A Deadly Divide

by Ausma Zehanat Khan

  Richard’s oily grin settled on his lips again.

  “No one is inciting genocide here. All we are asking for is a little peace and a little space to live our lives as Québécois. I assure you that no one of consequence will stand in the way of these goals.”

  Rachel watched Lemaire’s brows draw together. He would be wondering who had given Pascal Richard such assurances. The radio bosses for whom he made money? Members of the CRTC? Or the same well-connected politicians who had handed Richard the key to the city? It had the whiff of corruption about it.

  Richard stubbed his cigarette out in an expensive crystal ashtray, piled with smoldering butts. He eyed Lemaire with cool insolence. The interview had taken place in English, but now he spoke in French, using well-worn familiar phrases that argued that he and Richard belonged to the same club, the same exclusive group of Québécois de souche, where anyone else was a latecomer whose presence simply encroached. And clearly, Rachel was one of those outsiders, because Richard didn’t know she spoke French.

  The whole thing sickened her. There was a pervasive rot emanating from the corridors of influence and power in this town. If Lemaire was the new broom in town, he needed to sweep it clean. She listened as he took Richard exhaustively through his alibi, finding the holes in it, opening up the possibility that Richard had had enough time to get to the mosque and back without anyone noticing his disappearance.

  Angrily, Richard brought his hand down on his desk, just missing the crystal ashtray where the embers of his cigarette still smoldered.

  “It’s a goddamned Muslim woman. An ISIS bride in niqab. You tried to keep that under wraps, but now everyone in the country knows. Including your precious mosque-goers. You can’t put the lid back on the box.”

  “There’s another box, I’m afraid,” Lemaire countered. “And I’m quite confident that you would fit within it given the holes in your alibi.”

  “Aren’t you listening, you moron? It. Was. A. Woman. It was one of them. It might even have been that little filly Alizah. The one who has Maxime all twisted up in knots.”

  Lemaire rose to his feet, summoning Rachel with a glance.

  “Shall you tell him or shall I?”

  Rachel grinned. “You have the floor. I’d hate to interrupt.”

  Lemaire brought his face within inches of Richard, ignoring his stale, narcotic breath.

  “We’ve done an analysis of the footage. Height, weight, size, length of stride. It’s just as probable that the fugitive fleeing the scene was a man.”

  Richard began to sputter. Christian Lemaire cut him short.

  “And don’t you realize, Pascal? Anyone can disguise themselves by wearing a niqab. It’s no different from a mask. That was the same argument you made when you pushed for the Code of Conduct.”

  But no matter how hard they pressed him, Richard refused to confirm how he’d gotten the footage.

  * * *

  In the parking lot, Rachel gave Lemaire a spontaneous high five anyway.

  “It’s not every day you catch a Nazi flat-footed.”

  His mouth had curved into a smile, but at Rachel’s words the smile froze on his lips.

  “Richard is a serious shit disturber, but I wouldn’t call him a Nazi.”

  A strange expression flitted across Rachel’s face. A kind of pity tempered with softness.

  “You know when I got up to open the window?”

  He nodded, holding himself still.

  “It wasn’t for the fresh air. I noticed the way he kept scratching the back of his head, and then wincing each time he did it.”

  “So?” Lemaire leaned against the car, boxing Rachel in with his body. She didn’t back off from the proximity.

  “I had a look at the back of his head when he scratched at it again.”

  She pulled out the little notebook and flipped it open to show him.

  “He’d pulled his collar loose. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck—still a bit red and puffy. Have a good look at it, sir.”

  “Lemaire,” he reminded her absently, squinting at the drawing of the tattoo.

  It was of the man with the wolf head. On his chest, a swastika in black.

  * * *

  Lemaire’s phone rang. He put it on speaker so Rachel could hear Philippe Benoit’s report. Benoit had been assigned to monitoring online chatter about Richard’s program, including the comments section on his blog.

  “Patron, we have another problem,” he said now.

  “What is it?”

