The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “You trusted her to split the money evenly?”

  “We knew she was keeping the biggest cut for herself. It was her contact, after all. If we wanted in, we did it on her terms or not at all.”

  “Who was her contact?”

  “She never told us. She used to meet him after school when we weren’t around. He wasn’t the big boss of the organization, just some low-life who approached her at the school gates one day.”

  “So, it was you, Mikayla and Sheena at first. When did you bring Rochelle in?”

  “It must have been… near the beginning of our senior year. Sheena thought it was best to keep her out of it because she was so unpredictable. You couldn’t trust her to do what she said she would. She was also a blabbermouth. You never who she was going to tattle to.”

  “But eventually you included her. Why was that?”

  “Mikayla pushed hard for it. She thought it was unfair that Rochelle wasn’t getting a cut too. And with all her psychological problems, she’d have access to some good meds. But no sooner did we cut Rochelle in than she and Mikayla stopped being friends anyway. Talk about irony.”

  “When Rochelle disappeared, did it not occur to any of you that her disappearance was related to the club?”

  “Sure, it occurred to us. But I still don’t think that’s what happened to her.”

  “Why not? You must have known there was a criminal organization behind the drug money.”

  “It was the beginning of term. Rochelle had barely had a chance to do anything. All she had brought in was a handful of sleeping pills. She didn’t know Sheena’s contact, and he didn’t know her. I can’t imagine why they would have murdered her when she wasn’t even on their radar yet.”

  “Perhaps she was more involved than you thought.”

  “Perhaps. But honestly, if you had known Rochelle in those days you would realize that running away from home was exactly what she would have done. She talked about it all the time. She and Sheena had this fantasy that they were going to go off somewhere and start a girl band together.”

  “Did you know that Rochelle’s father had just told her that she could move in with him?”

  “Really?” Rosalind glanced down at Eulalie. “He told her that?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “That was the one thing she wanted more than anything. She thought it would never happen.”

  “I don’t know if he would have gone through with it, but he was definitely dangling it in front of her.”

  “Then maybe she didn’t run away.” Rosalind shrugged. “That’s the only thing I can think of that would have made her want to stay.”

  “The last time we talked, you told me that she hooked up with your boyfriend and then dumped him the next day. Did she do that a lot?”

  “It seemed like it at the time. I can name maybe three incidents that I know about. She definitely did it to Sheena too.”

  “Did you ever hear of boys she had dumped who were especially mad at her? Mad enough to do something about it, perhaps?”

  “If there were, I never heard about it. You know what boys are like at that age. They like to pretend that they can’t be hurt – that they don’t feel anything for girls, and that the break-up was always their idea. I guess it doesn’t convince anyone, but they certainly weren’t going around raving about getting revenge on Rochelle.”

  Rosalind let her hands drop to her sides. All attempts to channel the life force of the universe had been abandoned. She looked sad and irritated.

  “When the four of you got hold of pills to give to Sheena’s contact, did you ever keep any for yourselves? Skim a little off the top, as it were?”

  “Never. We thought prescription drugs were boring in those days. Only fit for loser housewives. We were interested in three things – vodka, weed and E. We didn’t see the point of pills. If anyone was skimming off the supply, I didn’t know about it. Sheena was the one with the most opportunity.”

  Eulalie heard her phone buzz in the pocket of her robe across the room. Then it buzzed again, and again. Three messages in a row.

  “Sounds like someone is trying to get hold of you.”

  Eulalie stood up. Their session, such as it was, was over. She couldn’t say that she had felt any great energy transfer. It had been forty-five minutes of a frustratingly light massage, or no massage at all. Still, she always kept her word.

  “If you give me some cards, I’ll get my grandmother to display them in the restaurant.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rosalind left to fetch the cards and to give Eulalie a chance to get dressed. She retrieved her phone and checked her messages. All three were from Chief Macgregor.

  Chief Macgregor: Roland Chirac was knifed outside his house this morning. His housekeeper says he’s dead.

  Eulalie couldn’t suppress an exclamation of astonishment. She scrolled to the next message.

  Chief Macgregor: He’s not dead, but he probably will be before he gets to the hospital. Ambulance is on its way to his house.

  She flicked quickly to the last message.

  Chief Macgregor: He’s still hanging on. He’s been taken to Medic-Health Private. I’m going there now.

  Eulalie scrambled into her clothes and rushed out of the treatment room to pay for her session.

  Rosalind looked surprised to see her so soon.

  “That was quick. Here are the cards you asked for. Your massage was eighteen dollars, including the discount coupon. Is something wrong, Ms. Park?”

  Eulalie scrabbled in her messenger bag for her wallet. She counted the money out in cash and slapped it on the counter.

  “I have to get to the hospital. My client has been attacked.”

  “Your client? You mean, Roland Chirac? But why would anyone…?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  Chapter 17

  Eulalie struggled to make sense of this new development as she raced to Queen’s Town’s premier private hospital.

