Free The Ambitious City by Scott Thornley

the army?”
    “Did he have friends in Tonawanda?”
    “Only army buddies. He came here to get trained as a carpenter, and then the economy blew apart—not just for us, but for the guys he was going into construction with. It all just faded away.”
    “Would they get together at your house?”
    “No, only at Old Soldiers. It’s a roadhouse on the outskirts of Tonawanda. Gary never drank much in the army, but up here … Well, it was all different.”
    “Did you ever meet any of his friends or go to Old Soldiers with him?” MacNeice wrote
Old Soldiers
in his book and added two question marks.
    “No, my job is here with our kids.”
    “How are you getting by, Ms. Hughes?”
    “If you mean moneywise, terrible. V.A. cut off his pension because they believe his disappearance was voluntary, which means they think he ran off with another woman—”
    “And you don’t?”
    “Not Gary …” Her breathing was heavy again, and he could hear by the static that she was wiping her eyes or nose. “Are you on welfare?”
    “Yes. I had no choice.”
    “I apologize for upsetting you with this call.”
    “Please, Detective, I know you’re not being straight with me”—she was sobbing into the phone now—“Just tell me, what’s happened? Where’s Gary?”
    “I can’t say any more at the moment, but I promise you we’ll talk again soon.” Before he hung up he heard another voice, perhaps the eldest son, asking his mother what was wrong.
    MacNeice returned to the cubicle and briefed Williams. When he’d finished, he added Sue-Ellen’s name to the whiteboard, noting the three kids, below her husband’s. “As bad as that was, much worse is to come for Ms. Hughes.”
    “Here’s his official portrait, sir.” Ryan handed MacNeice a printout: a head-and-shoulders portrait of a soldier standing in front of the American flag.
    What struck MacNeice were the piercing eyes—dark and wise, absent of fear, malice or concern—studying the lens as if it were movement on a distant hill. His jaw was tucked in slightly and there was a clean leanness to him, the skin stretched tight over bone and sinew: a professional warrior. His mouth, while tight, betrayed neither hubris nor pride, nor a menacing suggestion of his abilities in combat. The uniform was crisp and impeccable.
    The sad irony of the
Hamilton-Scourge
Project suddenly struck MacNeice. It had begun with the death of American servicemen, and now it appeared to have something to do with the death of one more, almost two centuries later. He taped the image to the whiteboard. “Along with those skeletons of the crews on the bottom ofthe lake, I’d like my genie to arrange for Gary Robert Hughes to be repatriated with full military honours, and to see that his wife gets his pension retroactively.”
    “Might be tough if he was up to his eyes in dirty work,” Williams said.
    “History’s what gets reported. Depending on what we find, perhaps we’ll be able to report that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

10 .
    A FTER MANY ATTEMPTS , Taaraa Ghosh had finally perfected her timing. She knew with certainty the moment her mother would appear at the top of the stairs. As well, she would speak to Taaraa before leaving the apartment to confirm that she was leaving right away. It wasn’t that she was worried about her mother or that the stairs leading down from the mountain were dangerous. She simply enjoyed sitting on the bench near the bottom, taking a few minutes to enjoy the sounds of birds, then looking up to see her mother crest the top of the mountain, waving to her in wide arcs as if she were flagging down a passing ship. That simple joy never failed to bring tears to her eyes. It was the certainty of seeing her, and being seen by her, that overwhelmed Taaraa.
    Her mother had experienced much pain in her lifetime, enough pain for several lifetimes. And although they shopped for food together and took the bus out to the big-box store for everything