by John Farrow
Cinq-Mars continued. ‘Rozlynn is in prison due to a domestic dispute. She killed her father. Most of you forgive her for that since you assume it was either in self-defense or a retaliation for abuse. It might surprise some of you that she didn’t mean to kill her father. In the dark and in the moment, she thought she was killing her uncle. The courts wouldn’t care about the difference, so she kept that to herself. But oh yeah, big mistake. Wrong victim.’
The women gazed at Roz to see if this was true. They saw that it was. They returned their focus to the policeman.
‘Same difference, mind you. She was both protecting herself from what her uncle might do and retaliating for past abuse. To the court, she confessed without an explanation. She gave no excuses. That was due to her sorrow for what she’d done, for inadvertently killing the father she loved so dearly. What a tragedy. Rozlynn bears the weight of it.’
A few of the women copied Roz in staring at the floor, a palpable sadness in the room. Rozlynn reverted to her withdrawn manner.
‘Either way, uncle or dad, murder is murder, and she knew it.’
Several women nodded. They knew that that was inescapable.
‘Rozlynn is not connected to the underworld,’ Cinq-Mars went on. ‘She and Doi were working together when Florence was, you know, garroted. It’s difficult to see how they were separated during the time. They sorted out the recycling together, prepared the garbage for examination – you’re not permitted to sneak anything out of here just like you’re not allowed to sneak anything in – so it is possible, it’s possible, for the two of them to have separated during that process. In fact, we know they did, because Doi was not with Roz when she discovered Flo. The opposite could have occurred as well, but no one remembers that. Still, in the main, Doi, you were with Roz. If you didn’t do it, did she?’
Doi didn’t need to give it much thought. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘There you go.’
‘I thought’ – Abigail again, as if she was the presiding judge over these proceedings – ‘you were supposed to show us how everybody could be innocent and guilty.’
Cinq-Mars glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘We can look at that, too. Does that seem fair to you, Roz?’
She shrugged.
‘Here’s a question, then. Out on the trapline with your dad, when an animal was caught in a snare, suffering but not dead, when you didn’t want to risk damage to the fur with a bullet and getting up close with a knife could cost you a finger, how did you slaughter the animal? Bear in mind, I’ve spoken with folks in your community, including the Mounties there.’
Everyone gazed at her in curiosity. What secret could the overly secretive Rozlynn have hidden from them which now might be revealed? Under the intensity of their gaze, Roz looked across at Cinq-Mars in the center of the room. Rather than answer, she brought her fists close together in front of her chest, twisted them over and under each other in a rapid motion, then yanked them a short distance apart, jerking them to a stop.
‘Yes. You killed animals with a garrote. A strangulation wire. All of a sudden, you might not be as innocent as most of us, or all of us, have presumed.’
Forever inscrutable, Rozlynn remained a difficult person to penetrate. She betrayed no shift in mood or attitude, although she held her head upright again, defiant. Perhaps she felt a tinge of satisfaction to be included among the others as a suspect now.
Abi was holding a hand up to speak. Cinq-Mars looked at her impatiently. ‘What now?’
‘She taught us.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Roz told us about the trapline. When we had Story Night. She told us about strangling animals. She told us that she used to do that, and we asked her for a lesson on how. So, I guess that keeps us all under suspicion, no?’
Cinq-Mars had not known that detail. ‘Who,’ he asked, ‘prompted Roz to give you the lesson?’
His eyes scanned the room. He checked in on Quinn; she didn’t look great, but she nodded to indicate that she was OK. He continued to swing his look around the room – until Jodi’s hand slowly lifted. ‘Doesn’t mean nothing,’ she attested.
She was right. If they had all heard the lesson, no one was more implicated than anyone else.
Still, Roz knew how, and had experience with the technique. The others knew it only in theory.
