Cold Plague

by Daniel Kalla

  Doesn’t that strike you as incredibly convenient?”

  Duncan shook his head in amazement. “You think old Georges faked a case of variant CJD and then staged his own death?”

  Noah merely shrugged.

  “Well,” Duncan said, “it certainly wouldn’t be the strangest happening in this fucking bizarre outbreak.”

  Elise turned to Jean. “What about Georges’s glacier samples at the university in Jeremy Milton’s freezer? Have you tested them for the prion yet?”

  Jean held up his palms again. “They only received them late last night in Paris. It will be a day or two yet before we know.”

  Noah reached for his notebook in his jacket pocket. “The sample Sylvie Manet gave us that tested positive for the prion,” he said, reading his scrawl. “Have they run any geological tests on the ice?”

  Jean sighed. “I was told that it was typical of mature glacial ice from the Axel Heiberg region, but it is impossible to know precisely where it came from.”

  “It would help if we could pinpoint where Georges was drilling,” Duncan grumbled.

  “We are searching the area, my friend.” Jean checked his watch and rose to his feet. “Please excuse me, but I can’t miss my train. I need to get back to Paris before the weather halts all travel.” He smiled at the others. “You have done terrific work here. All of you. I will be in touch as soon as I know more.” He moved to go but stopped after a step and faced the others again. His smile faded. “What is happening in Limousin is neither normal nor natural. I will be speaking to the director of Interpol later today, but please do not take needless risks.” His tone sharpened. “Am I clear?”

  Duncan exhaled heavily. “Jean, if you were really concerned for our welfare, you would ban us from any further involvement with the WHO or you.”

  “Always the same, Duncan.” Jean chuckled, patting the Scotsman on his shoulder. “Au revoir.” He turned and headed for the exit.

  Duncan looked from Elise to Noah. “Now what?”

  Noah flipped through the pages of his notebook. “Jeremy Milton told us about an engineer who worked closely with Georges.” He consulted his notes. “Pierre…Pierre Anou. Perhaps he knows where Georges was drilling for his ice.”

  “Let’s go see the fellow,” Duncan said impatiently.

  Noah nodded. “After we speak to Detective Avars.”

  Elise placed her teacup quietly on its saucer. “I thought you didn’t trust the detective.”

  “I don’t,” Noah said, and the word “elegant” drifted involuntarily to mind again.

  At the Gendarmerie Limoges a young uniformed officer, who spoke no English, ushered them into Avril Avars’s roomy office. From behind her desk, she smiled apologetically and clicked her computer’s mouse two or three times, as if in a hurry to close an open file, before rising to her feet. When she shook his hand, her grip was firm and dry and her eye contact steady.

  Noah introduced Avril to Duncan, and then the visitors sat down across from her. She picked up a file on her desk, flipped it open, and reached for the pen that stood upright in a stainless-steel penholder. “Why don’t we…compare notes? Is that the right expression?”

  “Perfect,” Noah said, still trying to decide what information was safe to share with her.

  “I have interviewed several people, but so far…” Avril held out her hand, almost apologetically. “I did not find the old pickup truck or its owner. I have come across no reports of a suspect Audi or Mercedes sedan.” She turned to Noah. “And, Dr. Haldane, I have not found any evidence to substantiate the break-in to your hotel room.”

  Elise leaned forward in her seat. “Detective Avars, our lab in Paris has found the prion responsible for the human infections inside Georges Manet’s ice sample.”

  Avril nodded impassively.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Noah said. “Last time you implied the theory was far-fetched.”

  “That was the first I had heard of it,” she said coolly. “I have since had a chance to interview Sylvie Manet concerning the ice and her brother Georges.”

  Elise pointed at Avril. “Georges. The same man who once dated Geneviève Allaire, the president of Ferme d’Allaire.”

  Avril pursed her lips. “That, I did not know.”

  “So many connections,” Duncan grumbled.

