“Arty didn’t tell me shit.”

“And you didn’t ask.”

“No.”

“I’m guessing he was heading out to deliver more product. That’s why he came here, right? You’re on the spike, aren’t you, princess?”

“Screw you and the questions you galloped in on.”

“How about I give you a ride to the cage?”

“Because my boyfriend got shot?”

“What do you suppose we’ll find in the house?”

“A shitpot of cat hair.”

Anger bunched the muscles below Ollie’s temples. He knew Twiller was right. She’d have flushed any drugs before calling the cops.

Ollie’s brusqueness was getting us nowhere. I caught Ryan’s eye and tipped my head toward the house. He dipped his chin in understanding.

“How about you show me the vic?” Ryan suggested.

Ollie nodded. Told Twiller to stay put.

I watched them weave through the melee of cops and technicians swarming the cul-de-sac.

“My condolences for your loss,” I said to Twiller.

For the first time, she glanced my way. In the pulsing red light, her mouth looked taut, her cheeks stretched and hollow. “Right” was all she said.

“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Arty?” I asked.

Twiller drew her right arm across her belly, rested her left elbow on it, and began chewing a thumb cuticle that already looked raw.

Behind us, I saw Ollie and Ryan join a woman standing over Castain. Under the bright spots, the logo on her jacket was easily recognizable.

In the Northwest Territories, all sudden deaths are investigated by the Coroners Service, a division of the Department of Justice. The service has its main office in Yellowknife and roughly forty coroners throughout the territory. The NWT has no staffed facility for performing postmortems.

I knew that the deputy chief coroner was a woman named Maureen King. I guessed I was looking at her. And that she would order Castain’s body transported to the office of Alberta’s chief medical examiner in Edmonton for autopsy.

“Had Arty argued with anyone?” I asked Twiller. “Made anyone mad?”

Twiller shook her head.

“Received any strange phone calls or visitors?”

“I already told the other cop. We didn’t hang out that much.”

“Was Arty seeing other women?”

“We weren’t going steady, if that’s what you mean.” Twiller swiped both palms down her cheeks. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“I know.”

“Do you? What the hell do you know?”

“I’m sorry.”

Ten yards beyond us, King lifted a corner of the sheet. Ryan dropped to a crouch for a closer look at Castain.

“It’s that bastard Unka.” She said it so softly I almost didn’t hear.

“Excuse me?”

“Unka thought Arty was skimming.”

“Arty told you that?”

“I overheard a conversation. When he’s pissed, he gets ugly.”

“Unka.”

She nodded.

“Ugly enough to kill?”

“He’d gut-stab his mother, then order up pizza.”

*  *  *