Read Online Asylum by Jeannette de Beauvoir - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeannette de Beauvoir
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university would be no different. Better to find another way in. “Thank you,” I said to the student, and left.
“We should try and see what’s there before they decide to wipe it,” I told Julian, my only bright idea of the morning, when we met for lunch. It was unclear whether or not I’d be able to expense it, I thought ruefully as I ordered my favorite crêpe aux champignons at the Breton crêperie on Saint-Denis; but I’d fight that battle when I came to it.
Julian had spent the morning with Danielle’s landlady, who didn’t actually live in the same building as the apartments she rented, but had a small place near Chinatown. Communication had been difficult. “She’s ninety if she’s a day, and hard of hearing,” he pronounced, “so it would have been difficult even if she did want to speak English, which she made clear that she did not. Seemed disappointed that I knew how to speak French. Thought she could one-up me.”
I could just imagine his accent. “I could talk to her, if you’d like,” I offered.
“No problem. We got along well once we started talking about Danielle. Danielle was the nicest tenant you could ever hope for, and why she wasn’t married was a mystery, pretty as she was and smart, too,” he said, and I could hear the woman’s voice coming through in his. “Never forgot her landlady’s birthday, if you can believe it, and never any complaints in the building about loud music at night, not like some she could mention.”
“So Danielle was a saint,” I said, watching the server approach with our crêpes . I waited until she had set them down and we’d thanked her. “Who kills a saint?”
“One of those motorcycle maniacs, you want the landlady’s opinion,” said Julian, forking ham and béchamel sauce into his mouth. “She’s not that far off, though, honestly. I think some of my colleagues have been looking hard at the Angels.” He shook his head. “But they look hard at the Angels for everything, and they’re usually right.”
“And the motorcycle gang has a new affinity for middle-aged women?” I asked, thinking of Annie Desmarchais. As far as I’d been able to see, the women on the backs of the cycles were barely of legal age.
“Well, that’s where we’re ahead of them, anyway,” said Julian. “Hey, you think UQAM is going to wipe her laptop?” he asked suddenly. I hadn’t thought he’d been listening before.
“Eventually,” I said, sipping cider and thinking about it. “Just like how eventually they’ll hire someone and clear out all her stuff. Your people didn’t seem to want anything from there; they left her apartment pretty fast. And no one seems to think she’s anything other than a statistic. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m still stuck on your people .”
“You know. Your people. The police,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “SPVM. Anyway. Does she have family? I mean, someone who’s taking care of her effects?”
He pulled his own small notebook from his pocket and flipped back through the pages. “Parents deceased,” he read. “There’s a brother up in Québec City, came down to identify her, probably still around somewhere.”
“He might know the password.”
Julian looked at me sharply. “Where are you going with this? You know the police already looked at it.”
“What did they find?”
He grimaced. “Nothing. Nothing anyone said was connected to her death, though we may be looking for different things. Why, what do you think is there?”
I shrugged and finished chewing before I answered. “Who knows, Julian, but if you’re right and this isn’t about sex, then it has to be something more dangerous, more cerebral. And most people keep their cerebral stuff on their computers these days. And no one found a computer in Danielle’s apartment, did they? There’s just the office one?” I considered. “I mean, okay, at the very least it will give us more information about her . I mean, if
“We should try and see what’s there before they decide to wipe it,” I told Julian, my only bright idea of the morning, when we met for lunch. It was unclear whether or not I’d be able to expense it, I thought ruefully as I ordered my favorite crêpe aux champignons at the Breton crêperie on Saint-Denis; but I’d fight that battle when I came to it.
Julian had spent the morning with Danielle’s landlady, who didn’t actually live in the same building as the apartments she rented, but had a small place near Chinatown. Communication had been difficult. “She’s ninety if she’s a day, and hard of hearing,” he pronounced, “so it would have been difficult even if she did want to speak English, which she made clear that she did not. Seemed disappointed that I knew how to speak French. Thought she could one-up me.”
I could just imagine his accent. “I could talk to her, if you’d like,” I offered.
“No problem. We got along well once we started talking about Danielle. Danielle was the nicest tenant you could ever hope for, and why she wasn’t married was a mystery, pretty as she was and smart, too,” he said, and I could hear the woman’s voice coming through in his. “Never forgot her landlady’s birthday, if you can believe it, and never any complaints in the building about loud music at night, not like some she could mention.”
“So Danielle was a saint,” I said, watching the server approach with our crêpes . I waited until she had set them down and we’d thanked her. “Who kills a saint?”
“One of those motorcycle maniacs, you want the landlady’s opinion,” said Julian, forking ham and béchamel sauce into his mouth. “She’s not that far off, though, honestly. I think some of my colleagues have been looking hard at the Angels.” He shook his head. “But they look hard at the Angels for everything, and they’re usually right.”
“And the motorcycle gang has a new affinity for middle-aged women?” I asked, thinking of Annie Desmarchais. As far as I’d been able to see, the women on the backs of the cycles were barely of legal age.
“Well, that’s where we’re ahead of them, anyway,” said Julian. “Hey, you think UQAM is going to wipe her laptop?” he asked suddenly. I hadn’t thought he’d been listening before.
“Eventually,” I said, sipping cider and thinking about it. “Just like how eventually they’ll hire someone and clear out all her stuff. Your people didn’t seem to want anything from there; they left her apartment pretty fast. And no one seems to think she’s anything other than a statistic. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m still stuck on your people .”
“You know. Your people. The police,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “SPVM. Anyway. Does she have family? I mean, someone who’s taking care of her effects?”
He pulled his own small notebook from his pocket and flipped back through the pages. “Parents deceased,” he read. “There’s a brother up in Québec City, came down to identify her, probably still around somewhere.”
“He might know the password.”
Julian looked at me sharply. “Where are you going with this? You know the police already looked at it.”
“What did they find?”
He grimaced. “Nothing. Nothing anyone said was connected to her death, though we may be looking for different things. Why, what do you think is there?”
I shrugged and finished chewing before I answered. “Who knows, Julian, but if you’re right and this isn’t about sex, then it has to be something more dangerous, more cerebral. And most people keep their cerebral stuff on their computers these days. And no one found a computer in Danielle’s apartment, did they? There’s just the office one?” I considered. “I mean, okay, at the very least it will give us more information about her . I mean, if
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