Eulalie turned to her. “What exactly is it that you do here, Eleanor?”
“Pastor Ellie has been an incredible asset to the business,” said Cole. “Several of our clients mentioned that they wanted to be developed spiritually, as well as physically and intellectually. Pastor Ellie has filled that need. We now offer holistic training that nurtures every aspect of the person.”
“May I ask what you charge per hour?”
“Three hundred dollars. But that doesn’t come out of the client’s pocket. The employer pays for it. Most companies – especially the big multinationals – have an annual budget for staff training and development. As long as the staff feel that they are getting value from our sessions, the employers are happy to keep paying.”
Understanding dawned. That was it. That was Pastor Ellie’s angle. The staff training budgets were the cash cow that Head Start could dip into endlessly, as long as the staff believed the training was helping them. Her job was to convince them that it was.
“Tell me about your attempts to mentor Rochelle, Mr. Richmond,” Eulalie said.
“They were pretty lame, to be honest. I was applying the amateur psychology I’d learned in my teacher’s training course. You know the kind of thing – trying to redirect her anger into positive channels, giving her a sympathetic ear to listen to her problems, showing her how she could make a positive contribution to society. That sort of thing. None of it worked. She ended up hating me almost as much as she hated her parents.”
“Was Rochelle the only girl you were trying this with?”
He laughed. “You make it sound sinister. Rochelle wasn’t the only one. There was a time when I saw myself as the savior of all the lost kids. None of it worked, but I still remember their names and faces.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she said.
He frowned. “No, I don’t. Should I?”
“You took me for biology in my sophomore year.”
“Really?” He peered more closely at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
“You were a different kind of teacher when I was in high school. You taught your classes and you went home. You took no particular interest in any of the students. What happened to bring about that change?”
Cole glanced at Pastor Ellie, who gave him a tiny nod. He shifted in his seat and took a breath.
“There was a complaint.”
“What kind of complaint?”
“One of the parents went to the headmaster. She said I was interfering in their family life by giving advice to her daughter. It had caused a lot of bad feeling at home.”
“This wasn’t Rochelle’s mother?”
“No, it was a girl called Jeanette. All I had done was advise her to stand up to her mother who was trying to control her eating. She was body-shaming the poor child. I gave her some techniques on how to stand up for herself, but it backfired badly. It almost got me fired.”
“The headmaster didn’t see it from your point of view?”
“He was very sympathetic, but he pointed out that we’re not social workers. It’s not our job to interfere in the students’ private lives. He gave me a verbal and a written warning, which meant there were two strikes against me. One more and I was out. I changed completely after that. I turned up every day to teach biology, and that was all. I didn’t enjoy the job nearly as much, but it was less stressful, and I could spend my spare time looking around for something else to do.”
“How long have you been at Head Start?”
“I started it up four years ago, but it’s only in the last few months since Pastor Ellie came on board that the business has really taken off.”
“I see.”
As though by a prearranged signal, Cole and Pastor Ellie stood up. The interview was clearly over.
“One last thing, Mr. Richmond,” she said as she was about to leave. “What do you think happened to Rochelle?”
He thought for a moment. “She was a born tattletale. I think she snitched on the wrong person and it got her killed.”
Eulalie’s last sight as she glanced back into the office was of Pastor Ellie standing with her hands folded together in front of her chest. She was wearing a peaceful smile and seemed to be about to give a benediction.
Chapter 14
Eulalie went back to the office, hoping to catch Mrs. Belfast before she left for the day.
If her software had really isolated an IP address as the source of the Trojan viruses, there was a good chance she could link that to a physical address. Mrs. Belfast might know if that address belonged to any of her brother’s known associates.
She stopped off at La Petite Patisserie for a coffee for herself and jasmine tea for Mrs. Belfast.
The cat was sitting in his basket by the front door. He greeted her with a pleased meow. She bent to stroke his head and enquire after his day. He followed her into the office.
“Tea for you, Mrs. B.”
“Thank you, dear. I find that coffee in the late afternoon keeps me awake at night. This is perfect. Did you have a successful day? Did you manage to get Mr. Cole Richmond on his own?”
“I didn’t, but guess who his partner is? Remember Pastor Ellie from the Blessed Redeemer church?”
Mrs. Belfast tutted. “That woman. She’s a charlatan.”
“In some ways, yes. In other ways, she’s the real deal. And that’s the part that scares me.”
“She can be most persuasive.”
“She can indeed.” Eulalie went through to her office. “I’m going to check on that IP address.”
She checked her computer and saw that the first few digits of the IP address told her what she already suspected – that the viruses originated from Prince William Island, and more specifically from central Queen’s Town.
She opened another software program and entered the address into it. The result would take a while because the program was not specific to the island. It covered a large area, including East Africa and all the other populated islands of the western Indian Ocean. Within a few minutes, she had her answer.
“I’ve got it!” she called. “Number seventeen, Robespierre Lane. Who lives there, I wonder?”
