by John Farrow
Waiting for someone to pick up, Carole Clément asked, “What’s this about anyway? What did she—allegedly—do?”
“Allegedly—” Cinq-Mars began, but the woman was holding up a hand to stop him.
Into the phone, she said, “Captain Armand Touton, please.”
That name again. Of all the officers above him, Cinq-Mars accorded no one more respect than Touton, albeit by reputation alone. “Is he your brother or something?” he asked the woman, but before she could reply she was talking directly to the captain himself.
“Armand, it’s Carole. Sounds as though you’ve had a busy night.”
She nodded to Anik that she would indeed have tea. Cinq-Mars shrugged. Obviously, he was not going to regain control anytime soon. He might as well have a cup, too. He had been through a long night, and had endured a boring wait for Anik outside in the gloomy shadows. “There’s a police officer here … No, a patrolman. He’s come to arrest Anik … Allegedly, she was being rambunctious at the parade tonight.”
That was one way to put it. Cinq-Mars bobbed his chin to indicate that he’d state matters differently.
“Sorry,” Carole said, speaking to him, “what’s your name again?”
Her daughter answered first. “Émile Cinq-Mars, Mommy. Where’d you get a name like that anyway, copper?”
He didn’t know if she was teasing him.
“Are you from Montreal?” Anik asked.
“I’m from the country. Small town. Saint-Jacques-le-Majeur-de-Wolfestown.” “He’s a small-town boy,” Carole said into the telephone. “Are you a rookie?” she asked him.
Cinq-Mars nodded that he was.
“Yep, a rookie. Goes by the name of Cinq-Mars.”
Waiting for the kettle to boil, Anik had slumped down crossways into an armchair. Having kicked off her running shoes, which had served her well that night, she peeled her socks off and let her bare feet dangle over the side, rocking them a little.
“Is she really talking to Armand Touton?”
“Yep.”
“The Armand Touton?”
“Scared?”
“That’s right,” Carole advised the famous captain of the Night Patrol. “He’s in the house right now. Set to have a cup of tea like he’s the king of England…. No, I think he followed Anik home.” She paused, then held out the phone to Cinq-Mars. “Your boss wants a word.”
The young officer hesitated. This was not going well, and certainly not as expected. “He’s not really my boss—not directly,” he said.
“Do you truly want to split that hair right now? You’ve ticked him off enough already.”
Cinq-Mars took the phone. “Hello?” he asked, tentatively.
“What the hell’s going on?” the voice demanded.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know for sure whom I’m talking to, sir.”
“Do you want to find that out?”
He wasn’t sure. “Well, sir, no, to be truthful. But you’re only a voice on a telephone right now.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you followed some girl home for miles?”
“No, sir. I knew her name. I got her address from the station, because she has a driver’s licence. Then I went to her house, and I waited for her.”
“Why?” the voice demanded to know.
“Sir, I don’t know whom I’m talking to—”
“Cinq-Mars, is it? Answer the fucking question.”
“Sir, she started the riot tonight. She was the instigator. She threw the first stone.”
As he spoke, he realized that his obsession with this one fact carried no legal weight. Throwing the first stone was no more significant than throwing the last one, and Anik had been correct to call him on that. Yet the voice on the other end took a moment to consider this news, and Cinq-Mars took advantage of the pause to add, “And she escaped from police custody, sir.”
“What are you talking about? She’s never been in police custody.”
“Tonight, sir. She was in a paddy wagon. She and the others broke out.”
“She was one of those?” The man seemed to imply a certain admiration.
“She would have been the first one out, sir.”
“All right, Cinq-Mars. Do you mind staying on until I arrive?”
This sounded suspiciously like appropriate police protocol. “I’ll wait, sir. How long, do you think?”
“Quick enough. Just cool your heels,” the voice said, and hung up.
The police officer put the phone back in its cradle. He looked from Carole to Anik, then back down at the phone.
“He’s coming over,” he said.
