On the fourth ring, someone picked up. He heard the familiar guttural voice at the other end of the line.
Always the same.
“It’s McNeil. Uhh … No. Not yet. I need more time.” He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I understand. Yes. I’m well aware that there won’t be any more extensions … Yes. I’ll pick up the money in the same place as usu— Perfect. This is the last time. I promise.”
After hanging up, he rubbed his right hand, which was trembling slightly.
McNeil exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, ruffling his moustache. How had he let himself get into this mess? Shaking his head, he walked toward the elevator. There was something else he had to look into. Right away.
It might turn out to be a new opportunity.
47
CELEBRATION
Through the bay window overlooking the entrance, Victor watched her take off her coat. Nadja smiled at the Gnome’s wife, who was holding the youngest of the Seven Dwarfs in her arms. Her glistening lips revealed dazzling white teeth. Nadja bent over Number 7, stroked his pink cheek, and gazed at him tenderly. Victor saw the light reflected in her jet-black hair, and the shine of her olive skin.
She entered the corridor.
Watching her every gesture, the detective sergeant was aware of his good fortune. Her black dress hinted at the outline of her bust and opened onto her endless legs. Her high heels made her hips sway as she moved. Nadja hadn’t seen him. Over one arm she held a garment bag containing fresh clothes for Victor, who hadn’t had time to get home and change. The smaller bag in her hand no doubt held his gift for the Gnome, which she had promised to bring. And she had wrapped it because, as always, she knew what he needed. She completed him.
He felt his heart swell. A tear crept down his cheek.
Had he ever loved someone as he loved her? Would he do the right thing this time? A chill seized him; he felt exposed and helpless. What was the right thing?
Victor had never really known. He wouldn’t figure it out.
Nadja raised her head and their eyes met. A smile lit up the face of the woman he loved.
Yes, he would figure it out.
The conference room was unrecognizable. Holiday classics were playing on a borrowed sound system. The big board had been covered by a black sheet. The Christmas tree that Jacinthe had found was sparkling in the corner, gifts lying all around its base. It had been decorated by Loïc and the Gnome, who had also strung tinsel across the room.
Lemaire had been a good sport and put on the elf costume that Victor had given him as a joke. Now he was handing out presents. The detective sergeant had also bought a second gift for his diminutive colleague: a biography of Winston Churchill. The Gnome was fascinated by the great British statesman and regularly quoted him to liven up conversations. Victor planned to give him the book later.
Lemaire’s children were everywhere. Numbers 1 and 2 had red noses and were passing a tissue box back and forth. As soon as Numbers 3, 4, and 5 — two girls and a boy — had received their presents, they started running around in the corridor, encircling Loïc, who was pretending to be a zombie.
Number 7 was now in Nadja’s arms. She was stroking his hair as she talked with Lucie, Jacinthe’s partner. As for Taillon herself, she had volunteered to serve the food. Which, in practical terms, amounted to little more than removing the plastic wrap from the platters that the caterer had laid out on the table an hour earlier. But it allowed Jacinthe to dip into the goodies and tell herself no one had noticed.
Crouched in a corner, Paul Delaney was helping Number 6 put together a LEGO Bionicle figure.
Standing off to one side, Victor was taking pictures and shooting video with the digital camera that Nadja had bought a few weeks ago. The results would no doubt be singular. Having ignored the recommended muscle relaxant dosage, Victor was now floating in a pleasantly altered state. The pain in his back had gone away.
“Victor Lessard!” Lemaire called out. “It’s time to get your present. Come on over here and sit on the lap of Santa’s coolest, smartest, hottest elf.”
The detective sergeant handed the camera to Loïc and did as he was told. All the adults turned their heads simultaneously to watch the proceedings.
“Give him a big, wet kiss, Vic!” Jacinthe urged, cramming a crustless egg sandwich into her mouth.
It was a moment of laughter, shining faces, radiant smiles.
