The younger childs first permanent and second baby molar had been recovered, both from the lower jaw on the right. Also the second baby molar from the upper right. I set the baby teeth aside.
I was examining the adult molar when a shadow fell on my hand. I glanced up.
Ryan looked uncharacteristically formal in a dark navy suit and crisp white shirt. His pale yellow tie had sprightly blue dots.
Natty, I said.
Thanks, he said. Court day.
Your testimony went well?
Wowed em.
With your modesty. I returned the tooth to its vial. Buttering up my assistant?
Not sure hes butterable.
Meaning?
When I said you were thermally challenged he got all defensive, said I was being rude.
My left brow floated up.
I was making a joke.
Perhaps Joe is one of those people who believe that being rude is rude. Why the comment on my climatic capabilities, anyway?
Mr. Touchy was looking at pictures of a utility tunnel or something. I asked about it, just making conversation, couldnt have cared less. He described some nutball hobby. I said he must love the cold. He said thats what Dr. Brennan thought. I said
I raised a silencing hand.
Ryan took the hint. Gouvrard antemorts gonna put this to bed?
I shook my head. So far the files of limited use. Mama had migraines and bellyaches. Daddy had a rash. The older kid broke an arm, but I dont have those bones. Daddy smashed his foot but I dont have those bones.
Find anything exclusionary?
No. The ages and adult genders play. Ditto the injury patterns. The bone quality is crap, but consistent with forty years underwater. I wiggled upturned fingers, indicating frustration. Theres just nothing unique, nothing to make me comfortable with a positive ID. Anything new on Villejoin?
Grelliers been leafing through mug shots the past couple days. Thinks he may have spotted his bar buddy. Punk name of Red OKeefe. Aka Bud Keith. Aka Sam Caffrey. Aka Alex Carling. Creative guy. Usually these toads stick with the same initials. Makes it easier to keep the monogrammed tea towels.
Whats his story?
Four-time loser, all petty stuff.
OKeefes in jail now?
Ryan shook his head. Been on the street since 1997. Served his full stretch, so hes not on anyones call sheet. Former PO says his last known address was in Laval. While were running him to ground Ill cross-check his rich list of monikers against names in the Jurmain and Villejoin files.
Worth a shot, I said.
Got nothing else.
You talk to Claudel lately?
We keep missing each other.
I told him about the accelerant in Keisers cabin. Likely arson.
Ryan opened his lips, as though to comment. Or share a thought. Instead, he checked his watch.
Time to put the chairs on the tables and kill the lights.
Meaning?
Im outa here.
That night I picked up shrimp curry with veggies. Birdie downed the crustaceans but spit the carrots and peas on the rug after licking off the sauce.
I tried reading a novel but couldnt focus. I kept picturing Rose Jurmain alone in the woods. Anne-Isabelle Villejoin hemorrhaging on her kitchen floor. Christelle Villejoin trembling on the edge of her grave. Marilyn Keiser in flames on her couch.
I phoned Harry, but she was out. So was Katy.
Frustrated and antsy, I decided to assemble a chart. Perhaps a pattern would emerge once facts were placed on paper. Or converted to megabytes.
Opening a blank document on my laptop, I created three columns, then entered what was known about each woman.
Rose Jurmain
Fifty-nine, but looked older
American (Chicago)
Wealthy background, cut from fathers will, estranged from family
Lesbian, lived with partner, Janice Spitz
Religion?
Suffered from depression
Prescription drug and alcohol abuse
Estate goes to?
Traveled to Quebec to view foliage, LAuberge des Neiges
Body found on surface in woods near Sainte-Marguerite thirty months after disappearance, skeletonized, scavenged by bears
No perimortem skeletal or cranial trauma
Anne-Isabelle/Christelle Villejoin
Eighty-six, eighty-three
Pointe-Calumet, Quebec
Spinsters, lived together
Catholic, active in church
No alcohol or drug use
No car or travel
No extended family
Cats
Estate goes to Humane Society
Anne-Isabelle bludgeoned to death in home, overkill. Christelle disappeared on same date.
ATM card used on east side of city hours after attack
Tip from Florian Grellier following DUI arrest (info obtained from unknown bar patron; OKeefe plus AKAs?) concerning Christelle
Christelles body found in shallow grave near Oka eighteen months after disappearance, skeletonized
Cranial fractures indicate blows with a shovel (Anne-Isabelle beaten with cane)
Marilyn Keiser
Seventy-two
Widow, lived alone in apartment in Montreal, Boulevard Éduard-Montpetit
Married three times
Son and daughter, Otto and Mona, in Alberta, estranged
Stepson, Myron Pinsker in Montreal
Hippie. Active social life.
Jewish
Cabin near Memphrémagog. Existence known only to building super, Lu Castiglioni
Owned and drove auto, took local trips
Vehicle found at cabin
Fire. Accelerant indicates arson.
Found in cabin three months after disappearance, body decomposed and burned
Ayers autopsy. No obvious cause of death.
I stared at the lists, willing an idea to go off in my mind. Or on. Like an overhead bulb in a comic strip.
Didnt happen. Only questions emerged. I began jotting them down.
The Villejoins were Francophone. Rose Jurmain was American, undoubtedly Anglophone. Did Marilyn Keiser speak French or English? Or both?
Keisers estate would go to her kids. The Villejoin sisters left everything to the Humane Society. Who stood to benefit from Rose Jurmains death?
Keiser was Jewish. The Villejoins were Catholic. Rose Jurmain?
Keiser had two kids. The Villejoins and Jurmain had none. Did Roses partner, Janice Spitz, have offspring?
