Never Forget by Martin Michaud

Author:Martin Michaud
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2020-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

Good morning, Nathan. Let’s play hangman:

Next to the hanged man was a handwritten note that looked as if it had been scribbled in a hurry:

L-C, where are you?

I left a message on your cell

Will call back tonight

Need your help

This is fucking urgent

Nathan

54

GROUND SEARCH

The line was advancing in synchronized order. The movements of each officer were measured, precise, regular.

Ahead of the officers, the dogs were eagerly sniffing the ground, their snouts grazing the snow, stirring it. Having begun at the park entrance, the ground search was progressing toward the trees and the location where the body had been discovered.

Jacinthe and Victor went around the line, passing it on the right side. Constable Giguère, a few paces ahead of them on the marked-out path, spoke without turning. “This is their second pass. The first time around, they found ski tracks and matchbooks. Nothing else.”

The constable’s ears had taken on an ugly purple hue and looked like they might imminently disintegrate into powder. At the foot of the rise, he pointed to four red stakes that the forensics team had strung together with yellow plastic tape.

Those stakes, Giguère explained, marked the spot where the dogs had found the matchbooks, which had been partially covered by the previous night’s snowfall.

Despite the fact that Jacinthe, like the other cops, had put on boots adapted for conditions in the park, she was having trouble keeping her balance and following them. Reaching the top of the rise, she leaned on Victor to catch her breath. A few metres farther on, Constable Giguère held back a fir branch to let them through. The three officers stepped into a little clearing surrounded by a circle of trees. A flashbulb flared, capturing the body and the red-stained snow.

Two forensics technicians were using shovels to dig out the corpse. They were working in silence, each gesture methodical and painstaking.

While Giguère rejoined his team, the Gnome, who’d been crouching beside the dead man, stood up and came over to Victor and Jacinthe. Wearing a knitted Canadiens hat that he’d borrowed from one of his children, he looked like a twelve-year-old.

“It’s McNeil,” he said, anticipating their question. “His heart and throat have been pierced. Berger will have to confirm this, but one of the techs says the marks look like arrow wounds. He was killed a short distance away, then his body was dragged here. He was found by a man walking in the park. Or, rather, by the man’s dog.”

The psychiatrist was lying on his back. Ice crystals had accumulated on his face, shrouding his features in a translucent film.

“What’s with the matchbooks?” the detective sergeant asked. “Do they mean something?”

The Gnome shrugged. “No idea. We just found McNeil’s car parked on Rosemont Boulevard. He’d hidden a bag of cash under the driver’s seat — fifteen thousand in small bills. His cellphone was on the passenger seat. Now we know why he couldn’t be located. He’d turned it off. I went through the call log. Nothing.”

“What about the ski tracks?” Jacinthe asked. “Do they match the ones in Summit Woods?”

“They do,” Lemaire said.

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