“Like I said, I’m not on duty…”
“You want to talk about Laura Lacroix, we’ll sit at that table and do it right now.” He pointed to a small table beside the gas fireplace.
“All right.”
Priest went to the table and pulled out a chair for her. Delorme took off her coat again and sat down. Priest gestured to the bartender for drinks and sat down.
“I don’t need any more wine,” Delorme said.
Priest paid no attention. “I know very little about Laura Lacroix. I saw her exactly four times. What do you want to know?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“I’d have to look up the exact date, but it was about a year ago, maybe a little less. At Club Risque in Ottawa.”
“Your sex club.”
“One of them.” The bartender brought their drinks and put them on the table. “Thanks, Tommy.”
“Did she go there with you?”
“Get your hand off my cock.”
“Pardon me?”
“Get your hand off my cock, you trollop.”
“You think I’m wearing a wire?”
Priest smiled and folded his arms, muscles at ease under a tight ribbed sweater. Delorme could see why women went for him. He was a compelling presence.
“As far as I know, Laura arrived on her own-unaccompanied women have no trouble getting into the club. I had already told her I didn’t want to see her again. I don’t have sex with the patrons of my clubs-not at the clubs, not when they’re paying. It’s too complex legally.” He took a sip of his beer and placed it back on its Guinness coaster. “She arrived alone. I did not expect to see her there and I was not happy about it. She wanted to talk, but I said no, I’d made my position clear and I had work to do. Have you been to the club?”
“I’ve seen it,” Delorme said. “Not when there were people there.”
“Had to add that, did you? Case I might think you actually had sex?”
“To let you know I haven’t seen your club in operation.”
“What did you think?”
Delorme shrugged. “It was nicer than I expected. Physically.”
“Morally, of course, you found it repugnant, good Catholic girl like you.”
Delorme shook her head and took a sip of her wine before she remembered she wasn’t going to drink any more. “Did you ever play with magnets as a kid? You know that feeling when you try to put two positive poles together? Or two negatives? You can’t make them quite meet? That’s how it felt.”
“I think that’s called nerves.”
“It’s called knowing who you are.”
He lifted his glass, as if to toast self-knowledge. “So I made myself busy in the office for a while. I avoided the woman for the next couple of hours, all right? She had a bit to drink, but we do not let our patrons get drunk. We don’t want people passing out or claiming they weren’t in a position to consent.
“Next time I saw her, she was in the Tudor Room with one guy fucking her from behind while she sucked the guy in front of her. There were three other fellas all stroking themselves, and two or three couples on the sidelines who stopped every once in a while to watch. Have you ever watched people having sex up close?”
“Let’s stick to Laura Lacroix.”
“You’re asking me about sex. Why can’t I ask you?”
“You did ask, and I answered.”
“You’ve wanted to. You’ve thought about it. Probably dreamed about it. Maybe listened to another couple at one time or another. You do admit to being human, right?”
“My ideas on what’s human are probably different from yours. Are you going to finish telling me what happened? Because it’s getting late and I do have to work tomorrow.”
“You’re joking. You wouldn’t miss this for anything. Because I’ll tell you something, darlin’, you may not be wearing any perfume, and you do a reasonable pretence of being totally unacquainted with sexual desire, but you absolutely reek of ambition. It comes off you like a pheromone.” He raised his chin and closed his eyes as if sampling the nose of a fine Bordeaux, nostrils flaring. “Yes-ambition. Definitely. Lusting to trap the big bad wolf, protect the innocent little virgins of this world. Admit it.”
“It’s my job. I try to be good at it.”
“I enjoy my work too.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “The men took their turns. Each one would fuck her for a while, then they’d move around, so she must have been tasting a good deal of herself on those men-that’s a turn-on for a lot of women, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And then eventually she sat back in a receptive position and they gave her the seminal equivalent of a tickertape parade.”
Delorme rested her forearm on the table and leaned forward. She spoke quietly, evenly, trying to say only what she intended and nothing more. “This person you’re talking about, Laura Lacroix? She’s missing. There’s good reason to think she has been murdered or soon will be, and I have to ask you to please-please-not dishonour whatever small part of yourself may still be at risk of such a thing by lying about her.”
Priest’s eyebrows shot up. “Lying? This was a year ago, nigh on-there’s no reason to lie.”
“I’m just asking you not to exaggerate for effect. You’re obviously enjoying trying to make me uncomfortable.”
“The subject matter does that all by itself. You can’t blame me.”
“Were you surprised by her behaviour?”
“Totally. I had sex with her exactly twice. Plain vanilla. But she started making a pest of herself, phoning me, showing up here-I didn’t like it.
“As for her performance at the club-maybe she thought she would make me jealous? Or maybe it was just that once she started fucking around on her husband, she couldn’t stop? Or maybe she thought she could pique my interest with a display of virtuosity? You’re a woman, you tell me.”
“Can you give me the names of the men who had sex with her?”
“You’re clinically insane, you are. People who come to the Risque clubs do not expect to have their names bandied about in a cavalier manner. I didn’t recognize any of the men involved, I’ve no idea if they arrived in a group or separately, and I wouldn’t give you their names if I knew them. You think some stranger who fucked her in a club a year ago suddenly decides to come up north and carry her off? You’re not getting any names from me, sunshine. End of story.”
Delorme held up her hands in a “stop” gesture. “Off-duty, remember? I didn’t ask you to talk to me. You offered.”
“Because I don’t want junior detectives hanging round my bloody pub, do I? Or did you think I just fancied your gorgeous arse?” Priest dipped his head slightly, flecks of firelight in his eyes. “D’you like it up the arse, by the way?”
“Did Laura ever mention a guy named Mark Trent?”
“French-Canadian girls love it, in my observation. Legacy of the Vatican. Nothing like a taboo to get people hot and bothered. And you do have a gorgeous arse, must be said.”
“Pretty childish, talking dirty all the time.”
Priest leaned forward and spoke in the urgent whisper of one imparting confidential information. “It won’t be gorgeous forever, will it? So may as well make the best of it while you can. My official diagnosis? ODD. Orgasm Deficit Disorder. Left untreated, it’ll only get worse. You’ll end up a bad-tempered old crone reeking of mothballs and cat’s piss.”
“Are you going to tell me how you met Laura Lacroix?”
“Sorry.” Priest stood up and turned to the bartender. “If she tries to pay, smack her.”
“Tell me something,” Ronnie Babstock said, pouring more wine into Cardinal’s glass. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No. I don’t believe Elvis is alive, either.”
Babstock turned his glass, as if considering all the colours in the burgundy spectrum. “But don’t you ever
