The Longest Winter (5 page)

“Maxime,” she said. “Max…
je ne me souviens pas
.
Il
était
Flamand.
”

“What does that mean?”

“Flemish,” Heinrich said. “From the northern region of Belgium. It’s predominantly Dutch.” He looked at Virginie again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She lowered her head and spoke softly. Kara and Yuri waited for her to finish. Yuri’s French was much better than Kara, but it was hard to hear Virginie, and harder still to understand her. She was upset and shaking so much Heinrich had to get her to sit down.

“You could have told me.” Heinrich looked at Kara and Yuri. “Apparently her financial situation is a little more dire than she had let me know when we married. A lot more dire, actually. When this man, Max, came looking for her late husband, he wanted to know if there was still any work. Virginie told him her husband had passed and Max asked if anyone was using the building. When she told him no one was, he asked if he could rent it. Said he was working on a novel and wanted a quiet place to work where he wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“How much did he offer?”

“Five hundred euros a month. He said he’d need it for six months and handed her an envelope with three thousand dollars in cash. His only rules were that she tell no one he was there and that no one was to come out to the building.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago, give or take.” He looked back to Virginie. “I wish you had told me.”

“Do you have anything with his contact information? Either from now or from when he worked here before?”

Heinrich asked his wife but she shook her head.

“We cleared out all of her husband’s files shortly after I moved in. I doubt he would have had anything though. He wasn’t very organized and I remember Virginie saying he usually just paid his workers cash under the table.”

“Can she describe him for us?”

Heinrich translated as Virginie spoke. “She says he’s probably about thirty-five to forty years old now, and he’s put on weight since she last saw him all those years ago. Not really fat or anything, just a bit of a beer belly. And he’s tall, probably about as tall as the Russian.”

“Ukrainian,” Yuri said, his face more stern than usual.

Heinrich paused for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It is okay,” Yuri said, although Kara could tell he didn’t believe Heinrich’s apology.

“Anything else, Mr. Schmidt?”

“Dark hair, fairly short. Brown eyes.”

“Did he have a beard, glasses, any tattoos or anything like that?”

Virginie shook her head. “
Il a une cicatrice sous son oeil droit et un de ses dents de devant est
ébréchée.”

“A scar,” Heinrich said. “Under his right eye. And one of his front teeth is broken.”

“Left or right?”

Virginie shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

Kara nodded. “That’s alright. You’ve been a great help.” She looked at Heinrich who had just finished his translation, much to Virginie’s approval. “I’d like to bring in a sketch artist to meet with Virginie. Hopefully we can get an idea of what Max looks like from her. We’ll have a French-speaking detective come as well, it will be easier.”

Heinrich nodded and explained the situation to his wife. A simple nod was all she gave. Kara wondered what was going through her head, through both of their heads. A man she had known, even if it had been many years ago, had held two boys captive only a short distance from their home – and possibly murdered two others there as well.
If either of them get any sleep tonight
, Kara thought,
I’ll be very surprised.
The more Kara could involve them, the better they would feel. It was a simple method, and one that helped to get better results as well as to help out those who were affected by a crime, whether directly or indirectly. Involvement in the case helped to alleviate guilt – even if there was no reason for the person to feel guilty.

Kara and Yuri thanked the couple for their time and assistance and left the house. The snow had started to fall again, although it was lighter this time around – the weather reports had been right. If they continued to be right, then there was a lot more snow still on its way.

“Ahem.”

Kara looked back to see Yuri holding out a twenty euro note. “You were right.”

“Always am,” she said. She snatched the money out of Yuri’s hand and stuffed into a wet pocket.

“Where to?” Yuri looked at Kara.

“Why am I in charge?”

“No idea. I just figured I would leave it to you, seeing as you are apparently always right.”

Kara scowled at Yuri, but the scowl soon turned to a smile. “We still need to talk to Claude, but I want to head back to the scene first. I’m hoping forensics has arrived.”

Yuri nodded and the two began walking through the snow, their feet sinking in with every step. “Wish I’d brought my snowshoes.”

“You have snowshoes?”

“You don’t? I thought you were Canadian.”

“I am. But we don’t all live in igloos or have polar bears for pets.”

Yuri smiled. Kara enjoyed his smiles. They didn’t happen frequently - not like that anyway - but when they did she could see past the pain in his eyes and see something else shining through.

“I know that. I am not that dumb.”

“Lincoln has snowshoes. You can make fun of him when you meet him.”

“He’s American though, right?”

Kara shook her head and looked confused. “No, he’s Canadian.”

“I knew he worked in Canada, but I thought you said he was American.”

“Nope, where’d you get that idea?”

“You said he was African-American once.”

Kara thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that is confusing. His ancestors were American slaves that escaped to Canada. I’m guessing it’s more of a heritage thing than anything to him. That’s just how he’s always described himself. Sort of like me saying I’m Irish even though I’ve never set foot in the mother country.”

