Death on the St. Lawrence

by Agnès Ruiz

  The news she received didn’t surprise her. Several of the individuals had been identified by Interpol’s services. Rachel had informed them that crew members stated seeing the pirates leave on a yacht that had then headed out to sea.

  Three of the criminals were notorious for working together. Another of the accomplices was a particularly tough thug to catch. It was disconcerting how quickly he could change his physical features. Guillermo Voily had sent her the many different faces that were known to be his. She would present them to the witnesses to see if any of the photos resembled one of the pirates.

  It was clear that the evidence pointed towards merchandise theft. This wasn’t the first robbery for these crooks. Once again, Rachel wondered what the cargo ship could have been carrying unbeknownst to the shipping company. It didn’t make any sense. It certainly wasn’t recorded in the shipping list. She had gone over it with a fine-toothed comb. Jeff had spoken with all the owners who had entrusted their goods with the transporter. They still needed to wait for the cargo ship to be towed to Montreal before they could verify the inventory and what was missing. It was wasted time, the detective silently cursed.

  Who was mixed up in what was a question she asked herself often.

  The captain could have gotten involved in some shady dealings, which might explain his bizarre attitude during his last months. The detective had thought there was another woman in the background, often a common thread when there was a change in behavior. This didn’t seem to be the case for Marc-Alexandre. Or he had been extraordinarily discreet. Anything was possible, and she wouldn’t abandon any trail as long as it led to somewhere.

  She stood up and poured out her coffee into a potted plant. It was cold, and the fern was in an advanced state of decomposition.

  Rachel studied the plant, her empty cup still clasped in her hand.

  “My poor little one, caffeine hasn’t done much for your color!”

  The department psychologist witnessed this last scene.

  “You certainly don’t have a green thumb, Rachel. Good thing it’s not your job.”

  “Peggy! What brings you here?” the detective said in a startled voice.

  “One of your sailors. You know which one I’m working with him, right?”

  “William Fortin, of course. How is he doing?”

  “It’s going to take some time, I’m afraid. But I have faith in him. He’s quite impressive and I have a lot of respect for him.”

  Rachel listened to what her colleague had learned from the sailor yet remained skeptical. She called Jeff to join her in her office.

  Chapter 13

  “Any news from the captain’s chief mate?”

  “None. He still hasn’t shown up at his mother’s. I assigned Paul and Jacques to stake out her house. Luc Mongrain is nowhere to be found. I’m starting to believe you were right, that we’re going to find him in the same shape as Marc-Alexandre Blanchette.”

  Rachel sat down on the corner of her desk, hands on her thighs. She was still thinking about what Peggy Fitzgerald had said. Finally, she decided to tell everything to the investigator.

  “William Fortin told something strange to the psychologist. I’m not sure how credible he is as a witness. One thing’s for sure—we can’t discount his story—disturbing though it is.”

  “Go ahead! Interpol’s already thrown those guys’ files into the pot ... and then there’s your niece giving us her two cents.”

  Detective Toury’s head jerked up. What did Jessica have to do with this? She hadn’t heard from her in two days. She promised herself that she would call her brother the following day instead of waiting an entire week. As focused as she was on the investigation, her niece had still been on her mind a good part of the time. How was she experiencing what had happened?

  “Jess?

  “Obviously. How many other nieces do you have?”

  “Very funny! Why do you talk about her like that? She only wanted to get even with you. She didn’t mean for you to take her attack so personally.”

  Jeff’s body language indicated he doubted her.

  “Don’t worry. It’s all settled.”

  “Oh really? And since when?”

  It was Jean-François Millet’s turn to act surprised.

  “What? She hasn’t stopped by your office to see where you were in the investigation?”

  “No. I was with Peggy for quite a while. What did Jess want to see you about?”

  “To offer me a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course! The school yard’s not my playing field.”

  Rachel laughed and nodded for him to continue.

  “So, she apologized. She admitted she hadn’t behaved very nicely and that she was sorry for overreacting.”

  “And then you said that you hadn’t meant to annoy her and blah, blah, blah,” Rachel retorted.

  “No way. I simply accepted her apology. Then we made peace.”

  “Oh! OK. And that’s all. She left.”

  “We walked back inside the building. That’s why I thought she had come to see you.”

  “I have a feeling her pride is preventing her from crossing the threshold of my office. Don’t worry. We’ll work it out. I think she showed a lot of maturity in doing what she did.”

  Jeff agreed. Rachel scribbled something on a notepad and then returned to the conversation she had had with Peggy Fitzgerald.

  “William Fortin stated that he saw the chief mate, Luc Mongrain, hand a gun to Marc-Alexandre Blanchette.”

  “A nine millimeter?”

  “He wasn’t able to provide that kind of information. He just said that it was like in the movies.”

  “We’re really moving forward with that kind of clue.”

  “I don’t think it’s so bad. What have you unearthed about Mongrain?”

  “He practices regularly at a shooting range.”

  “What made you think to investigate something like that?”

