He chuckled. “Point taken. So, the short version?”
“Virgil Lavoire, grandson of the Sainte-Anne Lavoires, did, in fact, eventually track Michael down. When he arrived in the alley, the police took him into custody.”
“Did he talk?”
“Did he talk? They couldn’t shut him up. He told them about an apartment in some central neighborhood in Montreal where he had Michael and three other people working in a Solo lab, making drugs. The Montreal police went there, and his story checked out. The captives are at McAllen, at the hospital now.”
“He held them captive?”
“Yes, Tatiana, too. Basically, whenever someone appeared to overdose on Solo, he checked to see if they had really died or if they were just suffering from respiratory and central nervous system paralysis. If they were dead, he just left the body where it was. But if they were paralyzed, he dosed them with a crude antidote and took them back to Sainte-Anne. Some of them died anyway—the four college kids we found in the cemetery. He wasn’t very good at guessing the correct dosages, at first. But eventually he got better at it, so Tatiana, Mike, and the four others just sort of floated along in a zombified state.”
“Wait. He has no medical training. How did he create an antidote?”
“He didn’t. His old graduate program advisor from Montreal was working with him.” She paused and raised her eyebrows.
“Not Claude?”
“Claude.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then he said, “Where is he?”
“He turned around and got right back on a plane to Quebec City before we even placed our orders at lunch. By the time you were being bitten by a zombie, he was in the air. He hightailed it back to the hotel and told Guillaume some BS story about me having a family emergency back home. He said we left for the States early Thursday morning and asked him to let Guillaume know.”
“That story wouldn’t hang together long.”
“It wouldn’t have to. The conference ended after breakfast today. He thought we were lying dead in an alley. If his plan had worked, the Toronto police would have had some leg work to do to trace the steps of two dead doctors from the United States. It’s not like anyone knew we were staying in Quebec City.”
“Eventually, the airline—”
“Sure, eventually. But he’d have vanished by then. Virgil, too.”
“That clever son-of-a—”
“He almost got away with it. But since you thought fast enough to wage an aural assault on Michael, we were saved from death by Dumpster noises, and Virgil was taken into custody. After he sold Claude out, I gave the police Inspector Commaire’s number. He arranged for McLord and Dixon to quietly take Claude into custody while he was sitting in the back of the audience during the presentation of the Lifetime Achievement in Forensic Pathology Award.”
Bodhi cocked his head. “There’s an award for that?”
“Can you believe it? It’s called the Golden Bone Saw.”
“Of course it is,” he deadpanned.
She started to giggle. Her giggle turned into chuckle, which turned into peals of laughter that left her breathless. When she was finished, she wiped her eyes, and said, “I’m going to step outside so you can get dressed. Let’s be ready to blow this popsicle joint when the police show up, okay?”
“Believe me, I don’t want to stay here a minute longer than I need to. Beat it already, so I can put my clothes on.”
She stood and turned to leave. She paused at the door and said, “You know, Edmund was right about something.”
“What’s that?”
“You are a lucky man. You’re lucky you’re not dead.”
He waved her out of the room.
He shed the hospital gown and put on his shirt and pants.
Her words rang in his ears. The prospect of his death held no particular sway over him. Eventually he would die. But when he was standing in that alley, he had been terrified that she would die.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Friday evening
Chateau Frontenac
After Bodhi and Eliza finished giving the Quebec City authorities the same statements they’d given to the Toronto police before leaving town, Officer Dixon drove them back to the hotel and promised to send the statements to Montreal to save them from having to tell their story a third time.
The police officer shook each of their hands and thanked them for their assistance in his serious, law enforcement voice before ushering them out of the car.
Bodhi visualized himself climbing into bed and pulling up the covers as he walked into the hotel’s grand lobby. His bones ached. His mind was fuzzy. His wound itched. A dull headache thumped behind his temples.
