Reichs, Kathy - Death Du Jour

Then there was silence. In a moment, Jeannotte returned, but did not sit.

“Students,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.

“Let me guess. He needs more time to finish his paper.”

“Nothing ever changes.” She looked at her watch. “So, Tempe, I hope your visit has been helpful. You will take care of the diaries? They are very dear.” I was being dismissed.

“Of course. I’ll return them by Monday at the latest.” I rose, slid Jeannotte’s materials into my briefcase, and collected my jacket and purse.

She smiled me out of the room.

In winter, the Montreal sky displays mainly gray tones, shifting from dove, to iron, to lead, to zinc. When I stepped out of Birks Hall moist clouds had turned the day a dull pewter.

I slung my purse and briefcase over my shoulder, stuffed my fists into my pockets, and turned downhill into a raw, damp wind. Before I’d taken twenty steps tears filled my eyes, making it hard to see. As I walked, an image of Fripp Island flashed across my mind. Palmetto palms. Sea oats. Sunlight glinting on the marsh.

Knock it off, Brennan. March is windy and cold in many parts of the planet. Stop using the Carolinas as a baseline against which to measure the weather of the world. It could be worse. It could be snowing. With that, the first fat flake struck my cheek.

As I opened the car door, I looked up to see a tall young man staring at me from the far side of the street. I recognized the parka and muffler. The hunched form was that of David, Jeannotte’s unhappy visitor.

Our gazes locked for a moment, and the raw anger in his eyes startled me. Then, without a word, the student turned and hurried off down the block. Unnerved, I climbed into the car and locked the doors, thankful he was Jeannotte’s problem and not mine.

On the drive back to the lab my mind went through its usual paces, rehashing the immediate, and worrying about things undone. Where was Anna? Should Sandy’s concerns about a cult be seriously considered? Was Jeannotte right? Were satanic cults little more than youth clubs? Why had I not asked Jeannotte to elaborate on her remark that Anna was safe? Our conversation had gotten so fascinating I’d been sidetracked from asking further about Anna. Was that deliberate? Was Jeannotte purposefully concealing something? If so, what and why? Was the professor merely shielding her student from outsiders prying into a personal matter? What was Anna’s “impossible home situation”? Why did David’s behavior seem so sinister?

How would I ever get through the ledgers by Monday? My flight was at 5 P.M. Could I finish the Nicolet report today, do those for the babies tomorrow, and work through the ledgers on Sunday? No wonder I had no social life.

By the time I got to rue Parthenais, steadily falling snow was sticking to the street. I found a parking spot just outside the door, and said a prayer that the car wouldn’t be plowed in when I came back.

The air in the lobby felt steamy and smelled of wet wool. I stomped my boots, contributing to the slick, shallow pool of melted snow spreading across the floor, and punched for an elevator. On the ride up I tried to clean streaked mascara from my lower lids.

There were two pink message slips on my desk. Sister Julienne had called. No doubt she wanted reports on Anna and Élisabeth. I wasn’t ready on either. Next. Ryan.

I dialed and he answered.

“Long lunch.”

I checked my watch. One forty-five.

“I’m paid by the hour. What’s up?”

“We’ve finally tracked down the owner of the house in St-Jovite. Guy’s name is Jacques Guillion. He’s from Quebec City, but moved to Belgium years ago. His whereabouts remain unknown, but a Belgian neighbor says Guillion has been renting the St-Jovite place to an old lady named Patrice Simonnet. She thinks the tenant is Belgian, but isn’t sure. She says Guillion also provides the tenant with cars. We’re running a check.”

“Pretty well-informed neighbor.”

“Apparently they were close.”

“The burned body from the basement could be Simonnet.”

“Could be.”

“We got good dental X-rays during the post. Bergeron has them.”

“We’ve given the name to the RCMP. They’re working with Interpol. If she’s Belgian, they’ll track her.”

“What about the other two bodies in the main house and the two adults with the babies?”

“We’re working on it.”

We both thought for a moment.

“Pretty big place for one old lady.”

“Looks like she wasn’t all that alone.”

I spent the next two hours in the histology lab teasing the last of the tissue from the babies’ ribs and examining them under the microscope. As I’d feared, there were no unique nicks or patterns in the bone. There was nothing I could say except that the killer had used a very sharp knife with a blade which was not serrated. Bad for the investigation. Good for me. The report would be brief.

I’d just returned to my office when Ryan called back.

“How about a beer?” he asked.

“I don’t keep beer in my office, Ryan. If I did, I’d drink it.”

“You don’t drink.”

“Then why are you asking me for beer?”

“I’m asking if you’d like one. Could be green.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you Irish, Brennan?”

I glanced at my wall calendar. March 17. The anniversary of some of my best performances. I didn’t want to remember.

“Can’t do it anymore, Ryan.”

“It’s a generic way of saying ‘Let’s take a break.’”

“Are you asking me for a date?”

“Yes.”

“With you?”

“No, with my parish priest.”

“Wow. Does he cheat on his vows?”

“Brennan, do you want to meet me for a beverage this evening? Alcohol-free?”

“Ryan, I—”

“It’s St. Paddy’s Day. It’s Friday night and snowing like a sonof-abitch. Got a better offer?”

I didn’t. In fact, I had no other offers. But Ryan and I often investigated the same cases, and I’d always had a policy of keeping work and home separate.

Always. Right. I’d been separated and living on my own less than two years of my adult life. And they hadn’t been banner ones for male companionship.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

There was a pause. Then,

“We got a break on Simonnet. She popped right up on the Interpol search. Born in Brussels, lived there until two years ago. Still pays taxes on a piece of property in the countryside. Loyal old gal, went to the same dentist her whole life. The guy’s been in practice since the Stone Age, keeps everything. They’re faxing the records. If it looks like a match, we’ll get the originals.”

“When was she born?”

I heard a paper flip.

“Nineteen-eighteen.”

“That fits. Family?”

“We’re checking.”

“Why did she leave Belgium?”

“Maybe she needed a change of scenery. Look, champ, if you decide you do, I’ll be at Hurley’s after nine. If there’s a line, use my name.”

I sat awhile, thinking about why I’d said no. Pete and I had reached an accord. We still loved each other, but couldn’t live together. Separated, we were once again able to be friends. Our relationship hadn’t been as good in years. Pete was dating, I was free to do the same. Oh, God. Dating. The word raised images of acne and braces.

To be honest, I found Andrew Ryan extremely attractive. No zits or orthodontics. A definite plus. And technically we didn’t work together. But I also found him extremely annoying. And unpredictable. No. Ryan is trouble.

I was finishing my report on Malachy and Mathias when the phone rang again. I smiled. O.K., Ryan. You win.

The voice of a security guard told me I had a visitor in the downstairs lobby. I looked at my watch. Four-twenty. Who would be coming this late? I didn’t remember making any appointments.