Death Du Jour

by Kathy Reichs

  I tried to pry myself loose.

  “Is Ryan all right?”

  “Relax.”

  Then Harry was beside me, eyes enormous in the dreamlike gloom.

  “I’m scared,” she murmured in a thick, slurry voice.

  “It’s O.K.” I wrapped my deadened arms around her. “I’m taking you home.”

  Her head dropped onto my shoulder, and I rested mine against it. I held her a moment, then released her. Summoning up memories of religious education from my childhood, I closed my eyes, clasped my hands in front of my chest, and wept quietly as I prayed to God for the life of Andrew Ryan.

  ONE WEEK LATER I WAS SITTING ON MY PATIO IN Charlotte, thirty-six exam booklets stacked to my right, the thirty-seventh on a lap table in front of me. The sky was Carolina blue, the yard a deep, rich green. In the adjacent magnolia, a mockingbird strove for a personal best.

  “Brilliantly average job,” I said, marking a C+ on the blue cover and circling it several times. Birdie looked up, stretched, and slithered from the chaise.

  My knee was healing well. The small hairline fracture in my left patella had been nothing compared with the injuries to my psyche. After the terror in Ange Gardien I’d spent two days in Quebec, recoiling at every sound and every shadow, barking dogs in particular. Then I returned to Charlotte to hobble through the remainder of the semester. I filled the days with relentless activity, but the nights were difficult. In the dark my mind loosened, releasing visions the daytime had locked away. Some nights I slept with the lamp on.

  The phone rang and I reached for the handset. It was the call I’d been expecting.

  “Bonjour, Dr. Brennan. Comment ça va?”

  “Ça va bien, Sister Julienne. More important, how is Anna?”

  “I think the medication is helping.” Her voice went low. “I don’t know anything about bipolar disorder, but the doctor gave me a great deal of material and I am learning. I had never understood her depression. I thought Anna was moody because that’s what her mother said. Sometimes she’d be down, then suddenly she’d be full of energy and feeling good about herself. I didn’t know that was, what is it called . . . ?”

  “A manic phase?”

  “C’est ça. She seemed to go up and down so quickly.”

  “I’m so glad she’s better.”

  “Yes, God be praised. Professor Jeannotte’s death hit her hard. Please, Dr. Brennan, for Anna’s sake, I must know what went on with that woman.”

  I took a deep breath. What to say?

  “Professor Jeannotte’s troubles stemmed from her love for her brother. Daniel Jeannotte spent his life organizing one cult group after another. Daisy believed he was well intentioned and wrongly scorned by mainstream society. Her career in American academia was compromised following complaints to her university by parents of students she had steered to Daniel’s conferences and workshops. She took a leave from teaching to do research and write, and resurfaced in Canada. For years she continued to be supportive of her brother.

  “When Daniel hooked up with Elle, Daisy began to lose confidence. She thought Elle was a psychopath, and a struggle developed between the two women for Daniel’s allegiance. Daisy wanted to protect her brother, but was afraid of something catastrophic.

  “Jeannotte knew that Daniel and Elle’s group was active on campus, though the university had tried to drive them off. So when Anna had her encounter with them, Daisy wanted to monitor them through Anna.

  “Daisy was never a recruiter for the group. She learned that cult members had infiltrated the counseling center, looking for students to befriend. My sister was recruited that way at a community college in Texas. This agitated Daisy all the more because she feared being blamed because of the episode in her past.”

  “Who is this Elle?”

  “Her real name is Sylvie Boudrais. What we know is patchy. She’s forty-four, born in Baie Comeau of an Inuit mother and québécois father. Her mother died when she was fourteen, her father was an alcoholic. The old man beat her regularly and forced her into prostitution when she was fourteen. Sylvie never finished high school, but she tests in the stratosphere for IQ.

  “Boudrais disappeared after dropping out of school, then showed up in Quebec City sometime in the mid-seventies offering psychic healing for a moderate fee. She acquired a small following, and eventually became the leader of a group that took up residence in a hunting lodge near Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré. There was constant money pressure, and problems developed because of underaged members. A fourteen-year-old turned up pregnant, and the parents went to the authorities.