  Typically, an investigation revolved around the person of interest’s relationships with other people, their job, that type of information. This new tidbit her coworker had singled out was a little too specific for her to ignore.

  “When I went to the Mongrain home, I saw several photos of him brandishing a semi-automatic. He looked really proud of himself, definitely had a swagger about him. A real modern-day cowboy.”

  “Or a bandito!” the detective countered, becoming more curious about the missing person’s involvement. “Did you discuss any of this with his mother?”

  “I circled around the topic. I didn’t want to upset her and get kicked out of her house.”

  Rachel smiled at his explanation. It was definitely a wise decision.

  “Good work. So, the chief mate carries a gun. A Luger?”

  “Yes. The model matches the ballistics report from Mina. The weapon found on the boat is his. No doubt about it, thanks to the serial number.”

  “No need to jump too fast to any conclusions, but this story is truly bizarre,” said Rachel. “We’ve got a nine-millimeter handgun and testimony from a crew member that ties the Luger to Blanchette and Mongrain. It’s rather disturbing. The only hitch is why would Marc-Alexandre be in need of a semi-automatic weapon?”

  “To defend himself?” Jeff suggested. “Maybe he felt threatened...”

  The detective weighed the idea.

  “According to William Fortin, the pirates weren’t yet on board when he caught sight of this transaction.”

  Yet another visit with the captain’s widow was on the horizon, Rachel realized. She glanced at her watch and told Jeff to meet back with her after lunch.

  She left the building and basked in the sunny weather. Perfect place to eat her sandwich. She took advantage of the break to dial her niece’s number. She got the answering machine. Hesitating, she hung up and finally typed out a text message. She was well aware that texting was more fashionable, as if talking had become nerdy. She said that she hoped to see her again soon, wished her well, and then sent her message.


  The response was instant. Jessica was doing fine. Two classes in the afternoon. Then she’d be free. Her message ended just like that. The detective thought it an odd way to finish a conversation. She had a feeling it wasn’t her last word. Rightly so. A new text arrived. She offered to come to her office at five o’clock on the dot. Rachel estimated that they should be back by then and wrote she was looking forward to seeing her. Jess sent back a quick “thanks” and “Bye.”

  Chapter 14

  The visit with Margareth Blanchette didn’t yield any answers. From the very outset, she denied any knowledge of his having a weapon. She disapproved of even the idea of it and was firmly opposed to guns in general. They were at the heart of so many tragedies, and recent events would prove her right.

  On their way back, Paul alerted Jeff that the surveillance team had intercepted a shady-looking character lurking in the vicinity of the chief mate’s home. It turned out to be none other than Luc Mongrain. Alive after all. It was a relief and perhaps the beginning of the end to this baffling story.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, Rachel strained to hear the phone conversation. She gathered that her colleagues were taking him into the station.

  They arrived just as Paul and Jacques were escorting the wild-eyed man. The strange figure’s hair was a mess and his filthy clothes were torn and stinky. He seemed exhausted, and his skin had a grayish hue. No trace of a uniform or even a hint of one. Compared to the photos of him standing tall and proud, here was a man hunched over and looking beaten. The transformation was astounding.

  They lead him straight to the interrogation hall. Rachel congratulated the agents on their success. She ordered a sandwich and a bottle of water, sensing that the man was in dire need of both.

  “So, Mr. Mongrain, it would be fair to say that you’ve been hard to reach.”

  “I wasn’t aware that anyone was looking for me,” the chief mate said in an angry tone. “And my mother, huh, did you take her into consideration?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. She didn’t witness anything. She wasn’t even at home when you were spotted.”

  He looked as if he doubted her.

  “She’s getting old,” he said in a pleading tone. “Her heart, it might give out if she knew I was here being interrogated by the police.”

  “In this case, all the more reason for everything to work out,” said the detective, elbows resting on the table.

  Leaning back, Luc Mongrain crossed his arms as a buffer against the two officers facing him.

  “First of all, what am I doing here? Your two rookies, they wouldn’t give me an answer. Just told me to follow them.”

  “And I thank you for your cooperation,” Rachel replied.

  The man balked. He seemed unsure of her sincerity. The detective placed a photo of Marc-Alexandre Blanchette on the table in front of him.

  “We found your captain floating in the St. Lawrence River. We’ve already questioned the crewmen on the ship. Every one of them mentioned pirates.”

  “That’s right. They surprised us in the middle of the night,” the chief mate said in a forceful tone.

  His voice sounded bolder. He had sat up straight as he spoke, placing his hands over the photo as if to hide it from view.

  “The sight of Marc-Alexandre Blanchette disturbs you?” Jeff asked.

  The chief mate stood up and snatched his hand away from the photo. He was now pacing the room, arms behind his back.

  “What kind of relationship did you have with your superior, Mr. Mongrain?” asked Jeff.

  “A good one. He was a nice guy. Professional.”

  “Someone who instilled trust, in other words,” Jeff said.

  “That’s right. What are you looking for?”

