Part 41 (1/2)
Charbonneau thought a moment.
”No. So what?”
”Maybe the cap isn't his. Maybe it belongs to his killer.”
”Dorsey?”
I told him about the pictures of Lyle Crease.
”So the guy spent some time in South Carolina. Big deal. Half the population of Quebec vacations down there.”
”Why would Crease take a sudden interest in me after I dug up those bodies?”
”Aside from the fact that you're cute as a sea monkey?”
”Aside from that.”
”O.K., when things quiet down we might reel Crease in and query him on Gately and Martineau. But there's nothing to tie him to the Cherokee hit.”
I told him about the Myrtle Beach photo.
”Crease and Cherokee knew each other, and that photo was not of a Boy Scout camporee.”
”A trip through Dixie back in the Ice Age. Crease is a journalist. He might have been covering a story.”
Charbonneau flipped the envelope onto the table.
”Look, Cherokee had chemo. He probably got the cap when comb-overs were no longer an option. But if it makes you feel better, I'll check Crease out.”
When he'd gone, I turned back to the tape, my mind zigzagging through a labyrinth of explanations. The cap could belong to Dorsey. He claimed to have knowledge of Savannah Osprey. Maybe he'd been to South Carolina.
When the camera moved off along the wall I hit rewind and did another sweep through the corner. Bloodstains. Guitar. Birdcage. Cap.
Then the lens drew very close, and I felt movement in the tiny hairs at the back of my neck. I leaned in and squinted at the screen, hoping to make sense of what I'd spotted. It was fuzzy, but definitely there.
I rewound the tape, switched off the VCR, and hurried from the room. If what I saw was real, Claudel and Charbonneau would have to find another theory.
I took the stairs to the thirteenth floor and went to a large window opening onto a room filled with shelves and lined by storage lockers. A small blue sign identified it as the Salle des Exhibits Salle des Exhibits. The property room.
A uniform from the SQ was sliding a deer rifle across the counter. I waited while the clerk filled out forms, handed the officer a receipt, then tagged the gun and carried it to the storage area. When she returned I showed her the Cherokee case numbers.
”Could you check to see if the evidence inventory includes an athletic cap?”
”There was a long list for that case,” she said, entering the number into a computer. ”This may take a moment.”
Her eyes scanned the screen.
”Yes, here it is. There was a cap.” She read the text. ”It went to biology for testing on a bloodstain, but it's back.”
She disappeared into the shelves and returned after several minutes with a Ziploc plastic bag. In it I could see the red cap.
”Do you need to sign it out?”
”If it's all right I'll just take a look at it here.”
”Sure.”
I zipped open the seal and slid the cap onto the counter. Gently raising the brim, I studied the hat's interior.
There it was. Dandruff.
I resealed the cap and thanked the technician. Then I flew to my office and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone.
35.
CLAUDEL AND Q QUICKWATER WERE NOT AT C CARCAJOU HEAD quarters. Neither Claudel nor Charbonneau was at c.u.m headquarters. I left messages, and returned to Ronald Gilbert's office. quarters. Neither Claudel nor Charbonneau was at c.u.m headquarters. I left messages, and returned to Ronald Gilbert's office.
”Thanks for the tape.”
”Did it help?”
”May I ask you about something?”
”Please.”
”Do you remember the corner of the room with the guitar and birdcage stacked against the wall?”
”Yes.”
”There was a cap there.”
”I remember it.”
”Did you make observations on the bloodstaining?”
”Certainly.”
”I'm interested in the cap's position at the time of the murder. Would your notes have anything on that?”
”I don't need my notes. I recall perfectly. The stain and spatter on the cap came from the blunt object attack near that corner.”