grabbed his coat. He called the Squad Room on his way to the car and got St. Jacques. She agreed to meet him in the parking lot outside headquarters.
“Tell Janvier to get me the Police Chief in St. Sauveur and patch him into my cell.”
“Yes, sir.”
She was standing in the parking lot when he arrived. He heavy-footed the gas, and they were back out of the lot and onto the street before she had buckled the belt.
“What’s the hurry, boss?”
“The daughter of a friend of mine may have been snatched from the ski hill at St. Sauveur. He just called me. Get on the phone to the SQ and see if you can get me an escort on 15 North. If you can’t, just tell them him to make sure they stay away from the car. We’re not stopping.”
He pushed the car onto the Ville Marie Expressway, accelerating past everything, weaving in and out of lanes like a video game. St. Jacques was clutching the seat with one hand and trying to contact Central with one-thumb dialing. She looked at the speedometer. He was cruising at 160 km. When they hit 15 North, he gunned the motor and settled into 180 km on the long, straight Autoroute going north to the mountains.
The phone rang; she listened for a few moments and then put the phone on speaker, holding it in front of Vanier. “It’s Janvier,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Inspector, I have Captain DuMoulin from the SQ in Ste. Agathe on the line. He’s the Director for the area. Go ahead, Captain,” said Janvier.
Vanier started: “Captain DuMoulin, Inspector Vanier here, Major Crimes in Montreal. I have a report of a missing child at the ski hill in St. Sauveur. This is a friend of mine. And the child may have been taken. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Inspector. We’re already onto it. I have two men at the chalet checking it out.”
“Two? That’s all? And I suppose they’re walking around together?”
“We’re doing our best, Inspector. It’s the holidays, you know. The two at the mountain, they’ve already talked to the parents.”
“Captain, I’ve talked to the father, and the parents didn’t see anything. Maybe someone else did. If there were any witnesses, you need to speak to them now. Can we get anybody else out there?”
“For you, Inspector, I’ll have two more cars go up. And I’ll tell the guys who are there to start asking around. Maybe we can get a description of a car.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Excellent, Inspector, I’ll be in touch.”
Vanier saw the flashing lights in his mirror, an SQ car approaching fast, weaving through traffic and gaining on Vanier.
“Oh, Captain, one more thing before you go.”
“Yes, Inspector?”
“One of your guys is coming up behind me. Looks like he wants me to slow down. Can you get him to back off?”
“I’ll see what I can do, Inspector, but please drive carefully. What are you driving?”
“Grey Volvo, and I just crossed the Riviere-des-Prairies bridge.”
St. Jacques flipped the phone closed and fought with the seatbelt to slip it back in her pocket. The SQ car was directly behind them, playing its siren, the noise barely reaching them.
They continued for twenty minutes, and Vanier’s phone rang. He started digging into his jacket pocket to find it.
“Please,” said St. Jacques, “Let me. Just concentrate on the driving. You’ll get us killed.” She reached into his pocket and removed the phone.
“This is Sergeant St. Jacques, Inspector Vanier is busy at the moment. You can speak to me.”
She listened for a few moments
“Just a second,” she said, taking the phone away from her ear. “Sir, they’ve found a girl abandoned at the McDonald’s at Exit 105, La Porte du Nord. A car is on its way.”
“Get the kid’s name. What’s her name?”
St. Jacques spoke into the phone. “Captain DuMoulin, do we have a name for the child?”
She listened again, then turned to Vanier.
“Sir, they don’t have a name yet, but we’ll be at the exit in a few minutes at this speed. We should stop there and see.”
“OK. We’ll stop. But tell DuMoulin that we need a name as soon as possible. Oh, and get onto the SQ to tell Sparky up front that we’re getting off at exit 105.”
In minutes, the SQ escort indicated he was pulling off, and they followed. Vanier slammed on the brakes in the tight exit ramp leading to a service stop dominated by an Esso Station and a McDonald’s. He braked hard in front of the McDonald’s and ran in, leaving the driver’s door open. There was a knot of people standing around, trying not to gawk too obviously at a distraught girl, maybe eight years old, sitting with an older girl in a McDonald’s uniform. They were holding hands. The younger girl’s face was red from crying and her cheeks shiny with tears. Vanier squatted down in front of her, an attempt at a smile on his face.
“Stephanie?”
She lit up at the sound of the familiar.
“Are you the daughter of Pascal Beaudoin?”
“Oui, ou est Papa?”
“Why don’t we get him on the phone, Stephanie.”
Vanier dialed.
“Pascal, I have someone who wants to talk to you,” he said, handing the phone to the child.
“Papa?”
Vanier stood up, smiling.
St. Jacques approached. “She’s the one?”
“Thank God.”
Beaudoin arrived fifteen minutes later with his wife and a small boy in tow, walking like a toy soldier in his one-piece snowsuit. In the meantime, Vanier had made friends with Stephanie, both of them drawing pictures on the back of McDonald’s placemats and asking each other to guess what they had drawn. Caroline ignored him and grabbed her daughter as though she was still in danger. She pushed her face into the girl’s neck and wept with heaving shoulders. Stephanie looked at Vanier over her mother’s head and smiled. He winked at her.
Beaudoin was holding his son’s hand. He turned to Vanier, “Somebody took her?”
“It looks that way. We need to get her to a hospital. She needs to be checked out.”
“You don’t think…?”
“Pascal, I don’t think anything. But we have to be sure. We also have to speak to her, find out what she can tell us.” Before Beaudoin could object, he added, “We have people who are trained to do these kinds of things. Anyway, let’s get her to a hospital and get it over with as soon as possible. The ambulance will take her to St. Jerome, that’s the closest.”
“Ambulance, what ambulance?” Beaudoin was beginning to realize that finding his daughter safe wasn’t the end of it.
“Pascal, I’m sorry, but that’s the procedure. Your wife and Sergeant St. Jacques can go with her. You follow the ambulance, and I’ll follow you.”
Beaudoin went over to his wife, knowing he wouldn’t be able to pry Stephanie from her arms.
“Papa.”
“Yes, my love?”
“The man told me to give this to you.” She pulled a crumpled pink telephone message slip from her pocket