  “The Muslims are refusing to pray at the mosque. They say they don’t feel safe.”

  Lemaire shrugged. “Okay. So they stay at home. We’re stretched too thin as it is, so why is that a problem?”

  “Because Père Étienne has offered them the church. They’re holding a ceremony there.”

  Lemaire swore quietly to himself. Rachel’s bright eyes focused on his face.

  “Is that public knowledge?”

  “I’m afraid so. The Muslim group on campus put the word out. Now members of Thibault’s chat room are talking about ‘taking back the church.’”

  “Merde. Put me through to the mayor. And get Clément to meet me at the church.”

  But Benoit informed him that Clément was in Montreal and he swore out loud again at the news.

  Rachel signaled him silently. He covered the phone with his hand. “What?”

  “If he’s well enough to come, Inspector Khattak should be there.”

  Lemaire shook his head in dismissal, but Rachel wasn’t done.

  “Trust me. In a volatile situation like this, you need his presence.”

  He conveyed the message to Benoit. Then he asked, “Where is Diana Shehadeh? What is her role in all of this?”

  He and Rachel waited while Benoit conferred with another member of the team.

  “She’s gone back to Ottawa. To brief the prime minister on the Muslim community’s concerns.”

  It was Rachel’s turn to swear. Their murder investigation was turning into a circus, and Lemaire was clearly losing track of its various threads. With Khattak out of commission, he needed to arrange for personnel at the church.

  “Patron,” Benoit stopped Lemaire from hanging up. “There’s one more thing.”

  Lemaire shifted a little to draw Rachel closer to the phone. She didn’t protest, leaning into him slightly.

  “Spit it out, Benoit. I need to get to the church.”

  “Uh … did you request that a profiler join our team at headquarters?”

  “A profiler?”

  Rachel started to fidget as Lemaire’s hot blue gaze settled on her face.

  Benoit sounded as nervous as she felt.

  “Her name is Marlyse Sandston. She’s waiting for you in your office.”

  Lemaire ended the call just as Rachel opened her mouth to speak. She needed to explain that the incident with Khattak had sent her instincts into overdrive. But Lemaire dismissed her apology with a shrug.

  “I’ll drop you off at the station. If this profiler is any good, fill me in on what she says.”

  Given his easy acceptance, Rachel gave in without a fight.

  45

  Saint-Isidore-du-Lac Events Page

  [Translated from the French]

  Statement of the Town Council of Saint-Isidore-du-Lac:

  We are grieving and in shock today. We condemn this terrorist attack on a peaceful community targeted in their place of worship. Diversity is a strength of our society and religious tolerance is a cornerstone of that strength. An act of senseless violence such as this has no place in our cities, our communities, or our nation. No one should have to lose their life because of who they are or where they may have come from. This holds true with regard to race, color, sexual orientation, and religious beliefs. Our prayers are with the families who grieve and with all the people of Saint-Isidore. Let us work together to ensure that we never face a day like this again.

  * * *

  COMMENTS

  Anon1:
Targeted by THEIR OWN.

  Anon2: ISIS Barbie! How will you spin this now?

  CMorin: THIS WAS A MUSLIM!!! Stop blaming innocent Québécois, stop making statements before you know your facts!!!

  ABM: Nothing is the same in Québec. What we were, what we held dear, all of that is gone. One of us had to fight back.

  MarioM: ISIS attacks again and yet our PM fails to recognize that Islam is a major threat to our democracy … you want more muslim migration, you get more violence.

  LiseM: Hypocrite Trudeau … did not cry for our murdered soldiers.

  ABM: Does not cry for our sons. Will not look after our daughters.

  Anon3: Religion of peace attacked by its peaceful congregation might need help to follow the ins and outs of this story.

  AlizahS: The police have not confirmed who the shooter or shooters are. This is horrifying speculation causing more pain to the wounded.

  JoJoR: Cry me a river JihadiBarbie.

  SherylG: Liberal agenda won’t work on me. GET RID OF ISLAM IN CANADA.

