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pockets for ID but didn’t find any. Could be a resident, I guess, went off one of those balconies.”
    Cardinal looked around. Usually there was a small crowd at such scenes. “No witnesses? No one heard anything?”
    “Building’s mostly empty, I think, except for the businesses on the ground floor. There was no one around when I got here.”
    “Okay. Let me borrow your flashlight.”
    The kid handed it over and let Cardinal by before reattaching the end of the tape to a utility pole.
    Cardinal walked in slowly, not wanting to ruin the scene by assuming the kid’s idea of a fall was correct. He went by the Dumpster, which seemed to be full of old computers. A keyboard dangled over the side by its cable, and there were a couple of circuit boards that appeared to have exploded on the ground.
    The body was just beyond the Dumpster, face down, dressed in a tan fall coat with leather at the cuffs.
    “I don’t see any of the windows or doors open on any of the balconies up there,” the young cop said. “Probably the super’ll be able to give us an ID.”
    “Her ID’s in the car,” Cardinal said.
    The young cop looked around. There were two cars parked along the side of the building.
    “I don’t get it,” the young cop said. “You know which car is hers?”
    But Cardinal did not appear to be listening. The young cop watched in astonishment as Sergeant John Cardinal—star player on the CID team, veteran of the city’s highest-profile cases, legendary for his meticulous approach to crime scenes—went down on his knees in the pool of blood and cradled the shattered woman in his arms.

2
    N ORMALLY , L ISE D ELORME WOULD have been irritated at being called in on her day off. It happened all the time, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to be hauled out of whatever you were doing. She had been at a pub, enjoying a particularly pungent curry with a new boyfriend—a very good-looking lawyer only a year or two her junior—whom she had met when he unsuccessfully defended a long-time thug Delorme had nabbed for extortion. This was their third date, and even though the concept of sleeping with a lawyer was extremely hard for her to accept, Delorme had been planning to invite him in for a drink when he took her home. Shane Cosgrove was his name.
    It would have been sexier if Shane had been a better lawyer. Delorme actually thought his thuggy client should have got off, considering the meagre pile of evidence she had managed to put together. But still, he was good-looking and good company, and such men, single, are hard to come by in a place the size of Algonquin Bay.
    When she returned to the table, Shane asked her if she needed to lie down, she had turned that white. Detective Sergeant Chouinard had just told her that the victim was John Cardinal’s wife and that Cardinal himself was at the scene. A patrol unit had called Chouinard at home and Chouinard had in turn called Delorme.
    “Get him out of there, Lise,” he had said. “Whatever else is going on inside him right now, Cardinal’s been a cop for thirty years. He knows as well as you and me that until we rule out foul play, he’s suspect number one.”
    “D.S.,” Delorme said, “Cardinal’s been absolutely loyal to his wife through a lot of—”
    “A lot of shit. Yes, I know that. I also know it’s possible he finally got fed up. It’s possible some little straw just broke the camel’s back. So get your ass over there and make sure you think dirty. That place is a homicide scene until such time as we rule out foul play.”
    So there was no irritation in Delorme’s heart as she drove across town, only sorrow. Although she had met Cardinal’s wife on social occasions, she’d never gotten to know her well. Of course, she knew what everyone in the department knew: that every couple of years Catherine went into the psychiatric hospital following a manic or depressive episode. And every time Delorme had encountered Catherine Cardinal, she had