In answer, I rol ed my lovely green eyes.
As I took a chair, Nathalie Ayers, Marcel Morin, and Emily Santangelo joined us. "Bonjour"s and "Comment fa va"s were exchanged.
Pel etier complimented Santangelo on her haircut. Her look suggested the subject was best left alone. She was right.
After distributing copies of the day's lineup, LaManche began discussing and assigning cases.
A forty-seven-year-old man had been found hanging from a crossbeam in his garage in Laval.
A fifty-four-year-old man had been stabbed by his son fol owing an argument over leftover sausages. Mama had cal ed the StHyacmthe police.
A resident of Longueuil had slammed his al -terrain vehicle into a snowbank on a rural road in the Gatineau. Alcohol was involved.
An estranged couple had been found dead of gunshot wounds in a home in St-Leonard. Two for her, one for him. The ex-to-be went out with a nine-mil imeter Clock in his mouth.
"If I can't have you no one can." Pel etier's dentures clacked as he spoke.
"Typical." Ayers's voice sounded bitter.
She was right. We'd seen the scenario al too often.
A young woman had been discovered behind a karaoke bar on rue Jean-Talon. A combination of overdose and hypothermia was suspected.
The pizza basement skeletons had been assigned LSJML numbers 38426, 38427, and 38428.
"Detective Claudel feels these skeletons are old and probably of little forensic interest?" LaManche said it more as a question than a statement.
"And how could Monsieur Claudel know that?" Though it was possible this would turn out to be true, it irked me that Claudel would render an opinion entirely outside his expertise.
"Monsieur Claudel is a man of many talents." Though Pel etier's
« 26 »
expression was deadpan, I wasn't fooled. The old pathologist knew of the friction between Claudel and me, and loved to tease.
"Claudel has studied archaeology?" I asked.
Pel etier's brows shot up. "Monsieur Claudel puts in hours examining ancient relics."
The others remained silent, awaiting the punch line.
"Real y?" Why not play straight man?
"Bien sur. Checks his pecker every morning."
"Thank you, Dr. Pel etier." LaManche traded deadpan for deadpan.
"Along those lines, would you please take the hanging?"
Ayers got the stabbing. The ATV accident went to Santangelo, the suicide/homicide to Monn. As each case was dispensed, LaManche marked his master sheet with the appropriate initials. Pe. Ay. Sa. Mo.
Br went onto dossiers 38426, 38427, and 38428, the pizza basement bones.
Anticipating a lengthy meeting with the board that reviews infant deaths in the province, LaManche assigned himself no autopsy.
When we dispersed, I returned to my office. LaManche stuck his head in moments later. One of the autopsy technicians was out with bronchitis. With five posts, things would be difficult. Would I mind working alone?
Great.
As I snapped three case forms onto a clipboard, I noticed that the red light on my phone was flashing.
The minutest of flutters. Ryan?
Get over it, Doris.