‘Listen, she’s not my—’
‘If I have to strap you down to your bed, I will…’
‘Be my guest, sweetheart!’ Constable Lefebvre rushed into the room; he had obviously heard what the nurse was saying.
The nurse turned to see the new arrival and her face flushed bright red. She fled the room in a fluster, bumping into Sébastien on her way out, and slammed the door behind her.
Lefebvre looked at Moralès. ‘You see, that’s why I don’t like working on the front line.’
‘Hi, Lefebvre.’
‘Hi Moralès, father and son.’
‘I went down to the Grande-Grave wharf last night. I wanted to see who was taking the Close Call II out at night,’ Moralès began.
‘I know. We got a call at the station to tell us one of our own was wounded in action. So we sent two patrol cars out to the park, and guess what? They stopped two quads driven by Jimmy Roberts and the Babin brothers. Ti-Guy Babin span them a yarn about going out to the wharf to see who was poaching with Angel’s boat, and spotting some suspicious character in the shadows. They thought the guy was dangerous, he said, so they wanted to take him down.’
Moralès couldn’t believe his ears.
Lefebvre shrugged. ‘You’re an idiot for going out there alone.’
‘Listen, Érik—’
‘Good morning.’ The door swished open to reveal an attractive woman in a white coat with a stethoscope around her neck. She had a slim, athletic build, narrow blue eyes and frizzy blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail – and a smile that brought a breath of fresh air into the room.
‘Dr Turcot. Remember me? I’m Constable Lefebvre, your new patient. You saw me just last week. This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Joaquin Moralès. He’s the man lying here.’
Sébastien had to stifle a laugh at Lefebvre’s star-struck enthusiasm, and Joaquin could see why the constable had been so keen to ask for a full checkup.
The doctor greeted Moralès and approached the side of the bed, placing a chart on the sheets as she leaned over to examine his injuries.
Lefebvre seized his chance to sneak up, grab the folder and peek inside.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s confidential.’
‘I’m a police officer.’
Moralès shrugged. Lefebvre took that as permission and scanned the chart, giving a running commentary as the doctor proceeded with her examination. ‘Nothing broken. A few bruises, and a mild concussion. What are you prescribing him? Valium? Dilaudid? Viagra?’
Dr Turcot smiled in spite of herself. ‘Painkillers.’
Lefebvre gave Moralès a look of sympathy. ‘Ah. Poor you. I bet that’s disappointing, eh?’
‘I’m discharging you, Mr Moralès. The nurse will be back in a moment to take you off the drip.’
The doctor took the chart back. ‘Have a nice day, gentlemen.’
‘Time for me to get going too, boss. Talk to you later.’ Lefebvre’s cowboy boots clacked on the floor as he hurried off in pursuit.
‘Not so fast. I need you, Érik Lefebvre!’ Moralès called.
The constable reluctantly turned on his heel as the door swung closed behind the fresh-faced doctor.
‘Just as I was going to see about getting my blood pressure checked…’
‘It’s Angel’s funeral this afternoon.’ Moralès pulled the drip tube out of his own arm and used the dressing and tape holding it in place to cover the puncture in his skin.
He turned to Sébastien. ‘Can you give me a lift back to the park, chiquito? I need to get my car.’
The detective pulled on yesterday’s clothes. His coat was caked with mud, and his shoes were still wet.
‘We’ve already been to pick it up. It’s back at the auberge.’
‘Is my case file still in there?’
‘Er, I don’t think so…’
‘It was on the passenger seat.’
‘I’ll check.’
Sébastien accompanied his father out of the hospital, without managing to be of any real use. He walked ahead to open the doors, but they opened automatically; hurried to press the button for the lift, but it was already on its way; thought to retrieve Joaquin’s health card from the front desk, but the doctor had already given it back to him.
‘Érik, I have to stop by the auberge. I know it’s Sunday, but I want to see you at the funeral, all right?’
The constable nodded. ‘You can count on me being there. I’ll get Jimmy Roberts and the Babin brothers to come in to the station.’
‘It was light enough last night for Ti-Guy Babin to recognise me, you know.’
‘I know, but he can still claim he didn’t know it was you. Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out. They’re going to spend the next few weeks being hauled in and out of interview rooms at all hours, and they’ll be on our patrol officers’ radar for the next year. If they drive fifty-one in a fifty zone, if their wood isn’t strapped down right in their trailer, if their kids’ car seats aren’t bang up to code or if they raise their voices even once, we’ll give them so many tickets they’ll have to remortgage their houses. We’ve already slapped as many tickets on them as we could for their ATVs last night. And believe me, they’ll never have blown into as many breathalysers in their lives. And we’ll get in touch with the feds – the RCMP, I mean – to make sure all their firearms are properly registered. We’ve got it covered.’
As they approached Sébastien’s car, Moralès turned again to his colleague. ‘Ask the Babins what they were doing on the night of Angel’s murder.’
‘OK.’
‘And I want to see Jimmy Roberts tomorrow.’
‘He’ll be there,’ Lefebvre said, and sloped off.
Sébastien opened the passenger door for his father. Moralès stopped and turned to his son. Then he reached out and took Sébastien into his arms, pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek. Father and son stood face to face for a moment.
‘How are your culinary experiments going?’
In the early hours of the morning, Sébastien had called his mother to let her know her husband had just been taken to hospital. She didn’t answer her phone and she hadn’t returned the call.
‘I love you, Dad,’ was all he said.
‘I love you too, chiquito.’
The first unpleasant surprise Moralès ran into when they arrived at the auberge was Simone Lord, who was pacing up and down beside her truck. He should have expected this, he thought. She was so incensed, the auberge looked like it was quaking on its foundation.
‘Go inside, Dad, I’ll look for your file,’ Sébastien said.
Joaquin nodded and got out of the car.
‘You had no business meddling in my investigation, Moralès.’
‘No, Officer Lord. Not today. We’ll have this conversation tomorrow.’
He walked around her and into the dining room. His emerging migraine filled the whole space, but still she followed him.
‘You went down to Grande-Grave in the middle of the night to intercept a gang of poachers, but that was not your investigation. It was mine!’
She was right. Moralès took off his wet shoes.
‘Not only did you have no business being there, but you hid information from me…’
‘I didn’t hide a thing from you.’
‘What were you doing there, then? Someone put a bug in your ear that the Close Call II was being used for poaching, did they? And did you think to tell me about that? No. You gave me hell the other day because you wanted me to respect your jurisdiction, but you didn’t respect mine.’