‘A further issue,’ Cinq-Mars continued, ‘is motive. No one liked Florence and that’s a shame, but it’s no reason to kill her. For her, it must have been difficult to bear, having no friends, which may be why she was so vulnerable to the hand of friendship extended by Abigail. Yet Flo, it appears, had a mission. To force Abi to reveal her secrets, such as where she hid stolen loot. Abi, we’ll recall, was friends not only with Flo but also with Rozlynn. Motive? Perhaps Roz acted to protect the life – the very life – of her new friend Abi. Also, Roz and Abi possibly had plans to tuck away into the wilderness once they get out of here. Roz, because it’s the only life she knows; Abi, because she’ll be on the run from dangerous people. Roz, then, may have acted to save her friend from Flo’s mission, which was to intimidate her, to get her to talk. So. We have motive.’
‘Thanks for pointing that out, boss,’ Abigail remarked. ‘I mean the wilderness part.’
‘Make other plans, Abi. Now, moving on,’ Cinq-Mars decreed. He had expected the room to be startled by his revelation about Rozlynn; evidently, that was not the case. The entire circle of inmates was quite subdued, including the woman holding a knife to a young woman’s belly.
v
‘Speaking of motive,’ Cinq-Mars declared as he continued to pace, now around a broader perimeter of their squared-off circle. All eyes were on him. He was testing the limits of Doi’s awareness, to determine how close he could get to her before she objected. With his back to Doi, yet stepping closer to her, he stopped within ten feet of her and Courtney. Close to striking distance. ‘Our friend Abigail is littered with motive. It’s written all over her.’
‘Not a pretty picture, Cinq-Mars. Littered? What, am I like a trash can to you now? Rubbish off the street? You don’t think I’m cute?’
Always deflecting, always looking for an advantage. The others found the joust curious and fun. Abigail had their attention now. She controlled the room.
‘Abigail – the oh-so-talented swindler. So much drug money sliding through the fingers of biker gangs, and on through their money-laundering schemes. So much of it, she figured she could rip them off without anyone noticing. Banks would be reluctant to report the theft, given their own complicity in moving bad money around. It could have been the perfect scheme. Until the matter got out of hand. Some say thirty-six million.’
The women had heard such numbers. Most assumed it to be an inflated figure. Hearing the sum on the lips of a cop somehow made it feel real, if still unimaginable. Abigail shrugged. As smug as ever.
‘Some folks want their money back. Their greed greater than their yen for revenge. They want their money first, and then and only then will they take revenge. They’re willing to get to Abigail, even in here, to make that happen. Abigail figured out upon her arrival at Joliette that coming here was not her lucky break. How long did that take you, Abi?’
‘Oh, about a nanosecond, give or take.’
‘A nanosecond. Bikers calculated that if inmates were in place before she arrived, she wouldn’t finger them to be on any gang’s string. Who, Abigail, was already here waiting to persuade you?’
She shrugged again. ‘I really don’t want to implicate myself.’
‘Flo,’ Cinq-Mars suggested, which prompted Abi to shrug again, a reflex that indicated affirmation. ‘Maybe Jodi.’
‘Jodi!’ Jodi exclaimed.
‘Jodi,’ Abigail agreed.
‘Who else?’ Cinq-Mars pressed her.
‘You want me to say?’
‘Show the people what you got, Abi.’
She mulled it over, then said, ‘Isaure.’
Involuntary verbal reactions from every quarter.
‘What? Whoa! Who? Really?’ And loud inhalations of breath. The women were startled. ‘Isaure?’
‘Yes,’ Cinq-Mars confirmed. ‘Isaure. Employed by the bikers and by the SQ, both. Not even a prison guard, not really. Abigail arrived in good faith but figured out pretty quickly – in approximately a nanosecond – that she’d been buried in deep shit. Isn’t that right?’
‘Let’s say I caught the aroma. The pungent stench of it,’ Abigail concurred.
‘So then, for you, motivation includes self-defense. No one can deny that self-preservation can be a strong motive to kill.’
‘Flo’s a beast. She was a beast. How could I kill her without her ripping my head off first?’
Cinq-Mars had imagined exactly that scenario with each individual. ‘Your other best friend forever has been Rozlynn,’ he pointed out to her. ‘Acquire a strangulation wire from her and learn the technique, and with the garrote around Flo’s neck she’d be pacified, under your control in about, oh, a nanosecond. Maybe two. You might even induce Roz to do it for you, that’s not outside the realm of possibility.’
