Monday Mourning

“The charisma is simply too overpowering.”

“Could be the aftershave.”

“I like flying solo.”

“Why did Parent come in as a mort suspecte?”

“My guess would be the death looked suspicious.”

“You’re a laugh riot, Ryan.”

“Vic was in good health, not that old. No malfunctioning space heater. No leaking gas or carbon monoxide. No history of depression. No suicide note. Vic’s sixty-four-year-old sister’s in the wind. Disappeared. Candiac cops thought it called for a look-see by the big boys.”

“LaManche is doing the autopsy this morning.”

I pictured Ryan shoulder-cradling the phone, ankles crossed on his desk.

I pictured Ryan lying in my bed.

I pictured Ryan strutting with a prom queen.

“Vic’s niece found the body. Claims it’s out of character for her mother to take off without telling her.”

“Rose Fisher.”

I heard paper rustle.

“Bingo.”

“You’re trying to locate her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who’s Alban Fisher?”

Hitch of hesitation. “I can find out. Why?”

“Remember the woman who phoned about the pizza parlor skeletons?”

“Yes.”

“Remember I thought her name was Ballant or Gallant or something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Both calls came from Rose Fisher’s house in Candiac.”

“Parent.”

“Sounds similar over a bad connection.”

“The phone account’s in the name of Alban Fisher?” Ryan guessed.

“Yes.”

“Alban in the directory?”

“Hold on.”

I laid down the receiver, pulled out the phone book, and thumbed to the F’s. Sometimes detecting doesn’t take much genius. Alban Fisher was listed at the Candiac address.

“He’s there.”

“The niece didn’t put anyone else in the picture. Said the women lived alone. I’ll give her a call.”

“I’ll get back to you when LaManche finishes.”

“Could be a simple heart attack.”

“Could be.”

“Happens all the time.”

“Second leading cause of death.”

“You sure the ticker isn’t numero uno?”

“No.”

“Anything else breaking?”

“Actually, yes.”

I told him about the forged button. He asked what it meant. I told him I hadn’t a clue.

Then I told him about Nicolo Cataneo.

There was a pause, after which Ryan’s voice sounded different. Harder, somehow.

“I don’t like the sound of that, Tempe. Wiseguys value life about as much as they value used dental floss. You watch your back.”

“I always do.”