Our sections conference room is exactly what youd envision in a government building. Algae green walls. Gray tile floor. Window blinds. Phone credenza. Gunmetal table and chairs. A blackboard/projection screen hangs at one end, a door opens to an audiovisual closet at the other.
Two pathologists sat with their backs to the windows. Sunlight warmed Ayerss chestnut hair and glinted off Morins freckled brown dome. A third sat at the far end. Santangelos slumping shoulders suggested fatigue.
Facing the old-timers was Marie-Andréa Briel, the new kid on the LSJML block. Briel had joined the staff the previous fall, during a period when I was away in Charlotte. Lab policy is that, for their first year, new pathologists do no homicide cases, so I hadnt really worked with Briel. Though Id seen her in the halls, and wed nodded across the table at staff meetings, wed had virtually no personal interaction. I knew little about her from firsthand experience. What snippets Id been given werent golden.
One late afternoon, exhausted, LaManche had confided that an offer had been extended and accepted. In his opinion, the applicant wasnt the pick of the litter. But old Jean Pelletier had been gone for over a year and he and the others had been doing the work of five.
Though hed yet to reveal it, the chief probably knew he was looking at surgery in the not too distant future. Another pathologist had to be hired.
Why such a prolonged search? The pay is low, and the LSJML requires fluency in French. You guessed it. The litter wasnt that big.
Ayers and Morin smiled when I entered. Santangelo flicked a wave.
Bonjour
, Tempe. Morins French was that of the islands.
Comment ça va?
Ça va bien.
Im doing fine.
Couldnt stay away from our Montreal weather, eh? Ayers knew my feelings on snow.
No comment. I took a seat.
Briel glanced in my direction.
I nodded. Smiled.
Briel looked down at her notepad, vertical lines creasing the gap where heavy dark brows reached for each other over her nose.
I looked at Ayers. She shrugged. Who knows?
I tried again with my newest colleague. I hope youre now feeling comfortable here.
Briels face rose, frown lines in place.
Oui.
Not letting these old goats get on your nerves.
Ayers bleated softly.
I can handle difficulties.
Marie-Andréa Briel was not blessed with beauty. Perhaps thirty-two, she had a substantial fundament, frizzy black hair, and skin the color of fluoridated teeth. That skin now went incandescent.
Im not implying that anyone is difficult. Thats not what I meant. Im very happy here. Thankful for the chance to learn.
Though grammatically flawless, Briels French was oddly without accent or inflection. Definitely not Québécois or European. I made a mental note to ask about her origins.
Morin reached over and patted Briels hand. Youre doing fine.
The frown lines relaxed. A micron.
The old lady from Oka is downstairs? Morin asked me.
Yes. I started my analysis on Saturday, hope to finish today.
Then outa here for a Dixie Christmas? Ayers.
Thats the plan.
Put elf hats on the hunting dogs? Ayers loved to tease about my Southern roots.
Yep. Then the cousins gather in my trailer to drink hooch and eat pork skins.
Bon.
Morin distributed photocopied rosters of the days cases. Then lets not waste time.
I skimmed the daily morgue sheet. Eight autopsies. A typical Monday. Busy as hell.
Morin went over each case.
A Ski-Doo had slammed into a tree near Sainte-Agathe. A second snowmobile had then plowed into the first. Two dead. Alcohol intoxication was suspected.
An Argentine seaman had died in a home-rigged sauna in the Gay Village. The presumed host was in critical condition at the General. Alcohol and drug intoxication were suspected.
Two men and a woman had been discovered dead in their beds in Baie-Comeau. Carbon monoxide poisoning was suspected.
A man had been gunned down outside a convenience store in Longueuil.
A woman had been stabbed in her home in Lac-Beauport. The estranged husband was in custody.
Only the Longueuil shooting victims identity was unknown. Prints were being run and a photo was being shopped to known gang members.
Nothing for the anthropologist. Hot damn. Id be free to work on the Oka lady.
Though Briel offered, Morin assigned himself the stabbing victim.
Mo
went onto the roster beside that case.
Santangelo got the snowmobilers.
Sa
.
Ayers volunteered for the sailor and the gunshot death. Again Briel offered, but was refused. The shooting was clearly a homicide. The sautéed sailor was a foreign national. That meant potential diplomatic issues.
Ay
.
Briels brow-pucker deepened as Morin wrote
Br
beside the chalet vics then tossed her a ziplock filled with vials of prescription drugs.
Christelle Villejoins antemortem records, he said, handing me an envelope whose size did not look encouraging.
No X-rays?
Morin shook his head.
Dentals?
Apparently
les soeurs Villejoin
were not fond of medical professionals. Everything in the file looks pretty old.
Great.
Morin turned to budget matters. Additional cuts had been demanded by the ministry. Nothing new. Each year funding grew more spartan. The joke was that soon autopsies would be billed by the pound.
We were pushing from the table when Briel spoke up.
I have taken on a student.
We all paused.
A student? Morin raised a questioning brow.
I am beginning a new project and need a new research assistant.
A project? The brow floated higher.
Montreal remains the last U.S. or Canadian city with a population over one million that does not fluoridate its water. Some communities in the West Island do fluoridate. Pointe-Claire, Dorval, Beaconsfield, BaiedUrfé,
Kirkland, and parts of Dollard-des-Ormeaux and Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue.
Ayers groaned softly. It was an old issue.
Briel ignored her.
