Ice Lake Read Online Free Page B

disturbed the crime scene, sir. Sir?”
Still seated on the cold wooden bench, Cinq-Mars had raised his hand, his palm aloft for silence. “Say ‘sir’ once more to me in that tone of voice and I’ll shove you down this ice-hole and seal the hatch. Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I can’t.”
The officer chose to say nothing, then turned to leave.
“Wait!” Cinq-Mars advised him.
The aggrieved cop and his mute partner faced him again.
“Check the hole.”
“Excuse me?” Quietly, the officer tacked on, “Sir?”
“Check the hole. This and every other one in the entire ice-village.”
The officer wiped his leather-gloved hand down over his moustache, mulling the advice. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t take orders from you.”
“Fine.” Cinq-Mars abruptly stood. “Be a useless fuck-up Sûreté cop. Screw up another investigation. Go ahead, make uselessness your life’s work. Aspire to being an ignorant dolt, let it be your highest ambition, don’t mind me.”
The patrolman in khaki green was less inclined to leave at that moment. “What’s down that hole?” he asked.
“That’s the point. You don’t know. You should want to find out.”
The young officer considered his options. Leave in a huff. Depart quietly and seek advice elsewhere. Or look down the hole. He decided to beat a rapid retreat.
“What if another body’s down there?” Cinq-Mars addressed the man’s back. “What if bodies are down half a dozen holes in this village? What if you miss that? What if we’ve had a massacre here? How will that look? Doesn’t it scare you that you might miss something so big?”
The man spun on his heel. He was ready to belt his tormentor, but instead sighed heavily, pushed past him and flung open the floorboards to the ice-hole.
Cinq-Mars leaned in behind him. “What do you see?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing!” the officer threw back at him.
“Nothing?”
“An ice-hole. Snow. Ice. Water. Nothing else.”
“Good!” Cinq-Mars tapped him lightly on the shoulder in praise. “Now you know what’s down there. Before, you didn’t. I suggest you do the same thing in every cabin on this lake. If you come up with nothing, at least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’ve done your police work properly. Now get out. If anybody asks, tell them I’m staying put for now.”
The uniformed officers departed, as if escaping Purgatory. Mathers was chuckling to himself and shaking his head.
“What’s up with you?” Cinq-Mars barked.
“Sometimes I wonder how I survived being your rookie partner.”
“Funny you should say that, Bill. Sometimes I wonder why I let you.”
Mathers laughed louder, happy to be somewhat immune when Cinq-Mars rattled his cage. The flue had begun to smoke so he continued to tend the fire while Emile Cinq-Mars closed his eyes, ostensibly napping. They were interrupted by a knock on the door again. Both men waited, but this time the visitor did not barge straight in.
Cinq-Mars opened the door to another uniformed officer, one with rank equivalent to his own. The cop, however, was no older than Mathers, mid-thirties, with a loopy kind of grin, a side-angle smile. It was an infectious grin, which seemed genuine. “Sergeant-Detective Emile Cinq-Mars?” The man was holding out a gloved hand.
The older detective shook it.
“An honour, sir. I’m a big fan. My name is Painchaud—Sergeant Charles Painchaud. I’m the Investigating Officer on this case.”
“Are you, now.”
“So far. May I come in?”
An SQ cop with manners. This was novel. “Please.”
Cinq-Mars introduced him to his partner. Mathersmentally translated his name to mean hot bread, and filed away the mnemonic reference.
“It’s fortunate for us you were on the scene,” Painchaud mentioned. “At least I know that nothing’s been disturbed. Do you fish here often, sir?”
“Several times a year,” Cinq-Mars replied, sizing up this new intruder. He was taken with his manner, and especially with his