Everyone was enjoying the punch concocted by Lemaire’s wife. Given the personal histories of Victor and Delaney, the drink was alcohol free.
The detective sergeant unwrapped the present the Gnome had handed to him. It was a novel: Mr. Vertigo by Paul Auster. Victor sat theatrically on the elf’s lap for another moment, then, when Lemaire called out Delaney’s name, he went over to Jacinthe, scanning the book’s jacket. Victor had never read Auster, but Véronique, his ex-girlfriend, had been an enthusiastic fan.
“This came from you, right?” he asked, holding up the book.
Perched on high heels, squeezed into a flowery dress, and wearing makeup for the occasion, Taillon nodded.
“Thank you,” Victor said warmly. “Have you read it?”
“Yes,” Jacinthe said. There was a shy note in her voice. “Actually, I read it to Lucie while she was getting better. It’s the story of Walt the Wonder Boy and an old guy named Master Yehudi, who teaches him how to fly. Only, not really how to fly. Lucie says it’s like an image, it’s … it’s …”
“A metaphor.”
“Right! It sounds fucked up when I try to describe it, but you’ll see, it’s really good. You get used to the style …”
Laughter rang out to their right. Numbers 3, 4, and 5 had now surrounded Loïc and were jumping up and down in front of him, waving their arms, while he called out their names and pretended not to see them.
Smiling broadly, Taillon cupped her hands around her lips and called out teasingly, “Hey, Loïc! It’s time you started having kids of your own. You sure look ready to be a dad!”
The joy fled from the young cop’s face. A shadow fell over him. For an instant, he seemed on the verge of tears. Then he walked out.
Only Victor and Jacinthe had seen his reaction.
“Did I say something wrong?” she murmured, a hand over her mouth.
“You didn’t know?” Victor asked.
“Know what?”
“Loïc has no experience in homicide, but when he got out of police college, he spent three years working undercover for the drug squad. He infiltrated a street gang in Montreal North. While he was on assignment, he got involved with a gang member’s sister. She got pregnant. When the operation ended, they all went to prison for trafficking because of Loïc. Now his ex-girlfriend won’t let him see his own daughter. The child must be two or three years old by now. It’s very painful for him.”
Taillon stared at him, stricken.
Victor put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t common knowledge. Paul kept it quiet to spare the kid’s feelings. I only found out when I tried to get him fired over the carpet thing.”
“Fuck. If I’d known … but to look at him, you’d never guess. Always in a good mood, always upbeat. Too upbeat, sometimes!”
“You of all people should know that appearances can be deceiving.” Silence. “A smile sometimes covers pain. I’ll go talk to him.”
He started to leave the room, then turned back, approached his partner and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for the book, Jacinthe. I appreciate it.” He looked into her eyes. “Truly.”
The detective sergeant had reached the doorway when Jacinthe called out to him. “Hey, Lessard … I just wanted to say …” She clasped her hands nervously. “I know I’m not always easy to put up with, but … I’m glad we’re partners again.”
Victor found the right words to comfort Loïc and bring him back to the celebration without anyone noticing his reddened eyes.
After the gifts were handed out, it was time to eat. Salad bowls went from hand to
hand; paper plates bent under the weight of the food. Victor, Delaney, and Loïc were sitting in a corner, animatedly discussing the Canadiens.
The Gnome, who loved his gift, was eagerly looking through the Churchill biography. The women were deep in conversation. Jacinthe was holding Lucie’s hand.
Victor raised his eyes and smiled. He was among family.
It was a good party.
While everyone was getting ready to dig into the Yule log cake that Lucie had prepared, the Gnome discreetly caught Victor’s eye. They stepped away from the others. Still dressed in his elf costume, Lemaire sat on the corner of a desk and announced, pleased with himself, “I did a little digging this afternoon. I have two pieces of good news.”
Lemaire was a methodical man. Victor would have preferred that Gilles simply tell him what he’d found out, but he knew his colleague needed to explain the process that had led to his discoveries. That was part of his personality, and the detective sergeant had learned to respect this way of doing things.