  “The group disbanded and Boudrais moved on. She did a brief stint with a sect called the Celestial Pathway in Montreal, but left. Like Daniel Jeannotte, she wandered from group to group, turning up in Belgium around 1980, where she preached a combination of shamanism and New Age spiritualism. She established a band of followers, including a very wealthy man named Jacques Guillion.

  “Boudrais had met Guillion early through the Celestial Pathway, and saw him as the answer to a group’s cash flow problems. Guillion fell under her spell, and was eventually persuaded to sell his properties and turn over his assets.”

  “No one objected?”

  “The taxes were paid and Guillion had no family, so no questions arose.”

  “Mon Dieu.”

  “In the mid-eighties the group left Belgium for the U.S. They established a commune in Fort Bend County, Texas, and Guillion shuttled back and forth to Europe for several years, probably transferring money. He last entered the U.S. two years ago.”

  “What happened to him?” Her voice was small and tremulous.

  “The police think he’s buried somewhere on the ranch.”

  I heard the swish of fabric.

  “Jeannotte’s brother met Boudrais in Texas and was captivated. By then she was calling herself Elle. That’s also where Dom Owens came into the picture.”

  “He is the man from South Carolina?”

  “Yes. Owens was a small-time dabbler in mysticism and organic healing. He visited the Fort Bend ranch and was infatuated with Elle. He invited her to the South Carolina compound on Saint Helena, and she seized control of his group.”

  “But it all sounds so harmless. Herbs and spells and holistic medicine. How did it come to violence and death?”

  How does one explain madness? I didn’t want to discuss the psychiatric evaluation lying on my desk, or the rambling suicide notes found at Ange Gardien.

  “Boudrais read extensively, especially philosophy and ecology. She was convinced the earth would be destroyed, and before that happened she would take her followers away. She believed herself to be the guardian angel of those devoted to her, and the lodge at Ange Gardien was the jumping-off point.”

  There was a long pause. Then,

  “Did they really believe it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think Elle was willing to trust entirely to the power of her oratory. She relied in part on drugs.”

  Another pause.

  “Do you think they believed enough to be willing to die?”

  I thought of Kathryn. And Harry.

  “Not all of them.”

  “It is mortal sin to orchestrate the loss of life, or even to hold another living soul as a captive.”

  A perfect bridge.

  “Sister, did you read the information I sent regarding Élisabeth Nicolet?”

  The pause at her end was longer. It ended with a deep sigh.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve done a lot of research on Abo Gabassa. He was a well-respected philosopher and public speaker, known all over Europe, Africa, and North America for his efforts to end the slave trade.”

  “I understand that.”

  “He and Eugénie Nicolet sailed for France on the same ship. Eugénie returned to Canada with an infant daughter.” I took a breath. “The bones don’t lie, Sister Julienne. And they are not judgmental. From the moment I looked at Élisabeth’s skull, I knew she was a person of m
ixed race.”

  “That doesn’t mean she was a prisoner.”

  “No, it does not.”

  Another pause. Then she spoke slowly.

  “I agree that an illegitimate child would not have been well received in the Nicolet circle. And in those days a mixed-race black baby might have been impossible. Perhaps Eugénie viewed the convent as the most humane solution.”

  “Perhaps. Élisabeth may not have chosen her own fate, but that doesn’t diminish her contribution. According to all accounts, her work during the smallpox epidemic was heroic. Thousands may have been spared by her efforts.

  “Sister, are there any saints from North America whose bloodlines included Native American, African, or Asian ancestry?”

  “Why, I’m not sure.” I heard something new in her voice.

  “What an extraordinary role model Élisabeth could be to people of faith who suffer prejudices because they were not born Caucasian.”

  “Yes. Yes, I must speak to Father Ménard.”

  “May I ask you a question, Sister?”

