* * *
Amadou didn’t want to enter the mosque with Esa. It was too soon for him to face the reality that he hadn’t saved Youssef after all. Esa let him walk away, thinking over his words. Something Amadou had told him was nagging at him—some casual statement that was more important than it had seemed at the time. It needed attention, yet it wasn’t coming into focus. But Diana was waiting inside. He wasn’t sure she deserved it, but he knew he had to apologize. To defuse a situation that was adding unwarranted pressure to his investigation.
The shooter hadn’t come to the vigil.
But someone had been close by.
* * *
Diana hadn’t disappeared into the women’s prayer space. Esa found her in the main hall, arranging a copious scarf over her hair and shoulders.
She was quiet, her anger calmed, her head bowed as she waited near the mihrab. When she glanced his way, he was startled to observe that tears had streaked her face, tears she made no effort to wipe away.
“How are we going to solve this?” she asked Esa.
Feeling strangely vulnerable, he answered, “We’ll make progress, Diana. There’s bound to be a break in the investigation. We’ll find him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean the investigation.” She stepped forward, her hands tracing over the bullet holes in the mihrab. “I mean this. How are we going to solve this?”
The grief he’d been suppressing rose up in a wave. An electric silence fell between them—and in it everything changed. She wasn’t his enemy, trying her best to bring him down. She wasn’t sitting in judgment, waiting for him to fail. She was someone who’d worked tirelessly for a decade, pushing back against forces that were shrinking the perimeters of her world—the gray zone between forces so bleak and powerful that the simplest act could undo the safety of the bonds that held them: shared values, a shared humanity, citizenship. No one on the outside could appreciate the way that each corner of that safety was threatened.
He pressed a fist to the center of his chest, fighting back the emotion that threatened to betray him. Diana watched him, her shadowed eyes vulnerable, her shoulders stooped under the weight of this calamity. She wasn’t as redoubtable as he’d always known her to be. She looked small and bereft, mourning what had been and everything that was yet to be lost.
She knew this was just the beginning. Just as Esa did.
He reached out and took her hand, leading her to a spot in the prayer hall. New carpets had been laid over where old ones had been stripped away.
He didn’t stand in front of her. He left a gap and took a place at her side.
He gave the call to prayer, low and rich in his throat, faltering over the words.
She rearranged her scarf so that it fell in soft folds from her shoulders to her wrists.
When he finished, he turned to Diana, raising his hands to his ears.
“Stand with me,” he said.
“In prayer?” she asked, copying the gesture that opened the rites of prayer.
“No,” he answered with a searching look. “Stand with me against this.”
40
Two days later they were no further forward and night was falling again.
“What are we going to do about these threats?” Rachel asked.
Lemaire rubbed the back of his head in response. He looked like he knew she wasn’t going to like his answer.
“You should understand we get things like this all the time. Racist abuse, threats, online and on campus, they’re quite common. They’re pranks, Rachel. They’re meant to distract us from our work.”
“This feels different,” she pointed out. “It’s someone who’s been shadowing Inspector Khattak.” Her glance took in the INSET team. It lingered on a couple of Sûreté officers near the photocopier, who’d taken a break and were now observing their boss. The hum of activity around them continued, a buzz that was comforting and familiar.
Again, she had the feeling that something about Lemaire’s words didn’t quite fit in with her picture of events—or with the urgency of the shooting. They were in the office he was using as his own, a few framed photographs on the wall. It was nothing like Richard’s vanity wall, though she saw a photograph similar to the one Khattak had described—Lemaire, Clément, and the mayor of Saint-Isidore offering Richard the key to the city.
A little shock of alarm ran through her veins. She knew what it was that had tingled at the edge of her consciousness. She pinned Lemaire with a rock-steady gaze.
“You’re a senior homicide cop?” she confirmed.
He nodded, watching her.
“Regularly seconded to INSET?”
