“That was a cult, right?”
“Yes, it was a cult. He killed himself and 600 of his followers with potassium cyanide dissolved in Kool-Aid. Apparently, Kool-Aid hides the taste. It’s a gruesome death. It kills by inhibiting aerobic respiration. The blood cells can’t absorb oxygen and all of the body’s organs become oxygen deprived — it’s like smothering someone, cutting off their air supply. The victim goes into a coma in minutes, and then suffers cardiac arrest. We’re writing up the reports now, Luc, but I thought you would want the news early. You have a murderer out there, and you need to find him.”
“How much of the stuff do you need to kill someone?”
“It doesn’t take much, less than a gram will do it for a normal adult, and it’s very soluble in water.”
“So they all drank poison?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“How do you get this stuff? Can you buy it in the pharmacy?”
“No. But it’s a common industrial chemical. It’s not rare, it has several industrial uses, and plating jewelry is a big one. There are probably dozens of businesses in Montreal that keep stocks of it.”
“That’s nice to know. Isn’t it controlled? Isn’t there a central list of everyone who keeps the stuff?”
“I had someone check. Seems that there are rules for how you have to deal with it in workplaces, health and safety rules, that sort of thing. But there’s no central registry.”
Vanier was thinking, first start with the Canadian manufacturers, then the importers, then onto the distributors and end-users. “It sounds like a big job, tracking it down.”
“Isn’t that what you guys do best?”
“Yeah, if I had unlimited resources. This could take days. Anjili, listen, I have to go. Thanks for this. I’ll be talking to you. Can you fax the preliminary findings over?”
“First thing in the morning. Luc, you have to find this person.”
“I know Anjili. I’m working on it. Thanks,” he said, as he hung up the phone.
He remembered Santa Claus handing Edith Latendresse a gift and then bending down to kiss the old woman on the head. Santa Claus as executioner. That was a new one, even for Vanier. He checked the time, it was probably well past Bedard’s bedtime. He smiled as he punched the Chief’s number on his cell phone.
“Huh?”
“Chief Inspector? It’s Vanier here.”
“Inspector Vanier, do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, sir. But you said that you wanted to be kept informed of developments. We have confirmation that it’s murder. All of the victims were poisoned. Potassium cyanide. Apparently, it’s the same stuff that Jim Jones used.”
“Who?”
“Jim Jones, sir. Remember the mass suicide in Guyana?”
The Chief Inspector was awake. “What? Jesus, he killed hundreds, didn’t he? You’re telling me that we have a lunatic loose poisoning people?”
“Looks like that, sir.”
“I have to talk to communications. We have to manage this properly. Christ, a mass murderer, that’s all I need.”
“Sir, you said that I could go off budget, get more people. Well, I think that we need to ramp this up. Apparently, there’s lots of potassium cyanide lying around. If we need to track it down, I’m going to need resources.”
“Luc, you need overtime and extra people. I’ll give you the overtime; I’ll see what I can do about the extra people. I have to make some calls. How do we know this?”
“I just had a call from Dr. Segal.”
“OK, so it’s reliable. Let’s keep this quiet until we can talk to communications. Jesus, this could set the city into a panic. Do you have any leads yet? Do we have a suspect?” He was pleading.
“Not yet, sir. No suspects. But we’re following up some ideas. Sir, I need more people.”
“Yes, Inspector, I’ll get back to you on that. Listen, thanks for calling. Keep me informed.”
The line cut before Vanier could answer. “Yes, sir,” he said to a dead line.
PART TWO
SIX
DECEMBER 28
8 AM
Only five officers were at their desks when Vanier arrived: Laurent, St. Jacques, Roberge, Fletcher, and Janvier. Vanier stood in the middle of the room and had their attention.
“Listen up. It’s officially a murder investigation. All the victims were killed with potassium cyanide.” He spelled it out and they scribbled it down. “It’s a common industrial chemical and a lethal poison. Santa mixed it in rum and eggnog and sent them on their way.”
Laurent raised his big head. “Isn’t that what Goering used?”
“Goering?”
“In the Nuremberg trial. I saw the film. Somebody smuggled him a cyanide pill, and he killed himself.”
“Christ, you learn something every day. So we can take Goering off the list of suspects. We’re making progress. And I don’t think that we’re looking for pills. Our guy is serving it up in liquid, so we can start by assuming that he has a stock of powder. So here’s what I want. Start with the manufacturers and importers, anyone who makes the stuff, and anyone who has imported it in the last three years. Have them check to see if any is missing; any recent thefts; disgruntled employees; employees who’ve quit recently — you know the sort of thing, anything unusual. You find anything, let me know immediately. Once you’ve got the sources of this stuff, start working on the customers, all the way down to the last buyer. We have to check them all, and as quickly as possible. Any questions?”
“Any suggestions on customs, for the importers?” This from Fletcher.
“Good question.” In the last few years they’d had problems getting information quickly from customs. They weren’t keen on sharing unless there was some joint task force, and even then, they liked to hold back. Something about the privacy rights of importers. Vanier flipped open his phone and scrolled through his address book. “Call Danielle Sabbatini, she’s an investigator in Laval, and she owes me. 450-363-2082. If she gives you grief, tell her you’re cashing in a marker from me. If she still won’t help, call me.”
“Sir, what about the government agencies?” This from St. Jacques. “Maybe you need a licence to keep potassium cyanide. So maybe there’s a list somewhere.”
“I was told that it’s unlikely, but it’s worth a try. See what you can get. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” said Fletcher. “We checked the parking tickets. They weren’t giving tickets Christmas Eve, they were towing cars away to make way for the snow clearing. Anything that was parked illegally, or that was in the way of the clearing, was towed. Thirty-six cars in all, and I’m working through the list. Nothing so far, but it could take another two days, sir.”
“Well, keep it up.”
“Are we getting extra help, sir?” asked St. Jacques.
“The Chief is considering my request for additional resources and will get back to me when he has time to think. So don’t hold your breath. In the meantime you’ll be glad to hear that you can all work as much overtime as you like. The Chief has generously agreed to open the purse on that one.”
That news was greeted with groans.
“Right. If you’ve all got work to do, let’s get to it. Laurent, you come with me, we’re going to church again, separate cars.”
As they were pulling on their overcoats, St. Jacques passed an envelope to Vanier. Laurent was watching but said nothing.
