Part 13 (1/2)
”Long lunch.”
I checked my watch. One forty-five.
”I'm paid by the hour. What's up?”
”We've finally tracked down the owner of the house in St-Jovite. Guy's name is Jacques Guillion. He's from Quebec City, but moved to Belgium years ago. His whereabouts remain unknown, but a Belgian neighbor says Guillion has been renting the St-Jovite place to an old lady named Patrice Simonnet. She thinks the tenant is Belgian, but isn't sure. She says Guillion also provides the tenant with cars. We're running a check.”
”Pretty well-informed neighbor.”
”Apparently they were close.”
”The burned body from the bas.e.m.e.nt could be Simonnet.”
”Could be.”
”We got good dental X-rays during the post. Bergeron has them.”
”We've given the name to the RCMP. They're working with Interpol. If she's Belgian, they'll track her.”
”What about the other two bodies in the main house and the two adults with the babies?”
”We're working on it.”
We both thought for a moment.
”Pretty big place for one old lady.”
”Looks like she wasn't all that alone.”
I spent the next two hours in the histology lab teasing the last of the tissue from the babies' ribs and examining them under the microscope. As I'd feared, there were no unique nicks or patterns in the bone. There was nothing I could say except that the killer had used a very sharp knife with a blade which was not serrated. Bad for the investigation. Good for me. The report would be brief.
I'd just returned to my office when Ryan called back.
”How about a beer?” he asked.
”I don't keep beer in my office, Ryan. If I did, I'd drink it.”
”You don't drink.”
”Then why are you asking me for beer?”
”I'm asking if you'd like one. Could be green.”
”What?”
”Aren't you Irish, Brennan?”
I glanced at my wall calendar. March 17. The anniversary of some of my best performances. I didn't want to remember.
”Can't do it anymore, Ryan.”
”It's a generic way of saying 'Let's take a break.'”
”Are you asking me for a date?”
”Yes.”
”With you?”
”No, with my parish priest.”
”Wow. Does he cheat on his vows?”
”Brennan, do you want to meet me for a beverage this evening? Alcohol-free?”
”Ryan, I-”
”It's St. Paddy's Day. It's Friday night and snowing like a sonof-ab.i.t.c.h. Got a better offer?”
I didn't. In fact, I had no other offers. But Ryan and I often investigated the same cases, and I'd always had a policy of keeping work and home separate.
Always. Right. I'd been separated and living on my own less than two years of my adult life. And they hadn't been banner ones for male companions.h.i.+p.
”I don't think it's a good idea.”
There was a pause. Then, ”We got a break on Simonnet. She popped right up on the Interpol search. Born in Brussels, lived there until two years ago. Still pays taxes on a piece of property in the countryside. Loyal old gal, went to the same dentist her whole life. The guy's been in practice since the Stone Age, keeps everything. They're faxing the records. If it looks like a match, we'll get the originals.”
”When was she born?”
I heard a paper flip.
”Nineteen-eighteen.”
”That fits. Family?”
”We're checking.”
”Why did she leave Belgium?”
”Maybe she needed a change of scenery. Look, champ, if you decide you you do, I'll be at Hurley's after nine. If there's a line, use my name.” do, I'll be at Hurley's after nine. If there's a line, use my name.”
I sat awhile, thinking about why I'd said no. Pete and I had reached an accord. We still loved each other, but couldn't live together. Separated, we were once again able to be friends. Our relations.h.i.+p hadn't been as good in years. Pete was dating, I was free to do the same. Oh, G.o.d. Dating. The word raised images of acne and braces.
To be honest, I found Andrew Ryan extremely attractive. No zits or orthodontics. A definite plus. And technically we didn't work together. But I also found him extremely annoying. And unpredictable. No. Ryan is trouble.