Monday Mourning

“You’re asking my opinion?”

Charbonneau nodded.

“Not likely.” I rose.

Charbonneau lumbered to his feet, flipped his coat over one arm, and dug a paper from a pocket. “I’m supposed to give you this.”

The note contained the telephone number left by Mrs. Ballant/ Gallant/Talent, the name Alban Fisher, and an address in Candiac.

“That a phone trace?”

I nodded.

“Someone giving you a hard time?”

“Besides the freak that broke into my condo?”

“Oh, yeah?” Charbonneau’s face tensed.

Mistake.

“It’s nothing. Anyway, Ryan’s got stepped-up surveillance on my place.”

I glanced at the paper Charbonneau had handed me.

“This woman called claiming to know something about the pizza parlor bones.”

“What?”

“Beats me. She said she knew what had gone on in Cyr’s building.”

“You let me know what this lady says as soon as you talk to her. If you don’t reach her today I’ll take a spin out there. And you let me know if anyone hassles you, Doc. I mean it.”

Again, Charbonneau hesitated, longer this time.

“Don’t let Luc get under your skin. He’ll come around. And, Doc, he won’t stand for you being hassled either. You can believe that.”

I wondered.

Having survived the minefield of Charbonneau’s conversation, I should have been prepared for my next surprise. I wasn’t.

When I arrived in the conference room, the five pathologists were deep in discussion.

I mumbled an apology for my late arrival. LaManche slid a photocopy across the table.

Three autopsies had already been assigned. Pelletier got two crack addicts found in the Lionel-Groulx Metro. Morin drew a cyclist crushed by a fire truck.

I flipped a page and glanced quickly through the last two cases.

A man had been discovered facedown below the staircase at the Mont Royal end of Drummond.

Nom de décédé: Inconnu. Unknown.

A woman had been found dead in her bed.

Nom de décédé: Louise Parent

Date de naissance: 1943/6/18

Info.: Mort suspecte

My eyes dropped to the next line.

My heart dropped like a rock.

18

LAMANCHE’S VOICE GREW DISTANT. THE ROOM RECEDED around me.

Jamming one hand into the pocket of my lab coat, I yanked out Charbonneau’s note.

Sweet Jesus!

The address on the phone trace matched the address on the case file.

As I stared at the name, LaManche spoke it.

“Louise Parent.”

Ballant. Gallant. Talent. Parent.

Bands of tension squeezed my chest.

“Who discovered her?”

Everyone turned, surprised at my vehemence.

Wordlessly, LaManche pulled out the police report.

“Claudia Bastillo. The victim’s niece.”

“What happened?”

LaManche read silently for several seconds.

“Madame Bastillo was in the habit of talking regularly with her mother. The mother, Rose Fisher, and the victim, Louise Parent, were sisters, sharing a residence in Candiac.”

LaManche filtered the pertinent facts.

“Over the weekend, Bastillo’s calls went unanswered. Early this morning she went to check and found her aunt dead in bed.”

Dear God! I’d been trying to reach Parent during the same period as her niece!

“Rose Fisher is all right?”

LaManche finished skimming.

“The report says nothing concerning the whereabouts of Madame Fisher. I assume the lady is among the living since she is not on her way here.”

“Cause of death?” I knew it was stupid as soon as I asked it.

LaManche looked up over his glasses.

“That is why Madame Parent is coming to us.”

Questions swirled and tilted.

Foul play or ghastly coincidence? Had Parent been killed, or had she died of natural causes? Was her death related to the calls made to me?

Had the calls been placed by Louise Parent?

Say something? Hold off?

I glanced at the box indicating police jurisdiction.

SQ.

I decided to wait until I’d spoken to the investigating officers. Until LaManche had completed his autopsy.

“Dr. Santangelo, please take the staircase gentleman,” LaManche continued.

Santangelo marked her list.

“I will take Madame Parent when she arrives,” LaManche said.

LaManche jotted “La” next to Louise Parent’s name. Business concluded, everyone rose and filed out.

Back in my office I wasted no time dialing Ryan’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Who’ll be working the Louise Parent case?”

“Yes, it is nice to hear your voice. Yes, it is a bit warmer today. Yes, it was a bitch of a weekend,” Ryan said.

“How was your weekend?”

“A bitch.”

“The big sting?”

“All wrapped up.”

“They’ve cut you loose?”

“Yes.”

I waited. He did not elaborate.

“Who’ll be working the Louise Parent case?”

Squad room noises indicated Ryan was a few floors below me.

“Candiac?” I prodded. “Sixty-year-old woman found dead in her bed this morning. Who’ll catch the case?”

“You’re looking at him, kid.”

“They didn’t give you much downtime.”

“Seems I was missed here.”

“Find anyone who’ll pal around with you yet?”

Several years earlier Ryan’s partner had died in a plane crash while escorting a prisoner from Georgia to Montreal. Since then Ryan had been working alone, shifting from one special assignment to another.

“The charisma is simply too overpowering.”

“Could be the aftershave.”

“I like flying solo.”