I bundled my clothes, filled out the laundry request form, then dialed Ryan. He asked that I meet him in the restaurant.

When I arrived, Ryan was talking on his cell, seated at the same table I’d occupied a few hours earlier. A mug and six empty sugar packets suggested he’d been there a while.

As I took the chair opposite, the buffet-replacement waitress appeared with a mug and coffeepot. At my nod, she set me up. I considered asking her about Nellie, decided against it.

Based on Ryan’s comments, I guessed he was talking to Ollie.

After disconnecting, he stirred his coffee with a diligence that was truly impressive.

When the silence had gone on way too long, I asked, “That was Ollie?”

Ryan nodded, still working the spoon.

“Discussing Scar’s entrepreneurial aspirations in Yellowknife?”

More nodding and swirling.

“And the local talent.”

“And that.”

Ryan studied the would-be Zen arrangement outside the window.

“You going to brief me?” I asked.

“The main players are Tom Unka and Arty Castain. Unka’s got a jacket thick as a laptop. Castain’s had better luck.”

“They a tag team?”

“Yes.”

“What do they run?”

“Mostly coke, grass, some speed.”

“Unka and Castain are displeased with the prospect of competition?”

Ryan nodded. “And word on the street says both are stone-cold killers.”

I waited.

“A couple years back an ounce-man from Jasper tried freelancing up here. First Unka and Castain sent a warning by killing the guy’s collie. As an added touch, they mailed him the dog’s ears. The guy kept dealing. A bush pilot spotted his body floating facedown in Back Bay three months later.”

“Sans ears.”

“You got it.”

“If Scar wants to expand into Yellowknife, these are the guys he needs to intimidate.” By harming Ruben. I didn’t say it.

“And their clientele.” Ryan sipped his coffee. “The story on Ruben went national.”

The quick change left me in the dust. “What?”

“White,” Ryan said by way of explanation.

My face must have telegraphed my confusion.

“The dick who dimed Okeke.”

“The journalist who phoned the autopsy room?” I was horrified. “He wrote a piece about the Edmonton infant?”

“National Post. And not just Edmonton. All four. The story went viral. Got picked up all over Canada.” Ryan raised his mug in sarcastic salute. “Nothing like dead babies to boost readership and ratings.”

“Wait.” This wasn’t making sense. “How did White get access to confidential information?”

“From us.”

“What?”

“Aurora Devereaux overheard us talking in her flat, sniffed an opportunity, jumped on it. As you suggested to Okeke, Devereaux probably sold her scoop to the highest bidder.”

“Sonofabitch,” I said.

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed.

For a long moment we both stared at the garden.

“You want to explain your thinking this morning?” Cold.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Ryan.”

“Fine.” Two butane flames drilled me with a look. “How was your morning, Dr. Brennan?”