  “This is a small province, Dr. McLeod,” Avril said.

  “You know, my father hailed from Kippen. Everyone in that bloody town knew each other, and I expect a good many of them slept together, to boot.” Duncan paused. “Of course, there are four hundred people in the village of Kippen, and two hundred thousand here in Limousin.”

  “I never suggested this is all a matter of chance,” Avril said.

  Noah eyed her steadily. “What do you suggest, then?”

  Avril met his stare. “You paint a conspiracy that involves most of Limousin, but we still have not found a…smoking gun.”

  “How hard are you looking?” Noah asked.

  “I take this very seriously, Dr. Haldane.” She broke off the eye contact and looked down at her notes. “I agree that something is not as it appears. I require more time to do my job. And it does not help me to have you running the same investigation as I am.”

  “Yvette Pereau,” Noah said.

  Avril shrugged. “What about her?” she asked as she wrote the name on the page in front of her.

  Noah fought back his rising ire. “Did you know that her husband owned the farm that reported one of the first cases of mad cow disease?”

  “I did,” she said quietly.

  Duncan snapped his fingers. “You just didn’t think it was worth mentioning that she disappeared right after she saw someone molesting her cows.”

  Avril looked up at Duncan. “Dr. McLeod, as a physician, are you permitted to discuss patients by name with other people?”

  “I don’t see what—”

  “I am obliged to respect Mme. Pereau’s privacy,” she said. “Yes. I investigated her disappearance. But I also found her. And the case is now closed.”

  “What of Yvette’s claim that she saw a stranger in her barn?” Elise asked.

  Avril sighed. “Mme. Pereau told me that she was far more afraid of her husband than anyone,” she said. “Apparently, his drinking made him unpredictable and violent. And paranoid. After the animals became sick, he accused her of involvement. Before she escaped with her friend, Yvette said, she had to invent stories to deflect the blame, including that one.”

  Noah silently conceded that the explanation had a ring of truth to it. “And how can we reach Mme. Pereau?” he asked.

  Avril shrugged. “I doubt she’s still in Amsterdam. She left me with the distinct impression that she did not want to be reached.”

  Duncan slapped the desk in front of him. “How bloody convenient for you!”

  “Does her accusation not seem odd?” Avril asked evenly.

  “Odd how?” Noah asked.

  “That some woman walked onto their farm in broad daylight and started injecting cows in their barn,” she said.

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “When the hell is a normal time to waltz onto a farm and inject cows’ brains full of prions?”

  “That is my point, Dr. McLeod,” Avril shot back. “I agree that there is more to this than we first thought. But I think it is important to separate the facts from…conjecture.”

  “And Pauline Lamaire?” Noah asked.

  Avril’s eyes widened momentarily. “What does Mlle. Lamaire have to do with any of this?” she asked quietly.

  “You know her, then?” Elise spoke up.

  “Yes,” Avril said softly. “I grew up in the same town as Pauline. I used to babysit her.”

  Duncan looked over to Noah but did not comment.

  “Do you know that she is missing?” Elise asked.

  Avril nodded. “How is that related to your investigation?”

  “She was once engaged to Georges Manet,” Elise said.

  Avril was quie
t a moment and then nodded her understanding.

  “This whole province is closer knit than bloody Kippen,” Duncan grumbled.

  “I doubt that, Dr. McLeod.” Avril smiled patiently. “I agree this may not all be coincidence. I will need to investigate further, especially at Ferme d’Allaire.” She looked at Noah. “With a few more days, Dr. Haldane, I will have many more answers, I promise you.”

  Noah found no reassurance in the promise. “I don’t think we have days to wait. Besides, our director plans to take this to Interpol. Today.”

  “Interpol?” Avril dropped her pen on the desk. The color drained from her cheeks. “That is not necessary at this point!”

  Duncan stared at her, looking as puzzled as Noah felt by her profound reaction.