  “Bien sûr.”

  “Élisabeth appeared to me in a dream and spoke a line I cannot place. When I asked who she was she said, ‘All in robe of darkest grain.’”

  “‘Come pensive nun devout and pure; Sober steadfast and demure; All in robe of darkest grain; Flowing with majestic train.’ John Milton’s Il Penseroso.”

  “The brain is an amazing archive,” I said, laughing. “It’s been years since I read that.”

  “Would you like to hear my favorite?”

  “Of course.”

  It was a lovely thought.

  * * *

  When we hung up I looked at my watch. Time to go.

  During the drive I turned the radio on and off, tried to identify a rattle in the dashboard, and just drummed my fingers.

  The traffic signal at Woodlawn and the Billy Graham Parkway took a lifetime.

  This was your idea, Brennan.

  Right. But does that make it a good one?

  I arrived at the airport and went directly to baggage claim.

  Ryan was draping a garment bag over his left shoulder. His right arm was in a sling and he moved with an uncharacteristic stiffness. But he looked good. Very good.

  He’s here to recover. That’s all.

  I waved and called to him. He smiled and pointed to an athletic bag circling toward him on the carousel.

  I nodded and began sorting my keys, deciding which should go to another chain.

  “Bonjour, y’all.”

  I gave him a minimal-contact hug, the kind people use when picking up in-laws. He stepped back, and the too-damn-blue eyes looked me up and down.

  “Nice outfit.”

  I was wearing jeans and a shirt that didn’t bunch too high with the crutches.

  “How was your trip?”

  “The flight attendant took pity and moved me up front.”

  I’ll bet she did.

  On the ride home I asked about the state of his injuries.

  “Three fractured ribs and one perforated a lung. The other bullet preferred muscle. It was no big deal, except for some blood loss.”

  The no big deal had taken four hours of surgery.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Only when I breathe.”

  * * *

  When we got to the Annex, I showed Ryan the guest room and went to the kitchen to pour iced tea.

  Minutes later he joined me on the patio. Sunlight was slanting through the magnolia, and a troupe of song sparrows had replaced the mockingbird.

  “Nice outfit,” I said, handing him a glass.

  Ryan had changed to shorts and a T-shirt. His legs were the color of uncooked cod, and athletic socks bagged around his ankles.

  “Been wintering in Newfoundland?”

  “Tanning causes melanoma.”

  “I’ll need shades for the glare.”

  Ryan and I had already reviewed the events in Ange Gardien. We’d discussed it at the hospital, then later by phone as more information came to light.

  Ryan had used his cell phone to call the Rouville district SQ post while I was outside scraping the road sign. When we didn’t appear there the dispatcher sent a truck to clear the road so a unit could investigate. The officers found Ryan unconscious and called in backup and ambulances.

  “So your sister is through with cosmic healing?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled and shook my head. “She came down here for a few days, then headed back to Texas. It won’t be long before she becomes enthused by some other alternative agenda.”

  We sipped our tea.

  “Have you read the psychiatric stuff?”

  “Delusional misidentification with significant components of grandiosity and paranoia. What the frig does that mean?”

  That same question had already sent me to the psychiatric literature.

  “The Antichrist delusion. People see themselves or others as demonic. In Elle’s case, she projected the delusion onto Heidi’s babies. She’d read about matter and antimatter, and believed everything has to be in balance. She said one of the babies was the Antichrist, the other some type of cosmic backup. Is she still talking?”

  “Like a DJ on uppers. She admits to sending the hit team to St-Jovite to kill the kids. Simonnet tried to intervene, so they shot her. Then the killers downed the drugs and started the fire.”

  I thought of the old lady whose bones I’d examined.

  “Simonnet must have tried to protect Heidi and Brian. All those calls to Saint Helena, then the rescue mission to Texas after Daniel Jeannotte showed up at the Schneider home.” My fingers made oval prints in the condensation on my tea glass. “Why do you suppose Simonnet kept phoning after Heidi and Brian left Saint Helena?”

