Marley laughed. “I think knighthood would suit her better.”
“Sir Devon,” Li said, eyes flashing. “I like it.” Li looked over her shoulder when someone called her name. “Gotta go. I’m sure I’ll see you again, Constable Marlowe.”
Marley stood in the hallway for a moment, wondering if she should go home and sleep or go to the office to write up the report. She was leaning toward sleep when her phone rang, Simms’s name on her screen.
“Marlowe? I need you down at the precinct. We’ve got a lead on Mace.”
It was dinner by the time Marley arrived back at the station. She was already dragging. She went to the staff room and rummaged until she found a package of microwave popcorn. Leaning against the chipped laminate counter, she stared at the whirring bag with a tired blankness until the popping and beeping startled her into full consciousness. Tearing the package open as she walked, delicious hot steam escaping from the top, Marley went to find Simms.
“I like an officer who shows up with snacks,” Simms said, looking up from his desk.
“Dinner, actually,” Marley said around a mouthful of popcorn, extending the bag towards Simms. He grabbed a handful and launched into his update.
“Mace shows up in a bunch of police databases, all dark internet shit I don’t understand.”
“So Mace is a username?”
“I guess. We’ve got no real name at this point. He pops up on RCMP radar for chat groups dealing in homemade chemical bombs, biological warfare, and—this is my favourite—an underground art movement using…” Simms looked down and read directly from his notes, “‘reactive chemical art installations as an act of social disruption’.”
“I heard about that, I think. They were responsible for turning the waterfall feature outside Vancouver City Hall into a putrid cesspool.”
“You got it. Mace’s name comes up in that investigation.”
“So, we’ve found our chemist. Sort of.”
Simms rubbed at his eyes. “And ‘sort of’ is a problem.”
“Vancouver is a long way from here. We don’t even know if we’re trying to find an actual living, breathing person stirring up shit in Hamilton. We could be chasing a very intelligent ghost.”
Simms pointed at Marley. “My first thoughts exactly. But in the other investigations where Mace comes up, someone on the ground with chemical or biological know-how was there to put together whatever sick prank or ‘art installation’ they had cooked up. We don’t have that. So, I’m wondering if in our case, Mace is the brains and the brawn.”
“Lucky us,” Marley mumbled, shoving another handful of popcorn in her mouth.
The phone on Simms’s desk rang, startling them both. Simms picked it up.
“Simms…Yes, put him through.” Simms pressed a series of buttons, then put the phone back in its cradle. “Salik, I’ve got you on speaker phone. Constable Marlowe is with me, we’re working this case together.”
“Constable Marlowe, hello.” Ben Salik, their contact at Public Health, spoke with traffic sounds in the background. “I’m actually at the hospital, I just finished speaking to Mikayla Roy.”
“Does she fit the profile? Symptoms and time of last drug use?”
“She does. It’s a solid data point.”
A person, Marley thought. A person in pain, not a data point.
“Excellent,” Simms said.
“I’m calling because I’ve got a bit of a disturbing development,” Salik continued. “While I was talking with Ms. Roy, another patient came in and was flagged by Dr. Li. The patient is a thirty-two year old male, admitted to using a drug that sounds a lot like opioid Z, last used about two weeks ago. Symptoms after withdrawal align with what we’ve been seeing.”
“Okay,” said Simms, drawing out the word. “What’s the disturbing part?”
“Patient sought medical treatment for a severe rash on one side of his body and what Dr. Li is describing as ‘degenerative neurological symptoms’. Memory loss, mood swings, periodic aphasia.”
“So, we’re looking at a progression of symptoms? Potentially worsening symptoms the longer they go without access to the opioid?” Simms said.
“Potentially, yes. But the news gets worse.”
Marley felt a sudden tightness in her spine, a brittle moment as they waited.
“The patient’s girlfriend is the one who brought him to the ER. She had their two-year-old son with them. The child is exhibiting signs of a rash on one side of his body.”