Beside him, Eliza looked drawn and pale. Her hands shook slightly. Dark smudges bloomed under her eyes. She leaned into him and yawned.
He was guiding her toward the elevator bank when Guillaume sprinted down the hall, calling their names. Eliza sighed deeply.
“I’ll deal with him,” he promised.
Guillaume skidded to a stop just feet away from them.
“Are you okay? Really okay?” His worried eyes took in the thick white bandage covering the back of Bodhi’s right hand.
“We’re fine. We’re just very tired.” Bodhi shot Guillaume his most piercing look.
“Of course, of course.” He said fretfully. “And you both need to rest but—”
“Thanks for understanding.” Bodhi punctuated his interruption by pressing the elevator call button.
“Please.” Guillaume stepped in front them. “Please join me, Felix, and Jon for dinner. We’ve arranged for a private room. A simple dinner—with a vegan dish for you. It will be quiet and easy. Please. We’re so concerned about you and just devastated about Claude.”
The plaintive note in his voice would have swayed Bodhi under ordinary circumstances, but he wasn’t willing to subject Eliza to a group dinner. To his surprise, Eliza gave Guillaume a wobbly smile.
“How thoughtful. As long as you’ll understand if I don’t stay very long, I’d love to join you,” she said.
“Eliza, are you sure?”
“I’m sure they’re reeling about Claude. I think we all need closure. And, most importantly, I’m starving. A prearranged dinner will get food into my belly faster than room service.” She laughed.
It was a creaky laugh, but it was a laugh. The sound of it eased Bodhi’s heart.
“It’s decided then,” he told Guillaume. “Let’s get some food into this woman’s belly.”
Guillaume led them to a cozy room where a candlelit table with service for five was set up in front of a marble fireplace. A small fire glowed in the hearth. As he shut the door closing the room off from the main dining area, Jon and Felix leapt to their feet and rushed around the table to greet them.
After a flurry of handshakes and hugs, their little group assembled around the table. As soon as he was seated, Bodhi drained his water glass. The cool liquid soothed his dry, burning throat.
Felix refilled his glass from the pitcher in the center of the table. Eliza passed the rolls.
“That’s white bean spread,” Felix said, nodding toward the small dish beside the bread basket. “Instead of butter.”
Bodhi smeared some bean spread on his roll. His stomach growled in anticipation. Eliza wasn’t the only who was starving. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he’d lost touch with his body.
Guillaume cleared his throat, ready to launch into an introductory speech of some sort, but Jon beat him to the punch.
“What the devil happened? And how did Claude get mixed up in this?” he asked with no preamble.
Guillaume closed his mouth and sat back, apparently content with skipping the preliminaries to hear the answer to the day’s burning question.
Eliza swallowed a bite of bread and started the story. “Claude lured us to Toronto so his partner in the Solo-dealing enterprise, Virgil Lavoire, could have us killed.”
> “Not Claude,” Jon insisted.
“Well, it’s not clear that he and Virgil Lavoire were equal partners in the drug business, but he knew all about it. The entire time the Ontario Forensic Pathology Service was trying to figure out what was killing drug users, Claude had the answer and was working on an antidote. But not for his employer, for Virgil,” Bodhi explained.
“But why?” The question exploded from Felix with such force that even he looked surprised.
Bodhi gave Eliza a sidelong look. They hadn’t been able to figure out just how much Felix knew. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
Eliza was less worried with taking a delicate approach. She leaned forward, “Well, Felix, as you knew but never told us, Claude used to work at McAllen.”
Felix’s eyes bugged out. “The subject never came up.”
“It seems a strange omission,” Bodhi responded. “The four of us were panelists together, but neither you nor Claude ever mentioned that you used to work together.”
“We didn’t work together,” he protested. “I’m on faculty. I mainly teach. His work was much more clinical. He spent a lot of time at the hospital. Our paths rarely, if ever, crossed. And he left so suddenly. It seemed as though he was embarrassed about the circumstances of his departure. So I … I suppose I thought it would be insensitive to mention his time at McAllen …”
“What were the circumstances of his departure?” Guillaume asked with naked curiosity.
