“You think I called Chasse?”
“You were reading those files all night. I saw a sliver of light under your door.”
“Hell no it wasn’t me,” I said. “Why would I even want him here?”
“Because you’re a fucking enigma, Bowditch. You always have been. Maybe you read something in the report and decided to pull some mischief to expose us. The little Belgian detective gathers the suspects together…”
“What report?” asked Chasse, showing an actual flicker of interest.
“Bowditch has decided to reopen the Scott Pellerin investigation for reasons he refuses to share.”
“Did someone find something new?”
“I’ve been reviewing some cold cases,” I said. “And St. Ignace is the Great White Whale.”
Chasse cocked his head the way a baffled dog does. “What’s left to solve? Pierre Michaud killed Pellerin. Charley Stevens shot Pierre as he was trying to get across Beau Lac to New Brunswick. Open and shut.”
“There’s the small matter of Pellerin’s body never having been found,” I said.
Chasse leaned against the counter. “I always figured Pierre cut him up and burned the pieces in his forge.”
The blunt brutality of the statement stunned me.
Kellam didn’t seem surprised or bothered by the callousness of his former subordinate. “If that’s what’s happened, we’ll never know, Pierre’s property having burned to the ground.”
“I hope you’re not planning on poking around St. Ignace,” said Chasse.
Poking?
“Why not?”
“There are still people in the Valley who are angry about what happened. Game wardens aren’t exactly popular. It could be dangerous.”
“You’re still there,” I said. “It can’t be that dangerous.”
“I grew up in Frenchville. Everyone knows me. They understand I had nothing to do with what happened. I never even knew about the investigation.”
“It was my decision to bring in Pellerin,” said the lieutenant. “And my decision not to inform Chasse.”
Because he was afraid of Dudley Do-Right blowing his cover.
I remembered that section in the report where Emmeline lured Chasse to the motel to see how he reacted when he met the mysterious Scott “Paradis.” It had been one of Pierre’s tests.
“In his account, Pellerin said that you two met,” I said to Chasse. “He was baffled that you failed to recognize him. Care to explain that for me?”
He didn’t seem put off by the veiled accusation but gave a self-deprecating smile and shrugged his wide shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve wondered about it. C. J. was in trouble a lot back then at school. Pellerin had a beard and long hair. I’ve always been better with names and dates than with faces. Do you mind if I use your bathroom, Lieutenant?”
“You know where it is.”
Out on the lake, a loon began to yodel. Another answered. Two males. Destined for a fight.
I waited until I heard the bathroom door close and lowered my voice. “I saw Edouard bolt when Lamontaine came down the hill. The poor guy was in his underwear.”
“He hears a strange noise and assumes it’s ICE coming to get him.” Kellam lifted the mug and hefted it, almost as if preparing to throw it at me. “There’s something you’re not telling me about why you’re really here. I can’t figure out what it is, but I know it’s not in my best interest.”
Chasse returned to the kitchen looking as guileless as ever.
“Can you think of anyone who might’ve gotten their kicks sending you on a wild-goose chase?” Kellam asked him.
Before Chasse could respond, his phone rang. He looked at the screen. “It’s Michelle again.”
“Allo?” he said. “Quoi? Calme-tu. Respire. Où? Et la police est sûre que c’est elle? Oh, mon Dieu, c’est horrible. Si le bureau du shérif appelle à nouveau, dis-leur que je me rendrai directement au motel. J’taime.”
My mother hadn’t taught me French, but I had spent enough time with my late grandparents that I could follow the thrust of what he was saying.
“What motel?” I asked.
“The Valley View.”
“Oh, Christ,” I said. “Is it Angie Bouchard?”
Chasse Lamontaine didn’t ask how I knew the name, but his eyes widened from their usual squint. He nodded in the affirmative.
“A person driving by the motel this morning found her car parked behind the building, out of sight of the road. He recognized it as Angie’s. She was inside, dead. Somebody strangled her.”
30
Stan Kellam erupted at me this time. “You know Emmeline Bouchard’s daughter? And you didn’t say anything?”
“I stopped at her house in Presque Isle before I came here.”
Chasse seemed focused and alert. No longer laid-back, he was taking in every word.
“Enough bullshit,” said Kellam loudly enough that the dog barked at the far end of the house. “What are you really doing here? It has to do with Stevens, doesn’t it? He sent you to spy on me.”
“Charley has nothing to do with me being here.”
“That’s a lie.”
I bobbed and weaved. “He didn’t send me.”
“I earned my master’s in the interpretation of body language to detect lying. You’re indicating deception all over the place, Bowditch.”
“Then you know how poor even experts are at catching lies.” I turned to the sink to rinse my coffee mug. “Thank you for the hospitality and the help, but I need to get up to St. Ignace.”
“Not before you answer my questions.”
“The state police will want to hear what I have to say.”
“So use the goddamn phone.”
At that moment, the Cane Corso came bounding into the kitchen. The charcoal dog moved into an attack position between his master and me. There was no question in his mind about the enemy in the room. Chasse seemed unruffled by the beast’s sudden appearance.
“I need to meet with the detective in charge,” I said with as much calmness as I could manage. “I would hope you can understand that.”
The lieutenant’s chair toppled as he pushed himself to his feet. The dog showed me his teeth when he growled—always the last thing you want to see.
“Where is Stevens?” Kellam demanded. “What is he up to?”
A single word from his master might have sent the amber-eyed mastiff leaping at my throat.
“I honestly