  Knifings were not a common feature of life on Prince William Island. They were especially uncommon in the rarefied environs of Edward Heights. Just the thought of it made her shiver. A knife was an up close and personal weapon. The thought of a blade sliding into flesh, insinuating itself into the cartilage between the ribs, was enough to make her light-headed.

  The only person she knew who had been attacked by a knife was Jimmy the Knife, which was how he had got his nickname. He still had a scar on his face and another along his rib cage to prove it. After a few beers, he would show it to everyone. Eulalie had been a reluctant witness in the past.

  Crime on Prince William Island tended to be confined to pick-pocketings, white-collar fraud, and 419 scams. Murders were rare, and knifings were even rarer.

  She pulled up at the hospital entrance and waited impatiently as the ticket machine printed out a parking ticket for her. The boom lifted with painful slowness, and she was able to drive in. She parked her Vespa and entered the lobby of the emergency room at a jog.

  “Bonjour, Coco.” She greeted the triage nurse in French. “The knife attack victim? Was he brought in here?”

  “Bonjour, Eulalie. Mais oui. They are already operating on him. You can go through to the waiting area. Chief Macgregor said it was okay. But only you. I believe he thinks that whoever did this to the poor man might come back to finish the job.”

  “The victim is definitely alive?”

  “Certainement. But only just. There was doubt as to whether he would survive the surgery, but it was his only chance.”

  “Merci, Coco.”

  Eulalie pushed through a set of double doors and entered a waiting area where Chief Macgregor was sitting, typing on a laptop balanced on his knees. Two uniformed police officers with pistols on their hips were standing guard at the entrance to the operating theatre.

  Chief Macgregor looked up and smiled.

  “I haven’t seen you in thirty-nine hours. It felt like a long time.”

  “Yo
u could have just texted me to come over. You didn’t have to organize all this.” She gestured to the operating theatre and the armed guards.

  “This wasn’t my doing. I would never…” He caught himself. “You were joking.”

  Eulalie smiled and sat down next to him, rubbing her shoulder against his in a friendly fashion.

  “I missed you too. Tell me what happened here. Is he going to make it?”

  “The doctors seemed doubtful. They suspect that the knife nicked a major artery and that he was bleeding internally.”

  “Was he conscious at any point? Did he say anything to anyone? The housekeeper who found him, perhaps?”

  “One of my officers spoke to her. She was upset and incoherent. He decided to accompany Mr. Chirac in the ambulance to the hospital rather than stay behind to question her.”

  “I’ll go to the house after this and speak to her. What were you looking at?” She indicated his laptop.

  “I was researching the history of knife crime on the island. I can’t find many known criminals whose weapon of choice is a knife.”

  “I don’t know about known criminals, but I know of one person who carries throwing knives.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Eleanor Robotham.”

  Chief Macgregor thought for a moment. “The woman who calls herself Pastor Ellie?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “How do you know that, and why does she carry throwing knives?”

  “I know it because she threw one at me earlier this year. We were sitting in her office at the headquarters of BRS – the Church of the Blessed Redeeming Savior. The knife penetrated three inches deep into the back of the chair where I had been sitting just seconds earlier.”

  “She tried to kill you? Why?”

  “According to her, she wasn’t trying to kill me. She knew I would get out of the way in time. It was her way of forcing me to reveal myself.”

  “If she had been wrong about you, you would be dead right now.”

  “Correct. But she wasn’t wrong, and I did reveal myself.” Eulalie had a reluctant admiration for anyone with the nerve to try something like that.

  “What does she have to do with Roland Chirac?”

  “Nothing that I know of. Rochelle’s former biology teacher is now her business partner, but that’s all.”

  “This wasn’t even a throwing knife. It was a handheld dagger.”

  “You have it?”

  “It was still in him when he was brought here. The paramedics didn’t want to remove it in case he bled out.”

  That made sense. It was the only part of this incident that made sense. Eulalie couldn’t think of a motive for the knifing. She didn’t believe it was random. People didn’t wait with knifes outside other people’s homes in Edward Heights in the middle of the morning. Somehow, this was personal.

  The double doors to the operating theatre swung open and a surgeon in scrubs walked out. Chief Macgregor stood up.

  “Dr. Molins. How is he doing?”

  She turned to Eulalie. “Are you the next of kin?”

  “I’m an investigator. Roland Chirac is my client.”

  “We have notified his colleagues, but he has no next of kin on the island,” said Chief Macgregor.

  “I see. Well, he came through the surgery, but that’s about all I can say for now. We had to stitch his aorta and he lost a lot of blood. He’s still in a critical condition. The rest of the internal damage is not particularly significant, but the aorta is a worry. It might stabilize, or it might burst in the night. If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, he will have a better chance.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Where is the dagger now?”

  “It’s in an evidence bag, waiting for you to sign it out. We followed protocol and handled it with gloves on.”

  “Thanks for that. I’ll take it to the police station now for our crime scene technicians to take a look at.”