  “This is my investigation,” she snapped. “It will not help bringing in outsiders who do not know or understand the people and culture of this region.” She turned to Noah. “Believe me, Dr. Haldane. It will only make it harder for us to sort out. Give me forty-eight hours. I will have your answers. Please.”

  46

  Limoges, France. January 21

  After she shut the office door, Avril stumbled back to her desk overcome by light-headedness and nausea. She dropped into her chair and vibrated with worry. Gagging, she tasted the bile at the back of her mouth. As she clutched her head in her hands and fought back the vomit, she wondered how much longer this nightmare could last. “Antoine, what have I done?” she whispered.

  Frédéric was somewhere in Limoges. So close. But if his abductors learned that Interpol was about to be dragged into the situation, they would surely kill him as quickly as they had Marcel Robichard. I have to act!

  They would be phoning again soon—Avril knew it—and everything hinged on that next call. She wiped her moist hands on her trousers, reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out her cell phone. She chose the fourth speed-dial number on her list and SIMON popped up on her cell phone’s screen.

  He answered on the fourth ring. “Valmont,” he said before clearing his throat noisily.

  “Simon, it’s Avril,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “Lac Noir,” Valmont grunted. “The suicide.”

  “Will you be much longer?”

  “Shouldn’t be. I have seen more than my fill.”

  “Anything unexpected?” she asked, sounding as casual as she could.

  “The usual. Bullet through the roof of his mouth.” Valmont’s sigh turned into another throat clearing. “I hate these self-inflicted gunshots, though. I still get queasy at the sight of brain spattered everywhere.”

  A fresh wave of nausea swept over her as she pictured the man she had interviewed only hours earlier—the person she had hoped would lead her to her son—with a gaping hole in the top of his head. “Simon, the snow is not expected to ease up, so I am going to go to the cemetery earlier than I thought.”

  “When?”

  “Soon as I finish up here. Maybe half an hour. I hope you can still join me. It’s an important…occasion.” She swallowed. “And I’d sooner not be alone.”

  He was quiet a moment. “Can you give me an hour?”

  “Thanks, Simon,” she said, and the tears welled up out of nowhere again.

  Forty minutes later, Avril reached the cemetery on the outskirts of Limoges. As she had hoped, no one else had ventured out into the blizzard that was sweeping the region. Despite the heavy snowfall and unpredictable gusts of wind, Avril did not feel cold standing beside Antoine’s headstone. As always, she was vaguely aware of his presence. Today she found it more comforting than ever.

  She had already told her husband everything she had wanted to, so she stood silently by the grave, remembering those halcyon days when Antoine and Frédéric were both at home.

  Her attention was drawn to a pair of headlights that cut through the gray darkness enveloping the cemetery’s parking lot. She watched the shadow of the car pull into a parking stall, but the headlights switched off and she saw little else in the poor visibility. A few minutes passed before Avril spotted the outline of Valmont lumbering across the snow toward her. She saw the glow of a cigarette between his lips, but he stomped it out before he reached her.

  Looking stiff and awkward, Valmont held out his gloved hand to her. “I am sorry,” he said. “Antoine was a very decent man.”

  She shook his hand. “Thanks for coming, Simon.”

  He nodded and looked down at the headstone.

  Avril checked over either shoulder but saw no movement aside from the constantly falling sheet of snow. “Simon, this has nothing to do with Antoine,” she said very quietly.

  He looked up slowly. “No?”

  She shook her head. “It’s Frédéric.”

  “And the trouble at school—”

  She held up her palm to interrupt. “They have him,” she croaked.

  Valmont frowned. “Who has him, Avril?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” she said. “They are the same people involved with the human cases of the mad cow disease in Limousin. The ones who abducted and killed Pauline Lamaire and Yvette Pereau.”

  Valmont brought his hand to his mouth. “Avril, what the hell?” he asked softly.

  “Frédéric was kidnapped,” she said, her voice unsteady as she spoke the words for the first time to another living person. As she summarized the events of her last two hellish days, the words flooded out.