“Kettle’s boiling,” Anik announced. “Milk, Cinq-Mars? Sugar? Cyanide?”
Carole Clément, grey-haired with wan skin, flicked on another floor lamp to provide additional light, then pulled her housecoat more snugly around herself as she sat in the chair Anik had vacated.
“How come your daughter’s so hard to arrest?” he asked her.
“You’ve had an exciting night,” the woman noted.
“It’s been an experience.”
“Something new for you, I expect, coming in from the country.”
Her reference sounded vaguely derogatory.
“I might be a rookie, I might be new to the city—”
“—and therefore lacking experience in these matters.”
“People should not throw rocks and bottles, I don’t care where they live.”
“My daughter knows to never throw a bottle.”
Of all the surprises that had confounded him through the night, that remark topped them all. “Rocks can hurt people, too, ma’am.”
“Don’t I know it. Twice I’ve dropped a scab to her knees with a rock.”
Cinq-Mars appeared too flabbergasted to respond.
“Strikes,” Carole explained. “Sometimes you have to take a side.”
Anik returned with the tea.
“What’s Anik’s side?” the officer inquired as he accepted a cup from her.
“Ask her.”
“Trying to humour me, Cinq-Mars?” the young woman asked him back.
“There’s an election tomorrow—later today, now. You could express your opinion that way, by voting.”
“No candidate in this election is expressing my opinion,” she claimed.
“Nor too many of mine, come to think of it,” her mother added.
“No one deserves my support,” Anik maintained. “I suppose your opinions, and the opinions of the police department, are well represented, Cinq-Mars?”
The tea soothed him, the double whammy of a mother-and-daughter verbal confrontation less so.
“At least none of the candidates run on a platform that the police are pigs. Which seemed to be the main argument I heard expressed tonight.”
Both women smiled. “We’ve touched a nerve,” Anik noticed.
“You’re right,” Carole added. “Not every sentiment overheard tonight—I can guess what you went through—not every insult merited expression.”
“Or rocks.”
“Or rocks. Now, really, why have you come all this way, expended so much energy, merely to arrest one of thousands of protesters? Before you answer, keep in mind that it’s a serious question, one your superior officer will be asking.”
“Ma’am,” Cinq-Mars began, putting his cup down on the side table by his chair, “if I may ask, what is your relationship to Captain Armand Touton?”
The two women shared a look. “Cinq-Mars,” Anik piped up, “that’s one issue I wouldn’t press if I were you. Partly because …” The woman put a hand to the side of her mouth as though to block her voice travelling to her mother’s ears, and whispered, “… nobody knows.” She dropped her hand back down and resumed her normal voice. “And partly because nobody wants to know because the answer might scare the living bejesus out of the person who finds out.”
“Anik.”
“They might be lovers.”
“Anik Clément, stop that this instant!
”
“Or maybe my mom has something on him, a blackmail-type thing. Either way, you don’t want to know.”
“Maybe you should arrest her,” Carole stated. “He’s got a thing for me, I can tell.”
The mother looked across at the policeman again. Suddenly, some things made sense. “Officer Cinq-Mars? Is that true?”
“He’s blushing,” Anik pointed out. She enjoyed seeing that.
He’d only admitted it to himself, but he now wished he hadn’t been so impetuous. Why was he here? He could have had an arrest warrant issued—he didn’t need to become personally involved. He also could have not bothered and no one would have cared. Why on earth did this girl and her mother need to be on friendly terms with the most important detective on the force? He figured his career would survive the kerfuffle, but his prospects for advancement—in particular, his hope to join the Night Patrol under Captain Armand Touton himself—had seriously slumped. Cinq-Mars took a lesson to heart: being on the side of the angels, placing himself in a just position, did not automatically constitute being right. He had no business bothering with this arrest, and that understanding fell like a stone dropping down through his gullet as the mythic senior officer climbed the outside stairs.
“Chin up,” the young woman told him. “He’s come alone. No firing squad.”
