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around. Even so, she left the house reluctantly and paused often to look anxiously back towards the house while they made their tour around the block. Green returned home feeling thoroughly inadequate. The fragrance of cheese blintzes and butter cheered him considerably. He found Hannah in the kitchen, chatting on her cellphone and brandishing a spatula over a frying pan.
    â€œI suppose you want salad too,” she said.
    â€œThat would be nice.”
    â€œHonestly, Mike,” she muttered, and returned her attention to her cellphone.
    He walked up to her and planted a kiss on her blue, curly-topped head. Quickly, before she could duck away. A murmured thanks was as mushy as he dared.
    He set the kitchen table for two, but once Hannah had spooned the food onto two plates, she picked up hers and headed into the living room to turn on the TV . Green opened his mouth to protest, but when the sounds of yet another
Simpsons
rerun filled the room, he gave up in defeat. She would only have sat opposite him in silence anyway, oozing resentment.
    Instead he read the paper while he ate, then fed the dog and cleaned up the kitchen. Weariness began to steal into his bones. What was he coming to, when by ten in the evening he wasready to crawl into bed? He stuck his head into the living room.
    â€œWant some tea?”
    Hannah glanced at him, and he could see the ambivalence play across her face. Why was every single move between them like an elaborate dance, with him bumbling around to learn the steps?
    She shrugged. “As long as you don’t make it too strong, like Sharon’s.”
    Under Sharon’s exacting tutelage, Green had learned to make her version of a perfect cup of tea. He diluted it by half and carried two cups into the living room. The TV was on, but to his surprise Hannah was sitting on the floor surrounded by schoolwork. She didn’t move when he placed her cup at her side. She was actually on track to pass all her courses this semester, a feat she’d never accomplished in the years of living with her mother. He stood over her, wondering if it was safe to comment. Finally, she looked up at him and, to his amazement, flashed a mischievous smile.
    â€œThanks, Mike,” she said, then picked up her cup and book, and disappeared upstairs.
    He sank onto the sofa, propped his feet on the coffee table, and closed his eyes, too tired to figure her out. Brian Sullivan’s advice rang in his ears. “If you love the kid, that’s going to show.” Sullivan was raising three teenagers and had been giving Green a crash course in raising his own these past few months.
    God, he missed Sullivan. He could barely remember a time when the big Irish lunk hadn’t been right at his side, trading theories, sharing rants and dishing out his home-spun wisdom. Full of disillusionment and self-doubt, Sullivan had gone off to another department in search of that elusive promotion. Major Crimes was mostly newcomers now, noneof whom remembered the old days on the streets. Or remembered Twiggy as anyone more than a fat old lady who stuck her cup in your face. And who was on a slow, deliberate march towards death.
    He sat on the sofa, letting the chatter of the CBC National News wash over him. Campaign trail rhetoric, media overkill, yet another poll showing the Liberals trailing the Conservatives by a slim margin. Panic had not yet taken over the Liberal camp, but the mudslinging and cheap promises had ratcheted up a notch. Green tuned it out in disgust. He felt lonely, lost in recollections about Twiggy, and hoping Sharon would be home soon. But long before she arrived, he was fast asleep.

FIVE
    With three murders on the go, an inexperienced staff sergeant in Major Crimes, and a superintendent snapping at his heels, Green was anxious to get an early start the next morning. He left Sharon to contend with the household and picked up a bagel and coffee from Vince’s Bagelshop on his way to the police