  Valmont did not interrupt to ask a question. Aside from reaching for a fresh cigarette he hardly moved while Avril spoke. “I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how,” she said. “The kidnappers are watching me at all times. And they must have a source inside the Gendarmerie. There is no other way they could have known about my investigation into the two missing women.” She paused. “I think it might be Esmond.”

  “Esmond?”

  “Whoever it is, I didn’t feel safe discussing it anywhere but here.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “It’s my fault,” she went on hoarsely. “I should have listened to you, Simon. This happened to Frédéric because I got too close to the truth about Yvette Pereau and Pauline Lamaire. The monsters killed those women to cover their tracks. And now they are using me to mislead the WHO doctor and the woman from the E.U.”

  Valmont absentmindedly tossed away the cigarette butt and reached for a new one. He stooped forward to light it. In the glow of the flame, his face suddenly looked drawn and haggard. “Did the outsiders believe what you told them today?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Dr. Haldane does not trust me. I don’t blame him, either. There is so much to explain away, and he already knows a lot.”

  “What does he know?”

  She shrugged in frustration. “What does it matter, Simon?”

  “If I am to help you, I need to know everything they told you.”

  “They think Georges Manet, or maybe others, spread the human cases through polar ice or water. And they’re convinced someone staged the outbreak in the animals to cover it all up. They’re right, too. My theory is that there is something valuable about this ice. And these people are trying to hide its lethal side effect.”

  “Makes sense,” Valmont grunted.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter if Haldane believed me or not,” she said dejectedly.

  “Why not, Avril?”

  “I saw your supposed ‘suicide’ right before his death.”

  “Robichard?” Valmont asked, showing little surprise.

  Avril stared at her partner. “He was lying to me. It was obvious. I knew he had to be involved in the cover-up at the farm. I think he panicked after my visit and either shot himself or more likely called his collaborators, who killed him to shut him up.” She sighed heavily. “I should have confronted him then and there. Now the killers know I interrogated him.”

  “You were investigating, just as you told them you would,” Valmont soothed.

  “It gets worse, Simon.” She heaved a sigh.
“Dr. Haldane informed me that the WHO plans to involve Interpol.”

  Valmont straightened. “Have or will?” he snapped.

  “Will, I think. But as soon as they do, Frédéric is as good as dead.”

  The creases around Valmont’s eyes deepened to fissures and the bags seemed to puff under his eyes. Something looked different in her friend, but Avril was too preoccupied to give it more thought. “Listen, Simon. I need your help.”

  Valmont nodded distantly.

  “They have not called today,” Avril said. “They will, I know it. And if it’s anything like the previous calls, they will send me scurrying to some public phone booth in Limoges.”

  “And what if they do?” Valmont asked, and then cleared his throat so long and hard it sounded as though something were caught in it.

  “This might be the very last chance I have to reach Frédéric.”

  Valmont inhaled deeply from his cigarette but said nothing.

  Avril noticed a tremor in her partner’s hand. “Simon, I need you to have the phone company track every pay phone in Limoges. I will keep the kidnappers on the line as long as possible, but we have to trace that phone call.”

  “That’s a lot of phones to monitor,” Valmont muttered. “I don’t know if they will—”

  “The other calls have come from Limoges,” Avril pleaded. “Frédéric is in the city, somewhere close. Simon, if we can pinpoint the call, we can react right away. Surprise them. We won’t give them time to do anything to him…”

  Valmont took another long drag from his cigarette. Avril saw that his hand shook more prominently now. Then she recognized the look in his droopy eyes.

  The realization hit her like a gunshot. The cold consumed her, as though she were suddenly naked in the snowstorm. She remembered Haldane’s description of the anonymous farmer who tipped them off about Ferme d’Allaire. The old beat-up truck! Besides horse races and soccer, Simon’s passion was restoring old cars, vans, and trucks. He always had at least three or four of his “projects” on his property.