  “Heidi kept in contact with Jennifer Cannon, and Simonnet phoned for reports. When Elle found out, she had Cannon killed.”

  “The same exorcism by dogs, knives, and scalding liquid she’d ordered when Carole Comptois got pregnant.”

  The image still made me shudder.

  “Was Comptois still working as a hooker?”

  “She’d given it up. Ironically, she was introduced to Elle by a former customer. Though Comptois lived with the group off and on, apparently she maintained outside interests, since her baby’s father was not a member and therefore not an approved sperm donor. That’s why Elle ordered the exorcism.”

  “Why Amalie Provencher?”

  “That’s unclear. Amalie may have gotten in the way of the elimination of Jennifer.”

  “Elle believed she needed the psychic strength of fifty-six souls to muster the energy for the final crossing. She hadn’t counted on losing Comptois. That’s why she needed Harry.”

  “Why fifty-six?”

  “It has something to do with the fifty-six Aubrey holes at Stonehenge.”

  “What are Aubrey holes?”

  “Small pits that were dug and filled in immediately. They were probably used to predict lunar eclipses. Elle has woven all kinds of esoterica into her delusions.”

  I took a sip of tea.

  “She was obsessed with the idea of balance. Matter and antimatter. Controlled coupling. Exactly fifty-six people. She chose Ange Gardien not just because of the name, but because it’s equidistant from there to the communes in Texas and South Carolina. It’s an amazing coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “My sister lives in Texas. I work in Quebec, and have lifelong ties to the Carolinas. Everywhere I turned, Elle’s influence was there. Her reach was awesome. How many lives do you suppose these cults affect?”

  “There’s no telling.”

  The sound of Vivaldi drifted from my neighbor’s patio.

  “How did your friend Sam take the news that one of his employees brought bodies to Murtry?”

  “He wasn’t thrilled.” I remembered Joey’s nervousness by the water truck when we emerged from the burial location. “Joey Espinoza had been working for Sam for almost
two years.”

  “Right. He was an Owens follower, but lived in his mother’s house. She’s the one who phoned Social Services. Well, it turns out he’s also Carlie’s father. That’s why Kathryn fled to him when things got ugly. It seems she didn’t know anything about the murders.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “She and the baby are with some cousin of hers. Joey is discussing the recent past with Sheriff Baker.”

  “Has anyone been charged?”

  “Elle and Daniel have each been charged with three counts of first-degree murder for the deaths of Jennifer Cannon, Amalie Provencher, and Carole Comptois.”

  Ryan picked up a magnolia leaf and trailed it across his thigh.

  “What else was in the evaluation?”

  “According to the court-appointed shrink Elle suffers from an elaborate multidelusional psychosis. She’s convinced that the apocalypse will occur soon in the form of a giant environmental disaster, and that she’s destined to preserve humanity by transporting followers away from the apocalypse.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “She’s not saying. But you aren’t on her manifest.”

  “How do people buy into such crap?” Ryan echoed my question to Red Skyler.

  “The group recruited people who were disillusioned with their lot and attracted by group acceptance, being accorded a sense of worth and importance, and being given simple answers to all questions, with a little drug therapy thrown in.”

  A breeze lifted the branches of the magnolia, bringing with it the smell of wet grass. Ryan said nothing.

  “Elle may be crazy, but she’s smart and extraordinarily persuasive. Even now her followers are loyal. While she’s pontificating, they’re not saying a word.”

  “Yeah.” He stretched, raised his bandaged arm, and repositioned it on his chest. “She’s cunning, all right. She was never after a huge following. She wanted a small but loyal band. That and Guillion’s money let her keep a low profile. Until it began to unravel, she made very few mistakes.”

  “What about the cat? That was brutal but stupid.”

  “That was Dom Owens. Elle ordered him to stop your meddling. He claims he was not into physically harming people, so he directed some student followers in Charlotte to do something to frighten you off. They devised the cat trick. Got the poor thing from the animal shelter.”