38

I ARRIVED HOME TO FIND RYAN FUMING ON MY DOORSTEP. HE WASTED no time.

?I just can?t get through to you, can I? No one can. You?re like one of those Ghost Dance Indians. Dress the dress and dance the dance and you?re bulletproof.?

His face was flushed, and I could see a tiny vessel throbbing in his temple. I thought it unwise to comment just yet.

?Whose car was it??

?Neighbor.?

?Do you find all this amusing, Brennan??

I said nothing. The headache had spread from the back to encompass my entire cranium, and a dry cough told me my immune system was about to have callers.

?Is there anyone on this planet who can get through to you??

?Would you like to come in for coffee??

?What makes you think you can just sail off like that and leave everyone sucking wind? These guys don?t exactly live to be out here protecting your sorry ass, Brennan. Why the hell didn?t you call or page me??

?I did.?

?You couldn?t wait ten minutes??

?I didn?t know where you were or how long it would be. I didn?t think I?d be gone long. Hell, I wasn?t.?

?You could have left a message.?

?I?d have left War and Peace if I?d known you were going to overreact like this.? Not quite true. I knew.

?Overreact?? His voice went icy calm. ?Let me review for you. Five, maybe seven women have been brutally murdered and mutilated in this town. The most recent was four weeks ago.? He ticked points off on his fingers. ?One of these women made a partial appearance in your garden. A nutcase had your picture in his spice collection. He?s gone missing. A loner who collects knives and pornography, frequents hookers, and likes to slice and dice little animals dialed up your apartment. He?d been stalking your best friend. She is now dead. She was buried clutching a picture of you and your daughter. This loner has also gone missing.?

A couple passed on the sidewalk, dropping their eyes and quickening their pace, embarrassed to witness a lovers? quarrel.

?Ryan, come inside. I?ll make coffee.? My voice sounded raspy and speech was starting to hurt.

He raised a hand in exasperation, fingers splayed, then dropped it to his side. I returned the keys to my neighbor, thanked her for the use of her car, and let Ryan and myself into the apartment.

?Decaf or high test??

Before he could answer his beeper sounded, causing us both to jump.

?Better go with decaf. You know where the phone is.?

I listened, rattling cups and pretending not to.

?Ryan.? Pause. ?Yeah.? Pause. ?No shit.? Long pause. ?When?? Pause. ?Okay. Thanks. I?ll be right there.?

He came to the kitchen door and stood there, his face tense. My temperature, blood pressure, and pulse all began to rise. Stay calm. I poured two cups of coffee, forcing my hand not to tremble. I waited for him to speak.

?They got him.?

My hand froze, the pot suspended in midair.

?Tanguay??

He nodded. I returned the pot to its warmer. Carefully. I took out milk, poured a dollop in my cup, offered some to Ryan. Carefully. He shook his head. I put the carton back in the refrigerator. Carefully. I took a sip. Okay. Speak.

?Tell me.?

?Let?s sit.?

We moved to the living room.

?They arrested him about two hours ago driving east on the 417. An SQ unit spotted the tag and pulled him.

?It?s Tanguay??

?It?s Tanguay. Prints match.?

?He was heading toward Montreal??

?Apparently.?

?What are they charging him with??

?For now, possession of open alcohol in a moving vehicle. Jerk was thoughtful enough to crack a bottle of Jim Beam and leave it in the backseat. They also confiscated some skin magazines. He thinks that?s the beef. They?re letting him sweat for a while.?

?Where was he??

?Claims he has a cabin in the Gatineau. Inherited it from Daddy. Get this. He?d been fishing. Crime scene?s sending out a team to take the place apart.?

?Where is he now??

?Parthenais.?

?You?re heading over there??

?Yeah.? He took a deep breath, expecting a fight. I had no desire to see Tanguay.

?Okay.? My mouth was dry, and a languor was spreading through my body. Tranquillity? I hadn?t felt that in a long time.

?Katy is coming,? I said with a nervous laugh. ?That?s why I . . . why I went out tonight.?

?Your daughter??

I nodded.

?Bad timing.?

?I thought I might find something. I . . . never mind.?

For a few seconds neither of us spoke.

?I?m glad it?s over.? Ryan?s anger was gone. He rose to his feet. ?Would you like me to stop by after I?ve talked to him? Could be late.?

Bad as I felt, there was no chance I?d sleep until I knew the outcome. Who was Tanguay? What would they find in his cabin? Had Gabby died there? Had Isabelle Gagnon? Grace Damas? Or had they been taken there, postmortem, merely to be butchered and packaged?

?Please.?

When he?d gone I realized I?d forgotten to tell him about the gloves. I tried Pete again. Though Tanguay was in custody, I was still uneasy. I didn?t want Katy anywhere near Montreal yet. Perhaps I?d go South.

This time I reached him. Katy had left several days earlier. She?d told her father I proposed the trip. True. And approved the plans. Not quite. He wasn?t sure of the itinerary. Typical. She was traveling with friends from the university, driving to D.C. to stay with one set of parents, then to New York to visit the other friend?s home. Then she planned to continue on to Montreal. Sounded okay to him. He was sure she?d call.

I started to tell him about Gabby and what had been going on in my life, but couldn?t. Not yet. No matter. It was over. As usual he had to rush off to prepare for an early morning deposition, regretted he couldn?t talk longer. What?s new?

I felt too ill and weary even to take a bath. For the next few hours I sat wrapped in a quilt, shivering and staring at the empty fireplace, wishing I had someone to feed me soup, stroke my forehead, and say I would be better soon. I dozed and woke, drifting in and out of dream fragments, while microscopic beings multiplied in my bloodstream.

Ryan buzzed at one-fifteen.

?Jesus, you look awful, Brennan.?

?Thanks.? I rewrapped my quilt. ?I think I?m getting a cold.?

?Why don?t we do this tomorrow??

?No way.?

He looked at me strangely then followed me in, threw his jacket on the couch, and sat.

?Name?s Jean Pierre Tanguay. Twenty-eight. Homeboy. Grew up in Shawinigan. Never married. No kids. He has one sister living in Arkansas. His mother died when he was nine. Lot of hostility there. Father was a plasterer, pretty much raised the two kids. The old man died in a car wreck when Tanguay was in college. Apparently it hit him pretty hard. He dropped out of school, stayed with the sister for a while, then wandered around down in the States. You ready for this? While he was in Dixie he got a call from God. Wanted to be a Jesuit or something, but flunked the interview. Apparently they didn?t think his personality was priestly enough. Anyway, he resurfaced in Quebec in ?88 and managed to get back into Bishops. Finished his degree about a year and a half later.?

?So he?s been in the area since ?88??

?Yep.?

?That would put him back here about the time Pitre and Gautier were murdered.?

Ryan nodded. ?And he?s been here ever since.?

I had to swallow before I spoke.

?What?s he say about the animals??

?Claims he teaches biology. We?ve checked that out. Says he?s building a reference collection for his classes. Boils down the carcasses and mounts the skeletons.?

?That would explain the anatomy books.?

?Might.?

?Where does he get them??

?Roadkills.?

?Oh, Christ, Bertrand was right.? I could picture him skulking around at night, scraping up corpses and dragging them home in plastic bags.