Silence. Marley and Simms stared at each other, Salik’s words hanging between them, the tinny sound of background traffic filling the space.
“The rash is contagious?” Marley managed to say, exhaustion, confusion, and horror warring for space. “A symptom from drug withdrawal is contagious?”
“It’s too early to say anything definitively,” Salik said. “Dr. Li and I are going to investigate. No facts yet, no proof. Nothing. But I thought you’d want to know the direction this is going.”
“Thanks,” Simms said, sounding tired. “Keep us posted.”
The click and dial tone projected loudly in the silence of the empty office.
“Well, fuck me,” Simms said, rubbing his forehead.
Marley leaned against the desk across from Simms. She looked into the mostly empty bag of popcorn, the fake butter smell making her suddenly nauseous.
“Now what?” she said.
Simms said nothing at first, just continued rubbing, as if he could wear this new information away.
“Simms?”
“We’re a drug enforcement unit, Marlowe. Our job is to find who made this and who put it on the street. We get the drugs off the street, we get the bad guys off the street. End of story.”
“But—”
“Look,” Simms said, definitely sounding mad now. “This doesn’t change anything. It’s great Public Health is keeping us in the loop but our job is still our job, their mandate is still their mandate. We focus on the drug investigation, sewing up the loose ends of this drug bust we started three weeks ago. Then we move on.”
He was scared. That’s what Marley read from his outburst, from his insistence on not paying attention to this potentially critical development. But right now he was her supervising officer, and Marley knew she was already skating on thin ice.
“I’m going to write up and submit my report before I go.”
Simms waved her away, suddenly very interested in the paperwork on his desk.
“Go home, Marlowe. The report can wait until morning.”
Marley walked back through the office, leaving Simms to wrestle this new information into a box he understood. She sat at her desk and stared at nothing for a moment. Then she picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She needed something to ground her flying thoughts. The phone rang in her ear three times before it picked up.
“Hey, Dad. What’s cooking tonight?”
* * *
Devon walked through her house, the grogginess of a shitty sleep like a blurring blanket of fog in her mind. She registered the quiet, just the clink of ceramic and the tink of cutlery being moved around in the kitchen. Aimee must still be asleep. The kid hadn’t yet mastered the art of quiet.
Devon entered the kitchen as the soft beep of the percolator said the coffee was ready. Carla looked up and held up the coffee pot in a question. Devon nodded and walked to the fridge to take out the cream.
The spoons sounded loud against the mugs as they stood side by side and doctored their first coffee of the day. Devon took a sip and leaned back against the counter. Carla did the same and Devon felt the softness of Carla’s favourite worn blue velour sweatshirt against her arm. It was comforting somehow, the softness and the recognition of familiarity.
“Bad sleep?” Carla said.
“Bad sleep.”
Devon acknowledged the ink in her veins, the hint of depression that seemed to steal in through the vulnerability of sleep and dreams. It pulsed weakly but consistently, a stead
y heartbeat of a reminder that she was not entirely okay.
A moment later, Aimee shuffled into the kitchen, purple pyjamas wrinkled and sagging, the bandage still taped to her forehead. She blinked a few times, looking at Devon and Carla standing side by side in the kitchen. She grabbed a plastic cup out of the draining board and filled it with water, then stood next to them, staring quietly and blankly at the kitchen.
Carla turned and caught Devon’s eye, mouth pulled tight like she was trying not to laugh. Devon’s heart lifted, the inkiness overpowered for a moment with gratitude for these two people in her life.
“We’re a bit of a sad bunch this morning,” Devon said into the silence.
“That we are,” Carla said.
Aimee nodded gravely and took a sip of her water, sighing.
A car door slammed outside, which sent Aimee running to the big window. She peered out, face pressed to the glass, then started to dance before running to the front door.
“Must be Marley,” Carla said, heading to the window. “Can’t imagine anyone else that would make her that happy.” Carla looked outside and glanced back at Devon. “Yep, it’s her.”