‘In your realm maybe, not mine.’ Despite that defense, the women were looking at her more solemnly now, as if she was already swinging with a metaphorical noose around her neck. ‘Before I call my lawyer, Cinq-Mars, why don’t you tell the girls why I’m the innocent one here, which you promised to do for us all. I presume I’m not an exception to the rule.’
‘No. For once in your life, you’re not an exception.’
Cinq-Mars moved closer to Abi to lull Doi into being accustomed with his movements forward, back, and around the room. He wanted her to relax as he strolled away to help her so that she’d remain relaxed each time he returned to her proximity. He again made quick eye contact with Quinn and he could tell that she understood what he was doing.
‘Throughout your life you’ve used guile, Abi, not force. You come from a middle-class background. You had advantages, more than most, but you ditched them and made early mistakes. You were snared by evil men, you got entangled in the life, becoming an underage roadhouse stripper. That’s one tough gig, Abi, although for a time you probably thought it was cool. We’ve talked about it in the past.’ To the room he explained, ‘Abigail chose to rip off the bikers on account of past abuses by gang members. Revenge, more than greed, developed her motivation to steal. Important to keep that in mind. You didn’t know I knew that, did you, Abi? This goes back to our previous interrogation sessions.’ To the room, he explained, ‘When Abigail wanted revenge, she didn’t lure a gang member into her bed to slit his throat. She plotted, she gained her victim’s trust, she executed a plan to perfection, and got away with it until the deal went south. Money went missing. Let’s say it’s all of thirty-six million but only one person knows for sure. One of the guys Abi fooled has since landed in a ditch with his legs sawn off, for the crime of being bamboozled by a girl. Imagine what they’d do to the girl who did the bamboozling.’
‘Not pretty,’ Abigail surmised.
‘Damn ugly,’ Cinq-Mars concurred. ‘It has to keep you awake at night. You can’t let your guard drop for a second.’
‘Still, my innocence here: I use guile, not force. That proves my innocence in the murder, no?’
‘Proves? Your guile didn’t stop you from getting into a fight with Marie-Philomène, did it? That said, maybe I agree. Not your style, and style means a lot to you. The one thing that’s keeping you alive is the interest others have in recovering their lost lucre. Alive, you have the potential to be worth a lot of money. Dead, you’re worth less than a dime. Still, you’re relying on the patience of your enemies, and you must know that that comes with limits.’
‘What I rely on, Brother Émile, is your ability to solve this business and protect me.’
Cinq-Mars smiled. ‘As true as that may be, Sister Abi, no one, including me, can ever tell when we’re being conned by you. I can’t tell right in this moment. I can’t declare your innocence too strongly, except to say that it’s not your style to kill, nor is it necessary for you. On the other hand, who was working with Flo on that fateful day? Doing up the dishes with her and cleaning up the galley? Mmm. Well, well, that would be you, Abigail. Being with Flo, you might have slipped off to the restroom with her and no one would notice. Flo would trust you, so you could get behind her back, then the wire is slipped around her neck, something you learned from your good friend Roz, and presto! Here we are.’
‘Not my style,’ Abi reiterated and left it at that.
Cinq-Mars looked intently at each woman in turn, so that when he did the same with Quinn no one would notice that his eyes conveyed a message to her.
MALKA
i
Quinn may have received his latest message, or not. Difficult for him to tell. She scrunched her forehead as if to convey confusion. ‘Quinn,’ Cinq-Mars declared, announcing to the room that she was next on the docket.
‘She wasn’t here back then,’ Temple interrupted.
‘She’s been here since then,’ Cinq-Mars countered. ‘She’s been living among you. That could be significant. She arrived with no alliances. No enemies. No friends. What has she heard or noticed? Be good to know. What do you think, Quinn? Who killed Flo? Any opinion?’
‘No clue.’ She winced then and kept a hand on her wounded shoulder. The pallor of her skin no longer seemed healthy to him. His confidence that he could rely on her in an active situation diminished, although he loved the tough chick persona she put on for everyone. She played it well.