An American lesbian with substance abuse problems. Two spinsters
who rarely ventured from their home. A socially active grandmother married three times and estranged from her kids.
Did these women have anything in common besides violent death?
Keiser and Jurmain liked back-to-nature getaways. The Villejoins never left Pointe-Calumet.
Keiser and Jurmain had large families from whom they were disconnected. The Villejoins had only each other, maybe distant relatives in the Beauce.
The Villejoins were bludgeoned. Jurmain and Keiser had suffered no skeletal trauma.
Keiser was torched in her country chalet. Anne-Isabelle was left in her home. Christelle was buried in a shallow grave. Jurmain was dumped on the surface.
Were we looking for linkage that didnt exist?
I started anew, focusing on commonalities.
Every victim was female.
Every victim was old or appeared to be old.
Every victim died within the past three years.
Except for Anne-Isabelle, every victim was found in a remote wooded area.
Coincidence? I didnt believe it.
I was logging off when window glass exploded into the room.
Heart hammering, I dove for the floor.
24
I LAY BELLY TO THE CARPET, ARMS FLUNG OVER MY HEAD. I SENSED stinging on my left shoulder and cheek.
Traffic sounds drifted in from the street. A man singing. The hum of a transformer next to the building behind mine.
Inside the condo, nothing but quiet.
Cold air was rapidly chilling the room.
I opened my eyes. The upended lamp was out. Light from my computer screen sparked fragments of glass scattered around me.
Then, in the stillness, I heard a soft crunch.
A footstep?
My breath froze in my throat.
Pushing with my palms, I hopped up into a squat and twisted.
Birdie was staring at the window with round yellow eyes, one forepaw frozen like a setter on point.
Birdie, I hissed. Come here.
The cat kept staring.
Bird. I reached out a hand. It was shaking.
Birdie took a tentative step toward the window, nose up and twitching, instincts roused by the unfamiliar scent of outdoors.
Keeping low, I duckwalked across the room, scooped and pressed the cat to my chest, then strained for further sounds. Did I sense another presence in the condo?
My ears picked up nothing but Birdies breathing and my own racing heart.
As my vitals normalized, questions ricocheted in my head.
What the hell had just happened? An explosion in the restaurant across the alley? A collision in the street?
Had someone fired a missile? A cherry bomb? A bottle rocket?
Who?
Kids, drunk or stoned or simply careless?
Or had my window just taken a bullet? If so, had the shooting been accidental? A random drive-by?
Had the hit been intentional, the barrel aimed specifically at me?
Probably not, or the shooter had very poor aim.
To intimidate?
Sparky?
Was my neighbor escalating his campaign to oust me from the building?
Sudden recollection.
Go home damn American!!
Was the letter from Sparky? Someone more dangerous? Should I have taken the message more seriously? Was the sender a genuine threat?
Why had I refused to discuss the issue with Ryan?
Simple. Id traveled that road. I knew Ryan would kick into gear and tag me with round-the-clock guards. Or a listening device on my bedside lamp. Or an ankle bracelet that sounded an alarm if I raised my voice.
Had Ryans tossed-off suggestion been right? Had the letter writer also placed the call to Edward Allen Jurmain?
Sparky?
Someone more malevolent?
Professional slander.
Hate mail.
Incoming projectiles.
Were the caller, the sender, and the window blaster one and the same? I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
A unit showed up within minutes. The cops listened, dutifully checked the window, made a few notes. Then we all went outside.
Broken glass littered the lawn, but there wasnt a bullet casing or spent rocket in sight. We agreed on a probable point of origin, a cement
ledge behind a pizza parlor across the alley. The spot is a popular hangout for kids and street people.
The cops were aware that I knew the drill, didnt try to fool me. Property damage, no personal injury. The skirmish would receive the same level of attention as a snatched pair of panties.
Unless I turned up dead in the immediate future. Then the incident would be investigated to Yonkers and back.
When the cops left I went to the basement for a piece of the plywood Winston keeps on hand. This has happened to me before, though with somewhat less flair.
Id barely wedged a patch into place when Ryan called. The mans network makes the CIA look amateur. Nifty if you need info. Annoying when youre the gossip traded.
I assured Ryan I was fine.
You think its this dickhead neighbor of yours?
I dont know.
Who else have you pissed off?
I used silence as an answer.
You there?
Im here.
Got any theories?
Kids with fireworks.
Got any other theories?
I reminded him of the letter, and granted that maybe, just maybe, he could be right concerning Edward Allens informant. Ill give it to him; he didnt say I told you so.
What do you intend to do? he asked.
Fix the window, I said.
I could be there in ten minutes.
Im good.
There was a brief pause. Then, I found something.
I suspected the segue was another shot at a foot in my door.
I ran Red OKeefes name against the Villejoin and Jurmain files. Got nothing. Then I tried the aliases.
Ryan paused for effect. I waited.
The Villejoins paid for everything by cash or money order, and recorded expenditures in a ledger. Unfortunately, they didnt bother with dates. But around the time of Anne-Isabelles murder, a handyman
removed a dead pine from the sisters backyard. The entry appears as a one-hundred-fifty-dollar payment to one M. Keith.
Youre thinking its Bud Keith. In French,
Monsieur
is abbreviated
M
. Monsieur Keith. Aka Red OKeefe. That could be huge.
Could be.
That night I tossed and turned for a very long time. It wasnt just the window. Questions bombarded me from all cardinal points.
You know how you play games when you cant fall asleep? I envisioned four columns, similar to the three Id created for Jurmain, the Villejoins, and Keiser. I even titled them. Mentally.
