“Have there been any other suspicious deaths of homeless people in the last months?”
“We are looking into that. We have asked the Coroner’s office to provide us with a report of all the homeless deaths in the last three years. We want to know if there is anything unusual in the past that might have been missed. Last question.”
“Has the squad cancelled leave to deal with the investigation?”
“As I said, Inspector Vanier and his team have been working on this throughout the holidays. We do not expect the holiday period to interfere with our work. Thank you.” Laflamme picked up her notes and began to walk away from the podium, followed by Vanier.
“Inspector Vanier.” Laflamme looked back to see Vanier level with the microphone at the podium as the question was shouted. “How do you like your new handler?” Laughter again.
Vanier leaned into the microphone. This time his smile lasted longer. “No comment.”
6.15 PM
Vanier gunned the Volvo through light snow onto Highway 40 heading west. Laurent had told him that a major storm was on its way, thirty centimetres before dawn. It was already dark. The highway was deserted, and he pushed the button to let Tom Waits sing of Warm Beer and Cold Women, the wipers keeping time, snow flakes hitting the windshield hypnotically, and a box wrapped in Christmas paper on the seat beside him.
He followed the highway to Hudson, the horse-rearing capital of Quebec, fishtailed through the slippery exit, and, after fifteen minutes of slow driving, pulled into the empty visitor parking lot of the Lafarge Retirement Home.
He rang the bell, and Sister Veronique appeared in the opened doorway with a smile on her old face as though she was relieved to see someone from the living, and not another delivery of someone who would not be leaving.
“M. Vanier, how good to see you again. Come in, come in. What a night it is.”
He walked past her as she poked her head out to look at the storm. Closing the door with an exaggerated shiver she turned, extending both hands to Vanier.
“And a holy and happy Christmas to you, M. Vanier.” She smelled of lemon, pine, and wax.
“The same to you, Sister. I hope you’re keeping well.”
“I am, thank God. And who wouldn’t at this time of the year? Isn’t this a joyous time?”
“It is, Sister.”
“Every mother should have a son like you who would come out to see her on a night like this. She’s in the lounge. Let me take your coat and we can go in.”
She hung his coat in a closet.
Vanier eyed the expanse of deep red carpet and the shining wood beyond and bent down to remove his wet boots, leaving them to drip into the carpet while he followed her silently in stockinged feet.
As they entered the lounge, a sea of heads rose expectantly. No such luck, ladies, it’s only Luc Vanier, visiting his mother on the day after Christmas. Some looked away when they realized that it wasn’t son Marc or daughter Mary, or one of the grandchildren. Others still tried for eye contact. She was sitting alone in a straight-backed chair at the far end of the lounge. She hadn’t raised her head when he entered.
He pulled up an armchair and sat in front of her, staring into the blank eyes. Then he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Happy Christmas, Mum.”
He dropped the Christmas package lightly into her lap. It could have been a grenade or a flower for all the reaction it got. He had had it wrapped in Place Ville Marie by volunteers collecting money for the Children’s Hospital. Since Marianne had left, he had every important present, and there weren’t many, wrapped by women who could wrap presents better than he could. It made no difference. The hands lay unmoving underneath the package. He reached over and turned each hand upwards so that they held the gift.
“So things are going great, Mum, really great. Elise is growing up so fast, it’s incredible. She’s becoming a real lady. She couldn’t come today. She has a thing at the church but she told me to give you a big hug from her. And to wish you a Merry Christmas. That’s what she said, merry, not just happy.”
Vanier stood up and leaned over to hug his mother. “That’s from Elise, Mum,” he whispered into her ear. She stared, unblinking.
“Marianne couldn’t come either. She sends her apologies. Had to be with Elise at the church too,” he lied, “and Alex sends his love.”
Vanier looked around. The room was quiet, as though the residents were waiting for the party to begin, like toys waiting for a child. Or maybe they were having the party when he arrived and stopped, unwilling to let him into their secret. Three women were looking at him, smiling.
“So we had a great Christmas, Mum. I wish you had been there. We had the whole thing. The turkey was the best in years, crisp golden brown skin and moist inside. The whole house smelled of roast turkey. Potatoes, mashed, sweet, and roast. You remember Mum, how much I love roast potatoes, don’t you? Especially the way you used to make them. And the stuffing Mum, nobody makes stuffing like yours, with the sage and onions, but Marianne’s came in a close second. She uses your recipe. We had Brussels sprouts, peas, green beans, and those carrots that you like in thin sticks. And then we had one of those old-fashioned Christmas puddings with holly on the top. I poured some brandy on it and set it on fire. What a feast. We had friends over to help us eat it all, and there’s still enough left over for a week.”
He reached across and took her hand. “Mum, I wish you could have been there. You should have seen us. What a time.”
He took the package from her hand. “Aren’t you going to open your present, Mum? Let me help.”
Vanier took the present and began to unwrap it. He opened the box and looked inside like it was a surprise. Reaching in, he took out a fur scarf and held it up. “What do you think, Mum? It’s made of fox, I think. It’s like one you used to have years ago, the one you were wearing in that photograph of you and Dad in Winnipeg. When was that? Could have been 1953, before my time. Let me help you put it on.”
He gently placed it around her neck, took her hand, and drew her fingers down its soft length a few times. He placed her hand back in her lap and sat down. He looked into her eyes and convinced himself that they had changed, softened a little.
“So, I’m still busy Mum. Always something new, always chasing after the bad guys. This time, we have a really bad sort. But we’ll get him, Mum. We’ll get him soon.”
Vanier sat there looking into her eyes. Eventually, he became aware of eyes on him and stood up to kiss his mother on the cheek.
“I have to go now Mum. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”
He bent again and kissed her on her head, holding the kiss. Standing up, he looked around at several faces that had been watching, and mustered a broad grin. “And a very Merry Christmas to all of you.”
Most smiled back.
Vanier left, turning once at the door to the lounge to look back at his mother sitting motionless in her chair. Bye, Mum.
The drive back was difficult. The storm was in full force, and visibility was close to zero. He played Coleman Hawkins, and, as always with the Hawk, felt better, like a load was slowly lifting. Tom Waits to walk with you on the way down, the Hawk to bring you back up.
FIVE
DECEMBER 27
7 AM
The early morning sun reflected red and gold off downtown buildings, promising a cold day under a cloudless sky. Sunlight was flooding into Vanier’s apartment, and he was feeling good. After watching the sunrise over the river, he had taken a long shower and dressed in a clean suit and ironed shirt. He sat on the couch, his face bathed in the light of the rising sun, and closed his eyes. There was no alcohol fuzziness and no fatigue from sleeping on the couch. Christmas was over.