The Dead of Winter

SEVENTEEN

MARCH 20

2 PM

Vanier was lying in a bed in the emergency room of the hospital in St. Jerome, in stable condition. He was still in the emergency ward because there wasn’t a bed available anywhere else. Laurent and St. Jacques were standing by his bed. There were no seats for visitors, the result of a hospital policy designed to discourage concerned relatives from getting too comfortable and cluttering up the emergency room. It didn’t work, people still milled around sick relatives and friends, but it did make for a lot of disgruntled visitors.

“So, how are you feeling, Boss?” said St. Jacques.

“There’s a lot to be said for drugs.” Vanier turned to Laurent, “I owe you, my friend. How did you know?”

“Mme. Collins called me. She had been wandering around outside the Cathedral and saw you leave. The Monsignor left right after you. Apparently he excused himself after the Mass started and took off for Morin Heights. She thought you might need help.”

“How right she was. That was a little too close. And how is the Monsignor.”

“Cooperative. In his own way.”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” said St. Jacques, pulling her laptop from her bag. “We have him on tape.” She plugged in the computer and waited for it to start.

“Have you spoken to Mme. Collins?”

“I called her this morning with the news,” said Laurent. “She didn’t seem surprised that John was dead. I knew, was all she said.”

St. Jacques put the computer on the bed with the screen facing Vanier and pushed some buttons. A video began to play, and Vanier recognized the inside of Interview Room 6 and the view from the camera mounted high up on the wall. The image was of the Monsignor and Laurent sitting at the table.

“This is all my fault,” said the Monsignor.

“That’s a good start,” said Vanier.

On the screen, Laurent asked, “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I did what I had to do to defend the Church. But I failed. It’s such a sordid story.”

“I have all the time in the world, Monsignor.”

“Don’t call me that. I have no right to the title. I have disgraced myself and the Church.”

“Well let’s start somewhere. How long have you known John?”

“I have always known him. He was my son. I refused to acknowledge it. When he first showed up, I didn’t know how to react. He was my son, and I had spent my life denying it. I couldn’t jeopardize my position. I refused to see him in the Cathedral, but I met him from time to time in various places. He’s my son, you can understand that. He persisted, and I found him a job at Xeon and tried to help him along. I forced Henri Drouin to act as a go-between. Henri and I were at seminary together, he trusted me.

“When he needed money, I would give it to Drouin to deliver. The arrangement was satisfactory. I could avoid direct contact with John, but I could help him from time to time. Father Drouin got John involved with the homeless, and he seemed to take to it. He was good with those people and seemed to find some fulfillment. I thought the boy was trying to be a good Catholic, but over the years he became more disturbed. He started wearing a cassock, never to the Church, he didn’t go that far. It’s as though he knew there were limits. But Drouin would report back to me that he was wandering around the city in a black cassock like a priest. I should have seen then that he was just mocking me.

“Things really started to fall apart in October. He was behaving very erratically, and then that awful man Audet showed up. Apparently he had noticed John’s relationship with Father Drouin. He was a predator looking for opportunity. He broke into John’s apartment and found letters between the Archbishop and that woman, John’s mother. He took them and came to see me. Imagine, that man in my office in the Cathedral. He wanted money, and I gave him some, but he refused to give me the papers. He showed up twice in November and again just before Christmas.

“When people started dying — and I have to tell you I don’t believe that Christmas Eve was the start of it — I didn’t know for certain that John was involved, but I was suspicious. During one of our meetings, John started talking about the power of prayer. Now, I believe in the power of prayer, but he sounded like one of those American evangelical preachers, ask and you will receive, literally and immediately. He was attending Drouin’s Circle of Christ and was excited about prayers and having them answered. Father Drouin told him about a family that was facing eviction because they fell behind on their rent. The wife had filled in a card asking for a thousand dollars, and John slipped a thousand dollars under the door of the family’s apartment. It could have been his own money, or perhaps he stole it, I don’t know. But it worked. They weren’t evicted and the father found work. John was elated. It was pitiful. He acted as though he had found his mission, his mission to be God’s little helper on earth. He started attending the Circle more frequently, always consulting the cards. And I think he started making prayers come true.

