FORTY-SIX

 

 

AFTER NINE O’CLOCK at night, Gaschel’s office was mostly empty. She was reading the interesting bit of Tétreau’s report about the visit of Gabriel-Antoine Phocas and Marie-Pier Hudon to the Causapscal-des-Profondeurs. For extracting metals from trawler cables? She’d never heard of anything like that. There couldn’t be more than trace amounts recoverable. Unless they’d found some new process. Or unless they hadn’t been open with the brother.

She was also scanning the terse reports of non-sightings from the planes and drones that Dauzat and Tétreau had sent out. The planes had covered about half the equatorial zone so far. She was impatient. Woodward was impatient. Gaschel had been in Woodward’s office earlier in the day, receiving ham-fisted threats about debt interest, but there wasn’t much Gaschel could do to make things go any faster. Labourière knocked at her glass door. He had a beautiful black woman with him. Gaschel signaled them in.

“Noëlle Lalumière, Madame la Présidente,” Labourière said.

The Lalumière woman looked a bit awed by the office and by Gaschel. Labourière retreated and shut the door. Gaschel came around the desk, shook hands and guided her to a small seating area.

“Thank you for meeting me, Mademoiselle Lalumière.”

“They said I wasn’t in trouble.”

“You’re not,” Gaschel said, pouring the younger woman a glass of water. She had juices and spirits to offer, but she didn’t want to give this woman more reason than she already had to brag about this meeting to anyone. “I’ve asked you here discreetly as part of a criminal investigation.”

Lalumière’s brown eyes widened and she leaned forward. She didn’t touch the water.

“It’s about your girlfriend.”

“Délia?”

Gaschel squirmed.

“I’ve maybe been misinformed?” Gaschel said. “I’m talking about Marthe D’Aquillon.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t hang with criminals.”

“It’s an investigation,” Gaschel said. “We don’t know if she’s involved, or if her family is.”

“I don’t know Émile, but he’s a dick.”

“You have some influence over Marthe?” Gaschel asked.

Lalumière considered the question, looking away, then pushed aside a coil of curly black hair. “Maybe.”

“There’s a reward involved if this goes as far as a conviction,” Gaschel said. “Any conviction. Right now our investigations have led us to three families. Some other lines of evidence put the D’Aquillon family at the top of our list.”

“How much?”

“How would you like to live on the Forillon, or theBaie-Comeau?”

Lalumière’s eyes narrowed. “What are you looking for?”

“No one can know you’re helping us,” Gaschel said. Lalumière nodded. “Has she talked to you of any political plans? Does it seem that she’s angry enough to do something illegal? Or her family?”

“She can get mad,” Lalumière said.

“Marthe is down at the Causapscal-des-Profondeurs with her family. I’d love to know what she is doing there. I’d also like to know exactly where the Causapscal-des-Profondeurs is in case we need to make arrests. They probably communicate by maser. If you’re in Marthe’s habitat, and you can find out where it’s been pointed or where it’s going to be pointed, that will help a lot.”

“I can do that,” Lalumière said.

“Good,” Gaschel said, smiling at the young woman.