“I honestly don’t know,” Felix said. “But you have to believe me, I had no inkling Virgil was behind all this. And I certainly never imagined Claude would be mixed up in it.”
Jon interjected, “How did Claude get involved, anyway?”
“He’d been Virgil Lavoire’s graduate studies advisor. Because Virgil had an interest in therapies to alleviate social anxiety disorders and Claude had a specialty in drug therapies for mental disorders, they paired up. So when Virgil had the idea to augment the support group with a drug that he thought might help them, he went to Claude,” Bodhi explained.
“Surely Claude didn’t help this man give an untested, unapproved drug to human subjects,” Jon said.
“No, it doesn’t appear he did. He also didn’t report Virgil to the university or the authorities. He just turned a blind eye. Virgil managed to get the neurotoxins on his own,” Eliza said.
“And he convinced these kids to take the drug? How?” Felix wondered.
A waiter entered the room with a tray of salads. Bodhi waited until he’d distributed the plates and ground pepper for those who wanted it.
When the door quietly shut again, Bodhi said, “He told them it was a vitamin C tablet and that there was some evidence that vitamin C boosts moods, with increased sociability being a side effect. Who’s going to object to vitamin C?”
“Nobody,” Guillaume answered darkly.
“But Claude didn’t only turn a blind eye. When Tatiana died, Virgil panicked. He went to Claude and told him what he’d done,” Eliza said. “Claude didn’t call the police at that point either. Although what he did do probably saved Tatiana’s life.”
“How so?” Jon leaned forward.
“Claude was on-duty when Tatiana was brought in to the hospital. He saw to it that she was ventilated right away.”
“How? That’s not his area,” Felix noted prissily.
“He forged an order. And then he got a list of the ingredients in the Solo pill from Virgil and started researching how to reverse the effects. When Tatiana’s parents had her moved to the hospital outside Ottawa, he gave Virgil a prototype antidote and sent him up to Port Gray to revive her. She’d been declared dead by the time Virgil got there, so he took her from the funeral home,” Eliza continued.
Jon’s face was mottled with purple splotches. “Are you telling me the whole time Lucy and I have been working our butt off trying to figure out what this new mystery drug was, Claude knew? He knew exactly what was killing people and he didn’t tell anybody? He had an antidote and he didn’t tell anybody? That’s as good as committing murder.”
“He’s in deep trouble,” Guillaume agreed.
“What about this antidote? Does it really work?” Felix asked.
“Sort of.” Bodhi said. He turned to Jon. “Claude has agreed to cooperate with the toxicologist in your office on the antidote she’s developing. According to Claude, they’re quite similar. He used the potassium channel blocker 4-aminopyridine and krait antivenom as his building blocks.”
Jon nodded. “That does sound close to Lucy’s formulation. She’s concerned about the 4-AP, though. Apparently there are some test results that show it does reverse saxitoxin-and tetrodoxin-induced respiratory paralysis. But it made rodents excessively irritable, prone to startling, and hypersensitive to stimuli.”
Bodhi glanced down at his bandaged hand. “Yeah, it seems to have the same effect on humans,” he said dryly.
Guillaume winced.
“I, for one, have great confidence in Dr. Kim’s abilities. And, say what you will about Claude’s ethical and moral compass, but I think his assistance will be a great benefit to her efforts,” Felix said.
Eliza flushed. Bodhi could see the anger building in her shaking shoulders. He caught her eye and took a long breath, hoping she’d mirror him.
The door opened again. The waiter cleared the salads and brought in the pasta course. Before anyone picked up a fork, Eliza stood.
“If you’ll all excuse me, I’m afraid I have to go to bed right now or I’m in danger of ending up face down in my bowl of pasta. Good night.” She dropped her napkin on the table and fled the room.
