Death Du Jour

“Jennifer Cannon and Amalie Provencher were McGill students. They were murdered, Dr. Jeannotte. But not just murdered. No. That wasn’t enough for these people. These maniacs threw them to animals, then watched their flesh torn and their skulls pierced right into their brains.”

I ranted on, no longer in control of my voice. I noticed a passing couple quicken their pace, despite the glassy sidewalk.

“A family was slashed and mutilated and an old woman shot in the head not two hundred kilometers from here. Babies! They slaughtered two little babies! An eighteen-year-old girl was torn apart, stuffed in a trunk, and dumped right in this city. They’re dead, Dr. Jeannotte, murdered by a group of loonies who think they’re the posse for all morality.”

I felt flushed, despite the freezing cold.

“Well, let me tell you something.” I jabbed a trembling finger. “I’m going to find these self-righteous, malevolent bastards and put them out of business, no matter how many altar boys, or guidance counselors, or Bible-toting swamis I have to harass! And that includes your students! And that may include you!”

Jeannotte’s face looked ghostly in the darkness, the smeared mascara transforming it into a macabre mask. A lump had formed above her left eye, throwing it into shadow and causing the right to look strangely light.

I dropped my finger and rewrapped the arm around my body. I had said too much. My outburst spent, the cold was causing me to shiver.

The street was deserted and utterly silent. I could hear the rasping of my breath.

I don’t know what I expected to hear, but it was not the question that came from her lips. “Why do you use such imagery?”

“What?” Was she questioning my prose?

“Bibles and swamis and altar boys. Why do you make these references?”

“Because I believe these murders were committed by religious fanatics.”

Jeannotte held herself completely still. When she spoke her voice was icier than the night, and her words chilled me more than the weather.

“You are out of your depth, Dr. Brennan. I’m warning you to leave this alone.” The colorless eyes bore into mine. “If you persist, I will be forced to take action.”

A car crept down the alley opposite my building and stopped. As it turned onto the street, the headlights made a wide arc, sweeping the block and momentarily illuminating Jeannotte’s face.

I tensed, and my nails dug deeper into my sides.

Oh, God.

It was not an illusion created by shadow. Jeannotte’s right eye was eerily pale. Stripped of makeup, the brow and lashes flared white in the passing beams.

She may have seen something in my face, for she pulled her scarf forward, turned, and picked her way down the steps. She did not look back.

When I got inside, the message light was flashing. Ryan. I phoned him back with shaky hands.

“Jeannotte’s involved,” I said, wasting no time. “She was just here telling me to back off. Seems your call to Anna really irked her. Listen, when we went back to Saint Helena, do you remember the man with the white streak?”

“Yeah. Skinny guy, scarecrow-thin, tall. He came in to talk to Owens.” Ryan sounded exhausted.

“Jeannotte has the same pattern of depigmentation, same eye. It’s not obvious because she hides it with makeup.”

“Same hair streak?”

“I couldn’t tell, but she probably uses dye. Look, these two must be related. The trait’s just too unusual to be a coincidence.”

“Siblings?”

“I didn’t pay much attention at the time, but I think the guy on Saint Helena was too young to be her father and too old to be her son.”

“If she’s from the Tennessee mountains there are limited genetic possibilities.”

“Funny.” I was not in the mood for redneck jokes.

“Could be whole clans that share the gene.”

“This is serious, Ryan.”

“You know, different stripes in different hollers.” He imitated Jeff Foxworthy. “If your stripe is the same as your sister’s, then you may be—”

Stripes. Something about stripes pulled at me.

“What did you say?”

“Hollers, it’s what you folk—”

“Will you stop it! I just thought of something else. Do you remember what Heidi Schneider’s father said about their visitor?”

The line was quiet.

“He said the guy looked like a skunk. A goddam skunk.”