Deadly Decisions Read Online Free PDF

Patineau.”
    Stéphane Patineau was director of the LSJML. He made final decisions for the crime and medico-legal labs.
    “I will not let any involvement with Carcajou interfere with my normal duties.”
    “I know that. I promise I will speak with the director first thing Monday morning. Now go home. Bonne fin de semaine. ”
    I wished him a good weekend, too.
     
    •    •    •
     
    Quebec winters end much differently from those in the Carolina Piedmont. Back home spring slips in gently, and by the end of March and the beginning of April flowers begin to bloom and the air is soft with the warmth of summertime emerging.
    Les québécois wait six weeks longer to plant their gardens and window boxes. Much of April is cool and gray, and the streets and sidewalks glisten with melted ice and snow. But when spring appears it does so with breathtaking showmanship. The season explodes, and the populace responds with an enthusiasm unmatched on the planet.
    Today that vernal performance was weeks away. It was dark and a light rain was falling. I zipped my jacket, lowered my head, and made a dash for the car. The news came on as I was entering the Ville-Marie Tunnel, the Toussaint murder the lead story. That night Emily Anne was to have received an award in a lower-school writing competition. She’d titled her winning essay: “Let the Children Live.”
    I reached over and turned off the radio.
    I thought of my plans for the evening and was glad I’d have someone to buoy my spirits. I vowed not to talk shop with Ryan.
    Twenty minutes later I opened my apartment door to the sound of a ringing phone. I glanced at my watch. Six-fifty. Ryan would be here in forty minutes and I wanted time for a shower.
    I walked to the living room and threw my jacket on the couch. The machine clicked on and I listened to my voice request a short message. Birdie appeared at the exact moment Isabelle came on.
    “Tempe, if you’re there, pick up. C’est important. ” Pause. “Merde!”
    I really didn’t want to talk but something in her voice made me reach for the handset.
    “Hello, Isa—”
    “Turn on the television. CBC.”
    “I know about the Toussaint child. I was at the lab—”
    “Now!”
    I picked up the remote and clicked on the set.
    Then I listened in horror.

“. . . Lieutenant-détective Ryan had been under investigation for several months. He has been charged with possession of stolen goods and with trafficking and possession of controlled substances. Ryan surrendered peacefully to CUM officers this afternoon outside his home in the Old Port. He has been suspended from duty without pay pending a full investigation.
    “And now some other stories that we’ve been following. In financial news, the proposed merger of—”
    “T EMPE!”
    Isabelle’s bark snapped me back. I raised the receiver to my ear.
    “C’est lui, n’est-ce pas? Andrew Ryan, Crimes contre la Personne, Sûreté du Québec?”
    “It’s got to be a mistake.”
    As I said the words my eyes flew to the message light. Ryan hadn’t called.
    “I’d better go. He’ll be here soon.”
    “Tempe. He’s in jail.”
    “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    I hung up and dialed Ryan’s apartment. No answer. I called his pager and entered my number. No response. I looked at Birdie. He had no explanation.
    By nine I knew he wasn’t coming. I’d called his home seven times. I’d phoned his partner, with the same result. No answer. No response.
    I tried grading the final exams I’d brought from UNC-Charlotte, but couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts kept going back to Ryan. Time would pass and I’d find myself staring at the same essay in the same blue book, my mind absorbing nothing the student had written. Birdie nestled in the crook of my knees, but it was small comfort.
    It couldn’t be true. I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it.
    At ten I took a long, hot bubble bath, zapped a carton of frozen spaghetti, and took it to the