Bodhi watched her go.
“Is she okay?” Felix asked.
“I think she’s not ready to talk about Claude. I mean, he did help Virgil try to kill us.”
Chapter Forty
Saturday
“You really don’t need to take me. I can call a cab,” Eliza repeated.
“I want to drive you to the airport. It might be another dozen years until I see you again,” Bodhi explained.
“I hope not.” She smiled. “Besides, I think we’re stuck with each other now. Guillaume’s going to hound us until we write up a paper about the zombification of young people through neurotoxin delivery.”
“Why don’t I come up with the title?” He winked to let her know he was joking. “Come on, give me your bag.”
The truth was she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. So, why was she fighting his offer?
She handed over her rollerboard bag. “Thanks.”
While the valet brought the rental car around to the front of the hotel and helped Bodhi load her bag into the trunk, she turned to take a final look at the Chateau Frontenac’s grand exterior. She wanted to remember its grandeur and glamour to balance out the despair and pain that Quebec City would always be associated with in her mind.
“All set?” Bodhi called.
She fixed the image in her mind then slid into the passenger seat of the waiting car. As he drove, she fixed another in her mind: that of his smiling face.
After a moment, she said, “I called Mrs. Viant before I checked out of my room. She said the antidote is already working. Tatiana was joking around this morning. It sounds like they’ll be taking her home today.”
He glanced away from the road. “I sure hope Mike and the others improve that quickly, too.”
“Yeah. I hate Virgil Lavoire and Claude for what they did to those kids.”
“I pity them.”
She whipped her head toward him. “What? No!”
He nodded but didn’t speak.
“Bodhi, how could you even say that?” she demanded.
“Pure evil doesn’t really exist, does it? Virgil and Claude hurt a lot of families. They’re responsible for unimaginable death and sadness, there’s no denying that.” He paused. “Virgil started out trying to help people, though. I’ve never experienced crippling social anxiety. But I can imagine that it’s painful and stressful.”
“It is,” she confirmed in a soft voice. Then she said, “What’s Claude’s excuse?”
He exhaled. “Claude got in over his head. He was trying to help a friend out. He shouldn’t have. I don’t think he deserves your hatred.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“Let me finish, okay? They were wrong. Wrong to experiment on those kids without their knowledge, let alone their consent. Wrong to try to cover the near-fatal doses. Wrong to sell Solo on the street. Wrong to enslave the victims to further their drug empire.”
“Wrong to send Mike to try to kill us,” she added acidly.
“That, too. That’s a lot of wrongs, no question. But no living person is irredeemable. If Claude helps the research team perfect the antidote, that’s redemption. And if Virgil’s original idea is used to create a safe drug, under controlled conditions, that can ease people’s pain, that’s redemption. Is the world on balance better because of what he did? No, of course not. But maybe someday it will be. Jon said there’s talk of using the basic chemical fingerprint of Solo to create a pain killer for cancer patients. That would be redemption.”
Her gut churned. All the words she could think of to say sounded bitter and hateful in her mind. Finally, she said, “Maybe I’m not as forgiving as you are.”
“Maybe you’re not as flawed as I am.”
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“I hurt you. Did I intend to? No, but I did. And I knew I’d done so. How am I different from Virgil Lavoire?”
She stammered, “Well … for one thing, you haven’t killed anyone.”
“I caused you pain.”
She had no immediate response to that. He had caused her pain. That was an undeniable fact. Finally, she said, “But you’re sorry. And maybe Claude is, too. But I haven’t seen any evidence of remorse from Lavoire.”
“You’re right, I am sorry. My remorse doesn’t change the quality of what you experience, though. Does it?”
She was glad his attention was on the road because this conversation was making her jittery. Her hands fluttered in her lap. He exited to the airport ramp and followed the signs for international departures.
Lonely Path Page 13