“Everything changed when his picture was published. That’s when he killed Audet. He went home and found Audet in his apartment. It was the day the sketch was shown on the evening news. John said that Audet attacked him, but he killed Audet instead. He called me, asking for help, and I drove him to the chalet. I couldn’t understand the Audet thing, because Audet had never been interested in John. I’m the one he was blackmailing. But I have to admit that I was relieved that Audet was gone.

“John stayed at the chalet for a while, and I arranged for new documents. I got him a passport, a driver’s licence, and a new credit card. I had arranged for him to be cared for in one of the Church’s establishments in Rome; very private, very secure, and he would be looked after until he got better, or forever. I had the flight booked, and everything looked like it was going as planned. We decided to finish the bottle of wine before we left, barely a glass each.

“But it wasn’t over. While he was bringing the suitcases out to the car, I switched our glasses. I don’t know why. Some other time I might have seen God’s hand in that, God working a miracle to serve his loyal servant. We sat at the table, saying nothing, and we clinked the glasses in a toast and drank the wine.

“He realized almost immediately that he had the wrong glass. He ran to the sink, trying to make himself vomit with a spoon, a little came out but it was too late. He sank down to the floor and was having trouble breathing. It didn’t take long, two, maybe three minutes, and then it was over. I didn’t move for a very long time. I just stared at his body lying on the floor. I had to do something, and I just thought, that was it, the end. His death and Audet’s death were the end of it. Life would be normal again. Eventually, I dragged his body outside and down into the woods. I covered it with a tarpaulin and left him there. It was supposed to be temporary until I could think of a more permanent solution. It was snowing hard, and I knew the tarpaulin would be quickly covered in snow. I walked back to the chalet and watched the snow cover the tracks into the wood, and then I drove back to the Cathedral. I still have his suitcase in my apartment there, I haven’t touched it.

“Three days later, I went back. I planned to put him in the trunk and drive him somewhere far away. I couldn’t bury him, because the ground was frozen, and I was in a panic because I knew that you had tried to get a warrant to search the chalet. But I couldn’t move him. He was frozen solid and stuck to the ground, locked in the ice that had melted under him and then frozen again. I tried to chip away the ice, but it was too much, he wouldn’t budge. I had no choice. I replaced the tarpaulin and covered it with snow. Can you imagine what I was going through? Every day, every minute, it’s all I thought about, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“I began to imagine that someone had been to the chalet. I saw small signs, probably nothing, but in my state I built it up. Then, as I was saying Mass last night, I saw your Inspector Vanier in the congregation as I walked in, and a moment later he was gone. He was the one. I knew it. He was the one who had been to the chalet. Who else? I excused myself from Mass and drove up as fast as I could. And I was right. There were tire marks in the driveway, so I parked the car further up and walked to the chalet. From a distance, I saw a light in the woodshed and then it went out. I didn’t know where he was until I saw him hurrying back from the woods. By that time, I had the axe. It was obvious he had found John, and so I acted.”

“You tried to kill Inspector Vanier?” said Laurent.

“I tried to stop him reporting what he had found. I wasn’t thinking about how to stop him. But yes, I was going to kill him.”

“Let’s stop it there, shall we,” said Vanier. “I’ve had enough.”

St. Jacques stopped the video. “There isn’t much else, anyway. Laurent takes him through the story again, and it pretty much matches the first time.”

The curtain surrounding the bed parted, and Dr. Segal came in with a huge bunch of red and yellow tulips. They looked almost magical in an emergency room in St. Jerome, a sign that winter was ending.

“Dr. Segal, what a treat. My friends here were just leaving. They have work to do.”

St. Jacques smiled at Segal and grabbed Laurent by the arm. “We’ll see about getting you transferred to Montreal, sir.” The two officers left the patient with his visitor.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, nodding at the tulips. “They’re lying when they say that food is the fastest way to a man’s heart.”

“I know. I have a saw that’s much quicker.”

He laughed, but it hurt.

She leaned over and kissed him, a kiss of relief, and of hope.