“Tell you what, Laurent. When you get a chance, get me a list of everyone who’s involved with Holy Land Shelter, employees, management. Don’t forget the Board of Directors. These places usually have a Board stacked with upstanding members of the community. Nolet said that Audet was brought in by the new Board. What’s going on? See who’s involved. As much as you can find out.”
Laurent was lost. “You think there may be a connection to the homeless deaths?”
“No. But it’s curious all the same. I’d love to know what Marcel Audet is doing serving the homeless. He’s a parasite. When he thinks of other people, it’s only to figure out how he can profit from them. He’s a thug, with just enough brains to be dangerous.”
3 PM
The Press Room was steaming hot from television lights and loud with the chatter of journalists. Wires littered the floor, threatening to topple the distracted. Sergeant Julie Laflamme was at the podium trying to impose calm in a tailored uniform that emphasized authority and curves in that order. Vanier stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, scanning the room and nodding with a half smile to reporters he recognized.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if we can get started,” said Laflamme for the third time.
The noise level diminished slightly, and cameramen began to focus.
“I am Detective Sergeant Laflamme of the Communications Division. I propose to read a prepared statement first, and then I will take some questions.” She waited for five beats to allow a gap in the recordings, a gift to the news editors, and then she started.
“Between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m. on Christmas Eve, the bodies of five people were discovered in various parts of downtown Montreal, three men and two women. The victims were found at various locations. One, a male, in Cabot Park; a female in the entrance to a parking garage on Atwater; two victims, one male and one female, were found at different spots in the Berri-UQAM complex; and another male was found inside the McGill Metro station. Until we have notified their next of kin, we are not releasing the identity of any of the victims.
“We wish to stress at this point that we are treating these deaths as suspicious, but this is not officially a murder inquiry. We are keeping an open mind on every possibility. We are continuing to collect information and follow up on certain lines of inquiry. The investigation is being led by Detective Inspector Vanier of the Major Crimes Squad.” She waved her hand to indicate Vanier, who smiled for half a second.
“The Coroner is in the process of conducting autopsies on the victims to determine the causes of death. We expect to have one or two preliminary reports tomorrow.
“In the meantime, we ask that all requests for information be made through my office, and we promise to respond quickly. The Montreal Police Service is taking these incidents very seriously, and is sparing no resources in its efforts. Now, any questions?”
“Inspector Vanier. Were there any signs of violence on the bodies?”
“Let me answer that,” Laflamme responded, and Vanier looked bemused. “The investigation is still at a very preliminary stage, and we cannot discuss details concerning the deceased or of the various scenes at this point.”
“Inspector Vanier, were you at the crime scenes?”
If Laflamme was under pressure she didn’t show it.
“It is premature to refer to the places where the individuals were discovered as crime scenes. As we said earlier, we have no evidence yet to confirm or to discount a crime. We are treating the deaths only as suspicious. But we can confirm that Inspector Vanier has been working on this investigation from the beginning.”
“There have been suggestions that someone dressed as Santa Claus was seen with some of the victims. Can you confirm?”
“We are reviewing hours of closed circuit television footage to identify who, if anyone, may have had contact with the victims during the hours prior to their death. It does appear that a person dressed in a Santa Claus costume may have had contact with at least one of the deceased, but it would be premature to confirm any more than that.”
“Wouldn’t Santa have been very busy on Christmas Eve?”
The room erupted in laughter, and Laflamme put on her patient schoolmistress-dealing-with-hijinks face.
“Next.”
“Is there any connection between the victims? Did they know one another?”
“We believe that all of the victims were what you might call street people. They were homeless. While that might be a connection, we have not yet established if they knew each other.”
“Have there been any other suspicious deaths of homeless people in the last months?”
“We are looking into that. We have asked the Coroner’s office to provide us with a report of all the homeless deaths in the last three years. We want to know if there is anything unusual in the past that might have been missed. Last question.”
“Has the squad cancelled leave to deal with the investigation?”
“As I said, Inspector Vanier and his team have been working on this throughout the holidays. We do not expect the holiday period to interfere with our work. Thank you.” Laflamme picked up her notes and began to walk away from the podium, followed by Vanier.
“Inspector Vanier.” Laflamme looked back to see Vanier level with the microphone at the podium as the question was shouted. “How do you like your new handler?” Laughter again.
Vanier leaned into the microphone. This time his smile lasted longer. “No comment.”
6.15 PM
Vanier gunned the Volvo through light snow onto Highway 40 heading west. Laurent had told him that a major storm was on its way, thirty centimetres before dawn. It was already dark. The highway was deserted, and he pushed the button to let Tom Waits sing of
He followed the highway to Hudson, the horse-rearing capital of Quebec, fishtailed through the slippery exit, and, after fifteen minutes of slow driving, pulled into the empty visitor parking lot of the Lafarge Retirement Home.
He rang the bell, and Sister Veronique appeared in the opened doorway with a smile on her old face as though she was relieved to see someone from the living, and not another delivery of someone who would not be leaving.
“M. Vanier, how good to see you again. Come in, come in. What a night it is.”
He walked past her as she poked her head out to look at the storm. Closing the door with an exaggerated shiver she turned, extending both hands to Vanier.
“And a holy and happy Christmas to you, M. Vanier.” She smelled of lemon, pine, and wax.
“The same to you, Sister. I hope you’re keeping well.”
“I am, thank God. And who wouldn’t at this time of the year? Isn’t this a joyous time?”
“It is, Sister.”
“Every mother should have a son like you who would come out to see her on a night like this. She’s in the lounge. Let me take your coat and we can go in.”
She hung his coat in a closet.
Vanier eyed the expanse of deep red carpet and the shining wood beyond and bent down to remove his wet boots, leaving them to drip into the carpet while he followed her silently in stockinged feet.
As they entered the lounge, a sea of heads rose expectantly.
He pulled up an armchair and sat in front of her, staring into the blank eyes. Then he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Happy Christmas, Mum.”
He dropped the Christmas package lightly into her lap. It could have been a grenade or a flower for all the
