Seven Days Dead by John Farrow

Lescavage?”
    “Yes, Reverend Lescavage.”
    “Eviscerated. I could have said gutted. Or filleted. His entrails are all over the ground.”
    “Jesus H—Okay. A big word. An educated man’s word, if I may say so.”
    Roadcap does not rise to the bait.
    “And you can take me to see him now?”
    “If you’re driving, the shortest way up is via the Whistle. We can walk in from there.”
    “ Via. That’s another word. Although a short one. You didn’t come down here by that way, did you? You didn’t take the Whistle Road into town.”
    “No, sir. I came in over Seven Days Work.”
    “Why?”
    “Why? Because that’s the way I was already going. It’s what I planned to do.”
    “But it was shorter if you backtracked and came down from the Whistle, no?”
    “Sure. Shorter. That would be shorter.”
    “Then why not—”
    “He was already dead, sir. Reverend Lescavage. I couldn’t do anything for him by taking the shorter route.”
    “Then why not take it anyway, is what I’m asking.”
    “That’s not the way I was walking. I just came in the way I was coming in. And—”
    “Go on.”
    “I suppose. Did I really want to walk back through the campers? They might’ve done it, right? Eviscerated that man. Did I really want to walk back through them?”
    The officer puts his book away. He’s not sure how he’s going to handle this, how his internal system will react—what the experts on the subject call his “psyche.” He has qualms about his nerves, his endurance, the side-swiping impact of an unforeseen depression. What memories might be evoked by all this? An evisceration. Will everything he’s gained over the last three years be sabotaged in the blink of an eye, in a glimpse of a man’s entrails? He wants to just go and sit by the sea instead. Maybe like this man does sometimes, out in a storm. He could send his partner in his place, but he’s in command here with a job to do, and perhaps this is a test. Get back on the job, Mounties say. This is his chance to find out if he can really do that.
    “All right,” he tells Roadcap. “Take me up there. Just let me have a word with my partner.”
    “Sure thing, Corporal. Whenever you’re ready.”
    He doesn’t know if the man is being sarcastic with him, but he might be.
    Officer Wade Louwagie speaks to his constable, Réjean Methot, and the two agree to separate. Louwagie is giving the order but the leadership style he’s been trying to nurture requires him to consult first. Methot offers to remain at the Orrock place and keep the peace, given the public’s interest. They don’t want anyone scrawling graffiti on the walls, that’s one thing, but worse than that is also a concern. Worse than that means arson. In recent months, islanders have been enduring a spate of fires, and they don’t particularly want the mansion turned into flames on its fine overlook above the Bay of Fundy in retribution for fifty years of island dominance. The king is dead, and neither officer wants anyone celebrating. Experience has taught that celebration means drinking, and that brings on an excess of exuberance, and after that, just about anything can go down. Louwagie listens, consistent with his new leadership style, but he has a different task in mind. When Methot hears what Roadcap has reported, he accepts the urgency of his next job. If the Orrock home needs protecting, the current occupant will have to provide it on her own.
    Louwagie glances up. He sees that Maddy Orrock has moved off several yards. She is engaged now in a staring contest with Roadcap, who returns her steady gaze without blinking. Corporal Louwagie walks over to her, then past her, then turns to virtually whisper in her ear. He’s secretly fantasizing about what it might be like to make love to a woman so tall who is, for him, quite young. Then he wonders what it might be like to make love to a woman so rich. And what it might be like to make love to any woman again. It’s been a while.