The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “I felt fine at that stage. I was twelve years old again and enjoying playing hooky. I could feel the sunshine on my skin and taste my freedom.”

  “When did it change?” Dr. Abo took notes as fast as Eulalie could speak. She was writing in a professional shorthand that was impossible to read upside down.

  “It was when he appeared – the man. I started to feel cold, and the light went away.”

  “You said he blotted out the sun.”

  “That was because of how he loomed over me. It must have seemed like that to me.”

  “Can you remember anything about his face?”

  “No. It was in shadow then and it’s in shadow now. I didn’t see his face. What I wasn’t expecting was that I would develop an empathic connection with him. I thought I might get too wrapped up in memories of my younger self, but I didn’t expect to start channeling him.”

  Dr. Abo knew that would remain one of the most unsettling moments of her life.

  “It gave me a turn when you started speaking in his voice. I won’t deny that it gave me a turn.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t spook you half to death. I’m still rattled.”

  “Can you remember what he said?”

  “He said that I looked like my mother and that I must be nearly the same age as she was. He also said that I would join her when the time was right.” A long shudder ran through Eulalie’s body.

  “That’s quite specific, isn’t it?” said Dr. Abo. “How old was your mother when she died?”

  “Fourteen. She had just given birth to me weeks earlier. She seems to have run off to Queen’s Town in the grip of postpartum depression. She never made it back home.”

  “Okay, I’m beginning to see how your grandmother could have been forty when you were twelve. Yes, this sounds like someone with direct knowledge of the situation. Quite possibly the killer himself.”

  “It sounds like a direct threat, doesn’t it? Like he was threatening my life.”

  “Did anything happen to you when you were fourteen? Did you have any near misses?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “You should write down everything you remember about him. Height, weight, age, race – everything.”

  Dr. Abo pushed a notepad and pen towards her, and Eulalie began to write.

  “I can’t believe I met my mother’s killer sixteen years ago.” Her voice was laced with frustration. “He could be gone by now. He could be living on the other side of the world.”

  “What about the logo on his T-shirt? Did you get a look at it?”

  “I did. I remember exactly what it looked like. And I was right about the boomerangs. It was a set of boomerangs arranged in a stylized pattern to look like a little man running away. Now I need to find out what that means.”

  Chapter 9

  On her way back to the office Eulalie stopped off at La Petite Patisserie to pick up coffee for herself and Mrs. Belfast. As she stood waiting for her order, the glossy selection of pastries caught her eye. She still didn’t feel properly tethered to reality, and it occurred to her that a fruit tart would help.

  “Deux tartes aux fruits, s’il vous plait,” she said, pointing to the strawberry ones that she and Mrs. Belfast favored. The bakery was diagonally opposite Eulalie Park Investigations, which made it a constant temptation.

  She walked into the office carrying the coffees and a bakery box. The cat was lying curled up in his basket by the front door. He raised his head and gave her a rusty meow in greeting.

  “Afternoon, Paddy. I don’t have a free hand to pet you with, but consider your head scratched. Hey, Mrs. B. Guess what I’ve…”

  Eulalie stopped when she saw her grandmother perched on a chair next to Mrs. Belfast’s desk. The two ladies had their heads together and were chatting.

  “What’s up?” Eulalie couldn’t help the surge of alarm that sharpened her voice. “Has something happened?”

  Angel stood up and greeted her with a double cheek kiss. “Nothing in the world, ma chérie. It’s not like you to be so jumpy.”

  “I had an unsettling afternoon.”

  “I heard,” said Angel. “That is why I am here.”

  Eulalie looked from the one woman to the other. “How could you possibly know?”

  Mrs. Belfast cleared her throat. “Dr. Abo called me when you left her rooms and told me you’d had rather an upsetting time, so I took the liberty of phoning your grandmother.”

  “And I hopped in a cab and came right over,” said Angel.

  Eulalie sighed. “Mrs. B, I don’t need a minder.”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  “Anyway, I brought you some coffee and a strawberry tart. I didn’t bring anything for you, Grandmère, but I can go back and get something.”

  “Not necessary, mon ange. I had a three-course lunch at the Women’s Institute today. Now, tell us what happened at Dr. Abo’s office. Such a good idea to try hypnotism to retrieve your memory.”

  “Not such a great idea seeing as I started channeling my mother’s killer.” Eulalie was still grumpy. She took a sip of coffee and lifted her fruit tart out of its foil package. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the fruity, sugary aroma. Then she bit into it. The pastry was thin and crisp. The interleaved layers of strawberry slices were tart and fresh. The filling was creamy, and there was a layer of sweet glaze on top.

  Eulalie took another sip of her coffee, and felt optimism returning. It was a wonderful feeling – as though a hangover were lifting. She looked up from her coffee and smiled at the two ladies who were staring at her with wide eyes.

  “What?” she said. “Oh, right. Channeling the killer. Yes, that was weird. When Dr. Abo put me under, I saw the memory from the perspective of my twelve-year-old self. Then it suddenly switched, and I started speaking in his voice. I think I scared Dr. Abo.”

