Lonely Path

by Melissa F. Miller

  While Bodhi and Eliza sat on a low retaining wall and waited for Felix and Jon to finish their meeting, Bodhi watched the university students roaming around with travel mugs filled with coffee and bags weighted down with books. The medical students were easy to pick out. Regardless of skin tone, they shared a waxy, unhealthy pallor—the inevitable by-product of long, sleepless nights under the glare of hospital lights.

  “I can’t believe we were ever that young,” he mused as a couple strolled by holding hands.

  “Really? I can’t believe we’re this old. It seems like just last month we were pooling our change to get the Sunday paper so we could lay in the grass in Frick Park and do the crossword puzzle,” Eliza countered.

  “Wonder if college kids do the crossword anymore?” He smiled at her.

  “Sure, Grandpa. On their iPads.”

  They were still laughing when his phone rang. It was Officer McLord. And he explained why they’d been stonewalled.

  “I hear McAllen won’t talk to you and Dr. Rollins.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can’t say I blame them. I’m sure the lawyers have muzzled them good. Two of those dead kids were in that social anxiety counseling group with Tatiana.”

  “Which two?”

  “The two who’ve been dead for the longest—Javier Martinez and Sheryl Tarlington. They both disappeared less than a month after Tatiana died. Or didn’t die. Or—you know what I mean.”

  “Do the other two have any connection to the counseling group?”

  “Not that we’ve been able to determine. Campus public safety just went dark on us, though. Wagons are being circled.”

  “Thanks for the head’s up.”

  “Don’t mention it, Doc.”

  Bodhi ended the call with McLord and added this new piece of information to the puzzle he was working out in his mind. They needed to find Virgil Lavoire’s advisor. Now.

  Jon’s car pulled up and came to a stop.

  Eliza hopped down from the wall. “Yeesh, I can see the black clouds over their heads from here. This is gonna be a fun three-hour drive.”

  “I imagine the city and the university are busy blaming one another for this disaster. It was probably an ugly meeting.”

  They got into the car, and Jon peeled out without greeting them. The tires squealed in protest.

  “It went that well, eh?” Bodhi asked.

  “Let’s just hope the bar’s still open when we get back to the hotel,” Felix answered.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Wednesday evening

  Chateau Frontenac

  The bar was, in fact, still open when Jon, Felix, Bodhi, and Eliza returned to the hotel. It was also full of mingling pathologists who had not spent their day driving back and forth on Canada’s Autoroute 20. The bedraggled group took one look at the laughing crowd and turned to leave.

  Claude and Guillaume waded through the crush of people toward them.

  “No, no, don’t go,” Guillaume said. “You’ve got to fill us in. Find an out-of-the-way table. I’ll flag down a waiter and get us a drink menu.”

  “And some snacks,” Eliza called after him.

  Bodhi shook his head. The woman had been a bottomless pit in medical school. Apparently that hadn’t changed.

  Jon took charge and commandeered a table tucked away under a window. Claude pulled up two extra chairs, and they all crowded around.

  Guillaume appeared, trailed by a waiter bearing a divided dish of olives, nuts, and vegetables. Eliza gestured for him to put the dish in front of her. He did so with a small, formal bow then took their drink orders.

  “So?” Guillaume said.

  Bodhi waited to see who would volunteer to summarize their mostly fruitless trip.

  Eliza spoke first. “Well, first Bodhi and I met with Felix’s friend. She spoke to us in an unofficial capacity, and she was very forthcoming, thank goodness. Because when we showed up for our official meeting with the director of the counseling center, he refused to see us.”

  “Refused?” Claude sputtered. “On what basis?”

  “I can shed some light on this one. On advice of counsel, the university has decided to complete their own internal investigation first. As it turns out, two of the dead students were involved in the very same psychiatry department study that Tatiana Viant participated in. Obviously, that can’t be explained away as coincidence,” Felix explained.

