The Guardians by Andrew Pyper

Author:Andrew Pyper [Pyper, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Thriller
Publisher: Doubleday Canada
Published: 2011-01-04T05:00:00+00:00

From Insomnia, we make our way to the Grimshaw Community Services building, otherwise known as the cop shop. We present ourselves to the receptionist as patrons of Jake’s Pool ’n’ Sports a couple of nights ago, here to answer questions.

“Regarding Tracey Flanagan,” Randy says when the woman doesn’t seem to register either us or what we’ve just said.

“I know what it’s regarding,” she replies. “Have a seat.”

When two officers finally emerge, it’s a Laurel and Hardy pair, a slim fellow with jug ears and a short waddler heaving a basketball around inside his shirt. The big one introduces himself to Randy and takes him down the hall to an interview room, leaving the tall one standing over me, nodding as though something in my appearance has just settled a wager and he’d won.

“Trevor,” he says. And then, when this fails to remove the puzzled expression from my face, he taps the name tag pinned to his shirt. “It’s Barry Tate.”

“Barry. I think I remember.”

“I was a year behind you. We even had a couple of classes together.”

“Hairy Barry,” I say, and then he’s all there. The only kid in school with a handlebar moustache that, unbelievably, actually suited him. “You played hockey too, right?”

“I took your number the season after … after you stopped playing.”

“Did it bring you luck?”

“Eighteen goals.”

“Not bad.”

“Some goon broke my wrist in a game against Kitchener the next year, and that was it for me.”

“Now you’re one of Grimshaw’s finest.”

“Pension, dental, paid holidays. And you get to drive a car with lights on the roof.”

Barry starts down the same hallway, but I have a little trouble lifting myself out of my chair. It brings him back to grip my elbow and heave me up. “You okay?”

“Just a little stiff in the mornings.”

He gives me a look that says he’s not buying that for a second, but hey, a man’s body is his own business. I’m expecting him to make a joke instead, something to brush away the awkwardness, but he just stands there with his hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry about Ben,” he says.

“Me too.”

“I used to see him up there in that window of his. Thought about calling on him, but never did.”

“I’m not sure he would have come to the door.”

“Even so. I feel lousy about it.”

Barry guides me down to an interview room next to the one I can hear Randy giving his statement in (“… delivery guy. Just a boyfriend giving his girl a kiss. Didn’t see much more to it than that …”). Next door, we take our places on opposite sides of a metal table, Barry slapping a notepad onto its scratched surface.

“Okay, then,” he sighs. “Tell me about your night at Jake’s.”

It takes only a minute. Me and Randy having drinks after Ben’s funeral. Todd Flanagan and Vince Sproule there watching the game. And Tracey bringing us pitchers and whiskeys. Other than the pizza-delivery guy, who dropped by to say hello to the girl, nothing to report. And judging

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