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director of communications to the Liberal leader, was bent over his laptop in a corner of the lobby, his narrow shoulders hunched, jabbing at the keyboard as he caught up on emails. He glanced up occasionally at a closed-circuit TV that showed the feed from the House.
    Godin was a veteran researcher and spinner, a servant to three Liberal leaders, each less successful than the last. A professional with a modest ego, good judgement and a boundless appetite for work, he had stayed scrupulously neutral in the internecine battles that heralded the coming and going of leaders and their chiefs of staff, and he had risen steadily as others came and went in waves of purges, becoming an increasingly powerful figure in an increasingly ineffective political organization.
    While Pinsent’s eyes darted around the lobby, casting about for his director of communications, Godin fought the urge to duck out. Pinsent had spied him and strode toward him now, trailed by Liberal House Leader Wayne Dumaresque, who was holding his cell phone up like an exhibit at a trial.
    Godin sat up straight and arranged his angular features to show alert curiosity as the two politicians walked up to him.
    “Stevens is announcing his resignation,” said Pinsent. “The news just leaked.”
    Dumaresque was holding up his phone, Godin supposed, to show how they had learned the news.
    “Stevens is out?” said Godin.
    “We need to rewrite the questions,” said Dumaresque.
    “This is great news,” said Pinsent. “This changes everything.”
    “Yes sir,” said Godin. “It does.”
    “We need to rewrite the opening questions,” said Dumaresque.
    “When is he going to announce it?” asked Godin.
    “NTV says he’s going to hold a news conference after Question Period,” said Dumaresque.
    “Well that’s ridiculous,” said Pinsent. “He should announce it to Parliament first.”
    Dumaresque nodded.
    “We should hit him on that.”
    “I don’t know,” said Godin. “I’m not sure we should hit him today, not personally. His supporters are going to be sad to see him go. Our supporters are going to be glad to see the back of him. No point hitting a sour note.”
    Pinsent shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly. His cheeks coloured.
    “This fits into the pattern of his disdain for Parliament,” he said. “Even now, when he’s announcing his departure, he shows his lack of respect for this chamber. It goes to his hidden agenda.”
    Pinsent looked from Godin to Dumaresque and back.
    “Can you bang out something like that?” he asked.
    Godin sucked hard at his cheeks. “Sure,” he said. “But I’ll have to be fast. We haven’t got much time.”

    Sophie Fortin was waiting on the steps under the Peace Tower when Ashton pulled up in an unmarked police cruiser. Ashton could tell it was Sophie because of her pale face and anxious look. Jesus , Ashton thought. So young and vulnerable . She had to be twenty-five, but she looked twelve, a tiny girl in heavy makeup, high-heeled boots, a fashionably tailored winter coat, looked like it was from Montreal, and a laptop bag slung from her shoulder.
    Ashton got out of the car.
    “Sophie?” she said. “I’m Detective Sergeant Ashton.”
    Sophie stepped down to the car and Ashton opened the passenger door for her.
    “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” she said as Sophie settled into the passenger’s seat.
    “How is he? How’s Ed?” said Sophie, looking straight ahead. “I want to see him.”
    “I’m going to take you there now,” said Ashton, putting the car into gear. “It’s probably better that the doctor explain the situation to you. Ed was pulled from the Rideau Canal early this morning. We don’t know how he ended up in the water, but I can tell you that he nearly died and he hasn’t regained consciousness.”
    Sophie started to cry, her face crumpling in sorrow, tears dripping off her nose, her makeup running as she dug through her purse for a tissue.
    Ashton drove in