  “His killer, Mr. Mongrain. His killer,” Rachel said again, positioning herself closer to his chair to get his attention.

  The chief mate furrowed his brows, keeping one eye on Jeff’s movements and then on the detective who had invaded his space.

  “You think I know who did it, right? Me too, I’d like to know, so he can rest in peace, OK?”

  “Yet you’re nervous. You, yourself, are not at peace. And to tell you the truth, for a moment we feared we were going to find you in the same condition as your captain.”

  The man turned his attention to the photo on the table. Uneasy, he pushed it away; his face looked paler than before.

  “I don’t know what could have made you think that,” he sputtered.

  “Your continued absence, as simple as that, Mr. Mongrain,” Jeff said. “Why didn’t you stay with the crew? You were in charge after the death of your captain. It was your duty to help them. Instead of running away!”

  “I didn’t run away!” he said, slamming his fist on the table.

  “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” Rachel asked in a calm voice, still waiting on the sandwich order.

  Jeff said he would go get it.

  “So, Mr. Mongrain, take a moment to relax. You’re safe here. These last few days have been difficult, I believe. You managed to arrive here on your own from the damaged ship. It must have been a long and perilous journey. It would have been so much easier if you had returned with the crew.”

  “You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that one! I look horrible!” he bellowed.

  “I was only making an observation, trying to make headway with this story.”

  “What are you hoping I’ll divulge? Our ship was intercepted by pirates. They killed my captain, and they fled. Period.”

  “OK. I assume they had some sort of personal grudge against Marc-Alexandre Blanchette.”

  A painful silence filled the room, heavy and confining as a jail cell. Jeff’s arrival provided relief as well as coffee. Apparently, he had bumped into the agent fetching the sandwich because he was also carrying food and a bottle of water. He placed all of it in front of Luc Mongrain. Detective Toury noticed he immediately perked up. Was it hope? It was hard to tell at this stage—he was a difficult man to read.

  “Are you hungry, Mr. Mongrain? Here in front of you are the essentials. I realize it’s not a gourmet feast.”

  The man stared at the sandwich before grabbing it. He gave a quick nod as if in thanks, and then began chewing.

  “Good. So let’s continue. I’m still waiting for your answer. Why, in your opinion, did those pirates kill your captain?”

  “We know that Marc-Alexandre Blanchette was nervous. And that you gave him your gun.”

  It was Jeff who had intervened, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. Luc Mongrain quickly glanced over at him while taking a gulp from the water bottle. This was a piece of information capable of collapsing a dam. He seemed ready to open the floodgates, defeated, and also visibly surprised that the police knew about it.

  “How...? It was just the two of us.”

  “Hard to be so sure when you’re on a boat.” The detective spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone.

  The chief mate hunched one shoulder. He wore a pained expression as if he were reliving the scene. He set down the half-eaten sandwich, his eyes staring into the darkness of the coffee.

  “Marcal, he was worried.”

  “Marcal?” Jeff said in surprise.

  “OK, Marc-Alexandre, if that’s what you prefer. It’s his nickname. He was friend, you know.”

  “We don’t doubt that. The two of you were so close that you gave him your gun.”

  He gave a slight nod to confirm what Rachel had said and added that he trusted him. “He was a nice guy,” he said once again. His voice trembled and his closed fists pounded the table.

  Chapter 15

  “I’m sure that if you could, you would go back in time and undo it.”

  “Undo what? I didn’t do anything!” Luc Mongrain said with rising irritation.

  “Except give your captain a semi-automatic weapon.” Rachel responded with the deliberate force of a hammer. “And it was with your Luger that he was killed. A bullet to th
e head. The story of a friendship with a rather bad ending.”

  “He was the one with the gun. I didn’t do anything, and I’ll say it again. I don’t understand how ... everything got so out of control.”

  “Good. We’re getting somewhere,” Rachel said, sounding satisfied. “You can tell us all about it, Mr. Mongrain. And start with what was happening before everything got so out of control, as you described it.”

  The man studied Detective Toury and then leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his lowered head. His breathing became labored and noisy. Was he weighing his options? Was he at liberty to speak?

  “You should drink up before your coffee gets cold,” Jeff said.

  The investigator sat down next to Rachel. A recorder made humming sounds as it recorded their conversation. Luc Mongrain finished off his coffee in one big gulp. Meanwhile, Jeff reached for a pen and notepad to jot down everything their witness, or rather their suspect, said.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.” He began to speak in a low tone.

  “Speak louder,” Jeff said as he pushed the recorder towards him.

  He sat up and gave Jeff a defiant look as if he were demanding the impossible.

  “Marcal came looking for me. His wife wanted him to quit his job. She wouldn’t stop bugging him about it. For him to enjoy his retirement benefits and be done with work. I told him he should do it. That she was right. But he said it wouldn’t work.”

  “Because of huge gambling debts,” Jeff said.

  He slid some bank statements towards Rachel. Luc Mongrain looked pained to hear him talk about it in such a direct manner.

  “Why do I get the feeling that you already know all about it?”