Devon glanced at the clock on the stove. Not quite six thirty. What was Marley doing here this early?
The sounds of Marley’s laugh and Aimee’s dancing preceded them into the kitchen. Aimee was carrying a large baker’s box she placed up on the counter before climbing on the stool and raising the lid.
Devon looked up at Marley, who was leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. She was wearing wrinkled shorts and a faded Blue Jays T-shirt, her hair was messy from the wind outside, and her eyes looked tired. But she smiled when Devon looked at her, a happy and satisfied sort of smile, as if this early morning with a box of donuts and a kitchen full of people she barely knew but definitely cared for was not only normal, but wonderful. And it was. Unexpected but wonderful. Marley’s smile turned from a smile to a grin, as if she’d read Devon’s mind.
“Anyone up for a beach walk? The wind is nuts but radar says at least another hour or so until rain.”
Ten minutes later, with some clothes thrown on, coffee divided into travel mugs, and Aimee guarding the box of donuts, they all piled into Marley’s car. Marley wound them through town, the early morning traffic sparse, before turning onto a gravel road that led to an empty parking lot. Aimee solemnly offered the box of donuts to each person, the whole while gazing longingly at the one donut dripping with pink frosting. Donuts and coffee in hand, they walked down to the beach.
The sand was wet under Devon’s shoes as they stepped out of the last of the protective tree line and the expanse of Lake Ontario was laid out before them, sand-less wind gusts stopping her in her tracks.
Marley looked back at Devon and grinned. “Oh, yeah. This should be fun.”
Up ahead, they could see Aimee turning cartwheels on the beach, knocked down by the wind and coming up with a sticky-faced grin. The wind snatched up the sound of Carla’s laughter and tossed it back to Devon and Marley.
They walked together, sounds of wind-whipped waves and laughter filling in for words. The sweetness of coffee and donuts and the wildness of the morning made Devon’s heart light, careering around in her chest. And when a gust of wind knocked them back a step, they both laughed, and Marley took Devon’s hand, fingers sticky. Devon’s heart steadied and soared all at once. She felt a wild joy surface, manifesting itself as tears in her eyes and an unnameable ache, an anchoring she hadn’t known before. It was Marley. All Marley.
The sun made a valiant effort to shine through the racing, dark clouds above, and the beach view lit up and faded as the sun fought for dominance. Aimee ran back to show them a fistful of rocks she stuffed in Devon’s pocket before racing off again.
“Thanks for this morning,” Devon said. “We were a bunch of sad sacks before you arrived.”
“The last few days have felt so…heavy. For everyone.”
“You included?” Devon said.
“Me included.”
Marley didn’t elaborate and Devon wanted to ask. About the tiredness in her eyes, her withdrawal, her recent silence around the case. But she held back and instead squeezed Marley’s hand, a message of presence. A hope she could be an anchor for Marley, too.
Marley angled them down toward the waves and stopped. The lake was grey, each wave white-tipped and furious as it crashed and crested and crashed again. The skyline blurred out past the industrial shores of Burlington, Toronto lost in the waves and the haze of the summer air. The sky was dark far off over the water, ominous clouds signaling an approaching storm.
“Maybe I should be a meteorologist,” Marley said, staring off over the lake, eyes fixed on the storm.
“You like storms?”
Marley glanced at Devon and gave her a fleeting smile.
“Yeah. Winter storms especially. But I was thinking more about the radar. I love watching the weather radar. I can look back at where the storm was, where it is now, where they predict it’s going to go. The radar tells people to prepare or brace themselves or get indoors. Or hell, even just to take their laundry down. It’s so…useful.”
It wasn’t hard for Devon to see the thread woven through this story.
“There’s not much certain about first responder work,” Devon said.
“No,” Marley said. “I guess I’m tired…” Marley snorted. “That’s a full statement right there. I’m tired.” She shook her head and took a sip of coffee.
“What are you tired of?” Devon said, deciding to push. Marley seemed to want to bring this to the surface. Maybe she needed a little help.
