“Thursday. Monsieur Claudel, why are you asking me these questions?”
I waited out a Claudel pause. I could hear commotion in the background and guessed he was calling from the homicide squad room.
“A white female was found early this morning, naked, with no identification.”
“Where?” The hollow feeling pushed against my sternum.
“Ile des S?urs. At the back of the island there is a wooded area and a pond. The body was found”—he hesitated—“on the water’s edge.”
“Found how?” He was holding back.
Claudel considered my question for a moment. I could picture his beak nose, his close-set eyes narrowed in thought.
“The victim was murdered. The circumstances are . . .” Again the hesitation. “. . . unusual.”
“Tell me.” I shifted the phone to my other hand and wiped my palm on my robe.
“The body was found in an old steamer trunk. There were multiple injuries. LaManche is doing the autopsy today.”
“What kinds of injuries?” I stared at a pattern of spots on my robe.
He took a deep breath. “There are multiple stab wounds and ligature marks around the wrists. LaManche suspects there has also been an animal attack.”
I found Claudel’s habit of depersonalizing annoying. A white female. The victim. The body. The wrists. Not even a personal pronoun.
“And the victim may have been burned,” he continued.
“Burned?”
“LaManche will know more later. He is going to do the post today.”
“Jesus.” Though one pathologist from the lab is on call at all times, rarely is an autopsy carried out on a weekend. I knew the murder had to be extraordinary. “How long has she been dead?”
“The body wasn’t fully frozen, so it was probably outside less than twelve hours. LaManche will try to narrow the time of death.”
I didn’t want to ask the next question.
“Why do you think it could be Anna Goyette?”
“The age and description fit.”
I felt a little weak.
“What physical characteristic were you referring to?”
“The victim has no lower molars.”
“Were they extracted?” I felt stupid as soon as the question was out.
“Dr. Brennan, I am not a dentist. There is also a small tattoo on the right hip. Two figures holding a heart between them.”
“I’ll call Anna’s aunt and get back to you.”
“I can—”
“No. I’ll do it. I have something else to discuss with her.”
He gave me his beeper number and hung up.
My hand trembled as I punched the digits for the convent. I saw frightened eyes gazing from below blonde bangs.
Before I could think of how to frame my questions, Sister Julienne was on the line. I spent several minutes thanking her for sending me to Daisy Jeannotte, and telling her about the journals. I was evading what I had to do, and she saw right through me.
“I know something bad has happened.” Her voice was soft, but I could hear tension just below the surface.
I asked if Anna had turned up. She had not.
“Sister, a young woman has been found—”
I heard the swish of fabric and knew she was crossing herself.
“I need to ask a few personal questions about your niece.”
“Yes.” Barely audible.
I asked about the molars and tattoo.
The line was quiet only a second, then I was surprised to hear her laugh.
“Oh my, no, no, that isn’t Anna. Oh heavens, no, she’d never allow herself to be tattooed. And I’m certain Anna has all of her teeth. In fact she often mentions her teeth. That’s how I know. She has a lot of trouble with them, complains about pain when she eats something cold. Or hot.”
The words flew in such a torrent I could almost feel her relief rush across the line.
