Lyle Dolan was from Winnipeg and his family had held a small, private service for him in Manitoba. Trudy’s family was from Brooks and Medicine Hat, and Fortin estimated that nearly two hundred people had crowded into that church. Following the burial, mourners gathered for the reception at the Prairie Winds Community Hall. Trudy’s mother, Belva Porter, and her daughter, June, sat in chairs in the entrance while other relatives stood near them. Together they’d formed the funeral receiving line.

Fortin and Cathy took their place in the long line, which had wound outside, around the hall, and into the parking lot. It moved slowly and he’d noticed the funeral director’s staff delicately attempting to keep it flowing by gently, respectfully, asking people to keep their condolences brief.

But Fortin needed to do more than console Trudy’s family. As the line inched along, he sorted through his emotions and his brow moistened. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder, turned and saw his inspector and superintendent, wearing civilian suits, rather than full dress.

They’d greeted Fortin and Cathy with a subtle coolness. Fortin turned further and saw two other senior officers from K-Division Headquarters down the line behind them. At times, the inspector and superintendent looked for news cameras as they’d kept their voices low.

“How you holding up, Will?” his superintendent asked.

“I’m taking it moment by moment.”

“That’s all you can do,” the superintendent said.

“Will, why’d you come?” his inspector asked.

“I wanted to speak to the family.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, given that we have an ongoing investigation?”

He felt Cathy squeeze his hand.

“I know what I have to do. I need to be here.”

The senior officers were half-blocking Fortin and he’d indicated that the line ahead had moved.

“Excuse us, sirs,” he said.

The senior officers hesitated then stepped aside.

As Fortin and his wife got closer to the family he’d heard people saying: “I’m so sorry for your loss.” “Trudy was such a wonderful mother, such beautiful children.” “She’s at peace with her babies.” “We’re so sorry.” “We’re praying for you.”

Then Fortin found himself standing before Trudy’s mother and her sister. His moment had come to do what he needed to do. He looked into their faces, ashen, broken, crimson veins webbing their tear-stained eyes. He knew the two women were lost in their grief but he desperately needed to break through, needed them to hear him.

Fortin took Belva Porter’s hand.