  “Whoever did this was trying to kill him,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Eulalie.

  “Because once the knife was in, the person made several short jabs in an attempt to cause as much damage as possible. That’s when they nicked the aorta. Only a determined individual would do something like that. Mr. Chirac is fortunate that long blade missed his lungs and heart.”

  “What are his chances?”

  “When he came into my theatre two hours ago, I would have said twenty percent. Now that he has pulled through the operation, I’d say it has gone up to fifty percent.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll keep a guard on the door for as long as he’s here. When the person who did this hears that he is still alive, they might try to come back.”

  “As long as the guards don’t interfere with the hospital staff in the performance of their duties, that’s fine.”

  Dr. Molins turned and went back to theatre.

  “I’ll go and claim the knife now,” said Chief Macgregor. “Then I have a lot of paperwork to process.”

  “And I’ll interview the housekeeper who found him.”

  “You’ll probably find my crime scene technicians still processing the scene.”

  “That’s fine. I won’t get in their way.”

  They parted at the entrance door to the hospital – Eulalie to begin the long climb up to Edward Heights, and Chief Macgregor to head back to the station. As she got to the top of Cliff Road and turned into Edward Drive, she saw that the stabbing had caused a disturbance in the normally quiet neighborhood.

  A local security company had set up a roadblock at the entrance to Edward Drive and was checking every vehicle that passed through. Cars were parked at random all over the road, creating an untidy effect that was seldom seen in this pristine suburb. People had spilled out of their houses and onto the street to stare at the roadblock and discuss what had happened.

  “I need to see your proof of residence, Ma’am.” A security guard pulled Eulalie over. “We’re only letting residents through today. There’s been an incident.”

  Eulalie took out the card that identified her as a police liaison officer. “I’ll be conducting interviews at the residence of Roland Chirac. You can call Chief Macgregor to confirm if you like.”

  He looked at her card for a long time, and then waved her through.

  The Chirac residence was closed off with yellow crime scene tape. Two crime scene officers were processing the scene. The stabbing had happened just in front of a side door that led into the east side of the house. There was an astonishing amount of blood on the marble tiles. It was hard to believe that it had all come from one man’s body.

  Eulalie went around to the front of the house and knocked loudly.

  She had to knock twice more before anyone responded. Eventually, a young woman in a pink and navy Millie’s Maids uniform came to the door.

  “You’ll have to come back later,” she muttered. “Mr. Chirac is ill. There’s no one to help you now.”

  Eulalie showed her police liaison card.

  “I’d like to speak to the person who found Mr. Chirac after he was stabbed. I’m not a police officer, but I work with the Queen’s Town police department. Were you the one who found him?”

  The woman, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, nodded her head, her lips trembling. “It was hours ago now. I keep expecting to calm down and feel better, but it still feels as though it just happened. Is he… is he dead?”

  “No, he’s alive. The knife nicked an important blood vessel in his chest – the descending thoracic aorta. He bled a lot. But the surgeon managed to repair the tear, so he has a better chance now.”

  Eulalie saw that the young woman had turned white. She swayed on her feet.

  “Come and sit down.” She led her to an antique bench that ran the length of the entrance hall.

  Eulalie persuaded her to lie on the bench with her legs elevated. Within a minute, the color had come back into her face and she looked better.

  “Was it all t
he medical detail?” Eulalie asked. “I didn’t realize it would make you feel faint.”

  “I’ve always felt funny when people talk about blood and operations. When I… when I saw Mr. Chirac this morning, I nearly fainted clean away. There was so much blood.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Eulalie, remembering what Chief Macgregor had told her about the housekeeper calling the ambulance.

  “I managed to stay on my feet. I still don’t know how.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. I’m Eulalie.”

  “Cinda.”

  “You work for Millie’s Maids, don’t you?”

  “That’s right. We come in four times a week. Today was one of our regular days.”

  “Who else knows your schedule?”

  The young woman sat up slowly. Eulalie guided her to the living room and encouraged her to sit in a comfortable chair.”

  “I suppose anyone who’s paying attention would know that we come in on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I guess the neighbors have seen our van. Everyone at the office knows the schedule. I don’t know who else… maybe Mr. Chirac has told people at work about us? I don’t know. Our schedule is not a secret.”

  “Okay, Cinda. Can you tell me in your own time and in your own words what happened here today?”

  “We arrived at about seven as usual. I drove the van because I’m the team leader for this unit. We let ourselves in. Mr. Chirac was out for his morning run.”

  “You have a key?”

  “We have a key to the side door. There’s normally a dead bolt in place, but on the mornings when he’s expecting us he takes the bolt off and we use the key to let ourselves in. He normally gets back from his run at about seven-thirty.”

  “How long has this routine been in place?”

  “Ever since I joined Millie’s, which is nearly three years ago now.”

  “Do you know if he goes running at the same time every morning, or only some mornings of the week?”