Yuri nodded. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Although come to think of it, I know of a few Canadians who say African-American. Probably just influence from American media and that.” She paused, unsure if she should bring it up or not. “While we’re on the topic of nationality, what was with the old man and the Russian comment?”

Yuri shook his head. “It’s just some bad blood between Russians and Germans. And with him having been in West Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall, well, they weren’t allied with the Russians like the East was. It is probably just something to do with that. I spent some time working in Germany and experienced some of it. His comment was a not-so-friendly reminder of that.”

“So you think he did mean something by it?”

“Probably. But old habits die hard. I try not to let it get to me. I’m sure your friend Lincoln has worse stories to tell.”

“He has a few. There’s so much intolerance in this world. It’s ridiculous.”

Yuri just nodded and kept walking toward the trees that separated the farmhouse from the fields. When they arrived back at the building the forensics team was on site, speaking French at a volume loud enough for everyone to hear. Kara couldn’t understand much, but the few words she heard and the tone of their voices made it clear they were complaining. There was too much snow, it was too cold, and,
gasp
, something about not getting a coffee.

“Sorry to call you out here in all this snow. We probably should’ve had a snowmobile waiting to chauffeur your asses. Wouldn’t want to trouble you. I mean, a little bit of snow when you’re investigating a missing boy and the deaths of two others. How inconsiderate we must all be to put you through that. Whiny little fucks, aren’t you? We haven’t slept in over a day and have spent the last several hours soaked and freezing. Should make you two sit out in the snow for a few hours.”

Kara was still muttering as she walked into the next room. There were benefits to having charge of the case, even if they didn’t seem to have understood a word Kara said. Someone would translate for them once she had left and although she wouldn’t be there to see their faces, the mere thought was priceless to her.

An officer stood over a dried bloodstain, taking notes in his duty book. Kara peered over his shoulder. He was sketching a diagram of the room.

Good form.

He turned and she recognized him from earlier, another remnant from the middle of the night still working into the daylight hours. It was his idea to use the road flares as climbing tools that brought them to the building in the first place.

“I just had it out with forensics, though I’m not sure they even understood. We need to head to the hospital and speak to the boy they found. Can you make sure that forensics knows we’re looking for evidence of the previous two boys having been here as well? I want this treated as a homicide scene until we know otherwise. Every shred of evidence gets bagged and tagged, every single speck gets swabbed and tested.”

“Understood, detective.”

Kara gave him a nod and turned to leave. “Oh, and Detective Jameson?”

“Yes.”

The officer peered past her. “The one in the blue coat, the one looking pretty nervous right now?”

“The old guy?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He speaks English,” he said with a smile.

Kara smiled back. Good, he got the point then.

Yuri was still standing at the entrance to the building.

“Figured after your rant I’d stand here and look menacing,” he said, just above a whisper.

“You done good. The one looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“He was like that before I started. I guess you,” he raised his hands in air quotes, “‘done good’ then.”

“I’m overtired, stressed all to hell and those two come in here treating this like it’s nothing? Not happening.”

“Clearly.”

“We’re out,” Kara said, her eyes fixed on the nervous one. “We’re going to speak to the victim. I want every speck of this place swabbed and analyzed. As far as we’re aware, two boys were murdered here and two others were held in captivity. Settle in for the long haul, you’ll be here a while.”

He adjusted his collar, then stammered out a couple of words.

“Yes, detective.”

Chapter Ten

I
sat on an old stool in the corner of the room, watching the forensics team as they worked. The stale taste of vomit lingered in my mouth despite the few sticks of gum Guillaume had given me. He had needed them as well. When I had seen the storage bin, all sealed in plastic, I knew what was inside. It was more than I could take. I couldn’t hold it back.

Guillaume couldn’t either. Even without knowing what it was he was looking at, he vomited right after I did. A sympathetic response if I’d ever seen one. It appeared that the mere act of someone else throwing up was enough to make him do it as well.

It wasn’t a pretty picture.

He had wanted to mop up, but I wouldn’t let him. It may have been months old, and it may have just been the storage locker, but we had to treat the entire room as a crime scene. And judging by the layer of dust on the floor, it wasn’t a room that saw much in the way of traffic.

Or cleaning.

And so our stomach contents sat in the middle of the room, waiting to be walked over and around by a variety of uniformed officers and detectives. I had told Guillaume he could leave, that this was likely not something he wanted to be present for. He pressured me, and when I finally told him what I expected to find in the bin, he vomited again. This time though, he was prepared enough to make it to the nearby garbage can.

I was expecting a body, Kat’s body, and after several months, I was not expecting it to be a pleasant sight. It took two people to remove the bin from the locker and I had to wonder how Crawford had put it there himself. Sheer will? There was nothing to indicate an accomplice. Maybe he used something to help lift it into the unit.

