“It’s McLord,” he said to Eliza in a low voice.
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a hopeful look.
“Hello, this is Bodhi King.”
“Dr. King, Officer McLord here. Inspector says you and Dr. Rollins are to receive regular updates. We’ve identified the bodies.”
“All four of them?” In his surprise, Bodhi spoke much louder than he meant to, catching the attention of the men in the front seat. Felix twisted around to look at him, and Jon flicked him a curious glance in the rearview mirror.
“Yes. All four were students at McAllen. They went missing at various points in the past six months. The last one just two weeks ago. And the campus authorities say they’ve got another missing person. A Michael Raglan, last seen just four days ago. He went to Tam-Tams on Sunday and never returned.”
“Tam-Tams?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s a music festival of sorts. Every Sunday, young people flock to Mount Royal Park. There’s a drum circle that gathers near a monument to George-Étienne Cartier. People dance, drum, sing … and get high.”
“And Michael went there to get high?” If so, that would fit with the working theory.
“It’s not clear. Kid was something of loner. The kids in his dorm say he asked where to get weed but never showed up at any campus parties. He kept to himself. Do you want the names of the deceased? We’re notifying their families now. All hell will break out here when these grieving parents show up.”
“Yes, I do. But two things first—one, ask the families if any of them have heard of the drug called Solo. And two, Dr. Loomis was going to have the coroner test the bodies for a specific cocktail of neurotoxins. Please make sure they put a rush on those test results. If they come back positive, you should contact the Montreal police and have them sweep Mount Royal Park for Solo dealers.”
“With all due respect, I can’t tell the Montreal police what to do, Dr. King.”
Bodhi tamped down his frustration. “You can ask them, though. Right?”
McLord mumbled something.
“Officer McLord, there’s a chance that Tatiana Viant took Solo and it left her in a condition that can fairly be described as the walking dead. It may also be responsible for the uptick in overdose deaths. Surely you can work with your colleagues down the road to save some lives. Can’t you?”
Beside him, Eliza suppressed a giggle at his lecturing tone. He shrugged. He didn’t have time for niceties.
On the other end of the phone, McLord let loose some more mumbling. Then he said, “The dead were identified as Jessica Clapton, age eighteen, from Hamilton, Ontario; Javier Martinez, age twenty, from Montreal; George Laurent, age twenty, from Alberta; and Sheryl Tarlington, age nineteen, from all the way over in Winnipeg.”
“They were all so young,” Bodhi remarked after committing the names to memory.
“Yes,” McLord agreed tersely.
“Thanks for the update.”
Bodhi ended the call and turned to Eliza. “All four bodies were identified as McAllen University students. And there’s a fifth student who just went missing over the weekend.”
Her big eyes filled with worry. “Good Lord.” Then her eyes went wide. “I should call Nurse Grace and see if Tatiana’s test results are back. They should test her system for the neurotoxins, too.”
“Good idea.”
He leaned forward to talk to Felix while Eliza placed the call to the hospital.
“I was going to suggest you call your colleague who knew Tatiana’s name and ask if she could meet with me and Eliza this afternoon. But, in light of the news about the four students, maybe we should interface with the campus public safety office first? Or maybe the provincial authorities?” He directed the last question to Jon. His stomach sank as he realized he was completely out of his depth as to the proper procedure under Canadian laws and regulations.
“I can help you navigate the thicket of university departmental politics. I’m afraid I can’t speak to how the SPMV—the Montreal police—will react to your poking around without their authorization. Especially because they’re not going to be happy to learn the bodies are in Quebec City. Jon, what are your thoughts?” Felix deferred to the forensic biologist.
“I think the metaphorical feces is headed for the fan. We might as well get out in front of it.”
“Meaning?” Bodhi asked.
“Meaning dead McAllen students are a shared problem for the university and the city. Felix works for one, I work for the other. We should set you and Eliza up with interviews on campus and then the two of us will meet together with our institution heads and work out some ground rules.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s our only chance at averting a mess.”
“You’re right.” Felix sighed. He turned back to Bodhi. “Tell me who you want to talk to, and I’ll make the requisite calls.”
Everyone but Jon worked the phones for the remainder of the drive to Montreal.
By the time he brought the car to a stop in front of the counseling center, Eliza had gotten a full report on Tatiana’s condition and ordered the screening tests for tetrodoxin, saxitoxin, and candotoxin. She’d also called Jon’s co-worker Lucy on speakerphone to ask what treatment could be offered if Tatiana had been exposed to the unholy trinity of neurotoxins for a prolonged period of time. The toxicologist told her she was working furiously to create an antidote and would loop in Tatiana’s care team at the hospital if she tested positive. Lucy went on to reassure the four of them that she hypothesized that even with supportive care only, Tatiana should eventually recover.
Bodhi had received an update from the Quebec City coroner’s office through Guillaume. Toxicology testing on the four McAllen students was being expedited, and Guillaume promised to immediately pass the results on to Bodhi and Eliza, no matter what time of day or night they came back. He went on to explicitly say he would not ask whether Bodhi or Eliza shared them through any back channels. Bodhi decided to interpret this as implicit permission to tell Felix, Claude, and Jon anything they learned.
