Monday Mourning

”

“Oh, yeah?”

“According to Monique Mousseau at Pointe-à-Callière, only two of the buttons are nineteenth century in age. The third is a forgery.”

“Meaning what?”

“She didn’t know.”

“How old is the fake?”

“She couldn’t assign an age, but doubted it was of much antiquity.”

“OK. So maybe the buttons don’t go with the bones. That ain’t exactly a smoking gun.”

“Have you heard of a man named Nicolò Cataneo?”

“Nick the Knife? Who hasn’t?”

“The building housing Matoub’s pizzeria currently belongs to Richard Cyr. Cyr purchased the property from Nicolò Cataneo.”

“Yeah? When?”

“In 1980.”

Charbonneau retracted his feet and sat up.

“How long did Cataneo own the place?”

“Ten years.”

Charbonneau frowned.

“Does that mean something, Detective?”

“Might.”

“I know Cataneo was connected.”

Charbonneau began picking at the cuticle on his right thumb.

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

Charbonneau looked undecided a moment, then slumped back.

“Things exploded here in the late seventies. The Calabrian and Sicilian factions went at each other big-time. Power struggle ended with the assassination of a boss named Paolo Violi.”

“And?”

“A new boss took over.”

Down the hall I heard one phone ring, then another, and another. LaManche was gathering his troops for the morning meeting.

“And?”

“New boss broke with the Bonannos in New York and established ties between the Montreal family and the Caruana/Cuntrera family.”

“Your point?” I made a show of checking my watch.

“It was a wild ride.” Charbonneau shrugged. “Bunch of guys got killed.”

“And maybe some girls?”

Charbonneau shrugged again. “You didn’t say anything about trauma to those bones.”

“I didn’t find any. You’ll speak to your partner?”

Charbonneau tugged an earlobe, rolled his eyes sideways, then back to me. He hesitated a moment, then seemed to arrive at some private decision.

“Luc’s spoken to Cyr.”

“I know.”

“Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No.”

“We probably should have.”

“That would have been nice.”

“The old geezer never mentioned Cataneo.”

“Perhaps that has to do with your partner’s social skills.”

“You learn anything else?”

I told him about Cyr’s list of tenants, and about the phone calls I’d made.

“So who do you like? The drag queen or the guy in the side curls and hat?”

“Chabad-Lubavitch men don’t wear the payot or the streimel.”

“Just having some fun with you, Doc. You think either could be a player?”"

"“You’re asking my opinion?”

Charbonneau nodded.

“Not likely.” I rose.

Charbonneau lumbered to his feet, flipped his coat over one arm, and dug a paper from a pocket. “I’m supposed to give you this.”

The note contained the telephone number left by Mrs. Ballant/ Gallant/Talent, the name Alban Fisher, and an address in Candiac.

“That a phone trace?”

I nodded.

“Someone giving you a hard time?”

“Besides the freak that broke into my condo?”

“Oh, yeah?” Charbonneau’s face tensed.

Mistake.

“It’s nothing. Anyway, Ryan’s got stepped-up surveillance on my place.”

I glanced at the paper Charbonneau had handed me.

“This woman called claiming to know something about the pizza parlor bones.”

“What?”

“Beats me. She said she knew what had gone on in Cyr’s building.”

“You let me know what this lady says as soon as you talk to her. If you don’t reach her today I’ll take a spin out there. And you let me know if anyone hassles you, Doc. I mean it.”

Again, Charbonneau hesitated, longer this time.

“Don’t let Luc get under your skin. He’ll come around. And, Doc, he won’t stand for you being hassled either. You can believe that.”

I wondered.

Having survived the minefield of Charbonneau’s conversation, I should have been prepared for my next surprise. I wasn’t.

When I arrived in the conference room, the five pathologists were deep in discussion.

I mumbled an apology for my late arrival. LaManche slid a photocopy across the table.

Three autopsies had already been assigned. Pelletier got two crack addicts found in the Lionel-Groulx Metro. Morin drew a cyclist crushed by a fire truck.

I flipped a page and glanced quickly through the last two cases.

A man had been discovered facedown below the staircase at the Mont Royal end of Drummond.

Nom de décédé: Inconnu. Unknown.

A woman had been found dead in her bed.

Nom de décédé: Louise Parent

Date de naissance: 1943/6/18

Info.: Mort suspecte

My eyes dropped to the next line.

My heart dropped like a rock.

18

LAMANCHE’S VOICE GREW DISTANT. THE ROOM RECEDED around me.

Jamming one hand into the pocket of my lab coat, I yanked out Charbonneau’s note.

Sweet Jesus!

The address on the phone trace matched the address on the case file.

As I stared at the name, LaManche spoke it.

“Louise Parent.