The Icing on the Corpse. Mary Jane Maffini
take the shake out of her hands.
Lindsay's scars might be less visible than Rina's. But they were no less real. The Crown would not be able to rely on her in their bid to toss away the key to Benning's cell. That was too bad. The court doesn't hand out dangerous offender designations with ease. You have to work hard for them.
January 31 would be the first day of a long fight. And with Benning's charm and history of manipulating the law, the odds were against us.
Two
Some Mondays start badly. When the wind chill factor approaches minus forty, you can count on it. Any day I ran into Mia Reilly started badly too. With the Benning application on my mind, I didn't need the weather or Mia. But she was right in my face as I sniffed the cranberry muffins and waited for a caffeine boost at the Second Cup on Elgin.
I stamped my feet and blew on my fingers.
It wasn't even eight o'clock.
Some of my old law school classmates are quite tolerable, but you couldn't put Mia into that category. She'd always been irritating. Her hundred-dollar haircut was irritating. The nose she'd had restructured after graduation was irritating. The teeth she'd had capped last year were irritating. The same could be said for her cologne: some pricey combination of cedar and bergamot. Mia was on the fast track as an Assistant Crown Attorney, which compounded all the other irritations.
It always bugged my butt to see Mia in my own personal Second Cup, even if it was just a block from the courthouse. If I'd wanted to chat, I would have picked my police reporter buddy, P. J. Lynch, who waved from the bench in the back. P. J. s one of the world's great talkers, but I wasn't in the mood. On the other hand, this was not the right day to get on the wrong side of the Crown Attorney's office.
“So, Camilla,” Mia lifted her expensive nose, “I hear your sisters getting married again.”
Leave it to Smiley Reilly to remind me my favourite sister, Alexa, was about to marry my not-so-favourite Ottawa cop, Detective Sergeant Conn McCracken. Even worse, I'd been fingered as a bridesmaid.
I ignored her and showered an extra thick haze of chocolate powder over my latte. I should have remembered it takes more than rudeness to ditch Mia Reilly.
She was in an upbeat mood. “Your sister's what? Fifteen years older than you? Late forties? Fifty? Hope for anyone, I guess.”
She leaned in, still smiling expensively, and moved her hand so I couldn't avoid the diamond solitaire. It had to be in the twenty thousand dollar range. One false move and she could knock your eye out with that sucker. “You're right,” I said. “There's hope for anyone.”
I didn't grow up with three older sisters without learning to be a bitch when the moment requires.
But that was too subtle for Mia. She tossed her head and each strand of the sleek blonde bob fell back into place artfully. “So, Camilla. Are you ever going to try the dating game again?”
I snapped the lid on the latte. “When Hell freezes over.”
She laughed. Irritatingly. “Bitter, bitter.”
“You bet. And speaking of bitter, do you think the Crown will mess up with Benning today?”
“That is so not fair. Of course they won't. He'll get dangerous offender status. It will take a while, but he's going away forever.”
“About time,” I said.
“I wish I'd worked on that file. I ended up with the drill bandit instead.”
“Who?
“You know. That guy who drilled little holes in car doors parked near the canal, then popped the trunks and made off with one credit card from each purse? You haven't heard of that? I mean, he's pulled off hundreds of these. But he slipped up. I'm so glad we got him before Winterlude this year.” With a last fond look at her diamond, she slid her hand into a pair of fur-lined black kid gloves.
I was at a loss for words. As if a minor pilferer was even worth talking about on the day of Benning's sentencing. I barely managed not to say “Who gives a rat's ass?”
I picked up my cup and the bag with my chocolate almond biscotti and made a serious effort to put as much distance between us as possible. I elbowed my way through the crowd and out the door. Outside the Second Cup, I couldn't resist a sharp intake of breath. Hell had frozen over all right.
I jumped at the tap on my shoulder. P. J. Lynch was shrugging on his coat in the cool way young guys have and sharing his wide grin.
“Big day for you.”
“No kidding.” You have to love P. J. Maybe it's the carrot-coloured hair. Maybe it's that space between his two front teeth. Maybe it's the way he loves to shoot the shit.
“Fingers crossed, Tiger.” He lit a cigarette. He's usually pretty perky, but this morning he was rumpled with dark circles under his eyes. Probably up all night.
“Thanks. What are you doing in the Second Cup, P. J.? I thought you disapproved of fancy coffees.”
“Free country. You heading for Court?”
“I have a couple of items to take care of at the office first. Benning's on the docket for 10.00 a.m. today.” The truth was I didn't want to spend an hour pacing publicly. It would be hard enough to keep still and shut up during the application. If I showed up early, there was a distinct chance I'd get myself in some trouble while waiting.
“Don't forget about our Winterlude date,” he said.
“What?”
“Winterlude. We're taking my sister's kids out on the canal this weekend, remember?”
His sister's kids? I didn't even remember that P.J. had a sister, let alone that we had a date with her kids. The whole Benning thing had been blitzing my brain. “Right,” I said.
“You're not going to slither out of it, Camilla.”
“I never slither.”
“Sunday evening.”
“Of course.”
“Got a tip for you. There's more to life than work.”
“Not today there isn't,” I said.
P. J. blew smoke out the side of his mouth and away from my face. The wind blew it back. Lucky for him he was cute. “Don't worry. That creep will get what's coming to him today. It doesn't matter how many cops he has in his pocket.”
“Here's hoping.”
“Make sure you practice your skating, Camilla. These two little guys are a handful.” He turned and headed back into the Second Cup.
That was a relief. P.J. was a helpful colleague, and I knew he believed someone on the local police force had done a lot of favours for Benning in the past. But any quotes from me would have led to grief if they had gotten into print. My family kept reminding me to watch what I said to the media. I tried.
In the few minutes it took to hike the block and a half towards the offices of Justice for Victims, I could feel the welcome heat seep out of my latte. With fresh snow on the sidewalk, it was lousy weather for staying on your feet. Everyone was late. People were mad as hell. Drivers peered through golf-ball-sized peepholes in frosted windshields. Just a matter of time until one of them swerved off the street. Perhaps it only looked liked they were aiming for pedestrians.
I was nearing the office when I heard the first sirens shriek. Three police cruisers, roof-lights flashing, edged past the stalled lines of traffic and shot north on Elgin St. I figured it must have been a robbery. Normally, I'd picture a terrorized teller in a big bank on Sparks Street, gaping at the gun pointed at her face. Of course, normally, I wasn't fighting hypothermia and losing.
I caught a glimpse of P. J. rocketing out of the Second Cup, his coat flapping open as he raced along the sidewalk.