Part 23 (1/2)
”Citizen asked us to check out a gas leak.”
I gave a shrug that would have made Bernie proud.
Ryan and I exited the gla.s.s door, hooked a left, and reentered the building through the wooden door. A narrow staircase rose steeply to a second-floor landing.
We clumped up.
Ryan knocked. There was no answer. Ryan knocked again, harder.
”Police, Mr. Kaplan.”
No answer.
”We're coming in.”
Ryan inserted key after key. The fourth worked.
Kaplan's apartment had a small kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, a bath with black-and-white tile and a freestanding tub. Venetian blinds covered the windows, and genuinely awful ma.s.s-market landscapes decorated the walls.
Some concessions had been made to evolving technology. The tub had been jerry-rigged with a handheld shower. A microwave had been placed on a kitchen counter. An answering machine had been connected to a bedroom phone. Otherwise, the place looked as if it had been ripped from a low-budget thirties movie.
”Elegant,” Ryan said.
”Understated,” I agreed.
”I hate it when decorators get carried away.”
”Lose all appreciation for linoleum.”
We moved to the bedroom.
A folding table held phone books, ledgers, and stacks of papers. I crossed to it and began poking around. Behind me Ryan opened and closed dresser drawers. Several minutes pa.s.sed.
”Find anything?” I asked.
”A lot of bad s.h.i.+rts.”
Ryan s.h.i.+fted to the nightstand.
He made his discovery as I made mine.
15.
I PICKED UP THE LETTER AS PICKED UP THE LETTER AS R RYAN PRESSED THE b.u.t.tON ON THE PRESSED THE b.u.t.tON ON THE answering machine. answering machine.
I read while listening to the sugary voice: This message is for Hershel Kaplan. Your reservation for Sat.u.r.day, February twenty-sixth, has been confirmed on Air Canada flight nine-five-eight-zero, operated by El Al, departing Toronto Pearson International Airport at eleven-fifty This message is for Hershel Kaplan. Your reservation for Sat.u.r.day, February twenty-sixth, has been confirmed on Air Canada flight nine-five-eight-zero, operated by El Al, departing Toronto Pearson International Airport at eleven-fifty P.M. P.M. Please be advised that, due to heightened security, El Al requires pa.s.senger check-in at least three hours prior to departure. Have a pleasant flight. Please be advised that, due to heightened security, El Al requires pa.s.senger check-in at least three hours prior to departure. Have a pleasant flight.
”Kaplan's gone to Israel,” Ryan said.
”Kaplan may have known Miriam Ferris better than we thought,” I said. ”Look at this.”
Ryan crossed to me. I handed him a pale gold card.
Hersh:You view happiness as an impossible dream. I have seen it in your eyes. Pleasure and joy have moved to a place beyond the scope of your imagination.You are angry? Ashamed? Afraid? Don't be. We are pus.h.i.+ng forward, slowly, like swimmers moving through an angry sea. The waves will recede. We will triumph.Love,M I pointed to initials embossed on the card. ”M.F.”
”The acronym has other meanings.”
”Rarely on stationery. And M.F. M.F. isn't a common initial combination.” isn't a common initial combination.”
Ryan thought a moment.
”Morgan Freeman. Marshall Field. Millard Fillmore. Morgan Fairchild.”
”I'm impressed.” I worked it. ”Masahisa f.u.kase.”
Blank stare.
”f.u.kase's a j.a.panese photographer. Does amazing images of crows.”
”Some of Fairchild's images were pretty amazing.”
Eye roll. ”I have a gut feeling Miriam wrote this. But when? There's no date. And why?”
”To cheer Kaplan in prison?”
I pointed to the note's last line. ”We will triumph?” will triumph?”
”To encourage Kaplan to pump two slugs into hubby?”
Suddenly the room felt cold and dark.
”Time to call Israel,” Ryan said.
Back at Wilfrid Derome, Ryan peeled off to the crimes contre la personne squad room, and I returned to my lab. Selecting the right femur from Morissonneau's skeleton, I descended to autopsy room four, and placed the bone on the table.
After connecting the Stryker saw, I masked, and cut two one-inch plugs from the femur's midshaft. Then I returned to my lab and phoned Jake. Once again, I was rousing him at the midnight hour.
I told Jake what Bergeron had said about the odd molar.
”How did someone else's tooth get into the jaw of that skeleton?”
”It happens. My guess is the molar somehow became incorporated with the skeleton during recovery of the bones in the cave. The roots fit the socket reasonably well, so someone, maybe a volunteer digger, slipped it into the jaw.”
”And Haas later glued it.”
”Maybe. Maybe someone at the Musee de l'Homme. It's probably just an error.”