Until the Night Read Free

you’ve gotta be, what, sixty?”
    “Fifty-eight. Yeah, yeah—big age difference. But we were together eight years. It’s not like anything changed or I hid anything from her. I thought she was happy. She seemed happy. Until about a year ago.”
    “Age difference like that can make a guy feel pretty insecure.”
    “I never did. Laura never gave me any reason. Until she met that guy.”
    “That was a year ago?”
    “More like eight, nine months. Then everything turned to shit pretty fast.”
    “You must have been angry.”
    “Who wouldn’t be? Angry was only part of it. Depressed. Humiliated. I was a lot of things. This isn’t exactly what I envisioned for myself.” Hegestured at the tarps, the cramped little room. “I certainly hated this Mark character. But I never met him, never saw him, and I certainly didn’t shoot him.”
    “Nobody said he was shot,” Delorme said.
    “He wasn’t shot? Well, what happened?”
    “We won’t know until there’s an autopsy,” Cardinal said. “How much do you weigh, Mr. Rettig?”
    “How much do I weigh?”
    “How much do you weigh? About one fifty?”
    “About one forty-five or so. Why are you—Is this even relevant?”
    “It may be.”
    Delorme stood up. “Mr. Rettig, you mind if I use your bathroom? Lot of coffee this morning.”
    “Go right ahead. Door on the right, just before the kitchen.”
    “I realize your life is in turmoil right now,” Cardinal said, “but it’s essential we have a list of all your wife’s contacts—friends, relatives, work people—everyone.”
    “Well, I’ll give you whatever I have, of course, but her laptop or phone would be a better bet for that kind of stuff.”
    “Did she have any enemies that you know of?”
    “Enemies? Laura’s a nurse, she doesn’t have enemies.”
    “Well, you may not be aware—the man she was seeing, this Mark Trent, was married. So Mrs. Trent, for example, might not be too fond of her.”
    Rettig placed his hands on the chair arms, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Laura never told me the guy was married. That’s just so crazy. So pointless. Why leave a husband who loves you and looks after you just to … Well, you don’t need to hear it.”
    “What about stalkers—old boyfriends, perhaps an angry patient? Anyone like that?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    Delorme reappeared in the doorway.
    “All right,” Cardinal said. “Just give us all the names you can—that’s all we need for now. You understand we’re going to have to ask around about you and your wife. We’re not looking for dirt, but sometimes it can be unpleasant.”
    “Just don’t get me in trouble at work. I’d like to retire on a full pension, if you don’t mind.”
    “Where do you work?”
    “Brunswick Geo.”
    “Mining?”
    “I’m just a CPA. Mostly I deal with the regulation side of things. It ain’t cheap being green.” He stood up and pointed to a wall of boxes behind Delorme. “I may have an old address book of Laura’s. In there.”
    “While you’re looking,” Cardinal said, “you mind if we take a look at your car?”
    “My car? Jesus.” Still, Rettig took the keys from a hook in the vestibule and handed them over.
    Cardinal and Delorme went outside and checked Rettig’s Prius. There was no sign of any struggle, nor was it excessively clean. Cardinal opened the trunk. He lifted up the carpeting and said, “You find anything interesting during your convenient trip to the washroom?”
    “Mr. Rettig is subject to indigestion, gas, diarrhea, constipation, headache, backache, hair loss, anxiety and insomnia.”
    “You may be mixing it up with my medicine cabinet.”
    “No,” Delorme said, “I’m not.”

    Traffic was slow along Twickenham, owing to a water-main break. Cardinal could feel Delorme looking at him. Not saying anything, just looking. It took ten minutes to get to Algonquin, and once he’d made the turn he said, “All right, what’s going through that devious