  Well, actually, Bodhi thought, it could be a coincidence. But he wouldn’t bet a dollar on it. Not-knowing only went so far. A person couldn’t abandon all rational thought.

  “And as a result of the university’s decision to lawyer up,” Felix added, “my meeting at Jon’s office went rather poorly.”

  Bodhi had to feel for the man. His employer wasn’t acquitting itself very well.

  Felix seemed to sense what he was thinking. “I have every confidence that once the university authorities complete their investigation, they’ll be more than happy to share information with the Montreal police and forensics unit again.”

  “I have no doubt either,” Jon agreed. “But the current stalemate makes my job that much harder. Dr. Kim is working in the dark. And the people who have flashlights are pointing them away.”

  “How frustrating,” Claude murmured.

  “Was Felix’s friend able to give you anything useful?” Guillaume asked.

  “Yes. She gave us loads,” Eliza answered. “The researcher running the study was a man by the name of Virgil Lavoire. He seemed to have a certain disregard for the rules, and had hooked up with a graduate advisor who had an equally lackadaisical view of ethics.”

  Claude leaned in. “Oh? Perhaps you should speak with the advisor.”

  “We wish we could. Dr. Harris didn’t know where he landed.” Bodhi turned toward Felix. “In fact, we didn’t even get a name. Do you happen to know the guy?”

  The waiter arrived with a tray of drinks. Felix grabbed his gimlet and took a big gulp. “I have to say I can’t imagine one of the advisors at McAllen doing anything untoward. But I’m not sure that this is the time to for me to involve myself any further than I already have. I trust you can understand the tenuous position I’m in.” He cast an apologetic look around the table.

  Jon threw Bodhi a ‘can you believe this guy’ look, but Claude rushed to his defense. “I understand completely. I think everyone at this table is intimately acquainted with the vagaries of university politics. You can’t jeopardize your standing in your department to play sleuth. We have to trust the process.”

  “Trust the process while teenagers are dropping dead in the streets? Are you serious?” Jon’s voice was as cold as the ice cube floating in his bourbon.

  Bodhi drank his tonic water and watched the expressions on his colleagues’ faces. Eliza was puzzled. Jon, outraged. Felix was scared. Claude was sympathetic. Guillaume’s expression was unreadable.

  But the conference organizer removed all doubt as to his position when he said, “I quite understand the spot you’re in, Felix. But you should consider where your ultimate loyalty lies—with your department or with the people we all took an oath not to harm. At some point standing by silently becomes harmful.”

  On that grim note, five stiff drinks were lifted to mouths and drained. Bodhi took another sip of water.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mont Royal Park

  Wednesday night

  Virgil strolled along the walking path until he reached the fourth bench from the restrooms. He tried to ignore his racing pulse as he took a seat at the end of the bench and rested his Tim Hortons takeout bag on the seat beside him. This part never got easier. He couldn’t wait until Mike was competent enough to take over the deliveries.

  Soon. Very soon.

  He scanned the path in both directions and spotted the dealer wearing the bright yellow ski cap two benches away. He stood and walked toward Christian, leaving the bag behind. The African stood and walked toward him. They crossed paths near a stand of t
rees and, as usual, didn’t acknowledge one another.

  Sweat beaded on Virgil’s forehead. He kept his eyes locked on the Tim Hortons bag sitting on the bench the dealer had just vacated.

  It’s almost over.

  He reached the bench and scooped up the bag. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Christian was halfway down the path to the parking lot. The bag of drugs was gone from the bench, no doubt secreted away under the other man’s jacket. He gripped his bag tighter. He’d wait until he was back in the car to count the cash, not that there was really any need. Christian knew better than to rip him off.

  He let out a long, shaky breath. Just then his phone chirped, loud and shrill in the still night. His heart jumped in his chest and he nearly lost his footing. He got a grip on his nerves and leaned against a tree to answer the call.

  “Yes?”

  “I got your message. Please don’t call my work number.”

  “Then give me your cell number.”

