DEJA DEAD

?What??

?Well . . .? He stared at the photo.

?Yes??

?This guy looks a little like the other shitrag that bailed on me. But maybe that?s because you put me in mind of him with all your questions. Hell, I don?t know.? He thrust the picture across the counter at me. ?I gotta close up.?

?Who? Who was that??

?Look, it?s a lousy picture. Looks like a lot of guys with bad hair. Don?t mean nothing.?

?What did you mean, someone else bailed on you? When??

?That?s why I was so cheesed off about Grace. The guy I had before her quit without so much as a good-bye, then Grace takes a walk, then not long after that this other guy. He and Grace were part-timers, but they were the only help I had. My brother was down in the States and I was running this place all by myself that year.?

?Who was he??

?Fortier. Lemme think. Leo. Leo Fortier. I remember ?cause I got a cousin named Leo.?

?He worked here at the same time Grace Damas did??

?Yeah. I hired him to replace the guy quit just before Grace started. I figured with two part-timers to split the hours, in case one didn?t come in, I?d only be short-handed half the day. Then they both left. Tabernac, that was a mess. Fortier worked here maybe a year, year and a half, then just stopped coming. Never even turned in his keys. I had to start back at zero. I don?t want to go through that again.?

?What can you tell me about him??

?That?s an easy one. Nothing. He saw my sign, walked in off the street wanting to work part time. He fit in where I needed him, early morning to open, late night for closing and clean up, and he had experience cutting up meat. Turned out to be real good, actually. Anyway, I hired him. He had some other kind of job during the day. He seemed okay. Real quiet. Did his work, never opened his mouth. Hell, I never even knew where he lived.?

?How did he and Grace get along.?

?Hell if I know. He?d be gone when she came in, then he?d come back after she?d left for the day. I?m not sure they even knew each other.?

?And you think the man in this picture looks like Fortier??

?Him and every other guy with bad hair and an attitude about it.?

?Do you know where Fortier is now??

He shook his head.

?You know anyone named St. Jacques??

?Nope.?

?Tanguay??

?Sounds like a bronzer for queers.?

My head was pounding and my throat was starting to scratch. I left my card.

38

I ARRIVED HOME TO FIND RYAN FUMING ON MY DOORSTEP. HE WASTED no time.

?I just can?t get through to you, can I? No one can. You?re like one of those Ghost Dance Indians. Dress the dress and dance the dance and you?re bulletproof.?

His face was flushed, and I could see a tiny vessel throbbing in his temple. I thought it unwise to comment just yet.

?Whose car was it??

?Neighbor.?

?Do you find all this amusing, Brennan??

I said nothing. The headache had spread from the back to encompass my entire cranium, and a dry cough told me my immune system was about to have callers.

?Is there anyone on this planet who can get through to you??

?Would you like to come in for coffee??

?What makes you think you can just sail off like that and leave everyone sucking wind? These guys don?t exactly live to be out here protecting your sorry ass, Brennan. Why the hell didn?t you call or page me??

?I did.?

?You couldn?t wait ten minutes??

?I didn?t know where you were or how long it would be. I didn?t think I?d be gone long. Hell, I wasn?t.?

?You could have left a message.?

?I?d have left War and Peace if I?d known you were going to overreact like this.? Not quite true. I knew.

?Overreact?? His voice went icy calm. ?Let me review for you. Five, maybe seven women have been brutally murdered and mutilated in this town. The most recent was four weeks ago.? He ticked points off on his fingers. ? One of these women made a partial appearance in your garden. A nutcase had your picture in his spice collection. He?s gone missing. A loner who collects knives and pornography, frequents hookers, and likes to slice and dice little animals dialed up your apartment. He?d been stalking your best friend. She is now dead. She was buried clutching a picture of you and your daughter. This loner has also gone missing.?

A couple passed on the sidewalk, dropping their eyes and quickening their pace, embarrassed to witness a lovers? quarrel.

?Ryan, come inside. I?ll make coffee.? My voice sounded raspy and speech was starting to hurt.

He raised a hand in exasperation, fingers splayed, then dropped it to his side. I returned the keys to my neighbor, thanked her for the use of her car, and let Ryan and myself into the apartment.

?Decaf or high test??

Before he could answer his beeper sounded, causing us both to jump.

?Better go with decaf. You know where the phone is.?

I listened, rattling cups and pretending not to.

?Ryan.? Pause. ?Yeah.? Pause. ?No shit.? Long pause. ?When?? Pause. ?Okay. Thanks. I?ll be right there.?

He came to the kitchen door and stood there, his face tense. My temperature, blood pressure, and pulse all began to rise. Stay calm. I poured two cups of coffee, forcing my hand not to tremble. I waited for him to speak.

?They got him.?

My hand froze, the pot suspended in midair.

?Tanguay??

He nodded. I returned the pot to its warmer. Carefully. I took out milk, poured a dollop in my cup, offered some to Ryan. Carefully. He shook his head. I put the carton back in the refrigerator. Carefully. I took a sip. Okay. Speak.

?Tell me.?

?Let?s sit.?

We moved to the living room.

?They arrested him about two hours ago driving east on the 417. An SQ unit spotted the tag and pulled him.

?It?s Tanguay??

?It?s Tanguay. Prints match.?

?He was heading toward Montreal??

?Apparently.?

?What are they charging him with??

?For now, possession of open alcohol in a moving vehicle. Jerk was thoughtful enough to crack a bottle of Jim