‘Still, maybe you can help me out,’ he postulated. ‘Alliances are in play, inside and on the outside, too. Quinn, tell me, have you figured out who’s with who yet? And while we’re at it, here’s another tricky question. Do you have any sense that killing Flo was a joint effort? Answer honestly. If doing so puts you in jeopardy, we’ll get you out of here.’
‘That cinches it,’ Abigail said.
‘Cinches what?’ Cinq-Mars fired back without looking her way.
Abi shrugged, raised and lowered her eyebrows twice for the others to see. ‘Won’t say,’ was her enigmatic reply. She twisted her lips as though to suppress secret knowledge.
Cinq-Mars elected to ignore her. ‘Quinn?’ he asked. ‘What do you think?’
Put on the spot that way, the undercover officer took her time. She hadn’t determined if the detective wanted her to play along with some ruse that she wasn’t latching onto, or if he was requesting her honest opinion. Their eyes connected for an instant – they’d been doing well with these silent, covert communications – before she cast her glance elsewhere. Not having cottoned on to his latest gambit, she decided that the man wanted the truth based on an insider’s perspective. For some reason he needed only that. She assumed that her opinion might be necessary to knit his conclusions together before he mounted a case against anyone; that a matter sketchy to him depended upon an evaluation from her.
‘I don’t see how,’ she said quietly, which she meant to be interpreted in various ways. ‘Did two buds get together, do some shit? Or three or four? Possible. Maybe. But if you mean some sort of gang-type thing, a conspiracy? That I don’t buy. I think I’d have sniffed out something like that by now.’
Cinq-Mars nodded, appreciating her contribution, both as an inmate – as others saw her – and as a cop, as only he knew, although he suspected that Abigail was suspicious.
Thoughtfully, Cinq-Mars moved the fist of his left hand against the cupped palm of his right, emulating in a horizontal fashion the action of a pestle in a mortar, or a punch to a jaw. He did that repeatedly until everyone lost interest in his hands and looked only at him. His visage took on an intensity that interested them. Then, as he withdrew his fist from his palm one last time, a finger pointed, for an instant, indicating a direction. That part, Quinn, and Quinn alone, saw very clearly. She nodded back, imperceptible to anyone except Cinq-Mars as they were intent on him.
‘Next,’ he announced, ‘we have Malka.’
ii
A scream.
Brief. Emphatic. Chilling.
Cinq-Mars spun on his heels.
He saw Courtney first, looking stunned, mute.
She was gasping for air.
Who screamed? Not her.
The same woman screamed again.
Doi.
And again.
‘Doi! What’s wrong?’
What emerged from her lungs and lips mimicked the rage of a fierce feline, like a jaguar’s voracious roar, as if augmented by a snarling demonic visage geared to intimidate any prey or foe. Consumed by fury, she looked as though she’d lost her mind. Her knife perilous on the young woman’s chest.
‘Take it easy. Easy, Doi. We’ll talk it over. It can’t be that bad. What’s the matter?’
‘Yes it’s that bad!’ she fired back. At least she was still in the room with them and not in the swirl of a breakdown. ‘It’s so much worse! I’ll kill this tramp little vixen slut! She’s a n’er do well! A bitch-fucking whore!’ Typical language from her days as a mom got mixed in with words she overheard daily in prison. At least two women released a giggle over the phrase, ‘n’er do well’. Cinq-Mars got that but recognized the situation as precarious, nonetheless. Doi was volatile and for anyone to be laughing at her at this moment accelerated the risk.
‘Doi, Doi, look at her. Doi. Please. Just look. She’s Courtney. That’s all. A very young woman who needs our sympathy, don’t you think? She needs our care. Look at Courtney. See her. She’s not your daughter.’
‘Courtney,’ Doi spat out. ‘Yeah, this Courtney – she stabbed her best friend to death. How can somebody do that? Stabbed her for talking to her boyfriend! That’s all!’
Courtney squirmed in Doi’s grip and uttered an intelligible moan that conveyed both fright and utter despair.
‘Is that why you punished your daughter? She did more than talk to her boyfriend. She had sex, probably. It happens, Doi. When we don’t approve of a child’s choices we can still be forgiving, don’t you think?’