  “Or you could wait until I call you, per our arrangement.”

  Virgil’s temper flared at his partner’s tone. But they both knew who held the power in their relationship, so he clenched his teeth. “Okay.”

  “Good. Now, to answer your question, I’m still perfecting the formula. How’s the sample I gave you working?”

  “It’s okay, I guess. When I give it to Mike he can concentrate. But he gets … touchy.”

  “He’s living in a constant state of impairment, Virgil. You’d be touchy, too. Regardless, I’m tinkering with it to see if I can reduce the side effects.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You have a problem.”

  Virgil’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t mentioned the Tatiana situation. But perhaps someone else had. “Oh?”

  “The reason the authorities were poking around in Sainte-Anne is that two Americans are investigating you.”

  He didn’t question the information. He knew his partner had sources all over the country. “Why would two Americans care what I do? Are they police officers?”

  “Not exactly. But they know about Tatiana … and the others.”

  He willed himself not to vomit as fear roiled inside him. “The others? My workers?”

  “No, you dolt. The dead ones.”

  He rested his head against the tree’s rough trunk and closed his eyes. “What am I going to do?” he whispered.

  “Listen to me, carefully. I have a plan.”

  His eyes popped open and he listened hard.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chateau Frontenac

  Thursday morning

  Eliza was studying the day’s schedule, trying to decide between a forensic anthropology talk and a session about reconstructing skeletal fragments, when Claude Ripple came around the corner gray-faced and tense.

  “Eliza, thank goodness I found you. Where’s Bodhi?” Claude panted.

  “I haven’t seen him yet this morning. Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m afraid I’m not. I have important information for you and Dr. King.”

  Eliza stashed the program in her handbag and guided him to a couch in the lobby. “I’ll find Bodhi and bring him over here. Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No, thank you. Please, just get him,” he gasped. He loosened his tie.

  Eliza darted through the crowd, hoping she’d find Bodhi before Claude had a heart attack or passed out.

  Finally, she spotted him talking to Jon and a blonde woman whom she had yet to be introduced to.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she stepped up to their group. “Bodhi, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  Bodhi and Jon both gave her curious looks, but Bodhi excused himself from the conversation.

  “What’s going on? Did the hospital call with Tatiana’s test results?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Something’s wrong with Claude Ripple. He asked me to find you.”

  Bodhi looked worried as she led him to the couch where she’d left Claude.

  The Canadian was sitting with his head between his knees. Bodhi rushed over and crouched in front of him. “Claude, do you need a doctor?”

  He lifted his head and chuckled weakly. “Well, this would be the place to find one if I did, wouldn’t it? No, I’m not ill. I’m sorry to have scared you, Eliza. I’m just, well, I’m in shock. I got a call from Toronto this morning. There’s a young man in custody who’s in the same condition as your Ms. Viant. The exact words were ‘a vacant-eyed zombie.’ However, he seems to be somewhat more communicative than the young woman. He was talking about this Virgil character you mentioned last night.”

  Eliza felt her eyes go wide. She tried to tamp down her rising excitement.

  “This may be the breakthrough we need,” Bodhi said.

  “I thought so, too. My department asked if you two would be willing to fly out there with me right now to interview him. They can’t hold him for very long, as he hasn’t been charged with anything.”

  “You want to fly?”

  “Yes, it’s a long drive but a short flight—under two hours.”

  Bodhi looked at Eliza. She nodded vigorously.

  “Of course,” he said. “Let me just talk to Guillaume and—”

  “No. I’m afraid I must ask you not to say anything to any of the others just yet.” He ducked his head and gave them a sheepish smile. Jurisdictional issues. You understand?”

  Eliza tried not to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t quite manage to resist.

  Bodhi shook his head and said in a resigned tone, “Fine. But we will be filling them in when we return, correct?”

  “Of course,” Claude assured him.

