KREITINGER SAID FROM HER PLACE AT THE lectern when everyone was back in court after the break. Greene watched Alpine walk to the witness box, his back straight. He was the kind of confident, no-nonsense police witness Crowns and juries loved. After he was sworn, Alpine adjusted his seat, placed his police notebook on the front ledge of the witness stand, and smiled at the jury. Taking his time, he looked over at Kreitinger as casually as a company president sitting down in a boardroom for his weekly staff meeting. Greene had known Alpine in the casual way senior officers got to know each other in a police force as large as Toronto’s. A decade earlier they’d worked out of the same division downtown for a year or two. Alpine had never made it all the way to Homicide, and Greene’s sense of the man was that it didn’t matter to him. After having Alpine run through his impressive work history as a cop, Kreitinger got down to business. “Detective, before I ask you about the events of September tenth, what, if anything, did you discover about the movements of the victim, Ms.
