“My lottery winnings,” said Vanier.
“So where’s mine? I’m in the pool too,” said Laurent.
“You didn’t win.”
“Fuck.”
9.30 AM
Laurent ignored the clutch of men waiting with outstretched paper cups, and pulled open the steel and glass doors to the Cathedral. Vanier followed, watching Laurent dip his fingers in the holy water font, then bless himself before opening the second set of doors. Old habits, thought Vanier.
It was dark and cold inside, a sacrifice to the cost of lighting and heating the empty granite space. An attendant told them that Father Henri was conducting a service in St. Jude’s Crypt, and pointed the way. They approached to see the priest on his knees facing the altar and leading about twenty people in the Rosary. Vanier checked the beads being handled by the devout, and saw that they were almost halfway through the last decade. He knelt. Laurent blessed himself again and knelt beside him.
“
“
Vanier joined in the response loudly enough to be heard, and Drouin, his back to the faithful, raised his head slightly as if trying to pick out the new voice.
When the Rosary ended, Drouin left a little time for silent prayer, then stood and turned to survey the group. His eyes fixed immediately on Vanier, who returned the look with the face of a cherub.
Drouin addressed the devout with difficulty. “That brings us to the end of our session. Let us give our problems and concerns to the Lord in prayer, and to the Blessed Virgin, and to our beloved St. Jude. Again, I invite any of you who need the Lord’s intercession to write your needs on one of the cards provided and drop it in the box.”
The crowd began to shuffle out, some stopping to whisper to Drouin, a few stopping to drop prayer cards into the box. While waiting for the shepherd to finish ministering to his flock, Vanier moved over to the table and picked up a blank card. Laurent followed, and Drouin eyed the two men with concern. The cards were only scraps of recycled paper. Vanier took out a pen and was still writing when Drouin approached.
“It’s curious, Inspector, but you didn’t strike me as a religious man. Do you have a need that you wish us to pray for?”
“Religious, me? Not really. But it’s like the lottery, isn’t it? If you don’t play you don’t win.”
“Well, I never play the lottery, Inspector.”
“I suppose not. It wouldn’t do for a priest to collect twenty million from the 6-49 jackpot. People would think he had some divine help. But maybe prayers are the Church’s lottery. What do you think, Father Drouin?”
“Prayers are a much better investment than the lottery, Inspector. Prayers are answered every day.”
“So there’s hope for me?”
“And what is your prayer, Inspector?”
Vanier held up the card for Drouin to read:
“I can’t help noticing you changed a singular for a plural.”
“Yes. Strange that, isn’t it? And I think we’re dealing with one killer. But in my job we’re always fighting several people, people who know something but don’t come forward. People protecting the killer or people who just can’t be bothered.”
“You really believe those poor people were killed?”
“They were killed, Father. Murdered. What do you think of that?”
“It’s beyond belief. Who would do such a thing? Who could possibly have a reason to kill them?
“That’s my job. Nobody kills without a reason. When I find out why, I’ll have the killer.”
“I can’t think of anyone who would have a reason to kill these people.”
“Well somebody did. Just because you can’t think of a reason doesn’t mean that the killer didn’t have one, does it? So, any ideas? Anyone come to mind?”
“It would have to be a maniac. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you know any maniacs?”
“I know a lot of people. But nobody who is capable of killing.”
“Yesterday you said these people didn’t have friends. Did they have enemies?”
“No, Inspector, just because you don’t have any friends doesn’t mean that you have enemies. The truth is, nobody cared about these people, and certainly nobody cared enough to kill them.”
“There was nothing that struck you as odd in the last few weeks?”
“No, nothing. The usual grumbling and complaining about their lot.” Drouin semed to have a flash of memory and Vanier waited.
“There is something. George Morissette was particularly troubled about money recently.”
“George?”
“Yes, George Morissette, he used to be a notary, very smart when he’s sober. He kept saying that the shelter was cheating him. Every time we talked, he would bring it up. I thought nothing of it. I know M. Nolet, and he is a dedicated man. I just thought George was confused.”
“We’re going to need a full statement from you, your dealings with the victims, the last time you saw each of them, who they knew, that sort of thing.”
“Of course, I am happy to tell you everything I know. I just don’t know that it will be of any help.”
“You never know, Father. Laurent here will drive you to the station.”
“I just need a few minutes to close up.”
Drouin began to close down the shop, extinguishing candles and folding the linen that lay across the altar.
“So what was the service? Benediction?” Vanier asked, remembering childhood Sundays, mass in the morning, and benediction in the afternoon.
“No. A simple prayer service. People who come together in faith to seek the intercession of the Saints, in this case, St. Jude. As I said, Inspector, prayer is a wonderful thing. Prayer works miracles.” Drouin touched the box of cards. “After every service I put a date on the new cards, and we pray for the request for ten days. We meet three times a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. That comes to about two-and-a-half weeks of prayer.”
“So if I put my card in the box, you’ll pray for me?”
“Yes, Inspector, but if you want the Circle to pray for you rather than your request, perhaps you should fill out another card.”
“The Circle?”
“The Circle of Christ. That’s the name of the group. People like to belong, Inspector. It helps if the group has a name. If you put your card in the box, it will be read and the Circle of Christ will pray for your intention, or for you, at our next meeting.”
“I feel better already, Father. Could I ask you a favour?”
“Of course.”
“Could I borrow this box for a day? See what people are praying for? I’ll have it back, with its contents, in time for the next meeting.” Vanier was already holding the box.
Drouin hesitated. “It’s private. It’s the prayers of sincere believers. I can’t see what possible relevance it can have to your investigation.”
“Father, it’s going to sit here untouched overnight. Indulge me.”
“Well, I suppose so,” said Drouin.
“Great,” said Vanier, putting the box under his arm.
As they took the step down out of the crypt, Vanier turned to Drouin.
