Monday Mourning читать онлайн

Like McGee and Pomerleau. Piece of cake.

Unlike McGee and Pomerleau, I scribbled a farewell note absolving my care providers from any responsibility. Tough duty with both hands greased and bandaged.

A taxi had me home in ten minutes.

Ryan was on the line in twenty.

“Are you crazy?”

“I’ve suffered a few burns and a minor bump. Canadians going south have, on occasion, been more severely blistered by the sun.”

“You need rest.”

“I’ll sleep better here.”

“Did your accomplice make a run for it, too?”

The smile felt like shrapnel scoring my face.

“Anne has a concussion. She’s not a flight risk.”

“Anne’s obviously the brains of the outfit.”

“She’ll be released tomorrow. Friday we fly to Charlotte.”

“Where winter is viewed as a passing unpleasantry.”

“No mittens. No shovels.”

“Did she actually do the ‘get thee to a nunnery’ bit?”

“Anne wanted solitude. Cheap. The convent offers clean rooms, decent meals, and all the solitude one could wish.”

Memory rewind.

Sleet on my back. Ice under my belly.

Fire. Charbonneau barking orders. Claudel covering me with something warm and soft.

“Any word on Pomerleau?” I asked.

“She won’t get far.”

“She could be in Ontario by now, or over the border.”

“We found an old scooter in Catts’s shed. That was probably her main means of transportation.”

“How do you suppose she got McGee from General to the Point?”

“Taxi. Bus. Metro. Thumb.”

“Where’s McGee now?”

“Back at General.”

“What’s happening on de Sébastopol?”

“SIJ found a second false wall in the cellar.

”

“Where Pomerleau hid McGee during the follow-up search.”

“Probably. Anne’s laptop and camera were stashed there.”

“Pomerleau trashed my condo.”

“Looks that way. Maybe Catts helped.”

“To scare me off the pizza basement case?”

“That would be my guess. She may have spotted the computer and camera while creeping your place, thought they were yours, and figured they held evidence pertaining to the skeletons. She’ll roll on the story when we net her.”

“How could she have known where I live?”

“Thanks to La Presse, it’s no secret what you look like or where you work.

Pomerleau had the scooter. She could have waited outside Wilfrid-Derome, followed you to your building, and watched to see which lights went on.”

“I think Pomerleau has a mirror phobia.”

“The lady has issues more serious than glass.”

“Pretty cunning the way she misdirected us.”

“Buckle on a collar, strip, and play the victim.”

“I believed it, Ryan.