Lemaire shrugged his massive shoulders. “I have a certain expertise. What’s your point?”
She didn’t look away.
“Then why are you in Saint-Isidore so often?” She nodded at the photograph on the wall. “Why were you and Isabelle invited to participate in a ceremony glorifying Pascal Richard, of all people? Doesn’t seem to fit within the ambit of homicide. Or of national security.”
Lemaire turned to look at the photograph behind his head. When he turned back, there was something new in his expression. Weighing. Watchful. A thrill of fear whispered down her spine. The desk was between them, but suddenly she felt his towering presence like a threat.
He cracked his knuckles on the desk, the sound filling the silence.
In a soft voice he asked, “What are you accusing me of, Rachel? Be specific.”
Rachel edged closer to the door. Lemaire stepped around the desk, cutting off her access to the door.
Rachel refused to retreat. Her hand thumbed the phone in her pocket. Discreetly, she tapped Khattak’s number.
Lemaire was too quick for her, his eyes darting to the hand she’d stuffed in her pocket. He fished her phone from her pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
His laser-blue gaze unwavering, he said, “Go on. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Rachel threw up her head.
“Why? Because I’m ‘old stock’? I’m what you’d call pure laine? Québécois de souche?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he batted back. “You may speak French, but you certainly can’t claim to be a Québécois.”
Rachel didn’t want to. But she had to think of something. Her gaze slipped to the gun he had holstered at his hip. He’d have to get her out of the station to his car. She had a very brief window in which to attempt an escape.
“Rachel.” His exasperated tone put an end to her plotting, suggesting she’d overreacted. “Why do you think I was at the ceremony? Why do you think that photograph is on the wall?”
“It’s not just the ceremony,” she said rapidly. She jammed her free hand into the pocket of her slacks, withdrawing a crumpled sheet of paper. She held it up as if she were warding Lemaire off with a talisman. “You’ve made it clear that you’re familiar with what’s been happening here. You’ve visited Saint-Isidore several times. Yet you’ve taken zero action on things that should have been dealt with a long time ago.” She brandished the list she’d gotten from the university.
He took it from her hand, reading it over with a frown.
Rachel barreled ahead. “I can’t think of a single reason why a senior homicide officer would be on call here. And then having come, why he’d do nothing to halt the activities of a group like the Wolf Allegiance. You didn’t detain Père Étienne. And though you should have detained members of the Allegiance, you haven’t even bothered to question them.”
Lemaire smoothed out the list, resuming his watchful manner. She hadn’t yet said what he seemed to expect her to say. Since she couldn’t break past him to the common area, there was no point in holding back.
“A lot of people in law enforcement don’t seem to have noticed. But Superintendent Killiam did. She told me to watch for it.”
Lemaire’s eyes didn’t shift from her face. “For what?”
“For proof that all levels of law enforcement have been infiltrated by the
far right. The alt-right, white nationalists, dress it up however you want. You’re just neo-Nazis in the end.”
To say she was stunned when Lemaire began to laugh was putting it mildly. He shifted away from the door with a flourish of his hand, seating himself at his leisure, his shoulders rumbling with laughter.
“What?”
Still smiling, he said, “The way you glare at me, mon amie. You have quite a way with your superiors.”
“You’re saying I’m wrong?” Her heart was thundering in her chest. She flung the door wide but didn’t leave. “You’re not the head of the Allegiance? You didn’t orchestrate Saint-Isidore’s Code of Conduct with the mayor and Clément?”
Lemaire shook his head, his shaggy hair falling around his collar. “I thank you for that sterling assessment of my character, but no. Take a seat and I’ll tell you, since you seem to have guessed quite a bit.”
Rachel hesitated, looking at the door.
“It’s up to you, Rachel. You’re perfectly safe working at my side.”
Mumbling under her breath, Rachel took the seat across from Lemaire. He rested his elbows on the desk, studying the suspicion in her face.
