Vanier grinned at Audet.
“Very useful, these monitors, M. Audet,” said Laurent.
Audet spun around to face Laurent.
“So, why would you be assaulting one of your own clients?” asked Laurent.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“On screen three. About ten minutes ago. I saw you punch an old man in the stomach. He fell to his knees. What was that about, M. Audet?”
“Listen, my job is to keep order. It’s for everyone’s good. If someone gets out of hand, well, I have to calm them down. That’s all. I didn’t do any damage to him. I just calmed him down.”
“He didn’t look excited, M. Audet. He was eating his dinner. Looked like you called him over, said a few words in his ear, and then punched him in the stomach. It looked like an unprovoked assault to me, M. Audet.”
“Well, why don’t you go see him? See if he wants to press charges.” Audet pushed passed Nolet and sat down behind the desk. It might have been Nolet’s office, but Audet was in charge.
“Now, if you’re finished wasting my time, I’ve got work to do.”
Vanier rose, “Thank you, gentlemen.”
In the parking lot, Vanier turned to look back at the shelter before getting into his car and saw Audet staring at them from the office window.
“Curious,” said Vanier, as he turned the ignition.
“What’s that, sir?” asked Laurent, buckling himself into the passenger seat.
“Marcel Audet, working in a homeless shelter. A man more at home kicking the life out of a bum than helping him into his pajamas. What’s he up to? ”
“Conversion is out of the question?”
“Conversion? Doesn’t happen with people like that. When he punched that guy, he was showing his authority, you know, like a schoolyard bully, one punch just to show who’s boss. He’s not changed. Only question is, what’s he up to?”
Vanier was lost in thought as they drove west along St. Antoine, parallel with the Ville Marie expressway, the unofficial border between rich and poor. North of the expressway were the offices and high-rises of downtown; south were the working-class neighbourhoods of the Point and St-Henri, whose proximity to downtown was making them vulnerable.
In most cities, the poor clung as close to downtown as they could, while the middle classes and the jobs moved to satellite towns along circling freeways that sucked the heart out of a city. But Montreal is an island, and the drift out of downtown wasn’t an easy option. Everyone wanted to live on the island to avoid nightmare commutes across the bridges. So, instead of retreating to the leafy suburbs and leaving the poor to reign over a hollow shell of an empty city, the rich have been fighting the poor in a street-by-street campaign for territory. Gentrification almost always wins, pushing the working poor out, or limiting them to the least accessible enclaves. The Ville Marie expressway used to be a natural barrier, a concrete river that repelled the condominium developers, but now the concrete river had been forded. Condominium projects in abandoned factories next to the canal served as beachheads from which developers launched drawn-out campaigns to take block after block of the surrounding neighbourhood. Working class communities that had thrived for generations in the shadow of downtown were being destroyed as condo developments raised rents and made the poor unwelcome in their own streets. Families scattered to find affordable places to live, always further away, and, inevitably, with less of a community than they had known before.
“Tell you what, Laurent. When you get a chance, get me a list of everyone who’s involved with Holy Land Shelter, employees, management. Don’t forget the Board of Directors. These places usually have a Board stacked with upstanding members of the community. Nolet said that Audet was brought in by the new Board. What’s going on? See who’s involved. As much as you can find out.”
Laurent was lost. “You think there may be a connection to the homeless deaths?”
“No. But it’s curious all the same. I’d love to know what Marcel Audet is doing serving the homeless. He’s a parasite. When he thinks of other people, it’s only to figure out how he can profit from them. He’s a thug, with just enough brains to be dangerous.”
3 PM
The Press Room was steaming hot from television lights and loud with the chatter of journalists. Wires littered the floor, threatening to topple the distracted. Sergeant Julie Laflamme was at the podium trying to impose calm in a tailored uniform that emphasized authority and curves in that order. Vanier stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, scanning the room and nodding with a half smile to reporters he recognized.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if we can get started,” said Laflamme for the third time.
The noise level diminished slightly, and cameramen began to focus.
“I am Detective Sergeant Laflamme of the Communications Division. I propose to read a prepared statement first, and then I will take some questions.” She waited for five beats to allow a gap in the recordings, a gift to the news editors, and then she started.
“Between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m. on Christmas Eve, the bodies of five people were discovered in various parts of downtown Montreal, three men and two women. The victims were found at various locations. One, a male, in Cabot Park; a female in the entrance to a parking garage on Atwater; two victims, one male and one female, were found at different spots in the Berri-UQAM complex; and another male was found inside the McGill Metro station. Until we have notified their next of kin, we are not releasing the identity of any of the victims.
“We wish to stress at this point that we are treating these deaths as suspicious, but this is not officially a murder inquiry. We are keeping an open mind on every possibility. We are continuing to collect information and follow up on certain lines of inquiry. The investigation is being led by Detective Inspector Vanier of the Major Crimes Squad.” She waved her hand to indicate Vanier, who smiled for half a second.
“The Coroner is in the process of conducting autopsies on the victims to determine the causes of death. We expect to have one or two preliminary reports tomorrow.
“In the meantime, we ask that all requests for information be made through my office, and we promise to respond quickly. The Montreal Police Service is taking these incidents very seriously, and is sparing no resources in its efforts. Now, any questions?”
“Inspector Vanier. Were there any signs of violence on the bodies?”
“Let me answer that,” Laflamme responded, and Vanier looked bemused. “The investigation is still at a very preliminary stage, and we cannot discuss details concerning the deceased or of the various scenes at this point.”
“Inspector Vanier, were you at the crime scenes?”
If Laflamme was under pressure she didn’t show it.
“It is premature to refer to the places where the individuals were discovered as crime scenes. As we said earlier, we have no evidence yet to confirm or to discount a crime. We are treating the deaths only as suspicious. But we can confirm that Inspector Vanier has been working on this investigation from the beginning.”
“There have been suggestions that someone dressed as Santa Claus was seen with some of the victims. Can you confirm?”
“We are reviewing hours of closed circuit television footage to identify who, if anyone, may have had contact with the victims during the hours prior to their death. It does appear that a person dressed in a Santa Claus costume may have had contact with at least one of the deceased, but it would be premature to confirm any more than that.”
“Wouldn’t Santa have been very busy on Christmas Eve?”
The room erupted in laughter, and Laflamme put on her patient schoolmistress-dealing-with-hijinks face.
“Next.”
“Is there any connection between the victims? Did they know one another?”
“We believe that all of the victims were what you might call street people. They were homeless. While that might be a connection, we have not yet established if they knew each other.”