Felix, meanwhile had arranged for Dr. Harris, the psychiatry professor, to meet with Bodhi and Eliza at a coffee shop right next to the campus counseling center. After their unofficial chat, Bodhi and Eliza would walk next door for an official meeting with the director of the counseling center.
“Jon and I will swing back and pick you up no later than seven. Any questions?” Felix asked, before they got out of the car.
“Nope. Good luck, you two,” Bodhi said.
“Same to you,” Felix answered.
“I have a question,” Eliza grumbled as they headed into the coffee shop. “Don’t any of you men eat? We skipped lunch, and now it sounds like we’re going to drive back to Quebec City without having dinner first? I can’t work under these conditions.”
“Come on. I’ll buy you a muffin the size of your fist inside. The sugar rush should see you through the afternoon.”
“You always were a sweet talker,” she said over her shoulder as she waved at a woman who fit the description Felix had given them. Curly dark hair, red-framed glasses, and a smattering of freckles. “There’s Dr. Harris.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Just tell me what you want to know. I’ve got one foot out the door—I’ve been offered a tenure track position at UBC in Nova Scotia. So truly, I’ve got no agenda and no loyalty to the powers that be.” Dr. Victoria Harris said as soon as she sat down at the table with her chai latte.
Eliza nibbled her cranberry muffin and nodded encouragingly.
Bodhi blinked at her candor. “Uh, congratulations on the new position. We appreciate your willingness to talk to us.”
“No problem.”
“We understand you told Dr. Bechtel that you recognized Tatiana Viant’s name.”
“That’s right.” She sipped her latte.
“How did her name come up?”
She tossed her head back and laughed. Dark curls spilled over her face and she pushed them back.
“Sorry,” she gasped when she could speak again. “It came up because Felix is the worst gossip in the building. He pulled me aside and whispered ‘did you hear?’ then proceeded to tell me all about Tatiana Viant rising from the dead to roam the countryside. How did it come up? That’s rich.”
Eliza glanced at Bodhi. He was frowning.
“I see,” he said slowly. “And when Dr. Bechtel brought it up, you said ….”
“I said I remembered her because I did. My officemate—that’s right, seven years on faculty and I was sharing space like some teaching assistant or junior researcher—anyway, my officemate ran an experiment last year, and she was one of his subjects.”
“How did you happen to remember that? I mean, surely she was only one of—what, dozens of students who participated in studies last year?” Bodhi asked.
Eliza tore off another chunk of her muffin. Bodhi was doing great. She’d jump in when her blood sugar had stabilized.
“More like hundreds. But I’m pretty sure she’s the only one Virgil was in love with.”
“Virgil?” Eliza choked down a bite.
“Virgil Lavoire. He was in the Masters of Science degree program.”
“Wait. A graduate student was running psychiatric experiments—had he at least completed medical school?” Bodhi interjected.
“No. The masters program is a research-focused training program. Applicants admitted to the program come from an array of disciplines—some medical, but also anthropology, neuroscience, genetics. Virgil’s background was in psychology with a focus on social anxiety disorders.”
Eliza had a different question. “Did you say his last name is Lavoire?”
Victoria cocked her head. “I did.”
“Remember that mausoleum in the cemetery in Sainte-Anne?” Eliza whispered to Bodhi.
He nodded. “Any idea where Mr. Lavoire was from?”
Victoria was watching them closely. “Sure. Everybody knew he was one of the Île d’Orléans Lavoires. It’s not as if he’d let you forget it. He wanted to make sure everyone knew he came from money.”
Eliza’s heart thumped. Her skin grew hot as adrenaline flooded her body. There was no way this was a coincidence. The researcher who experimented on Tatiana and reportedly loved her came from the abandoned town where they’d found her—and four bodies.
Bodhi put a calming hand on her forearm and asked Victoria, “I don’t suppose you know which town?’
“I should clarify. His family was originally from the island. I don’t know the name of the exact town—some old village that’s not even there anymore. But he grew up right here in Montreal. And so did his parents, I think. The name dropping was just this thing he did. We all sort of pegged it as an effort to compensate for not having a medical degree. Self-aggrandization.” She diagnosed her former colleague with an air of certainty.
Eliza shot Bodhi a look. This Virgil person was their guy.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“No clue. Not in the city, I know that much. After his study was mothballed, he withdrew from the program and left town with his tail between his legs. He was disgraced. I’m sure he didn’t land in another master’s program. Nobody would write him a recommendation.”
“What did he do to get himself kicked out of the program? We know the broad strokes from Felix but we’re interested in the details,” Bodhi explained.
“I don’t know all the details. Here’s what I know. He came up with a research idea to start a support group for undergraduates struggling with social anxiety. The format was that the group would meet once a week in a safe place and practice socializing with one another. He’d work with them on tools they could use when they felt overwhelmed in the face of a social interaction. The research design wasn’t exactly groundbreaking.”
Eliza straightened her spine and pushed the muffin away. “Something doesn’t have to be groundbreaking to help people.”