“You are quite correct in assessing the problem in Saint-Isidore. There has been infiltration. Some elements of the police force here are suspect. We do have reason to suspect the mayor of giving carte blanche to certain disruptive elements in town.”
“The Wolf Allegiance,” Rachel supplied.
“The Allegiance,” he agreed. “But also others. I was assigned to the Gatineau area to root those elements out. To get a sense of the scope of the problem.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You can check with Superintendent Killiam. She’s the one who sent me.” As a tide of color swept up Rachel’s cheeks, Lemaire sought to put her at ease. “Isabelle’s excuse is more innocent. She has family in Saint-Isidore.”
A low groan escaped Rachel’s throat. Lemaire wouldn’t have mentioned the superintendent unless he had the bedrock certainty that she would back him up. She’d made a dreadful mistake, and it was one she couldn’t back away from. She felt sick with mortification, itchy and uncomfortable in her light summer clothes, under a layer of sweat.
At a loss for words, she whispered, “But why haven’t you done anything?” She made a floundering gesture with her hand. “Why did you let it go so far?”
Lemaire’s shoulders slumped. For the first time, his bright blue gaze dropped from hers. But he didn’t attempt to shield himself.
“Our inactivity was meant to draw them out—to see who might be fueling the fire behind the Allegiance, and what their ultimate goal might be. Someone is making use of these kids, radicalizing a new generation—indoctrinating them into extremist ideology.”
“So that’s why you appeared to give your sanction to Richard. That’s why the photograph is here. You were trying to suggest that you’re not someone they need to worry about.”
“You seem familiar with the photograph.”
“Inspector Khattak described it to me. He said he saw a copy of it in Richard’s office.”
“Ah.” He came to a decision, his voice freshening as he addressed her. “Obviously, we failed at our task. We were unprepared for action. I had to limit my visits here so as not to raise suspicions. That’s how I missed the signs.”
Rachel nodded to herself. Lemaire’s explanation was plausible. But she would still be confirming it with the superintendent.
“You mean the break-in at the MSA’s office.”
“That. But there was a more obvious clue.”
Puzzled, Rachel stared at him. She still had only the blurriest impression of what had happened in Saint-Isidore before the shooting.
“The broken light outside the women’s entrance to the mosque,” Lemaire explained. “Someone did a trial run. To see how easy it would be to gain entrance without fear of discovery. That’s why they vandalized the light.”
“And you didn’t think to put up your own cameras after that?” Rachel’s tone was accusing.
“We were being careful. We didn’t want to tip them off.”
Rachel frowned to herself. Had it simply been the wrong call? Because its consequences had spun rapidly out of control. And she could see that that truth had just come home to hit Lemaire.
* * *
Rachel put in a quick call to Superintendent Killiam to confirm Lemaire’s information. When she aired her suspicions, Killiam once again took the time to reassure her about Lemaire’s skills and reputation. Rachel hung up, still uncertain. A hand rapped on the door. It was Constable Benoit, an anxious expression on his face, as if it had taken all his courage to interrupt. Though Rachel was glad of the reprieve, she felt sorry for him—she knew what it was like to be that young and green.
“We have something, sir. Would you like—that is, are you available to see the footage?”
The glimmer of a smile in his eyes, Lemaire turned to Rachel. “Are we?”
She swallowed a sarcastic retort, following him to Benoit’s station, where a group of officers were gathered. Her colleague Paul Gaffney was among them, and she smiled a welcome at him. It was good to have someone else from Community Policing with them, someone she knew she could trust. Gaff nodded at her.
“Benoit is the one who spotted it. I just cleaned it up.”
The attention of everyone gathered at the desk was fixed on Benoit’s monitor. At a nod from Lemaire, Benoit hit the play button.
The footage was from a small shop two streets west of the mosque. Its shady, tree-lined lane was dark save for a single streetlamp. For fifteen seconds, the street was deserted on both sides. Then a figure passed directly under the streetlamp, pausing for the briefest moment. The figure pivoted, casting a glance over its shoulder, facing the camera head on.
