At the top of the stairs I paused to get my bearings. It was strangely quiet and gloomy. On my left I could see an alcove with double doors opening on to the chapel balcony. Two corridors flanked the alcove, with wooden doors set at intervals along each hall. I passed the chapel and started up the far corridor.
The last office on the left was open but unoccupied. A plaque above the door said “Jeannotte” in delicate script. Compared with my office, the room looked like St. Joseph’s Oratory. It was long and narrow, with a bell- shaped window at the far end. Through the leaded glass I could see the administration building and the drive leading up to the Strathcona Medical-Dental Complex. The floor was oak, the planks buffed yellow by years of studious feet.
Shelves lined every wall, filled with books, journals, notebooks, videotapes, slide carousels, and stacks of papers and reprints. A wooden desk sat in front of the window, a computer workstation to its right.
I looked at my watch. Twelve forty-five. I was early. I moved back up the hall and began to examine the photos lining the corridor. School of Divinity, Graduating Class of 1937, and 1938, and 1939. Stiff poses. Somber faces.
I had worked my way to 1942 when a young woman appeared. She wore jeans, a turtleneck, and a wool plaid shirt that hung to her knees. Her blond hair was cut blunt at the jawline, and thick bangs covered her eyebrows. She wore no makeup.
“May I help you?” she asked in English. She tipped her head and the bangs fell sideways.
“Yes. I’m looking for Dr. Jeannotte.”
“Dr. Jeannotte’s not here yet, but I expect her any time. Can I do something for you? I’m her teaching assistant.” With a quick gesture, she tucked hair behind her right ear.
“Thank you, I’d like to ask Dr. Jeannotte a few questions. I’ll wait, if I may.”
“Uh, oh, well. O.K. I guess that’s O.K. She’s just, I’m not sure. She doesn’t allow anyone in her office.” She looked at me, glanced through the open door, then back at me. “I was at the copy machine.”
“That’s fine. I’ll wait out here.”
“Well, no, she could be a while. She’s often late. I . . .” She turned and scanned the corridor behind her.
“You could sit in her office.” Again the hair gesture. “But I don’t know if she’ll like that.”
She seemed unable to make a decision.
“I’m fine here. Really.”
Her eyes moved past me, then back to my face. She bit her lip and did another hair tuck. She didn’t seem old enough to be a college student. She looked about twelve.
“What did you say your name is?”
“Dr. Brennan. Tempe Brennan.”
“Are you a professor?”
“Yes, but not here. I work at the Laboratoire de Medecine Legale.”
“Is that the police?” A crease formed between her eyes.
“No. It’s the medical examiner.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips, then checked her watch. It was the only jewelry she wore.
“Well, come in and sit down. I’m here, so I think it’s O.K. I was just at the copy machine.”
“I don’t want to cause . . .”
“No. It’s no problem.” She gave a follow-me jerk of her head and entered the office. “Come in.”
I entered and took a seat on the small sofa she indicated. She moved past me to the far end of the room and began reshelving journals.
I could hear the hum of an electric motor, but couldn’t see the source. I looked around. I’d never seen books take up so much space in a room. I scanned the titles immediately across from me.
Minutes dragged by. The office was uncomfortably warm, and I felt a headache begin at the base of my skull. I removed my jacket.
Hmmmmmm.
I studied a print on the wall to my right. Naked children warmed themselves at a hearth, skin glowing in firelight. Below was written
I checked the time. One-ten.
“How long have you worked for Dr. Jeannotte?”
She was bending over the desk but straightened quickly at the sound of my voice.
“How long?” Bewildered.
“Are you one of her graduate students?”
“Undergraduate.” She stood silhouetted by the light from the window. I couldn’t see her features, but her body looked tense.
