Free Up in Smoke by Ross Pennie Page B

Wednesday.”
    He rolled his eyes. Just in time for Halloween. How appropriate. Was she coming in on a broom?
    â€œAnd I’d like to see Max.”
    His heart rate doubled. “Remember what the judge said.”
    Any visit had to be supervised. “I understand, Zol. I’ll do whatever you say.”
    He’d never heard her so compliant. In the two years they’d been married she’d never agreed with him. Not even once. What was she on?
    â€œThey have ashrams in Cambodia?”
    â€œMonasteries. I’m a Buddhist nun and have learned a lot about myself and my place in this life and the next. And I’m ready to see Max. All of him. And hug him. And hold his . . . you know.”
    Francine had freaked at the distortion of Max’s left arm caused by the stroke at the time of his birth. The doctors blamed her cocaine addiction for Max’s isolated brain injury. She’d never properly cuddled him, rarely changed his diapers, and flatly refused to touch his spastic left hand.
    â€œHave you thought about where you’re going to stay?” It didn’t matter. Her plans were always half-baked.
    â€œI’m not sure yet. Probably with Allie.”
    She’d said that last time and nothing happened. “Tell Allie to call me.”
    â€œYou’ll let me see Max?”
    He couldn’t stop her. But he wouldn’t tell Max about the visit until he was certain it was going to happen.
    They ended the call, and he pulled two loonies from his blazer. He flipped the coins and took deliberate, even breaths until his heart rate began to slow. It was amazing how quickly that woman got under his skin.
    He was still flipping the loonies when the phone rang again. The call display showed a Toronto area code. His gut tightened when he recognized the number: the Ministry of Health head office.
    â€œSzabo,” said Dr. Elliott York. “I got a call from Jed Conroy. Reeve of Norfolk County. Holds Simcoe Health Unit’s purse strings. That means, after me, he’s your boss.”
    Zol squirmed on his chair. A complaint already? But what was the reeve of Norfolk County doing talking to Zol’s boss in Toronto?
    â€œJed’s in my brother-in-law’s poker group,” Elliott York continued. “Apparently six or seven kids in his county have come down with liver failure. A couple of deaths. All at —”
    â€œYes, it’s six cases, all at one high school. Erie Christian Collegiate. Natasha Sharma, our best field epidemiologist, made a site visit there first thing this morning. We’ve got a big meeting planned with everyone concerned tomorrow, bright and early.”
    â€œJed wanted me to pass along a little friendly advice.” If Elliott York was impressed at Zol’s command of the details, his voice wasn’t showing it. “He says that school is in tiger territory.”
    â€œI don’t think I understand, sir?”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, man. Do I have to spell it out?”
    â€œDr. York?”
    â€œLots of Native kids there. From Grand Basin Reserve. With parents who know their rights. And know how to work the system.”
    â€œAnd that makes a difference to our work?”
    â€œI’m just saying . . . Be careful.”
    â€œI think I always work carefully.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Szabo. I’m not talking science.” York was now whispering into the phone. “You find anything implicating the shenanigans we all know go on at Grand Basin, you’d be wise to tread carefully. Very carefully.” Zol pictured Elliott York dwarfed by the enormous rosewood desk he somehow kept free of clutter. The desk was legendary, as was his thing for blown-glass kitsch, which he displayed in his office on every other possible surface. “Sometimes it’s better to turn a blind eye than to get the other one poked out.”
    The chief MOH for the province of Ontario was telling him to