  MareilleA: A woman in an abaya was the shooter? You don’t say! What about this Town Council statement now! Take it down at once!

  Anon4: Probably Shiite vs Sunni will be my guess can’t live with each other over there now trying to do the same thing here.

  MarcW: This was friendly fire!

  Anon4: Muslims are the problem everywhere in the world. We need to stop being PC.

  MarcW: Welcome to the New World Order. They’re making sectarian violence commonplace in the West.

  Anon5: Never thought to see the day. KEEP THEM OUT!!!

  Anon1: Oh don’t worry, they’ll say it was a white man under that niqab, and the true believers will be on board faster than you can say “Allah Akbar.”

  RobbieM: They’re keeping the statement up when they know it was one of their own, the story will be buried overnight, but if it was a white Christian Québécois the coverage would be wall-to-wall.

  MimiL: Good old Canada—wow, we took in a bunch of migrants from countries that sponsor terrorism—who’d ever have guessed things would turn out like this?

  Anon4: LMAO.

  DDarveau: This is a beautiful town with very kind people who live here, many of whom are praying for the dead and for the families of the dead. But reading these comments I’m ashamed of this town and of all of you.

  MFish: No apology from me. This is a wake-up call to our sleeping government. For Chrissake, open your eyes!

  ABM: No one’s ever cared about our humanity before. If we don’t stand up for who we are as Québécois, if we don’t think about the future of our daughters, we’ll vanish from the pages of history.

  AlizahS: Does murdering innocent people in a mosque count as standing up for Québécois identity? Should that be recorded in our history?

  ABM: Who said they were innocent?

  AlizahS: Your comments are appalling. What crime were they guilty of?

  ABM: The same one you are with Max. I shouldn’t have to say it.

  RGrenier: I’m sorry our government let the Muslim Brotherhood into this country, along with every other terrorist group. Trudeau is a traitor for defending this fascist hate and for bringing those who hate Canadians into our country. Ban them and get him out.

  MonaS: Ignorance and intolerance will keep us at war with each other. None of us should go down that path.

  EdieQ: Muslims execute Christians everywhere—have you forgotten ISIS? And now you want us to cry over a handful of people in a mosque? Let them cry over me first.

  MarcW: It’s called getting ready.

  BobbieS: It’s called getting even.

  AlizahS: Requesting the moderator to shut down the comments section before it comes to the attention of the families of those who were murdered.

  MarcW: And now the Nazis are coming after our free speech.

  AlizahS: Out of all the comments here, mine is the one that makes you think of Nazis? I hope you recover the spark of your humanity. We’re still burying our dead.

  * * *

  46

  Esa escorted Sehr into the church, where she quickly became engaged with a group of volunteers who were reorganizing the space to allow for the mosque’s congregation to pray. He’d wanted her to wait at the hotel, but like his sister Ruksh, she wouldn’t allow her independence to be compromised by his fears. His sister had hugged him close after clearing him to return to duty with the warning that he needed to take more care.

  “I can’t be the responsible one who keeps tabs on Misbah and looks after Mum. You’re not allowed to do anything that takes you out of the running as the caretaker of our family.”

  She said it with a hint of her old acerbity, but he paid closer attention to the way she was holding on to him, seeking familiar reassurance. He thanked her for coming out to see him and promised not to venture into danger without Rachel at his back.

  “When Rachel told you what had happened, you gave her a tongue-lashing, didn’t you?” he said to Ruksh.

  Smiling, she admitted she’d tried. “But she headed me off. She’d blamed herself a thousand different ways before I got here.”

  To those who made assumptions about gender roles in his community, he wished they could see the women in his life, his fiercest guardians.

  Smiling a little, he sought out Père Étienne in the church’s elegant sacristy.

  The priest’s eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of Esa’s injuries.

  “My son, what happened to you?”

  Esa strove to set him at ease. His voice had grown hoarse in the short time he’d spent speaking with his sister, and now his throat had begun to ache.