  “You did,” Mrs. Belfast confirmed. “She didn’t tell me what had happened, but she was obviously very shaken.”

  “What did he say?” asked Angel. “This man who accosted you. What words did he use?”

  “He said I looked just like my mother and that I must be almost the same age as she was. He said I would join her when the time was right.”

  There was silence in the office as the older women processed this. Eulalie could see Angel fighting with emotion as the reality of what had happened to her daughter struck her again and again.

  “You think it was him, chérie? You think the man you met sixteen years ago was the man who killed your mother?”

  “I do, yes. He knew what he was talking about. Look – I made notes in Dr. Abo’s office of everything I could remember about him.” She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a piece of paper. Angel and Mrs. Belfast pored over it.

  “Considerably under forty years old,” said Angel. “Around thirty, would you say?”

  “Probably.” Eulalie nodded.

  “A white man, at least six-foot, hair color unknown. Facial features unknown.”

  “He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face. I didn’t see his face at all.”

  “A strong body odor,” said Mrs. Belfast. “Recent sweat or old sweat.”

  “Recent.”

  “Perhaps he had just been to the gym.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “A white man, around the age of thirty, well-built, and smelling of recent sweat,” said Angel. “It’s not much to go on, but it’s more than we had. What about his T-shirt? Did you remember anything about the logo?”

  “Yes, I remember it quite clearly now. It was a little cartoon man made of boomerangs, and he was running.”

  Angel glanced at Mrs. Belfast. “That is difficult to visualize, chérie. Can you draw it, perhaps?”

  Eulalie looked dubious. “I’m useless at drawing. I can try, but I doubt I’ll get it right.”

  She took a pen and a piece of paper and screwed up her forehead in concentration. After a moment, she scratched out what she had drawn and started again. She worke
d for another minute and then turned the drawing to face her grandmother and Mrs. Belfast.

  “There. That’s pretty close. I’m going to take a photograph of this image and do a reverse Google Images search on it. I should get a hit eventually.”

  “No need,” said Angel. “I recognize this.”

  “So do I,” said Mrs. Belfast. “I can’t quite place it, but I know I’ve seen it before. Not recently, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a symbol from the Olympic Games,” said Angel. “The summer Olympic Games that were held in Sydney years ago. I remember because I was on the committee that organized our participation in the following Olympic games – the ones that were held in Athens. The logo from the previous Olympic Games in Sydney was still up in the office when we started working there.”

  “That’s right!” said Mrs. Belfast. “I was still employed at the school, and the kids used to do projects on the Olympic Games. I remember seeing that logo displayed in the hallway.”

  Adrenalin jolted Eulalie to her feet and across to Mrs. Belfast’s computer. She did an images search for the Sydney Olympic games.

  The image that came up on the screen was very similar to the picture she had drawn.

  “That’s it. That’s the logo that was on his shirt. I’m sure of it.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “Who would have been wearing a T-shirt like that back then?”

  Mrs. Belfast shook her head. “It could have been anyone. Whenever Olympic Games season comes around, the whole island goes mad with excitement. It’s only in the last twenty years that we have qualified to participate. You two won’t remember because you weren’t living in Queen’s Town at the time, but it was huge news when we first managed to get a team together.”

  “So, any member of the public could have owned a shirt like that?”

  “I’m afraid so. During the London Olympic Games, the school kids used to wear supporters’ T-shirts every week for Casual Friday.”

  Angel looked dismayed at this disintegration of their best lead, but Eulalie was more hopeful.

  “I know what a supporter’s T-shirt looks like. They are big and splashy with a logo that you could read at fifty paces. This wasn’t like that. It was a plain navy polo shirt with a small logo embroidered on the breast pocket. It was discreet and unnoticeable. It was more like a uniform than a statement of support.”

  “Eh bien,” said Angel. “But how can we use this to track him?”

  “Are you still on the Olympic committee, Grandmère?”

  “Mais oui. Towards the end of next year, we will begin to get ready for the next Games.”

  “Do you have access to records going as far back as the Sydney Games?”

  “I have a key to the office,” said Angel. “And I know there are both electronic files and paper files. But that is not my field of expertise, ma petite. I don’t do well with red tape, as you know.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Mrs. Belfast and I do.”

  “Why don’t you wait until Chief Macgregor gets back and use police resources to search the records of the Olympic Committee?” asked Mrs. Belfast. “I’m sure he’d be willing to throw the department’s resources behind this.”

  “I’m sure he would,” said Eulalie. “But I don’t want to risk tipping off this guy if he is still here on the island. I don’t want him to know that we are looking into an Olympic Games connection. He might go overseas and then we’d never see him again.”

  “What do you need?” asked Angel.

  “I need a list of everyone who represented Prince William Island at the Sydney Olympic Games. I also need a list of all the administrators, coaches, and support staff who were involved in backing the team. Anyone who actually went to Sydney that year should be at the top of the list. This was a big, well-muscled guy. My first guess would be a team member or a coach. We’ll try those first, and then move on to the administrators.”

  “He might have been part of another country’s Olympic team,” said Mrs. Belfast. “That Sydney logo was used all around the world. There was nothing specific to Prince William Island about it.”