“It’s heavy,” the forensics investigator said, a look of sorrow on his face. I knew what he meant. It weighed as much as we expected it to, over a hundred-and-twenty pounds, at least. “We’re going to open it, Lincoln. If you want to leave…”

I shook my head. He knew I wasn’t going to. The investigator, Detective Mathias Buval, was someone I had gotten to know quite well over the course of the investigation into Crawford’s crimes. Mathias was from Martinique, a small island in the Caribbean located northwest of Barbados. Like other islands in the French West Indies, Martinique was considered an overseas region of France and, as such, was a member of the European Union. It had been a change of pace for Mathias to come to France, but he saw more opportunity for his family in doing so. He wanted his children to experience the world outside of their small island, and to have access to everything Europe had to offer, namely the numerous universities.

Mathias and I had a lot in common and bonded over our similarities in a city where we had a tendency to stand out. Born to a Caucasian French father and a Martiniquaís mother, a descendant of African slaves, we shared a similar heritage. We also both felt very out of place in France, even though Mathias had already spent seven years in Lyon. It was a culture shock that would likely always linger, and with the cold weather and heavy snowfall France had been experiencing, there was climate shock to be considered as well.

“Go ahead,” I said. I stood a distance from the storage container, and a shorter distance from the nearest garbage can. I had to be there when they opened the container. I may have been on leave from policing, a leave I wasn’t sure I’d ever return from, but I still had a duty to fulfil. More important than that, was the duty of a spouse. I would be there every moment along the way until I brought Kat home. She would have expected nothing less.

Mathias took out a large box-cutter from his tool kit and began to cut through the heavy plastic wrap and tape that sealed the bin. I breathed through my mouth, knowing that if we were right about the contents, the odour was soon to become unbearable. Mathias cut away at the plastic and in short order had removed enough to be able to tear it back to reveal the lid to the container. I had already detected the smell, and I knew he had as well, but there was something different about it that I couldn’t place. Mathias’s breathing was laboured, forced almost, as he took shallow, slow breaths through an almost completely closed mouth. If it was different, he hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded. The familiar feeling of upheaval began to rise in my stomach. I took one last deep breath and did my best to quell the feeling.

Mathias lifted the lid and the smell hit us both. It was putrid, but it was something I hadn’t experienced. There was a familiarity to it, but it was not what I had been expecting. Mathias lifted the lid all the way revealing the reason for the difference.

In the bin was a skeleton, cleaned of all its flesh, its knees raised up slightly and its head leaning against the end of the container. On the bottom of the bin lay hundreds if not thousands of dead beetles, piled over the lower regions of the body. Mathias reached into the bin and began to push the beetles aside. He had gloves on, something I didn’t have, but I still wasn’t sure I would’ve been that eager, even if they were all dead. As his hand moved, the odour began to worsen and the familiar smell appeared. Mathias removed his hand and I saw the remnants of decomposed, liquefied flesh slip off of his glove.

“Oh, fuck,” I said.

“I guess the beetles died before…”

I put my hand over my mouth and forced myself to swallow. “Yeah, they probably asphyxiated before they could finish.”

I moved closer to the bucket and examined the skeleton. I was no expert, but the background I did have in anthropology was enough for me to analyze some of what I saw. Mathias must have noticed me staring and thinking.

“What can you tell?”

“The cranial sutures, where the bones in the skull meet… see how they’re still fairly pronounced? Probably looking at someone in their thirties. The forehead isn’t very sloped and there’s not much of a brow ridge. The lower jaw is rounded and the chin is slightly pointed. Likely female. I can’t tell much else without looking closer at the bones.”

I snapped back out of detective mode.

Mathias just nodded as I spoke. We both were thinking the same thing.

“There’s a good chance it’s Kat,” I said. I had no idea what to feel. I still wasn’t ready to accept that it was her, but there was almost a sense of relief in the idea of finding her. As much as I wanted to tell myself otherwise, I had always felt that I wouldn’t find her alive. Especially not after so much time had passed.

I had come to terms with it long ago, but I had put on a brave face for the kids. I’d been a cop long enough to know that the odds of finding her alive had started low and gotten lower with every passing day. But there had always been that hope - that faint thread that I clung to. It was what got me through the days and nights, what kept me moving on even if in my moments of clearer thought I didn’t always believe it.

“It might not be her, Lincoln.”

I nodded. “I hope you’re right,” I said. Maybe he was right; there was something about the skull that I couldn’t quite place. Was it the nasal bridge? Or the eye orbits? I knew there was something I was missing, something that would help identify the person I was looking at.

Or maybe it was just that when I looked at the remains, I didn’t want to see Kat.

My eyes wandered down the length of the body, toward the hand that sat just below the abdomen. My eyes were drawn to the shiny metal objects sitting on the ring finger of the left hand, objects I could never forget.

I dropped to my knees and buried my head in my hands. The doubt was gone.

It was her.