Though the Quebec government endorses and has offered to subsidize fluoridation in Montreal, the city refuses. I have read statistics stating that Montreal children have seventy-seven percent more cavities compared to children in areas of Quebec where fluoride is added to the water. The dichotomy on the Island of Montreal provides a natural laboratory. My assistant and I will be comparing the decay rates of unfluori-dated city children to those of their fluoridated surburban counterparts.
All costs will have to
I have a grant.
What happened to your old student?
I had to let her go.
Who is the new student? Santangelo asked.
Solange Duclos. She is a fourth-year biology major at lUniversité de Montréal. She will come for six hours each week beginning next Tuesday.
Shouldnt this have been discussed prior to making a commitment? Santangelos voice had an edge. There are security and safety issues.
Briels cheeks flamed again, reminding me of Chris Corcoran. Which reminded me of Edward Allen Jurmain and his snake-belly informant. I would begin digging as soon as I finished with the Oka woman.
visibility for the lab. I plan to present my findings to the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. And to publish them in the
Journal of Forensic Sciences
and the
Journal of the Canadian Dental Association
.
Ayers started to comment. Morin cut her off.
You are new here. There is much to absorb.
Briels shoulders hitched back. I have completed a residency program in anatomic and clinical pathology. And several postdocs. I am not without experience.
Our autopsy schedule is very demanding, Ayers said. Look at today. You have two cases.
I dont mind working late. Or on weekends. The research will be done on my own time.
Ayers shook her head. Santangelo wrote something on her roster.
Access must be limited to our section alone, Morin said. As with your previous student, Ms. Duclos must not enter the morgue or any
other restricted area of the building. And she must, for security purposes, submit to a full background check.
The background check has already been done.
Have Ms. Duclos come to my office when she arrives on Tuesday. Morin looked around the table. Other business?
Nothing.
Lets get cutting.
Downstairs, the Oka bones were as Id left them.
The clock said ten past ten. Normally, Id have begun with a full skeletal inventory. Since Hubert would be phoning soon, I decided to jump protocol and go straight to ID. Completion of the bone count could wait.
To avoid the influence of preconceived bias, I perform my analyses prior to viewing documentation. I see working in the dark as a sort of double-blind check.
Setting the antemortem records aside, I began to construct a biological profile.
By noon Id determined that the skeleton was, in fact, that of a white female in excess of sixty-five years of age. Though Id noted widespread osteoarthritis, advanced periostitis, and significant tooth loss, Id found nothing sufficiently unique to positively establish ID.
I was sliding Christelle Villejoins medical records from their envelope when I heard the anteroom door open. Seconds later, Briel appeared.
Though the frown lines were present, she made a lip gesture I chose to interpret as a grin.
Taking a break? I asked.
Bones interest me. May I watch while you work?
I matched her nonanswer with one of my own.
I apologize for knowing so little about you. Im away so much. You come to us from where?
She misinterpreted my meaning. My father was a diplomat. We moved a great deal.
OK. That explained the accent.
Where was home before Montreal?
Montpellier, France.
Ooh, climate shock. I laughed.
She did not. My husband is from here.
Still. In winter. I pantomimed weighing two objects, one in each hand. South of France? Quebec? Thats devotion above and beyond.
The perpetual frown never faltered.
What does your husband do?
He is in private business.
Conversation was like pulling impacted molars. I remembered why Id given up in the past. Nevertheless, I soldiered on.
Do you live in the city?
We have a condo on Fullum.
Handy. You can walk here.
Yes. May I observe you?
When working, there are things I avoid like a case of the drips. Cops trying to rush me. Prosecutors trying to sway me. Anyone trying to look over my shoulder.
I started to dodge her request. As I had previous ones.
Im sorry, but Ive explained. I dont
Its my lunch hour. My own time.
Im really humping to get this one done. I smiled modestly. Besides, most of what I do is flat-out boring.
I dont see it that way.
I was framing a firmer refusal when the door opened again. My second visitor was Ryan. His expression told me something was very wrong.
Whats up? I asked.
Ryan chin-cocked the remains. Is it Villejoin?
I havent finished.
Ryan nodded to Briel, then spoke to me. The situation could be nastier than we thought.
16
RYANS FINGERS RAKED HIS HAIR. TOUCHED HIS MOUTH. DRUMMED his belt.
We may have a serial.
Beside me, Briel went very still.
In Montreal?
No. In Saskatoon.
Hardy friggin har.
I ran into your pal Claudel this morning.
Sergeant-détective Luc Claudel, SPVM. A city cop. Claudel and I were pals in the sense Hatfields and McCoys were buds.
Hes working an MP.
Ryan referred to a missing person case.
Ten days ago a landlord named Mathieu Baudry dropped in on one of his tenants, Marilyn Keiser, a seventy-two-year-old widow living alone. Baudry was pissed about unpaid rent.
Wheres the apartment?
Édouard-Montpetit. The place looked abandoned. Unopened mail. Dead plants. Spoiled food in the refrigerator. The usual. Baudry asked around the building. None of the neighbors had seen or talked to Keiser in months. One suggested she might have gone south for the winter.
Was that her pattern?
No. Keiser wasnt a snowbird. She drove, occasionally made short trips. Quebec City. Ottawa. Charlevoix. That was about it.
Her car is also missing?
Ryan nodded.
Family?
Two kids, both married and living in Alberta. The only local relative is a stepson named Myron Pinsker. Baudry phoned Pinsker repeatedly. After a week of no contact and no returned calls he gave up and dialed nine-one-one.
Claudel caught the case, did some digging, learned that since October Marilyn Keiser has missed medical appointments, book club meetings, a sit-down with her rabbi, and about a zillion other engagements. No apologies, no explanations.