  “It was an eventful night, but I’m fine.” He hesitated, conscious of the crowd gathering in the church and of the curious glances aimed in their direction. “I need to speak with you, Père Étienne. Is there a place where we could have a little privacy?”

  Doubtfully, Père Étienne indicated the confessional. Esa readily agreed, though he hoped that the seal of confession would not remind the priest of his reasons for keeping silent.

  A sense of comfort washed over him as Père Étienne joined him in the confessional. He found himself bowing his head, leaning against the little screen, feeling the warmth and safety of the tiny booth enclose him. He felt a lifetime removed from the violence that had been visited on the mosque, and he offered his own quick prayer in the dark.

  “How can I help you, my son?”

  “Père Étienne, I know being at the mosque after the shooting was traumatic for you; I’ve tried to give you some time. But you must see from recent events that an ugliness has been set loose.”

  The priest’s disembodied voice floated through the screen, trembling and full of self-doubt.

  “That is the ugliness inside the human heart, my son. It exists everywhere, not just in Saint-Isidore-du-Lac.”

  Khattak couldn’t argue with that. But he wouldn’t let himself be distracted.

  “You went to the mosque that night for a reason, didn’t you, Père Étienne? You entered the prayer hall with your shoes still on because you felt the urgent need to give a warning. But you were a little too late. Why did you give that warning?” His voice rasped in his throat, its timbre deep and attractive. “What do you know, Père Étienne?”

  There was a long silence from the other side of the screen.

  Needing to push him, Esa said, “What happened at the mosque could happen again today—at the church. You have a duty to speak, Father.”

  “You’re asking me to break the seal of the confessional. I have a greater obligation than the one I owe to you. I must stand by my calling.”

  “Must you?” Esa probed softly. “Will you answer for the dead at the mosque? Will you answer if others are harmed at prayer today?”

  A sob sounded through the screen.

  Hearing it, Esa relented. He’d have to find another way.

  “Père Étienne, will you let me speak? I’ll tell you what I think happened, and if I
’m right, all you have to do is hold your peace. Your vows remain intact, while you enable me to fulfill my duty to protect the public.”

  “Very well.”

  Esa inhaled the scent of cedar in the booth, quickly gathering his thoughts.

  “The flyer I found in your office—groups like the Allegiance often identify with their Christian heritage. The Nazis did, as well.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from the other side of the screen. He hurried on before Père Étienne could change his mind. “In Québec, of course, religious identity is more complicated because of Québec’s history with the church. Would you say it’s safe to say that there are generations who have been disillusioned by the church’s abuse of privilege?”

  Reluctantly, Père Étienne answered, “Though we are working to win back the people’s trust, I cannot disagree.”

  Sensing a little homily to the church was about to ensue, Esa cut him off.

  “Groups like the Wolf Allegiance, though, define themselves in opposition to anyone who can’t be categorized as Québécois de souche.”

  “I don’t understand you, my son.”

  Khattak clarified his point with care. “I’m saying they’re drawn back to the church as a means of establishing their superiority to others—they would see Christians as inherently superior to others such as Muslims and Jews. One of the first things Inspector Lemaire told me when I arrived here was that the synagogue was vandalized first.”

  “Mon Dieu.”

  Very gently, Khattak finished, “So when members of the Allegiance came to you to confess, you may have thought they were returning to the Catholic faith as a means of showing their repentance. When in fact, the church is a foundational aspect of their supremacy. Père Étienne, I’m so sorry. But they’ve used you, they’ve used the church, as a means of harming others.”

  He heard the rustle of Père Étienne’s garments, heard him take in a shattered breath.

  “I think you knew this, Père Étienne. That’s why the flyer was in your office. You may have asked someone in the group—Maxime Thibault, possibly—for an explanation. You may have counseled members of the group to desist. Because you knew, didn’t you? You knew they were committing hate crimes. The pig’s head at the door of the mosque, the shattered windows of the synagogue. The swastikas spray-painted in the parking lots. That’s why you founded your interfaith group. That’s why you began to make your presence felt at the mosque. Because you know that in time hate expands to affect us all.”