The Gnome started by explaining that the apparent connection between Judith Harper and Lortie through MK-ULTRA had led him to wonder about Lawson. Was there any way to link the lawyer to the project that Cameron had run for the CIA?
Lemaire had come up with a few ideas, one of which seemed more promising than the others. Sure enough, as he combed through public documents, he saw that lawsuits had been filed by former patients in the MK-ULTRA program and their families in the early 1970s. The Canadian and U.S. governments had hastily settled the cases out of court to avoid trials that might have revealed information that would “compromise national security.”
Since the experiments had been conducted in McGill University facilities, the university had been named as a co-defendant in the court filings.
“And guess which law firm represented McGill?”
Victor felt a surge of adrenalin. “Lawson’s?”
“Bingo. Baker Cooper Sirois — the predecessor to Baker Lawson Watkins — was engaged by McGill to defend it against the claims related to MK-ULTRA. And there’s more. Lawson himself was the partner in charge of billing.”
The detective sergeant took a few seconds before reacting.
His brain was making new connections, opening a range of possibilities. The MK-ULTRA code hidden in Lortie’s writing on the cardboard sheets, the photograph of Judith Harper with Dr. Cameron, and now the involvement of Lawson’s firm — for the first time since the investigation opened, they could, perhaps, establish a connection between the two murders and the suicide.
The ring of his cellphone alerted him to an incoming text. Victor glanced at the message. Guillaume Dionne, the head of casino security, was letting him know that he’d be sending a fax. Victor pocketed the phone and looked at his fellow cop. “This is big. Good work!”
The Gnome glowed at the compliment. Victor stood there for a moment, still processing the information.
“You said you had two pieces of good news.”
“I was keeping the best for last … I got my hands on the call log for Mark McNeil’s cellphone. Guess who called him the day she died.”
Victor thought for a moment. The name flashed in his mind. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Not Judith Harper?”
“The very same,” the Gnome answered eagerly. “And you want to know the best part of all? McNeil turns out to be a pretty unusual psychiatrist. He was once charged with assault.”
48
HOCHELAGA
Through the window of the Audi, Mark McNeil watched the tavern’s shabby exterior, observing the customers as they came and went. The dive was located in a rundown area of Hochelaga, a pocket of resistance that hadn’t yet fallen to hipster gentrification. It was 8:17 p.m. The dimly lit sidewalk was deserted.
Near the entrance, scraps of paper and detritus littered the dirty snow.
Two men in track suits staggered out the door. One of them relieved himself against the brick wall. Then the two drunks vanished into the lane.
Anxiously, McNeil took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. He hurried across the street to the tavern entrance.
Inside, he looked around at the clientele, which was made up of dubious-looking regulars. In his cashmere coat, McNeil definitely didn’t fit in. He walked up to the bar and nervously ordered a cognac. The bartender, an immense man with grimy fingernails, put a glass in front of him and poured out a drink. The psychiatrist drained the glass. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, making his eyes water.
“My name is McNeil,” he said, wincing. “I believe you have something for me.” He made an effort to smile.
The bartender’s gaze was expressionless. McNeil began to worry. Had they gone back on their decision? The big man reached under the bar. Sensing a threat, McNeil stepped back instinctively, his shoulders hunched with fear. The bartender laughed, revealing a mouth from which numerous teeth were missing. He held up a brown envelope wrapped in a thick elastic band and placed it in front of McNeil.
“One more,” the psychiatrist said, relaxing a little.
After draining his glass a second time, McNeil tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, picked up the envelope, and hurried out. Back in his car, he gunned the engine and sped along for several blocks. Then he slowed down and pulled over to the curb. Feverishly, he pulled the elastic band off the envelope. The wad of bills he saw inside prompted a sigh of relief.
With this initial step out of the way, the hardest task had been accomplished. All that remained now was to put the second phase in motion.
A nasty smile came to his lips. This unanticipated second phase gave him reason to believe the future would be bright.
