Free Honour Among Men by Barbara Fradkin

arranged for lunch to be sent up to the incident room, sir,” she said as she led him toward the exit. “I expect you’ll want to get a look at the files right away.”
    Despite her formality, the mischief of Newfoundland still clung to her speech in her flattened vowels and Irish lilt. Green winced at the prospect of police cafeteria sandwiches and wilted celery sticks eaten within the windowless, airless ambiance of a police incident room. “Actually . . .” he said. “I’ve had a rushed morning and a cramped flight. What I’d really like is a proper lunch in a real restaurant, while you tell me about the case in your own words.”
    She looked dubious as she approached the unmarked car sitting at the curb in the pick-up zone. “Inspector Norrich of Special Investigations is planning to join us, sir. At least initially.”
    Green smiled. Policing has its protocol. One inspector deserves another, even though he suspected Norrich knew nothing about the case and had much better things to do.
    He tossed his bag in the trunk and climbed in beside her. “Tell Inspector Norrich that I’m in good hands and don’t want to put him to any trouble. I’ll drop by to keep him apprised after our meeting.”
    Her lips twitched, and her stiff posture eased. “Your first time in Halifax?”
    He nodded. “First time east of Montreal. That’s shameful, I know.”
    â€œIt is. You like seafood?”
    He hesitated, picturing scaly fish with dead eyes staring from the plate. “Does pickled herring count?”
    She actually laughed, a musical trill that almost erased his hunger pangs. “There’s a place down on the harbourfront that serves terrific crab cakes. Worth a barrel of pickled herring.”
    She drove for what seemed like hours through a wooded countryside dotted with lakes. Once they hit civilization, Green was struck by the bright colours of the woodframe houses. The sun shone in a cloudless cobalt sky and glistened off the harbour below. She wove past shabby warehouses and shipyards to the historic downtown waterfront, parked the car and led him onto a wooden boardwalk. She headed straight for a white woodframe restaurant at the edge of the wharf, where the owner greeted her with a huge grin.
    â€œCrab cakes to go, Kate?”
    She shook her head. “I’ve got a newcomer from Ontario with me, Jim. Have you got a table overlooking the waterfront?”
    He led the way through the restaurant and peeked out the back door. Outside, the patio adjoining his restaurant was drenched with afternoon sun. “If you’re brave, I can open up the patio for you.”
    A brisk breeze blew the scent of salt, fish and diesel fumes in off the harbour. Ice crystals still clung to the water’s edge, but already the gulls were circling and the shops were setting out their tourist wares. McGrath cocked a questioning eyebrow at Green, and, not to be branded a wimp, he nodded.
    Her formality slipped away as she settled into her seat. She waved away the menus Jim brought and ordered them both crab cakes with organic greens on the side. When they came, Green was relieved to see no fish heads. The cakes were exquisite, breaking up in his mouth like a feather light mousse. She waited until the magic of the first morsel had passed, then sat back and took a deep breath. Suddenly, she was all business again.
    â€œPatricia Ross was the fiancée of a mechanic named Daniel Oliver.”
    Green reacted to the name with surprise. “Fiancée? Are you sure she wasn’t his wife? She registered as Patti Oliver in Ottawa.”
    She shook her head. “They never got to the altar, unfortunately. Daniel was from down Cape Breton way originally, but he’d come up to Halifax in the mid nineties to find work, and he met Patricia here. But employment was sporadic and money tight, and the last winter he was having trouble keeping body and