Ice-cold dread froze in Rachel’s veins.
The figure was a woman wearing a niqab and an abaya.
When she turned toward the camera and raised her arm, something else became clear.
The woman was carrying a gun.
* * *
Rachel held her breath, her heart kicking painfully at the walls of her chest. Her panicked eyes sought Lemaire’s. What the hell did this mean?
Lemaire rattled off a volley of remarks in French, directing his subordinates to keep a tight lid on the evidence and Benoit to turn over the footage without making a copy. They established a chain of custody, Benoit passing the footage over to Lemaire in a signed and dated envelope. Both Benoit and Gaffney co-signed the seal of the envelope.
“It is essential that this doesn’t leak to the media.”
One of Lemaire’s subordinates spoke up. “Where do we direct our efforts now? It seems we’ve been wasting our time looking beyond the mosque.”
“Finish the intake on those who were at the vigil tonight.”
“But sir—”
“Do it,” Lemaire snapped. “I’ll take care of this.”
Lemaire’s team scattered back to work.
Rachel hung back with Gaffney while Lemaire stormed into his office and slammed the door. Through the glass panels, she could see he’d taken out his phone and was shouting at someone on the other end.
His personality was volatile and intriguing. She much preferred Khattak’s enlightened calm, but she couldn’t deny that Lemaire’s presence was exciting.
“You planning to stick around?” Gaff asked. “I’m knocking off for the night.”
Rachel sank down lower and whispered, “Is that really the only copy of the footage?”
Gaff grinned at her, gathering his things and shoving his laptop back into its bag.
“Are you kidding me? The boss told me to run my inquiries separately from INSET’s. Just in case. He’s not as enamored of Lemaire as you are.”
“Enamored?” Rachel’s protest sounded like a squawk.
Gaff walked her out to the parking lot. “Never seen you so hot and bothered. Not even over that ‘gentleman’ who couldn’t
make up his mind.”
Rachel shrugged, pretending that she didn’t know he was describing Nate. But Gaff knew her well enough to tease her. She’d left her phone on Lemaire’s desk and thought about going back to get it. But at Gaff’s knowing grin, she changed her mind. She needed a few hours of sleep. Gaff could give her a ride, and then he could bring Khattak up to speed.
“You don’t have to leave because I am. I’m guessing Old Blue-Eyes is quite the antidote to your need for regular sleep.”
A reluctant smile cracked her face.
“Shut up and drive,” she said.
41
Esa was beginning to feel like he had sandpaper under his eyelids. He’d been working the case around the clock, barely speaking to Sehr. Lemaire had returned his phone, and now a message came through from Rachel. He rubbed at his eyes, the thick lashes tangling, reading over her request. He was aching with fatigue and he wanted to get back to the hotel to see Sehr, the one bright spot in this darkness. But she would have gone to bed by now, so he might as well see what Rachel wanted.
You need to see this footage. Somewhere away from the eyes of Lemaire and his team. Meet me at this address in 15.
He checked the address with the GPS on his phone. Rachel had chosen a spot on the north side of the lake, a few miles beyond the Université Marchand. There were probably several cafés open late near the university.
He drove through the streets slowly, conscious that he was not as alert as he needed to be to drive. The drive around the lake was circuitous; it was also exceptionally scenic, the antique streetlamps hung with flowering baskets that spilled waves of pink and crimson against a backdrop of trees. The lake itself lay black and silver under the moon, its soft waves dipping to a rhythm that soothed the turmoil of his senses as he rolled down his window to take in the breeze. As it stirred the hair across his forehead, some of his tension eased. He thought he glimpsed a little white boathouse across on the opposite bank, and instantly he was transported back to the town of Waverley and the shores of White Pine Lake.
A Deadly Divide Page 19