Her cheery words didn’t help.
Carole Clément was already on her way to answer the door when the detective rang the bell. Cinq-Mars jumped in his seat. He then noticed, glumly, that they greeted one another in a familiar manner, that they were indeed good friends. Entering with Touton was the family pet, but he appeared to be quite tuckered out, and after giving the young cop a sniff he plunked himself down on his sleeping cushion under a bench.
Cinq-Mars had chosen to stand upon the detective’s entry. Feeling at a loss, he saluted, and then felt exceptionally dumb.
“You military?” Touton asked him. He didn’t return the salute.
“Uh. No, sir.”
“Just graduated, huh?”
“Four months, sir.”
“Four months and you’re still saluting?”
“Sorry, sir. I, ah, forgot myself for a moment, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“It might. Cinq-Mars, is it? You’re gung ho, are you?”
Cinq-Mars caught the gist instantly, that there was no way he could respond to that query without appearing to be terribly foolish. He buttoned his lips.
The detective seemed to have made himself right at home. He plunked himself down beside Anik, so closely that she had to squeeze to one side to accommodate his bulk, then rest her weight against him. Cinq-Mars felt doomed. “I expect answers to my questions, Cinq-Mars.”
“Yes, sir,” he murmured.
“You’re gung ho?”
He hated to admit it, and knew how foolish he must sound. “Yes, sir.” “A little more gung-ish than ho-ish,” Anik added, then deliberately poked her cheek out with her tongue.
“Anik,” her mother censored her. “I’ve made an inquiry, Cinq-Mars.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re off duty.”
“He’s off duty!” Anik shot back. “I told you. He’s insane. I know what this is. I’m being stalked.”
“You’re off duty,” Touton repeated, not taking his eyes off the young cop.
“Yes, sir,” Cinq-Mars managed to squeak out.
“So what are you doing here?”
“I’m … trying to make an arrest, sir.”
“Off duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because you’re gung ho.”
Cinq-Mars paused. He felt miserable. “Yes, sir.”
“How?”
“Sir?”
“I want to know how you’re planning to make this arrest, Officer Cinq-Mars. Did you steal a squad car?”
He knew he wouldn’t be let off the hook anytime soon.
“No, sir. I don’t have a squad car.”
“How do you plan to get your suspect downtown?”
“Well, sir, it’s a problem. I don’t have enough money for a cab—”
Anik interrupted, “A cab? I don’t want to be arrested in a cab! I want a squad car—you know, with a siren, flashing lights, all that.”
Her mother was chuckling away.
“The métro’s not running,” Touton pointed out to his officer. “Is it your intention to take a bus?”
“A bus. I won’t be taken to jail on a bus. Come on. This is humiliating.”
Cinq-Mars and Touton were locked in a visual hold, like a pair of wrestlers. “How?” the older man asked again.
“Sir,” Cinq-Mars began, and cleared his throat. “I was planning to walk.”
“Walk!” Anik hollered. “Walk?”
“Anik,” her mother said, but she was in the midst of a laughing fit herself.
“I’m sorry, but this is an indignity,” Anik proclaimed, milking the officer’s discomfort. “My first arrest, and I have to walk, for miles, to the police station. Uh-uh. No way. I’m not going.”
Cinq-Mars held his head down. He knew that he was at the mercy of his superior officer, who probably had more indignities in store for him.
“So you must admit, Cinq-Mars, that this is a trifle …” He hesitated in his search for the appropriate word. “… unusual.”
“I suppose so, sir. Yes.”
“All right.” He looked at Anik, then back at the young man in uniform. “Now let’s consider what prompted this unusual behaviour.”
“There’re only two explanations,” Anik made known. “He’s insane—and man, I’ve got a lot of evidence to back that up—or—”
“Or?” Touton encouraged her.
“This is the argument I’m inclined to buy into myself,” Carole stated.
“Which is?” Touton pressed.
