Irreprehensibilis est. (This place was made by God, a priceless sacrament. It is beyond reproach.) — The Mass, Graduale I I made a pass by Tim Hortons the next Monday morning hoping to see Sergeant Moody Walker, but there was no sign of him. I had better luck in the afternoon. I was just about to give up when I spied him lumbering in from the parking lot. When he had his coffee, I raised my cup and he came over to join me. “How have you been, Moody? I hear you’ve retired.” “Bored. Dull. After all the long nights on surveillance, you’d think I’d be glad of the spare time. But I’m not much of a man for spare time.” “Don’t tell me you miss work. The rest of us live for the day we don’t have to pick up a pen or take a call ever again.” “I do miss it.” “I wish I had a job I loved that much,” I said to him.
