‘Is that because you’ve already asked everyone else and they’ve said no?’
Chac beamed broadly, despite the barb. And Michel realized then how impossibly intense he’d been all morning. The pall hovering over the squad room each time he opened the door was not just in respect of Savard’s death, but also for the possibly dead case and his feared reaction. Chac was simply glad to see a chink of his old self re-surface.
But the mood died quickly as Chac reminded him that even if he convinced Pelletier to keep the case open, at best it would only give him a few months grace. ‘Once Donatiens is married, it’s game over. And Roman Lacaille knows it.’
His desk phone started ringing. He looked through his glass screen towards the squad room. Christine Hebert was looking over at him, pointing to the receiver.
No doubt Laberge chasing for Pelletier again. A film of sweat broke on his forehead. He couldn’t delay any more. What would he say? Maybe bluff for now, say that they had reliable inside information that Donatiens would soon about-turn and testify. That at least might give him a week or two’s grace to either make good on that claim or come up with something else.
The seed of the idea was still only half-formed as he picked up the receiver at the end of the third ring. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s your wife Sandra,’ Hebert said.
He was caught off guard for a second. ‘Oh… right. Put her through.’ She rarely phoned him. Hebert never termed her ex, despite it now being four years they’d been parted.
Then, with her first words, ‘Michel, you said four O’clock and it’s already four-twenty…’ he pushed back sharply from his chair, suddenly remembering.
‘Oh, Jesus, yeah… I’m right there.’ Basketball championship with a rival school with his son Benjamin, now nine years old.
‘If you couldn’t make it or it was somehow awkward, you should have said so earlier. He’s been looking forward so much to-’
‘I know, I know. I’m there, I tell you. I’ll be with you in under ten.’
‘It’s not often that he has things like this. What happened?’
‘Something came up, that’s all.’ He didn’t want to be specific or shield behind the dramatics of the past eighteen hours: the biggest case of my career has just gone down in flames. Besides, she’d heard it all before. The stake-outs that ran hours over, the last minute suspects and late night emergencies. The steady stream of late nights crawling into bed and so little quality time with her and the children that had finally led to the collapse of their marriage. She’d moved to Montreal so that she could have her mother’s help with babysitting while she went back out to work. He followed ten months later so that he could be nearer his children, but history was repeating itself. Chac had always claimed that his absorption with the Lacailles was partly to fill the void from losing his family, and perhaps he was right. He looked thoughtfully at his desk photo of Benjamin and young Angelle, only six, against the overbearing backdrop montage of the Lacailles. Certainly in the last twenty-four hours, his family hadn’t got a look-in. ‘It’s completely my fault, I’m sorry. But I’m leaving right now.’
He hung up swiftly before Sandra could draw breath to grill him more. He grabbed his coat and was halfway across the squad room as Hebert waved frantically at him.
‘It’s Maggie Laberge again. Wondering whether-’
He held one hand up. ‘I’ll call her back from my car. Ten minutes, no more.’
A bit more time to refine what he was going to say. He thought of little else as he sped through the traffic. How would he know if Donatiens was likely to turn turtle and testify? Their only feed from within the Lacaille camp was Azy Menard, bar manager at their night club on Rue Sherbrooke. Was it likely Donatiens would confide directly in him? No. He’d have to think of a credible go-between to be able to sell the story.
He tapped his fingers on the wheel as he hit a small tailback of traffic at the first stop light on Saint Catherine. The early rush hour was starting, it was going to take him a little longer. Snow flecked with dark-grey slush was banked over the kerbs each side, and the exhaust outflows of the cars ahead showed heavy in the freezing air.
Chac’s words spun back… a few months? The same was true for Roman Lacaille. What would he do? Just bide his time, knowing that soon he’d be home dry anyway. Or was he determined to rid himself of every last witness to that night with Leduc.
FOUR
‘Is there nothing else we can do?’ Elena pressed.
‘Not at this stage, I’m afraid.’ Nadine Moore let out a tired breath at the other end of the phone. ‘I’ve been in touch with Lorena’s school and GP, told them to let me know if anything appears untoward with Lorena. Physical indications obviously from her doctor, but from the school all they can look out for are mood swings or problems with her work.’
‘And they didn’t tell you of anything they’d noticed already?’
‘No. I’d have phoned you straightaway if there was any news. I know how anxious you are.’ With the silence from the other end, Nadine added. ‘As you said, it was just a momentary look. You could well be wrong — it could be nothing shy; shy;.’
‘No.’ Elena shook her head. ‘I know Lorena too well. There’s something wrong.’
‘Maybe it was just concern about the fuss caused by our visit. She started to think about what might be said to her after we left.’
‘I don’t know.’ Elena felt herself swaying, but only for a second. She reminded herself that she’d only seen that look on Lorena’s face twice before: once recalling some nights in the sewer waking up with rats crawling over her, then the threat of the second orphanage closing and her dread of possibly having to go back to the streets again. Elena knew the difference between fear and concern with Lorena. She was aware of a presence behind her, and glanced back. Gordon hovered by the door to his study. With a taut half smile he turned back in, and she pulled her attention back to Nadine. More emphatically: ‘No. It’s more than that, I know.’
Nadine exhaled heavily. Practically a replay of their conversation after leaving the Ryalls yesterday, and now painfully evident that she wasn’t easily going to dispel Elena’s worries, imagined or otherwise. But there was little else she could do. As it was, she’d stretched as far as she dare go: telling Ryall that he should avoid visits to Lorena’s room late at night had been like tip-toeing through broken glass. Cushioning the reproach — ‘ It’s just one of those things with girls at her age. They become very secretive and self-conscious. You weren’t to know’ — had done little to ease Ryall’s pained, incredulous expression.
‘With Ryall not visiting her room any more, hopefully that should put pay to any problems. If there were problems.’
‘Yes, hopefully.’ Elena didn’t sound convinced. Doubt still nagged heavily at her. But she sensed that Nadine’s position was starting to become entrenched; little would be gained by pressing. She elicited a promise from Nadine to let her know the moment anything knew came up, and signed off.
Yet it wasn’t just Nadine that was doubtful. When she’d recounted everything to Gordon the night before, he’d questioned whether she might be reading too much into it all. Now that tight smile when he’d heard her pressing Nadine.
She pondered whether to broach the issue — she’d hoped at least for support from Gordon, if nothing else so as to not feel so isolated with her concerns — but from his voice trailing through from his office, she could tell that he was on the phone.
She went back to her upstairs studio to do more painting. Time to allow her mood to settle, her thoughts to focus. Her painting helped with that. Brushstroke therapy.
She’d spent much of the last month painting version three of the chine — the steep wooded ravine leading to the sea — which their house overlooked. Version one had been a standard landscape view which she wasn’t happy with. Gordon had prompted her: What is it that you most like about the chine, that you find magical? She’d admitted that it was the feeling of secrecy and being protected once deep inside it, with the open sea at its end representing freedom. Yet as she would move closer to the sea and hear its rushing surge, that also came to represent all the volatility and madness out there; what she was perhaps hiding away from. ‘In the chine I feel safe, as if it’s a haven.’ ‘Then paint that,’ Gordon had suggested.