Bodhi noted her icy tone with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t care. Victoria Harris had no right to be derisive about struggles she knew nothing about.
“That’s true,” she conceded, unperturbed by Eliza’s reaction. “And, in truth, it sounds like his group was helpful to several of the students—Tatiana included. Her demeanor seemed to change after she joined the group.”
Eliza nodded. “Her parents noticed a difference, too. They thought maybe she’d started to date someone.”
“Maybe. It wasn’t Virgil though. I got the sense his infatuation was one-sided. When I saw them interacting, she treated him like a professor she really respected. She was grateful for his help. He, on the other hand, mooned over her like a schoolboy. It was unseemly.”
“Did you say anything to anybody—a graduate studies supervisor, maybe?”
“I did, actually. He said he’d talk to Virgil. And he did. It was that conversation that led to the program being shut down. I’m not sure what Virgil told him, but the next week the social anxiety support group meetings ended.”
“How did Virgil take it?” Bodhi asked.
Victoria scanned the small coffeehouse to make sure nobody was listening to them. She needn’t have bothered, Eliza thought. Each soul under the age of thirty—including the barista and the guy working the bakery counter—had a phone in his or her hands, head bent, eyes glued to the screen, fingers swiping and scrolling.
“Frankly, better than the students did. They were blindsided by the move, and it threw some of them into a tailspin. They came trooping into the office and begged him to keep the group going informally.”
“Did he?” Eliza asked. Her heart ached for the kids who’d finally started making breakthroughs and then lost their support network.
“Yes. And that’s why he was finally asked to leave. That’s just an egregious breach of ethics and protocol.” She finished her drink and checked her watch. “Anything else I can tell you? I don’t want to run out and leave you with unanswered questions, but I do have a class to teach on the other side of the campus in ten minutes.”
“We won’t hold you up,” Bodhi promised. “But there is still one point I’m confused about. Felix said that part of the reason the program was shut down was the participants didn’t understand it was experimental. From what you’ve told us about the group, any data he collected would almost certainly have come in the form of self-reported survey answers, right? How could they not have known?”
“Now that I don’t know. I just know what his supervisor told me after Virgil was asked to leave.”
“Can we talk to him—the supervisor?”
“I’m afraid not. He actually left not long after Virgil.”
“Oh?” Eliza’s ears pricked up. “Was it related?”
Victoria shrugged and stood up. As she slung her tote bag over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t think so. I mean, his reputation took a hit within his department, too, but the announcement that went out said he was relocating to Ontario for personal reasons. I assume he ended up at the University of Toronto. Felix would know.” She smiled brightly. “I hope I’ve been helpful, but I really do need to run.”
Eliza and Bodhi rose from the table.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Eliza said as she pumped the woman’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Good luck in British Columbia,” Bodhi said. He shook her hand next.
“Thanks for the drink.” She tossed her cup into the recycling bin and swept out of the shop in a hurry.
None of the students glanced up as the door opened then shut behind her.
Eliza carried her trash to the receptacle then turned to Bodhi. “On to the counseling center?”
“Assuming your snack will tide you over for another meeting, yes.”
“I’ll manage.” She flashed him a smile.
They walked through the quiet shop. She took a last look at the crowd glued to their phones. “Talk about zombification,” she said in an undertone.
Chapter Thirty
Virgil walked through the kitchen to check on his
workers. Mike was using the press to punch out the pills, Mike squeezed and released the handle rhythmically, humming as he worked. After each press, he pinched the compressed tablet between his fingers and added it to a pile to his left. Next to him, the blonde girl, Serena, counted out groups of twenty pills, saying the numbers in a soft voice. She pushed each set of twenty along the counter until they reached Reuben, the exchange student from Israel, who bagged them and placed them in the box. When the box was full, Jimmy, from Kentucky, sealed the box and carried it to the hand trolley parked beside the front door.
They worked slowly, but that was okay. Virgil was happy to see them handling their discrete tasks. Aside from Mike, none of them exhibited much personality or showed much spark. But they followed his instructions and tried their best.
The new apartment made the assembly line seem less bleak. He chalked it up to the sun streaming through the big, clean windows and bright lights—two features the mansion had lacked. Maybe the return to Montreal would turn out to be a positive development.
His wristwatch beeped at him to let him know it was time to dose the crew. He walked into the bathroom and unlocked the refrigerated safe where he stored the Solo ingredients. He removed a case that held five preloaded syringes. He had been experimenting with different maintenance doses for his workers, based on their body weights and how they appeared to metabolize the concoction. The liquid formulation enabled him to make more refined adjustments so as to strike the best balance for each of their unique body chemistries.
He wished he could do the same for the buyers on the street, but it was simply not feasible. What he really needed was for his partner to complete work on the antidote. His idea was to sell each hit of Solo along with a dose of the antidote, just in case the buyer had a sensitivity and the amount proved to be too much. A fail-safe to ease his conscience.
After he injected the workers with their day’s dose of Solo, he lingered in the apartment long enough to confirm nobody had a bad reaction. Then he took Mike by the shoulders.
Lonely Path Page 10
