Part 18 (1/2)
”Yeah. I'm really enjoying the abnormal psych. The prof is so cool. And criminology's pretty good, too. We never have to turn anything in on time.”
”Hm. How's Aubrey?”
”Who?”
”Guess that answers my question. How's the zit?”
”Gone.”
”Why are you up so early on a Sat.u.r.day?”
”I've got to write a paper for my crim cla.s.s. I'm going to do something on profiling, maybe bring in stuff from abnormal psych.”
”I thought you never had to hand anything in on time.”
”It was due two weeks ago.”
”Oh.”
”Can you help me think of a project for my anthro cla.s.s?”
”Sure.”
”Nothing too elaborate. It's supposed to be something I can do in one day.”
I heard a beep.
”I've got another call, Katy. I'll think about the project. Let me know when you're arriving in Charlotte.”
”Will do.”
I clicked over and was amazed to hear Claudel's voice.
”Claudel ici ici.”
As usual there was no greeting, and he did not apologize for phoning me on Sat.u.r.day morning. He dove straight to the point.
”Has Anna Goyette returned home?”
My chest went hollow. Claudel had never called me at home. Anna must be dead.
I swallowed and answered. ”I don't think so.”
”She is nineteen.”
”Yes.”
I saw Sister Julienne's face. I couldn't bear to think of telling her.
”. . . caracteristiques physiques? caracteristiques physiques?”
”I'm sorry. What was that?”
Claudel repeated the question. I had no idea if Anna had any unusual physical features.
”I don't know. I'd have to ask the family.”
”When was she last seen?”
”Thursday. Monsieur Claudel, why are you asking me these questions?”
I waited out a Claudel pause. I could hear commotion in the background and guessed he was calling from the homicide squad room.
”A white female was found early this morning, naked, with no identification.”
”Where?” The hollow feeling pushed against my sternum.
”ile des Surs. At the back of the island there is a wooded area and a pond. The body was found”-he hesitated-”on the water's edge.”
”Found how?” He was holding back.
Claudel considered my question for a moment. I could picture his beak nose, his close-set eyes narrowed in thought.
”The victim was murdered. The circ.u.mstances are . . .” Again the hesitation. ”. . . unusual.”
”Tell me.” I s.h.i.+fted the phone to my other hand and wiped my palm on my robe.
”The body was found in an old steamer trunk. There were multiple injuries. LaManche is doing the autopsy today.”
”What kinds of injuries?” I stared at a pattern of spots on my robe.
He took a deep breath. ”There are multiple stab wounds and ligature marks around the wrists. LaManche suspects there has also been an animal attack.”
I found Claudel's habit of depersonalizing annoying. A white female. The victim. The body. The wrists. Not even a personal p.r.o.noun.
”And the victim may have been burned,” he continued.
”Burned?”
”LaManche will know more later. He is going to do the post today.”
”Jesus.” Though one pathologist from the lab is on call at all times, rarely is an autopsy carried out on a weekend. I knew the murder had to be extraordinary. ”How long has she been dead?”
”The body wasn't fully frozen, so it was probably outside less than twelve hours. LaManche will try to narrow the time of death.”
I didn't want to ask the next question.
”Why do you think it could be Anna Goyette?”