“If you don’t mind following this storm analogy with me,” Marley said, turning to Devon with a hint of humour in her eyes, “I feel like I’m the guy who saunters in after the storm is over. I pick up debris and look at the damage and say ‘yep, a storm sure did go through here’. Maybe I pass out a few raincoats even though everyone’s already soaked, I talk to some people about lightning safety. And then I write a report.”
“I’d like to take a guess, if you don’t mind, about what you’d like to do with a radar.” Devon paused and Marley nodded, looking curious. “I think you’d like one of those storm chaser vans with all the latest technology. And you’d drive that van through town, giving updates to anyone who would listen. And when you saw a storm coming on that radar, you’d turn on the siren, making sure every person heard it. Then you’d fill that van with people who didn’t have anywhere safe to go, a whole fleet of vans if that’s what it took to make sure no one was stuck out in the rain and no one got hurt. You’d use that radar every day to predict the path of the storm because you want to limit any damage to anyone.”
Marley stared at Devon, wind whipping her hair into her face. Devon squeezed Marley’s hand tightly and pushed a little more.
“You want a radar to predict Aimee’s path. You want to have seen the approaching storm of Randolph West. You want to have intervened six months ago to keep her away from her father and deliver her safely into Carla’s care.” Devon paused. “All the Aimees. Everyone.”
Marley blinked, and Devon saw tears surface. “Shit,” Marley said. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Waves hit the rocky shore and wind tugged at their hair and clothes. Devon held Marley’s hand, trying so hard to be an anchor.
“All my instincts seem backward,” Marley said. “It’s like everyone around me understands the rules, but no matter how many times I look at my job description, I keep getting it wrong.”
“Is it different than you thought it would be when you signed on to the force?”
Marley seemed to consider this. “Yes and no. I guess I thought there would be more room for different perspectives.” She shook her head and stared back out over the water. “Assuming a police force could be flexible was a mistake.”
Devon knew the weight of self-doubt, but this didn’t seem like the moment to help Marley turn doubt into reflection, reflection into action. Marley wasn’t
a member of her team, a client, a colleague. Instead, she rubbed her thumb over the back of Marley’s hand, tracing the lines of bone, dips of soft skin, and cords of tendons.
“You okay?” she said.
Marley didn’t answer, but she leaned into Devon as they looked out over the lake, where the sun had lost its battle with the clouds and the darkness of the approaching storm had inched its way over the water.
“Storm’s coming,” Marley murmured after a while.
Devon looked for Carla and Aimee and saw they weren’t too far off, Aimee running down the beach with her borrowed raincoat streaming out behind her like a kite. They caught up to Devon and Marley as the first rumblings of thunder reached the shore. They stood together and watched the clouds building, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Intermittent flashes lit up the cloud mass, now a boiling cauldron. The wind had died down a little, as if it had been sucked out over the lake and was now whipping this storm into a frenzy.
“Maybe we should get a little closer to the car,” Carla said. “I won’t be making any mad dashes if this storm hits sooner than we’re expecting.”
They all watched the storm as they walked back to the parking lot. A sheet of rain covered the lake, a painter’s stroke of grey lines marking the approaching line of water meeting water. When a fork of lightning escaped the ever-darkening mass of clouds and struck somewhere across the water, Aimee made an odd sort of whooping sound and shook her fists into the sky, as if encouraging the storm. Daring it to do more. Devon met Marley’s glance, both of them curious about Aimee making a sound when the thunder answered the lightning’s call and the ground shook beneath their feet.
They weren’t too far from the path that led back to the car. They huddled together, Marley looking less troubled than earlier, reflecting more of Aimee’s excitement at the storm. The thunder was a continuous roll that seemed to reach out to them and recede. Lightning lit the sky in sudden, unpredictable bursts, and the line of rain moved steadily closer. Then a clap of thunder made them all duck and flinch. Aimee looked scared, then laughed.
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