Ice Lake Read Online Free Page A

happened on the ice.”
“What?”
“A death. You know how it goes, some old guy drinks himself into a stupor then freezes when his fire goes out. Or he gets excited reeling in a big fish and has a heart attack. It happens every few years. Anyway, there’s too much activity out there, we’re not meeting Cinq-Mars today.”
Lucy was pounding one foot against the other to keep her toes warm. “We should find out what happened, don’t you think? Camille’s there—”
“Not both of us. I will. Go home, Lucy. I’ll give you a ring later.”
“Don’t bother,” she told him. “The day’s shot. I’m going into the city.”
“To do what?”
“Drink. Laugh. Be with people.”
“I warned you, Luce. The coffee has you wired.”
“The situation has me wired. You take it easy. We’ll talk.”
Pensive, Sergeant-Detective Emile Cinq-Mars ground his upper and lower molars together while Bill Matherstended to the wood-burning stove. The junior officer discovered that if he played with the fire and arranged it to one side, less smoke leaked into the cabin, which made breathing more relaxed. Meanwhile the constant tinkering helped pass the time.
When the SQ, arrived, Cinq-Mars didn’t bother going onto the lake to greet them. “What kind of a uniform is that?” he mocked, watching through the frosty glass. “Whose idea was it to dress them up in brown shirts? Doesn’t anybody understand the symbolism?”
“I think they’re meant to be green,” Mathers said, hoping to cool him down.
“Green! Who’re they supposed to be, the Environment Police? Heaven help us if that’s true. Cops should wear blue. True blue. These guys look like something scraped off a pasture.”
Cinq-Mars sat back down awhile, wishing that he still smoked. Twelve years now since his last puff, time that had gone by in an eye-blink. He wasn’t a reformed smoker who had learned to detest smoke. Half the time he wished he still indulged—not for the taste or to feed a craving or for the show, but just to help get him through those hours when he had nothing to do but wait, sit still and be bored, then wait some more.
Both men were startled by a fierce knock. The door sprang open without their invitation.
“Sûreté,” an officer informed them.
“As if we couldn’t tell from the uniform,” Cinq-Mars grumbled.
Mathers showed him a badge in return, and the young officer came in with an even younger, apparently pubescent partner in tow. They’d been told whom they’d find inside, and both men did their best not to appear impressed. They were intent on treating the city cops no differently than nuisance civilians.
“We’re taking down everybody’s name, then releasing them.”
“Releasing?”
“Sending them home. Clearing the site. You’re Cinq-Mars?”
“I’m pleased to meet you. My partner, Bill Mathers. Who’s the Investigating Officer?”
“Sergeant Painchaud is the IO. He just arrived. You know him?”
Cinq-Mars shook his head and surrendered his phone numbers when asked. Mathers did the same.
“All right,” the slightly older of the two said, “you can go now.”
“I’ll stay.”
The officer was lean, arrow-straight, almost gaunt. His thin moustache stood out, a match for his heavy eyebrows. He was filling out his form with a pencil in his left hand, curling his wrist above the line he was inscribing. The remark seemed to fluster him.
“I don’t know. You’re not supposed to. Why would you stay?”
“I’m fishing.”
“I’ll ask about that.”
“Go ahead. In the meantime, Officer, did you know that when addressing a superior from another force it’s customary to use the appellation ‘sir’? It’s a courtesy. Is this news to you?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said, lowering his clipboard to his side and looking Cinq-Mars in the eye. “I didn’t know that, sir. It’s news to me, sir. I’ll ask if you got to leave, sir, although it’s possible Sergeant Painchaud will want to talk to you, sir, to see if you