  Eliza could tell from Bodhi’s expression that going behind Guillaume and Inspector Commaire’s backs didn’t sit well with him. But she also knew he’d say their loyalty lay with truth, not the Quebec City Police Service.

  Claude went on, “If you can get your passports and be ready to leave within the next twenty minutes, we can make an early flight out and be there before noon.”

  Bodhi spent the better part of the brief flight from Quebec City to Toronto meditating. He welcomed the quiet and stillness that had been so elusive during the past several days of activity. He cleared his mind of theories and questions that were swirling in his brain, pushed away the infighting and jockeying for position that had dominated the conversations, and focused on the people, living, dead, and missing who were at the center of the brewing storm.

  Tatiana Viant. Jessica Clapton. Javier Martinez. George Laurent. Sheryl Tarlington. Michael Raglan. He held each name in his mind and vowed to unearth their stories for their families.

  After several minutes, his thoughts turned to Eliza. Her broad smile. Her brown eyes. Her sharp wit. Her impressive appetite. Then he grew more serious. He worried about her ability to weather their investigation on behalf of the Canadians. She was keeping the lid on her panic attacks, but at what personal cost?

  It’s not your place to take care of her, he reminded himself. You forfeited that job thirteen years ago.

  She’d be offended at the suggestion that she couldn’t handle herself, anyway. And she very clearly could. He just had to hope she’d take whatever self-care steps she needed to keep the strain and stress at bay.

  He exhaled a long, slow breath. Guillaume. Jon. Felix. Claude. Brilliant colleagues. New friends. But their ambition and their instincts to protect their fiefdoms intruded on their relationships. They could be prickly and petty. The competition was like a poison, and he didn’t want to drink it in.

  He wished each of them well in turn, sending them thoughts of peace and cooperation. It was all he could do.

  The flight attendant’s voice crackled over the intercom and intruded on his sitting meditation. He opened his eyes and listened as she welcomed the passengers to Toronto, home of the CN Tower, the Blue Jays, and the Maple Leafs. She must not have been a basketball fan because she left the Raptors off the list.

  He turned arou
nd and caught Eliza’s eye. She smiled and gave him a little wave. Beside her, Claude appeared to be dozing. Bodhi hoped the nap would do him well. His nervousness back at the hotel had been so extreme that Bodhi really had been worried about his heart.

  As if he’d felt Bodhi’s gaze, Claude opened his eyes and looked back at him. His expression was somewhere between fear and dread—no doubt at the thought of meeting a member of the walking dead. It drove a finger of ice in to Bodhi’s heart.

  Bodhi shook off the unease that tried to settle over him like a sweater and smiled at Claude. Claude nodded and arranged his features into a small smile of his own as the wheels of the plane touched down and rolled along the tarmac, bringing them ever closer to the poor soul who might be able to help them fill in the missing pieces of their puzzle.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Silence Restaurant

  Downtown Toronto, Ontario

  “I’m so sorry about the delay,” Claude apologized for the fourth time as the cab driver weaved through the mid-day traffic.

  “It’s okay,” Eliza assured him for the fourth time. After all, it wasn’t Claude’s fault that the Crown Attorney’s Office had decreed the young man needed to be cleared by a medical team before he could speak to them. Truth be told, she thought it was a prudent idea.

  “Thank you both for being so understanding. I know you’ll enjoy this lunch spot while you wait,” Claude promised.

  “Won’t you be joining us?” Bodhi asked.

  “I’m afraid I need to handle quite a bit of paperwork to facilitate your interview of this fellow. So I’m just going to have the driver drop you off. But you’re in for a treat. Silence is a genuinely unique experience,” he promised.

  “It’s certainly an unusual name for a restaurant,” Eliza commented.

  “Ah, yes. Well, all the servers and kitchen staff at Silence are deaf, you see.”

  “Completely deaf?” she asked.

  “Yes. The menu includes the sign language words and phrases for the various menu items, as well as the signed alphabet. That’s how you’ll order and communicate with your waiter or waitress,” Claude explained.