With no reservation, the rental process took over an hour. I didn’t ask why.

Edmonton is Canada’s answer to Omaha. Solid, unassuming, and surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. It’s a place that makes you think of sensible shoes.

We saw a lot of the city en route to RCMP K Division headquarters. At first I offered directions based on GPS maps I pulled up on my phone. Ryan neither acknowledged nor followed my suggestions. Eventually, I gave up and focused on the world sliding past my window. The view involved a whole lot of brick.

It was nine-forty when we finally turned onto 109th Street. My stomach was whining that I should have had a sandwich with Ryan. I ignored it.

After presenting ID and explaining our destination to a commissionaire who maintained an attitude of near-terminal severity, Detective Sunshine and I were issued clip-on badges stamped with very large T’s. Feeling decidedly temporary and untrusted, we followed a corporal onto an elevator and ascended in silence. At an office marked Project KARE, our escort indicated that we might proceed on our own.

Ryan opened and held the door for me. I pointedly waited for him to go first.

The setup looked a lot like Ryan’s home base at Wilfrid-Derome. Not that the RCMP would call it a squad room. Here it was an office. No matter. Like the crimes that necessitate their existence, such spaces share a depressing uniformity no matter the locale. Same in-boxes, foul coffee, and memorabilia.

At ten P.M. the place was deserted.

Ollie’s desk was off to one side. He was at it, shoulder-cradling a phone. On hearing the door, he looked up and gestured us to him.

As we approached, Ollie foot-dragged a chair into position beside one already facing his desk. He did not look happy. Ryan and I sat.

Ollie’s end of the conversation continued staccato. “When? Where?” Finally, “Shit. Keep on it.”

The receiver smacked home with a crack.

“They lost her.”

Ryan and I waited for elaboration.

“Ruben hung around the Tim Hortons until noon. Then she walked to Northlands.”

“What’s Northlands?” I asked.

“I guess you’d call it an entertainment complex. Sports events, horse racing, rodeos, slots, trade shows.”

“Modern opiate for the masses,” Ryan said.

“That’s one way to look at it.”

I remembered. Ollie liked horse racing and rodeos.

“Rich pickings for the sex trade,” Ryan said.

“It’s a problem area.” Terse. Ollie was winging a pen up and down in his fingers. Its tip struck the blotter with agitated tics. “Ruben slept on a bench in Borden Park for most of the afternoon. At five she went back to the donut shop. At seven she walked to Rexall Place.”

“Why didn’t they bag her?”

“Those weren’t their orders.”

Ryan was about to snipe again. I cut him off. “What’s Rexall Place?”

Ollie looked at me, then did the little chin-up thing. “Hello? The Edmonton Oilers?”

“It’s a sports arena.” Ryan’s tone was totally flat.