“Robespierre Lane, dear? Isn’t that near Trixie’s Bar?”
“I do believe it is. And what do you know about Trixie’s Bar, Mrs. B?”
“I know some things,” said Mrs. Belfast. “Like I know that Trixie’s is a popular counter-culture hangout. The viruses didn’t come from there, did they?”
“I don’t think so.”
The secretary frowned. “I’m trying to picture Robespierre Lane.”
“I’ll do a Google Street View search. We’ll soon have an answer.”
As the image for number seventeen Robespierre Lane appeared on her screen, Eulalie made an exclamation of annoyance. “It’s an internet café.”
“How interesting, dear. I didn’t know those still existed.”
“They’re not as common as they used to be, but there are still a few around town. Did your brother ever spend time in that area? Around Robespierre Lane?”
“Well, it’s the home of alternative culture in Queen’s Town, which would appeal to Odysseus. But apart from that, I don’t know what the attraction would be.”
“I’d better get down there and check it out.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s five o’clock. I’ll lock up if you want to go now.”
Mrs. Belfast got to her feet and slung her bag over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you in the morning, dear. Happy hunting.”
“Bye, Mrs. B.”
Once she had left, Eulalie switched off the computers and the lights, and closed the blinds and shutters. She turned the open sign to closed and locked the front door.
She was just about to leave when she felt a sudden pain in her thigh. She looked down and saw Paddy the cat standing on his hind legs with his front paws stretched up her leg. He flexed his claws again and she gave a little yelp.
“What’s wa
s that for?”
The cat looked toward the stairs that led up to her apartment.
“You want me to feed you first? It’s barely five o’clock. I’ll be back in an hour. Six is a perfectly good time for your dinner.” He flexed his claws again. “Ouch. All right, I’m coming.”
He galloped joyfully up the stairs and made mewing noises when she opened the apartment. Eulalie decanted a sachet of roast trout in gravy into his bowl and changed his water. He ate as though he had been starved for a month.
Eulalie took her Vespa down to Trixie’s Bar. Afternoon traffic was in full swing, so it took her nearly twenty minutes to get there.
Number seventeen Robespierre Lane turned out to be a place called Internet Worx Café. There were several large signs offering BOTTOMLESS COFFEE! UNLIMITED SURFING IN PRIVATE!! HIGH SPEED INTERNET!!!
There was also a sign offering, rather incongruously, salsa dancing three nights a week.
Eulalie parked her scooter and went inside. The light was dim. There was a central bank of computers in the middle of the shop, with more computers lined up along the side walls. There was a cash register to her right as she walked in, with a coffee machine next to it. It was manned by a young man of about her own age. He had long, greasy hair and several piercings lined up along his right eyebrow.
“Can I help you?” His voice was bored.
“Yes, please. Can you explain to me how this works?”
“Fifteen dollars per hour unlimited surfing. Porn sites are blocked. You buy a token from me with the number of your machine on it. When your hour’s up, you have to buy another token. Each token gets you a cup like this.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a white plastic cup. “You can refill it as many times as you like. If you need a bathroom break, it’s on the other side of that curtain.”
“Can I buy more than one token at a time?”
“You can buy up to nine tokens at a time. How many would you like?”
“The thing is…” she read his nametag. “Paul. I don’t want to buy tokens. I just want to ask you some questions. I’m a private investigator and…”
Paul dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “Not this again. I am so over you guys. Come back with a warrant or I’m not cooperating. Boss’s orders.”
“I’m not a cop, Paul, and this isn’t a criminal investigation. My client is an insurance company. All I need is to ask you a few questions.”
He pulled a face. “Okay, fine.”
“Do you get a lot of visits from the police?”
“Not a lot, no. But when we do it’s always a pain in the butt.”
“Do you have any way of tracing or identifying which user used a machine at a particular time?”
“No. We don’t keep a register or ask people their names. They buy tokens. They use the machines. They leave.”
“What about Wi-Fi? Do people get an hour of Wi-Fi when they buy a token?”
“Sure. It’s included in the token.”
“I have never yet signed up for a public Wi-Fi service without having to provide an email address. You collect those and sell them to marketers, don’t you?”
“I guess so. But a lot of people don’t give their real email addresses. They use an inactive account like a Hotmail address.”
“I’d like to see the email addresses you collected on these days.” Eulalie handed him a list. She doubted that an email address would be useful in tracking Pryor but wanted to try anyway.
“What about this guy?” She held up the computer-generated photograph of Odysseus Pryor. “He was here on those dates. Do you recognize him?”
“Yes. That looks like a guy who comes in here regularly. It’s not a good picture, though. His mouth looks different.”
“Does he come in alone or with other people?”
“Mostly alone, but I have seen him with people.”
“How many hours does he book at a time?”
“At least three or four. And he always asks for the same computer. You see that one in the corner? That’s the one he likes.”
Eulalie could see why. It commanded a view of the whole café, including the door. Pryor could keep track of who came in and out.
