Her daughter didn’t argue at all. “I’ll call your father to pick you up,” she said. “He’ll be happy to see you.” “What makes you think this guy won’t show up in Port Dundas?” “He’s not leaving Toronto while I’m still here.” “How does he know you’re still here?” “He just does,” she said. They waited until the bus moved out onto Edward Street and made its turn south toward the expressway. “Let’s see if Toles feels like having a coffee,” she said. Toles met them in the Tim’s. He’d brought Lana Baichwell’s file, like she asked him to. “You been here the whole time?” he asked. “I didn’t realize you guys were from Quebec,” he said, smiling. “Uhh?” said Hazel. “A two-hour lunch? I just figure you must be French.” “Well, actually,” said Hazel, “something interesting came up.” She lowered her voice. “I think we found our girl.” Toles reached carefully into a small black portfolio and drew out the file. “This one, eh?”
