Grenier hesitated. “Very sick. If you were to ask me to name ten of my patients who feature most in my prayers, these five would be on the list.”
“Why is that?”
“Different reasons. I can go through the files individually and give the Coroner the precise information. However, to put it bluntly, each of them was terminally ill.”
“That’s why you prayed for them?”
“What do my prayers have to do with anything?”
“Well, if you prayed for them, you were worried about them. And now they’re dead.”
“Yes, I prayed for them. I pray for many people. I see pain every day, and terrible suffering is the companion of many of my clients. I suppose that’s an inevitable part of human existence, but in the bosom of a close family it can, at least, be endured. For the homeless, there is no relief. Without family or friends there’s only the pain. That is why I devote so much of my time to my clinic at the Old Brewery Mission. I try, as best I can, to ease their burden, and when medicine isn’t enough, I pray for them.” His fingers were running slowly over the photographs, touching each one in turn.
“So all five were terminal cases?”
“For one reason or another, yes. But it’s more than that. It’s hard to understand the level of suffering they were enduring, Inspector. It’s not just physical. Street people, the homeless, the destitute, they were all children once, although for most, even their childhood was hell. But, they were all young once with ambitions higher than the streets. And things went wrong and kept going wrong. These five all had their own stories. Pathetic, tragic, inhuman, whatever. Their lives were hell and they knew it. Well, except for Madame Latendresse.”
He picked up her photograph and stared at it.
“Except for Madame Latendresse, they were all aware of how bad their situation was. You don’t lose your ability to feel just because you’re on the street. You can still hurt. And these people hurt terribly. Not just because of their diseases. That’s why I prayed for them. That their burdens be eased.”
Vanier looked at him. The doctor’s eyes were fixed on the photos, and he was talking without giving any information, as if filling the room with sound was enough.
“Was prayer that important to them? You ministered to their health.”
“Prayer is important for all of us, even for you. When all else fails, there is always prayer. These people were hopeless cases. There was nothing left to do for them medically except ease their pain. They had entered the jurisdiction — as you policemen are fond of saying — the jurisdiction of St. Jude.”
“The patron saint of hopeless causes?”
“I see you remember something of your religious training.”
“Were they aware of that?”
“Of what?”
“That there was no hope.”
“As aware as they could be.”
“So they could have decided to end it all? Suicide?”
Dr. Grenier thought for a moment and looked up at Vanier.
“No. Not suicide. It’s true that some street people kill themselves, but it’s the younger ones, the drug addicts, people who have fallen too fast. If you can survive two years on the streets, you can survive 30. The streets weed out the suicidal very quickly, and these five were veterans. None of them was suicidal. Madame Latendresse, for example, is, I’m sorry, was — Madame Latendresse was so disconnected from reality that she couldn’t contemplate non-existence. She would have carried on in her own world until that world stopped. The others? The others were like the Legionnaires of Cameron.”
“What?”
“Not what, Inspector. Who. The Legionnaires of Cameron. Sixty soldiers of the French Foreign Legion who held off two thousand Mexican infantrymen and cavalrymen for twelve hours. At the end, only six legionnaires remained, and when they ran out of ammunition, instead of surrendering, they fixed bayonets and charged the Mexican army. Surrender was simply not an option. It is the same with these people. Suicide was not an option in their universe. If it had been, they would have done it long ago. These people have been losing all their life but they just didn’t know how to give up. They had fallen as far as they did precisely because they couldn’t give up and end it all.”
“So why would they all die on the same evening?”
Grenier’s hands gave a slight tremble. He was making an effort to control himself. “I believe the Coroner will find it was natural causes. Quite a coincidence, I agree. And the scientist in me hesitates to believe in coincidences of that magnitude. But the believer in me knows that it is often difficult to understand God’s work.”
“Is there anyone else I can speak with to find out more about these people? Who else would have known them?”
Dr. Grenier had a distant look on his face, as though he was operating on two levels, talking to Vanier and thinking; and thinking was taking up more of his mind.
“Well, they were all known in the community, the shelters and the drop-in centres. You might try their social workers; there would be files on them. But social workers have case loads so unmanageable that they can never get to know their clients.”
“Anyone else?”
Grenier hesitated again. “If you’re looking for someone who might know these people as individuals rather than faces or numbers, you might try Father Drouin. My friend, Henri Drouin. He works out of the Cathedral. He’s a good man, a holy man. If he knows these people, he will be able to tell you much more than I.”
“How do you know him?”
“Our paths crossed in our missions, and we became friends. He does wonderful work with this community. Sometimes I think that my drugs are a pale substitute for the spiritual comfort he gives to his flock. Because of him, I started attending mass in the Cathedral.”
“Could he be involved with these deaths?”
Grenier seemed shocked at the suggestion. “Father Henri? If you knew him, you would know how ridiculous a proposition that is. Take it from me, if that’s the direction of your investigation, you are on the wrong track. Father Henri is incapable of hurting anyone. All of these unfortunate people were going to die soon, and they all died on Christmas Eve. That’s it. There’s nothing more. It’s a tragedy, but I don’t think there was any human intervention. They were simply called home.”
“One last thing, Doctor. Do you own or have access to a Santa Claus costume?”
“What?”
“A Santa Claus costume. Do you have one? Or if you had to, could you get one?”
“Well, I suppose if I needed one, I could always rent one, but no, I don’t have a Santa Claus costume. Why do you ask?”
“Just one of the questions that we’re working on, that’s all. And where were you on Christmas Eve?”
“Me? You think I could have killed these people? Really, Inspector, that’s going too far.”
“I’m sorry if the question upsets you. But I would like an answer.”
“I was at home until about 10 p.m., with my wife. I went to Midnight Mass at the Cathedral. My wife stayed home. She was tired. After Mass, I came home.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Vanier. “One last thing. Could I have a copy of your files on these people?”
“I can’t turn them over just like that, it’s a question of patient confidentiality. But if the Coroner’s office calls, I can have the files copied and delivered tomorrow. I need an official request.”
Vanier sat back in his chair, hoping that silence would prompt the doctor to say something, if only to fill the void. Grenier continued staring at the photos for a few moments and then looked up. “Is there anything else?”
“I don’t think so. But don’t hold back on me, Doctor. If there’s anything you think might help me, you should tell me.” Vanier stood up and leaned forward with his hands on the desk leaving grease marks on the polished surface. “What are you thinking about that you can’t tell me?”
Grenier tried to look Vanier in the eyes but could only manage it for a moment. “There is nothing. I’ve told you what I know.”
“Maybe. But what about what you suspect? Do you have any hunches, Doctor?”
More silence. Grenier was waging an inner battle. “There is nothing more, Inspector.”