  “No, he was a local. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Because of his accent, mon ange?”

  Eulalie closed her eyes as she tried to remember. “Yes. He spoke with the local accent. It is unmistakable. He was not a foreigner.”

  “Très bien,” said Angel. “That narrows it down. But I don’t feel comfortable about finding this information by myself.”

  “You won’t be by yourself. Mrs. B. and I will be with you.”

  Mrs. Belfast sat up with a jerk. “Me? I don’t want to break into the Olympic Games offices.”

  “It won’t be breaking and entering if we’re with someone who has a key. We can’t do this without you, Mrs. B. No one can read a spreadsheet like you can. No one understands filing systems the way you do. Please come with us.”

  Eulalie could have sworn that Mrs. Belfast was blushing.

  “Oh, all right. If you insist. I suppose I am rather good at sifting through data. I’ll be right at your side, Angel. Shall we go now?”

  After her initial reluctance, Mrs. Belfast was raring to tackle the challenge.

  “No.” Eulalie looked at her watch. “It’s five-thirty already. It will be getting dark in an hour. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves by being there at night. Tomorrow morning will be better. Besides, it’s way past your home time, Mrs. B.”

  “Nonsense, dear. It has been fascinating. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She stood up and collected her purse. “I do have a spot of shopping to do, so I’ll go now.”

  She left the office, and returned a moment later carrying the cat. She tipped him out of her hands onto the carpet like a furry waterfall.

  Then she bustled out again and did not return.

  “Come to the restaurant for dinner, ma chérie.” Angel squeezed Eulalie’s hand. “You have had a difficult day. Who knows, I might even let you have pommes frites with your meal.”

  But not even the prospect of French fries was enough to tempt Eulalie.

  “Sorry, Grandmère. I need to sleep around the clock. The hypnosis this afternoon really took it out of me. I’ll make myself a quick sandwich and hit the sack. I hope you understand.”

  “But of course, mon ange. You must take care of yourself. Tomorrow is going to be another busy day. But I feel as though we are making progress, non?”

  Eulalie nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think we are.”

  Angel left to supervise the set-up for dinner at Angel’s Place. Eulalie fed the cat, and then allowed herself to be entertained by his high spirits as he hurtled around the apartment after eating, batting a catnip mouse between his front paws. When he ran out of steam and settled down to wash, she made herself a sandwich. She filled it with grated cheese and mango achar – one of her favorite childhood treats. The achar wasn’t nearly as hot as some of her Indian friends might have preferred, but it gave just the right contrast to the mildness of the cheese.

  As Eulalie finished the sandwich, her eyelids began to droop. It was only seven, but she was already crashing. She knew this was because of the hypnosis and the man whose malice she had channeled. Her connection with him had lasted only a few seconds, but she could still feel his giggling glee. If she could have kept it up for longer, she might have picked up some insight into the workings of his mind. But she was glad she had shared his psyche for such a short time. It had been severely disturbing.

  In a haze of tiredness, Eulalie got ready for bed. She would do what she had told Angel she would do, which was sleep around the clock. From seven until six. If that didn’t revive her, nothing would.

  She slid between the sheets and dropped into a heavy sleep.

  Five hours later, her bedroom door creaked open.

  Chapter 10

  Chief Macgregor stole quietly into the bedroom. He had stripped down to his boxers in the living room.

  It had been a long day. He had
been in meetings since early that morning and endured two short-haul international flights, complete with passport queues and security checks. Mauritius to Madagascar, and Madagascar to Prince William Island. He had got back to Queen’s Town an hour earlier. He had been on his way home when he realized that he missed Eulalie and decided to come to her apartment instead.

  Moonlight filtered into the bedroom through the shutters. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see Eulalie sprawled across the bed, face down and fast asleep, with the cat next to her. The cat’s eyes glinted in the moonlight as he stared at the intruder.

  Chief Macgregor crept around to the other side of the bed and lifted a corner of the cover. Then he slid carefully in next to her.

  The next moment, there was a convulsion of movement next to him and something hard and cold slammed against his right temple.

  “Don’t even twitch.” Eulalie’s eyes were black and blind in the moonlight and she was holding a gun to his head. There was a burning pain in his left forearm that he could make no sense of.

  “It’s me,” he said as calmly as he could.

  “Donal?”

  As he watched, Eulalie’s eyes came back into focus and she woke up fully. The gun disappeared from his head and she slid it back into her bedside drawer.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You gave me a key,” he said. “You said I should use it any time. You said I should surprise you in bed one night.”

  Eulalie flopped back against the pillows, her heart thundering like a bass drum.

  “Right. Yes. So I did. Sorry about that.”

  “I think your cat scratched me. There’s blood on my arm.”

  She reached out a hand to thread her fingers through the cat’s thick coat.

  “He’s my nighttime protector. When I reacted, he must have thought you were an enemy. Look, he recognizes you now.”

  The cat was rubbing his head against Chief Macgregor’s knee.

  “You should probably put some disinfectant on that scratch. It’s in the bathroom – in the cupboard under the washbasin.”