“Do you have any idea what he works on when he’s here?”
Paul shrugged. “He talks about Dragon Age a lot. I assumed he was a gamer. Most of the guys who come in here are gamers.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Couple of days ago. He doesn’t come in every day.”
Eulalie scribbled her cellphone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
“Do you think you could text me the next time he’s here?”
His eyes flicked to the paper. “Sure.”
“Thanks, Paul. You’ve been a big help.”
“Anytime.”
Eulalie took a last look around the cyber-café. There were four people scattered about the shop using computers. It had the air of a dying institution.
Paul was more likely to tip off Odysseus that she was looking for him than to text her when he arrived. She would have to make her own plan to catch him.
Chapter 15
“How do you get a grown woman to tell you her teenage secrets?”
Eulalie was thinking out loud. She wasn’t expecting an answer, but Angel gave her one anyway.
“That is easy, mon ange. You pretend that you already know the secret. Then you may find that she is willing, and even anxious, to talk about it.”
“Pretend you already know it? That’s clever. How did you come up with that, Grandmère?”
“I used to do it to you all the time. If you believed that I already knew what you were thinking and feeling, you were more willing to talk about it. It was always a relief to you to have things out in the open where they could be freely discussed. People are burdened by their secrets. They are driven to protect them but would rather have them exposed.”
“I believe the FBI uses the same tactic. My grandmother, the FBI agent.”
“The FBI could learn a thing or two about interrogation techniques from mothers. Which ex-teenager are you hoping to interview?”
Angel poured wine for each of them and sat at the bar opposite her granddaughter. Eulalie had popped into Angel’s Place for dinner. She took a sip of her wine.
“Rochelle Chirac had three close friends who were members of something called the ‘club’. Towards the end of their junior year, they made the decision to invite Rochelle to join too. She didn’t even know what it was.”
“Did she join it?”
“I’m not sure. Whenever I bring it up, her friends look uncomfortable and change the subject.”
“Who have you spoken to?”
“Rochelle’s best friend was a girl called Mikayla Sorenson. They had a falling out when Mikayla came out as gay and Rochelle teased her about it. Mikayla now lives openly as a queer woman and works at that comic book store in Finger Alley.”
“I know who you mean. They call her Mick.”
“That’s the one. She pretended she didn’t know anything about the club when I asked her, but I could see she was lying.”
“Who else?”
“The biology teacher, Cole Richmond. He had the same squirrelly reaction. Then there’s Sheena Macintyre who works at Curl Up and Dye on Beach Road, and Rosalind Grier who keeps appearing on television to talk about how wonderful Rochelle was.”
“And to advertise her wellness center,” said Angel. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”
“I haven’t asked Sheena and Rosalind about the club yet, but Rosalind strikes me as a possible weak link.”
Angel accepted a slip of paper from Gigi and began to make up an order of drinks for table three.
“Is our esteemed chief of police joining you for dinner tonight?”
“I texted him earlier.” Eulalie took out her phone. “He says he’s stuck in a meeting at the governor’s office. They’ve hit a snag on the funding for the new K9 unit. I’m flying solo tonight.”
She turned when she felt a tap on her shoulder. A middle-aged couple were standing behind her. They were obviously tourists and wearing hopeful expressions.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you,” said the woman. “But the lady over there said that you do Tarot card readings. We’d love to have our cards done.”
Eulalie kept her expression neutral. “Sorry. That’s not me.”
“But, the lady over there…”
“It is I, chérie,” said Angel. “I am the one who does the Tarot card readings. Why don’t we find a quiet place over there?”
She indicated the opposite side of the horseshoe-shaped bar and went to fetch her cards. The tourists moved to the other side of the bar to wait for her.
“What can I get you for dinner?” asked Gigi, appearing at Eulalie’s elbow.
She was still ruffled.
“The nerve of that couple, assuming I have anything to do with Tarot cards. Do I look like a fortune teller to you?”
Gigi glanced at Eulalie’s dark eyes, olive skin, and mane of black hair, and declined to comment.
“Look at them over there.” Eulalie glared at her grandmother as she set up her cards. “Lapping up her hocus pocus.
“Think about something else. Like what you want for dinner.”
“I suppose there’s no point in asking for a cheeseburger?”
“Angel has a fillet of salmon with a soy vinaigrette dressing on a bed of spiralized zucchini waiting for you.”
“Fine.” Eulalie gave a grumpy shrug. “Bring it on.”
“You know you’ll love it.”
Gigi was on her way to the kitchen when Eulalie called her back.
“Hey, G. You know about stuff, don’t you?”
“I know all about stuff. What particular stuff were you thinking of?”
“If you were looking for funding for a new K9 unit of working dogs on Prince William Island, how would you go about it?”
Gigi tucked her tray under her arm and leaned against the bar.
“That’s an interesting one. What would the dogs do?”
“Search and rescue in the mountains mainly. But in time, they’d also be trained to sniff out explosives, and contraband like drugs and electronics.”
The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries Page 129
