Forty-Three

“BONJOUR, BOSS! Comment ça va ce matin? Did you get my message last—”

“Yes. I got it.”

There was a brief hesitation. “Oh. Okay.…Did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

“Non, pas du tout. What do you have for me?”

“It’s just that you sound a bit…weird. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, Detective Sergeant LaFramboise. What do you have?”

Roméo glanced over at Marie, who was busy in the kitchen frying up some eggs and bacon. Noah was running around being chased by his aunt Ruby, who was now popping out from behind the sofa and startling him into fits of shrieking and giggles. Ben and Maya were drinking coffee like their lives depended on it. Young parenthood. One of the greatest tests of character Roméo had experienced.

He stepped out for quiet into the living room. Nicole’s tone chilled to officially professional.

“Well, Detective Inspector Leduc. I went through all the Chantal Lalonde-Fukushima case files. I rechecked all the interviews and had the team re-question the family and a few friends, as per your suggestion. Then, quite by chance, I discovered a photograph of Chantal with this guy. Jean Luc David.” Nicole knew that Roméo wasn’t much into popular culture, and certainly not a binge-watcher of television series. He still had a VCR, for God’s sake.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

Nicole realized that even Roméo couldn’t avoid the thousands of words written about this guy, and his picture in every Quebec tabloid newspaper, along with significant worldwide exposure.

“I’m wondering if there’s a possible link between Jean Luc David and the girl who was murdered.” She explained that Chantal had aspirations to be a model, and Nicole had a hunch that maybe she’d gone to one—or possibly more—of his parties and just hadn’t told anyone. She also told Roméo what her college girlfriend had said about him, and the rumors of his infamous debauchery that were circulating in those days.

“I think he’s cleaned up his act significantly. He has a couple of grown kids, a brand new wife, and settled into domestic bliss. At least for show. But….”

Roméo’s heart began to pound. “But?”

“Well, I did a little digging, and it turns out that David pled guilty to one count of sexual assault in nineteen ninety-seven, and was sentenced to one year of probation. He appealed, and his sentence was reduced to an unconditional discharge—which left him with no criminal record. Get this—the authorities felt he was too important in Quebec to be compromised in any way—too big to fail, you know?”

Roméo nodded his head, but made no audible reply. Nicole pushed on.

“That way, he was still allowed to travel all over the world. Basically, the powers that be did not want to clip his wings in any way. He was just too important to the Quebec brand.” Nicole made an exhalation of disgust. “Unbelievable. Deguelasse.”

“There’s no real evidence at all connecting him to Chantal, is there?”

Nicole’s voice sank. “No, boss. None.”

“Who did he assault in ‘ninety-seven?”

“An eighteen-year-old woman. Girl. From St. Lambert. On the South Shore of the city. That’s all I know.”

“I want you to pull all but one guy off the other cold case team for now and get everyone on this. Get Robert to go over every possible link to the girl and David that you can. Every old photo, every newspaper article. Re-interview whatever high-school friends you can find. Someone must know something.”

“Okay. Got it.”

“I want this pursued vigorously, Nicole. Okay? Everyone piles on, understood?”

Nicole watched as Léo dumped the entire box of mega blocks she had just tidied back onto the living room floor.

“Yes, boss.”

“I want the DNA testing from the Fukushima case pulled and check to see if David has DNA on file. Got it?”

“Yes, boss. Thy will be done.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Is there anything else?”

Roméo thought of the conversation with Marie the night before.

“No. Nothing for now.”

Roméo ended the call and stepped back into the kitchen. Marie was trying to coax Noah into eating a piece of orange. Noah was in his highchair, entertaining everyone by dropping bits of his breakfast on Dog’s enormous head, while Barney, Marie’s much smaller pug, kept hurling himself at Dog’s head to lick it off. Ruby, Ben, and Maya were all watching him and laughing themselves silly, which only encouraged him to do it more. Roméo tousled the mop of silky black curls on Noah’s head. Marie took the spoon from him and explained gently that the food was for his mouth, not Dog’s head. Roméo felt a sudden pang of guilt that Sophie was not a part of this. Marie always invited her for these Sunday brunches and special family events, but she usually sent her excuses at the last minute. Roméo knew she often felt alienated at these gatherings of Marie’s family, even after two years. He didn’t know why. Roméo resolved that next time, he would just go and get her, and insist that Sophie join them. Marie was still wiping her grandson down and briefly looked up into Roméo’s eyes. She could see that he wanted a word with her, so she handed the soggy mess of food and paper towel to Ben and wiped her hands on her pajamas.

“What is it?”

“Do you think you could speak with Michaela Cruz again?”

“I hope to. Why? What’s happened?”

Just as he was about to answer, Roméo’s phone beeped in his pocket. He fished it out and checked the screen. Another attack. Looks like our guy. Victim survived. Has a dog. Gone to Montreal General hospital.

“I have to go.”

“What? You haven’t even eaten breakfast—I made you a special vegan plate of woodchips!” Marie protested.

Roméo kissed Marie’s lips very lightly. “I have to go.”

“You will call me later and we will continue this conversation, right?”

Roméo nodded and threw his coat and hat on. He patted his pockets and checked that his gloves and keys were there. By the time he looked up and went to wave goodbye, Marie had already returned to the kitchen. Roméo watched as they all chatted and laughed with each other. The family circle had just closed up tight again.