Fall from Grace Read Online Free Page B

later that day. When he hung up Alberg thought about Cassandra, about him and Cassandra, and wondered what that was, anyway—him-and-Cassandra.
    His ex-wife was getting married, on the long weekend in August. In Calgary. To an accountant.
    Alberg pulled out a desk drawer, rested his feet on it, put his hands behind his head and studied the photograph of his daughters that hung on the wall. It was time to take a new one. This one had to be at least six, seven years old. Diana was staying with him for the summer and in a couple of weeks her older sister, Janey, would be joining them for a few days. He could take their picture on a boat, maybe. But he didn’t have a boat. He could rent one. Except they didn’t like boats. They’d grown up in inland places and were distrustful of the ocean.
    Alberg smoothed his hair, pulled in his gut, and tried not to let himself get depressed. It was so damned hot, though.
    He ran his hands over his cheeks and jaw and considered quitting the Force and growing a beard. His hair was getting thin on top, he was pretty sure. It had some gray in it, too. But that wasn’t noticeable, because his hair was blond. If he grew a beard, though, what color would it be? Blond? Gray? Or something else entirely? He kind of liked the idea that it would grow in a different color entirely.
    Yeah, he thought; he’d buy a boat, grow a red beard and retire. He’d spend his days sailing up and down the coast; wearing his new beard, a seaman’s hat and cutoffs. He’d be a character. People would write books about him.
    â€œKnock knock,” said Sid Sokolowski, peering around Alberg’s open door.
    With an effort, Alberg managed not to drop his hands, put his feet on the floor and try to look busy. “Come in,” he said.
    â€œHow’re you doing with the evaluations?” said the sergeant, maneuvering his considerable bulk into the office.
    â€œFine, fine,” said Alberg briskly. He pulled his glasses case out of his shirt pocket. “What’re you up to today, Sid?” he asked, peering at the pile of forms on his desk.
    â€œCouple of B and E’s,” said the sergeant. “Otherwise it’s pretty quiet.”
    â€œIt’s the heat.” Alberg stood up, putting the glasses case back in his pocket. “I’m going into town, have a coffee, touch a few bases here and there.”
    â€œStaff,” said Sid Sokolowski, but Alberg was already out the door, heading for the reception area.
    â€œStaff,” said the sergeant, lumbering close at Alberg’s heels.
    â€œI’m going into town,” Alberg told Isabella, who was just hanging up the phone.
    â€œYou want to look after this?” she said, handing him a piece of paper on which she’d scribbled a message.
    Alberg took it from her, held it at arm’s length. “A ‘death threat’?”
    â€œThat’s what the man said.”
    â€œHere, Staff, I’ll do it,” said Sokolowski, his hand outstretched. “You better get at those evaluations, eh?”
    Alberg looked at him with dignity. “Of course, Sid. Of course I’ll get at them. Just as soon as I’ve dealt with”—he peered again at the piece of paper—“with Mr. Ferguson’s complaint.” He gave Sokolowski a beatific smile, and left.

    A few minutes later, Alberg drove off a gravel road, parked next to a pair of nonfunctioning gas pumps and climbed out of his car. He slammed the door, fanning at the cloud of dust created by his arrival. His skin was sore. It felt thin and insufficient, as if the sun were weakening it.
    Alberg thought about the RCMP volunteers who’d gone to Namibia. That kind of adventure, despite the heat of the African sun, would be good for a man, he thought. Therapeutic. He stood next to his car and looked around him. He felt the heat and listened to the grasshoppers, and he smelled the fragrance of dry grass—he