ass.”
“
Connecting my laptop to the projector, I opened PowerPoint, chose a file labeled
Corcoran handed me the laser pointer.
Ryan began.
“Ms. Jurmain checked into L’Auberge des Neiges on twenty September, having reserved for two weeks. On twenty-three September she volunteered to other guests her intent to hike the following day.”
“These other guests would be?” Schechter asked.
Ryan checked his notes.
“John William Manning of Montreal. Isabelle Picard of Laval. According to Manning and Picard, Ms. Jurmain appeared inebriated that evening, and had appeared to be so on several occasions spanning a period of three days.”
Ryan slid several papers across the table, I assumed summaries of interviews with the auberge’s staff and guests. Corcoran skimmed. Schechter took his time reading. Then, “These are written in French.”
“My apologies.” Ryan’s tone was as far from apologetic as a tone can be.
Schechter made an indecipherable noise in his throat.
I switched to a wide shot of Rose’s room. It featured a braided rug, lacquered pine furniture, and an overabundance of pink floral chintz. A suitcase sat open on a small settee, clothes oozing like magma from a sleepy volcano.
I moved to a picture of the bed stand, then to close-ups of the labels on five small vials. Oxycodone. Diazepam. Temazepam. Alprazolam. Doxylamine.
I aimed the laser pointer. As the small red dot jumped from vial to vial, Corcoran translated into generic names for Schechter.
“The painkiller OxyContin, the antianxiety drugs Valium and Xanax, and the sleep aids Restoril and Unisom.”
Schechter drew air through his nostrils, exhaled slowly.
“When Rose got an idea into her head there was no reasoning with her. Always going off into the woods. Three years ago it was Quebec.” He said
Ryan proceeded without comment.
“At fifteen twenty hours, on twenty-four September, Ms. Jurmain was seen walking alone along Chemin Pierre-Mirabeau, in the direction of Sainte-Marguerite. Though the temperature was near freezing, a motorist reported that she wore a lightweight jacket, no hat, no gloves.”
As I projected a regional map, Ryan slid another paper to Schechter.
“Sunset that day was at approximately seventeen hundred hours. By nineteen hundred hours it was full dark. Overnight, temperatures fell to minus eight Celsius.
“On twenty-five September, it was noted that Ms. Jurmain had failed to return to the inn. A call was placed to an area code three-one-two number provided upon check-in. Subsequent investigation showed that line to be nonexistent.
“On twenty-six September, the SQ post covering Sainte-Marguerite was notified of Ms. Jurmain’s disappearance. Woods bordering the road and surrounding the auberge were searched with tracker dogs. Unsuccessfully.”
More paper.
“What is this SQ?” Schechter demanded.
“La Surete du Quebec. The provincial police.”
“Why not call the locals?”
Ryan launched into a primer on law enforcement Quebec-style, laying on a thick Maurice Chevalier where opportunity presented itself.
“In cities and larger towns there are local forces. On the Island of Montreal, for example, policing is the responsibility of the Service de police de la Ville de Montreal, or SPVM, formerly known as the service de police de la communaute urbaine de Montreal, or CUM. Same force, new name.
“In rural areas, law enforcement is handled by La Surete du Quebec, or SQ. In places without provincial police, meaning all provinces except Ontario and Quebec, it’s the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, or RCMP, or, to Francophones, the Gendarmerie royale du Canada, or GRC. Occasionally, the Mounties are invited into an investigation in Quebec, but that’s rare.”
In other words, jurisdiction in La Belle Province can be as confusing as in any American state. FBI. State bureau of investigation. City. County. Highway patrol. Sheriff ’s department. Who you gonna call? Good luck.
“L’Auberge des Neiges is located seventy-five kilometers north of the Island of Montreal, in the Laurentian Mountains. The nearest town is Sainte-Marguerite. Thus, Ms. Jurmain’s case fell to the SQ. Shall I continue?”
Again Schechter flapped an arrogant hand. I wanted to reach across the table and smack the self-righteous little prick.
“Thirty months after Ms. Jurmain’s disappearance, on twenty-one March, Andre Dubreuil and his son Bertrand stumbled on what they believed to be human remains. Their find was located twenty yards off a provincial road, approximately one half mile north of L’Auberge des Neiges. The SQ, the coroner, and the LSJML were notified. In that order.”
As I projected a second map, Schechter jotted his first note of the morning. Then, “You are a homicide detective with this SQ?”
“Section des crimes contre la personne.”
I translated. “Detective Ryan is with the equivalent of homicide, a section called Crimes Against Persons. He is assigned to special cases.”
“And this case would be deemed special because … ?” Schechter elongated the last word of his unfinished statement.
“From the outset it was suspected that the remains in question were those of Ms. Jurmain. Since she was a non-Canadian national, an American, the case was assigned to Detective Ryan.”
Schechter and Corcoran glanced at the police incident report Ryan slid to them. When their attention returned to the screen I moved through a new series of JPEGs.
The first provided a wide-angle view of a narrow two-lane blacktop, its gravel shoulder butting up to dense forest. The next six documented the route from the road to the body. On the ground, islands of snow overlaid dead vegetation, their perimeters darkened by meltwater runoff.
The eighth image showed yellow crime scene tape looping a stand of pines. In the ninth, people stood inside the tape. Ryan was there in a pea green parka and bright blue scarf. Two recovery techs wore navy jump-suits stamped
Shot ten was a close-up of a small dark mound emerging from the snow. Embedded in the jumble of leaves, twigs, moss, and pine needles was a glossy brown object the size of a cabbage. A mass of matted gray hair lay to its right.
“The skull.” I circled it using the laser pointer.
The next few shots focused on the partial skeleton, spread in a largely linear pattern from the skull. Mandible. Vertebrae. Ribs. Sternum. Pelvic halves. Sacrum. Right hand. Right leg. Everything was stained the same burnt umber.