“He has a thing for me,” Anik revealed.
“I’m sorry?” Touton asked.
“He has a crush on me. He’s taken a tumble. He thinks he’s in love. He’s obsessed with me. It’s the only plausible explanation.”
The men shared a glance again. “There is another option,” Touton proposed.
Cinq-Mars lifted his head. He was encouraged by Touton’s tone, sensing that he might have a modicum of hope in this situation, yet at the same time he prepared himself for further defeats. “What’s that, sir?”
“Anik’s behaviour this evening may have justified your response.”
Swiftly, in a twinkling, the embattled young officer felt that he had finally come home. Life as a policeman had not lived up to his expectations. At the academy, he had found a surprising number of candidates to be dim-witted or sour, while others were susceptible to bullying or an antisocial manner. Still others he was tempted to arrest on the spot, as a precaution, for it was hard, coming from the country, to distinguish these ruffians from the ones he was expected to incarcerate. He had yearned to graduate, and had placed his hope on entry to the police department itself.
Being a cop had its moments. He enjoyed walking a beat, but he was still adjusting to older officers who seemed worn and bedraggled, and to the acrimony between men who wore the uniform and those in plain clothes. Officers often deployed more energy screwing each other up than to investigating crimes, and he’d been deflated by duty officers who weren’t the least bit interested in the minor crimes he successfully addressed. Police work, he was discovering, was a bit like fishing. If the catch wasn’t big enough, throw it back in.
Suddenly, he was in a room with a real detective. He hadn’t had opportunity to be in the company of one before. More importantly, the man had demonstrated a talent for interrogation. He kept everyone on their toes, yet off guard at the same time. He had to watch himself here, track his own progress, but Cinq-Mars didn’t care. This man had displayed attributes that defined his notion of quality police work. Explore the possibilities. Get to the bottom of things. Gently allow the truth to surface. Cinq-Mars made a quick mental note to himself to b
e especially honest here, even if it cost him. He wanted to impress this man. He wanted to work with him someday. He wanted to prove himself worthy of that.
“I didn’t do so much,” Anik responded, suddenly put on the defensive. “It’s not like I was a factor, or anything.”
“But what did you do? Let’s start with that.”
She was saved by the bell, for the phone rang.
“It’s probably for me,” Armand Touton said quietly to Carole.
After responding, and listening, she held out the receiver to the detective.
He struggled up, feeling the pain from old wounds that had been aggravating him lately, and grunted into the mouthpiece, “Touton.” Momentarily, he said, “What?” indicating such surprise that he garnered the attention of those in the room. “Animal husbandry?” He hung up without another word, putting the phone down gently in the cradle, looking as though his mind was far away.
Turning, he gazed at Cinq-Mars and repeated, “Animal husbandry?”
“What?” asked Anik. She was thankful for the reprieve, the attention being taken off her.
Touton returned to the sofa where he’d been sitting and pulled a hand through his thinning hair. Normally, he worked until dawn, so the early-morning hour did not weary him, although the rioting, as always, had been exhausting in its way. Chaos in any form demanded an array of decisions amid a bombardment of surprising information. He enjoyed being at the centre of big events, but after they concluded, an inevitable weariness caught up to him. More so these days, he thought, as he got older.
“Tell me what you did tonight, Anik. How did you break the law? Tell me why I shouldn’t allow this man to arrest you and walk you five miles to headquarters.”
“It’s farther than that. You wouldn’t let him—”
“Tell me what you did tonight, please.”
She fidgeted. Cinq-Mars noticed, for he’d only seen her as feisty and volatile. She turned sulky.
“I threw the first rock. Okay? Is that such a big deal? I threw it at Trudeau. Yes, the prime minister. So what? I missed, I’m sorry to say. I hit the steps. One rock. Which missed. So arrest me for that, for throwing a rock at a concrete building and causing no damage whatsoever.”
“Officer Cinq-Mars will be the one to determine the charges. Why did you throw the rock?”