40.

“He said what?”

Ben’s voice rang sharp and loud. He grew livid. His face glowered.

Fenton Peale wasn’t used to anger, confrontation, or anyone questioning his suggestions, and he felt suddenly trapped and helpless. For a real moment, Ben had frightened him, and he shrank back against his chair as if someone had thrown a punch, but, after realizing that Ben had kept his distance, Peale recovered enough composure to respond.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Ben. I’m just passing along what Carmody shared with me: he wants you to take a step back from the Billy Darby situation…at least for the short term. Personally, I like the girl. She’s got a lot of spunk. Realistically, though, Carmody’s got a point. He’s received allegations of improper conduct, and the government can’t be seen to take sides or assist her. You’re a part of this government. If she’s tainted in some way, you will be, too and, in the political arena, so will Carmody and Premier Clark and me and Bob MacEwen at Industry. When Carmody speaks, he speaks on behalf of the Premier, and he makes sense. We all have to step back and see what plays out. That’s how things are done around here, Ben. That’s how we survive.”

“Bullshit,” said Ben. He backed out the door of Peale’s office and passed his secretary’s desk. One of her hands gripped the phone. Her other gripped the desk. Her face was pale, her mouth agape, and her mind uncertain whether to phone security or flee.

Carmody’s office was one floor up. Ben took the stairs, rather than the elevator. He wanted to be sure that Peale had time to phone Carmody but, before he hit the stairwell, he was intercepted by his part-time receptionist, Ida Treat. She huffed as she passed him a bundle in an interdepartmental envelope. She disliked her services being shared by several offices, and a sour expression on her face revealed that mindset. Ben took the envelope, noted that it came from Department of Industry, and handed it back to her.

“File this under ‘political interference,’” he told her. She huffed.

“Now,” he said. She huffed again, but headed toward Ben’s office.

Carmody’s door was open wide. The door to the Premier’s office was ajar. The Premier’s personal assistant sat at her workstation next to it like an edgy guard dog. Her eyes flicked quickly up at Ben and down again to her computer screen. Her hands rested on the keyboard, but they scarcely moved.

“Hey, Cathy. Deputy Dog in?” In spite of the rebuffs by Fenton Peale and Ida Treat, Ben’s tone had become warm and cordial.

Cathy Doiron relaxed. She looked up and smiled timidly back.

“If you mean Mr. Carmody, he’s out of the office at the moment.” She cocked her head and threw a glance toward the crack in the Premier’s door.

“Is he expected back anytime soon?”

“Hard to say. Something came up quite suddenly, and he had to step out. Is there something I can do for you?”

“If you had a moment, could you scribble down a note for him?”

“Sure.”

“I want to start it off like this:” Cathy picked up her steno pad. “Dear Mr. Carmody, It’s come to my attention that you are either a sonofabitch or the messenger of a sonofabitch, both of which put me in the undesirable position of having to inform you that it is…inadvisable to tell any peace officer in the execution of his legal duty to ‘take a step back.’ As the chief peace officer in this province, I am obliged to carry out…my obligations and duties under the legislation that empowered me. Remember that I am not an elected official. Remember, too, that I was offered this position by…a higher authority, which shall remain unnamed, and subsequently appointed by the current government. Be advised, therefore, that the only circumstance in which I might find myself ‘taking a step back’ would be…to better position myself to direct a proper kick to the balls of anyone who makes such a suggestion in the future. Thanks for the opportunity to make my views clear, and…by all means feel free to share this point of view with colleagues who might find it useful. Signed, Benjamin Solomon.”

Cathy’s eyes had grown merrier as she continued recording her shorthand. At the end, she stifled a snicker and rolled her eyes again toward the opening in the door. “After I type it, do you want me to send it down for you to sign, Ben?”

“That probably won’t be necessary. My signature won’t make it anymore true or heartfelt than it already is. Just see that he gets the message. Oh…and use your discretion with the wording. I’m told I can be a bit too blunt at times. My wife Sarah probably would say ‘crude.’ It’s a cop thing,” said Ben. He winked and headed out the door. He had a smile on his face. He felt energized. Feigned outrage had always been his favourite investigative tool. No laws governed it, and one was always surprised at the reaction it produced.

Carmody slowly opened the door of the Premier’s empty office. He emerged when he perceived that Ben had gone. He stepped warily past Cathy Doiron’s workstation.

“How many copies of Ben’s letter would you like?” she asked.

Carmody scowled.

“Just asking,” she said and shrugged.

“Not a word about this,” he said savagely. “Not a word.”

“Of course not, Mr. Carmody,” she said and smiled to herself.