn’t really like the idea of his baby sister being a cop any more than he liked his wife being one.” A flush highlighted her sharp cheekbones. “Uh, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shoe said. “It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” There was a moment of awkward silence.
“What do you do in Vancouver?” Detective Constable Timmons said, cigarette smoke spilling from his mouth. “Not still on the job, are you?”
“No,” Shoe said. “I do some consulting, but mostly I’m semi-retired.”
“What sorta consulting? Security?” Timmons asked, dropping his cigarette butt onto the pavement, grinding it out under the sole of a steel-toed shoe.
“I investigate companies other companies are looking to acquire.”
“Interesting work?”
“Can be,” Shoe said. Timmons didn’t look as though he thought so. He went round to the driver’s side of the car and got behind the wheel.
“Well, thanks for your help,” Lewis said.
“You’re welcome,” Shoe said.
She got into the car. Timmons started the engine.
“You were in the academy with Hank Trumbull, weren’t you?” Lewis said.
“That’s right,” Shoe said. He and Hank Trumbull had also served their probationary period in the same downtown Toronto division. Shoe hadn’t seen him since he’d left the force and moved to the West Coast, but he’d called him in January to thank him for his putting in a good word for him during the investigation into Patrick O’Neill’s murder. “Do you know Hank?”
“He was my boss,” she said through the open door. “He put in his papers last month. He got tired of waiting for promotion. I don’t blame him. He should’ve been deputy chief by now, or even chief, but — well, you know him,” she added with a shrug. “Anyway, his retirement bash was last week.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Shoe said. “I’ll call him.”
“Better hurry,” Lewis said. “He’s taking his wife on a three-month vacation in Europe. They’re leaving tomorrow. Thanks again for your help. I’ll see you around.”
She closed the door. Timmons put the Sebring in gear and pulled away from the curb without signalling. Shoe turned his back on the memories and went into his parents’ house.
chapter three
“You keep looking at your watch, Hal,” Jerold Renfrew said. “Is there someplace you have to be?”
“Uh, no,” Hal Schumacher replied.
“You sure? Because if there is, we can do this later.”
“No,” Hal said. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Okay. Hal, you’re fired!”
Don’t I wish, Hal thought sourly, smiling at Renfrew’s favourite joke nevertheless. “The severance will come in handy,” he said, playing along, as was expected, even required. “I’ve had my eye on a nice little summer place in the Muskokas for a while now.”
Renfrew slapped the top of his desk in appreciation. “Good one, Hal. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even be able to afford it after this year’s bonus. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your quarterly numbers are great, Hal. Simply great. Up over fifteen percent from last year. I’m really proud of you, Hal. You’ve built a great team of people. Simply great. Their performance is outstanding.”
Jerry Renfrew was president, CEO, and sole shareholder of Renfrew & Doherty Assurance, Inc. Although younger than Hal by nearly a decade, Renfrew affected a kindly, avuncular manner, which Hal found as annoying as it was fraudulent.
“Thanks, Jerry. I’ll pass that along.”
“The next quarter is looking good too,” Renfrew said, as though he hadn’t heard. “Could be our best ever, in no small part due to the efforts of you and your people. It’s starting to look like a safe bet that you’re going to be taking home the Oscar again this year, Hal.”
Christ, but the man loves the sound of his own voice, Hal thought irritably, as Renfrew prattled on. He was careful to keep his impatience from showing, though. Under other circumstances, he would have been flattered by the effusive praise, even though he knew these sessions were just Renfrew’s way of reminding everyone who was really in control. Truth be told, Hal was counting on the “Oscar,” as Renfrew called the big annual bonus that went to the head of the most productive department. Too bad he wouldn’t get to enjoy any of it; it was already spent, and not on a cottage on Lake Muskoka.
Hal had always considered himself pretty sophisticated when it came to the market. He knew that when a stock looked too good to be true, it likely was, and he’d have scoffed at the suggestion that he could be taken in by a smooth sales pitch. Until recently, that is. Jesus, how could he have been so stupid? It only went to show that no matter how smart you thought you were, there was always some slick operator out there who was just that little bit smarter.
And, on top of that, he had Dougie Hallam on his back. Hal sighed. He’d screwed up, there was no denying that, but damn, a little good luck wasn’t too much to ask, was it? It would make a nice change …
“Hal?”
“Uh, yes, Jerry.”
Renfrew frowned. “Is something bothering you, Hal?”
“What? No, Jerry, everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”
“C’mon, man,” Renfrew said. “You sit there, inscrutable as a damn Sphinx, when I’m practically coming right out and telling you that if you keep this up you’re a shoo-in for CFO when Phil Desmond retires next year.”
Hal’s heart jumped, as if an electric current had passed through his chest. “I thought Ray Levesque was your choice for