49
ARREST WARRANT
Jacinthe and Loïc came over to join Victor and Lemaire. The cops continued their discussion, proposing various theories in light of the new facts that the Gnome had discovered. The detective sergeant knew he’d find it hard to get back into the festive spirit. His brain was teeming with questions and busily assembling new theories.
Suspecting that his colleagues were in the same state of mind, he proposed a strategy session in Delaney’s office. The better halves weren’t upset. They were in the midst of a lively conversation about the loss of traditional values in Quebec society, and anyway, they were used to sudden changes of plan.
Letting the others go ahead of him, Victor made a detour to the fax machine, where he picked up the document that Guillaume Dionne had sent. Arriving in the chief’s office, he closed the door behind him.
The other cops were expecting him to lead the discussion, so he did.
“We’ll tell you what we’ve got, Paul, and you can decide whether it’s enough for an arrest warrant. Fact number one: McNeil knew Judith Harper. And not just because she was his professor in medical school.”
Victor showed his boss the picture taken in front of the Allan Memorial Institute, linking McNeil to Harper and Cameron and, by extension, to Project MK-ULTRA. Then he briefly described the experiments that had been carried out under the program.
“Fact number two: Judith Harper called McNeil the day she died.”
The Gnome handed Delaney a copy of the psychiatrist’s call log.
Victor continued. “Fact number three: in McNeil’s office, there’s a photograph of his daughter playing with number magnets in front of the fridge. Those coloured plastic numbers are identical to the ones found in Harper’s apartment.”
To keep his hands busy, Delaney pulled out a notepad and started doodling.
“Fact number four: we can’t say yet whether Lawson and McNeil knew each other, but Gilles has found out that Lawson’s firm was engaged to defend McGill in the civil suits launched by the former subjects of the MK-ULTRA program.”
Delaney looked over at the Gnome, who nodded.
“Fact number five: McNeil is a regular at the Casino de Montréal, where his name appears on the high rollers’ list.”
The detective sergeant produced the document t
hat Guillaume Dionne had just faxed him.
“Fact number six: over the last three months, based on reports from the casino’s VIP service and the financial profile that Gilles put together, we know McNeil has lost a pile of money. Something along the lines of …”
“Six hundred thousand dollars,” Lemaire said. “His credit’s been cut off everywhere.”
“How did you know he was gambling at the casino?” Delaney asked, looking over the document.
“His cufflinks,” Victor answered.
Delaney’s puzzled expression cleared up; he remembered having been told about this detail earlier in the day. “You don’t expect to see a psychiatrist fall into this kind of compulsion,” he said, shaking his head and looking disillusioned.
“He wouldn’t be the first, Chief. But that’s a separate issue,” Victor said. “Fact number seven: McNeil once faced an assault charge.” The detective sergeant turned to the Gnome. “Gilles?”
“It dates back to 2003, a dispute between neighbours. Something to do with snow removal. McNeil claimed he was acting in self-defence after the other guy tried to run him over with his car. He hit the man in the face with a shovel three times. The victim had four broken teeth and significant bruising. McNeil got off with community service.”
“Fact number eight,” Victor continued. “I’ll admit, it’s purely circumstantial, but the secretary and the mail boy both told me that on the day Lawson disappeared, he received a message that worried him.”
“I remember. A threat …”
“That’s our guess.”
Sticking a pinky finger in his ear, Delaney tilted his head to the right. “You think McNeil was blackmailing Harper and Lawson, is that it?” He turned to the kid. “Loïc, you’re chewing like a cow.”
Blouin-Dubois froze, red faced.
Victor continued. “McNeil has gambling debts, Paul. He needs money. He stumbles across an old case and discovers the buried secrets of MK-ULTRA. McNeil then threatens Nathan Lawson with a letter and a recording of Oswald’s voice. He threatens Judith Harper with the fridge magnets. Pay up, or I’ll reveal the truth.”
Never Forget Page 22