Get a move on.” There was no answer, but feet began thumping down the stairs. Without turning around Bonny called, “Where’s Jason?” The radio was playing softly beside the sink and she reached with a soapy hand to shut it off. “An aboriginal man claims that he’d been driven by the police to the outskirts of the city Thursday night, and left to walk back—” She pulled her hand back, soap bubbles sliding from her wrist onto the counter. “I dunno,” Pam answered in a singsong voice, always happiest before figure-skating practice. “Com-ing, I guess.” “He says that the policemen also took his jacket. It was forty below that night. He says that he pounded on the door of the power plant until the night watchman—” She could tell by the muffled thuds and exclamations that Jason was at the back door now, too. Pam had stopped humming and the two of them were into the did-not-did-too-did-not quarrelling they seemed to do in their sleep, but which had been especially bad this winter with Ross gone from the farm all week.
