Yes, I will accept the charges.” Alvin held his hand over the receiver and shot me a meaningful look. “It’s my mother, it’s quite personal. Would you mind waiting outside for a couple of minutes?” It was Monday morning at ten, and I was still standing in the doorway of Justice for Victims, clutching my muffin and coffee. I opened my mouth just as Alvin reached over and closed the door. I sat on the stair sipping my coffee, nibbling my muffin and listing all of the things I would like to do to Alvin. I’d finished the coffee, the muffin and the list, and was getting up to go back in to insert the telephone somewhere painful, when I heard the “excuse me.” It was What’s-his-name. “Oh, hello, um…” I said. “Ted. Ted Beamish. You remember, I ran into you the other day outside the Parole Board Office.” “Right.” “We talked about having a coffee together sometime when we ran into each other.” Well, he had talked about it. “I saw on the news that you and Robin Findlay were there right at the scene of the Mitzi Brochu murder.
