This time, he didn’t invite her to dance. The first time, a woman can forgive a pullback. But not the second. He knocked at her door; she invited him in. She was wearing a workout skirt, leggings and a camisole. I’m sorry. That was all he’d had to say on the phone. She backed up against the kitchen table, beckoning him closer. He locked eyes with her, slid her hands beneath her skirt and took off her leggings. On his knees in front of her, he held her skirt up with his left hand and used his right to part her thighs a touch. He moved his lips closer, murmuring a word of apology before he kissed the cream-coloured cotton-and-lace panties veiling a dome of soft, golden hair.
Lefebvre took a bite of an enormous hamburger and carried on talking with his mouth full. ‘You haven’t told me, is your son having a good time?’
‘I don’t think so. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about it.’
‘Did he come to the Gaspé to meet women?’
Moralès was wolfing his fish down without realising it. ‘He’s had the same girlfriend since he was fifteen years old.’
‘That just means he’s not single. And believe me, most couples don’t have that much sex. That’s why women are often unfaithful. The burden of sexual responsibility falls far more on men than it does on women, if you want my opinion. It’s easy enough for men to get their rocks off. But it takes quite the touch to keep a woman happy in bed year after year. Do you think he’s got what it takes? Come to think of it, where is he right now, that son of yours? You should give him a call and get him to come and join us.’
‘My son was going fishing again today. He must be sitting in front of the TV with a plate full of fish.’
‘You’re kidding me. He sounds just as boring as his old man.’
Moralès pushed his empty plate aside and took a sip of his beer before he replied. ‘Not boring, Lefebvre. Loyal.’
‘That’s an admirable quality for a dog, Moralès. Adventurous and sexy, those are a real man’s qualities. Adventurous, I tell you.’
‘Lefebvre, you can’t even keep your own gun loaded, and here you are going on about being adventurous. Leave my son be and let him relax. That’s what he came here for.’
This time there was no holding back. He started with his mouth as she stood upright, holding on to the kitchen table, and finished with his hand as she bent over the sofa. Then, he whispered for her to do what she wanted, so she had him lie on his back on the living-room carpet. Sébastien did as he was told. She undid his belt and pulled it off, unbuttoned his jeans and pulled those, and his boxers, down to his mid-thighs. Then she straddled him. Her skirt was keeping the scene under wraps, but he could feel the young woman’s hand reaching beneath it. Then she lowered herself in one smooth, calculated movement.
‘Is that Kimo?’
Lefebvre followed Moralès’s finger to the photo on the wall. ‘Yes, that’s her.’
‘Does she work here?’ He leaned in for a closer look at the picture.
Louis made his way over to the two men, who were standing at the till waiting to pay. ‘Is that Kimo you’re wondering about? She used to work in the kitchen here before she opened her yoga studio. Now she teaches classes and she gives Corine a hand at her auberge. We were working together the other Saturday. The night Angel Roberts disappeared. That was the last time I saw her. Have you got any leads?’
Lefebvre passed his credit card to the barman. Moralès had tried to pay his way, but the constable had insisted on picking up the tab. Moralès suspected he’d be claiming it back from the Sûreté du Québec as investigation expenses.
‘Where were you working? Here?’
Louis inserted the card into the payment machine and passed it to Lefebvre. ‘No. At Corine’s place. She needed an extra pair of hands for the fishermen’s party.’
Lefebvre pressed a few buttons on the machine and handed it back to the barman.
‘So you and Kimo were both at the event at Corine’s the other Saturday night?’
Louis tore off the receipt and handed it to Lefebvre, who drifted towards the door. ‘That’s what I just said. We were working for Corine that night.’
‘What time did you and Kimo leave?’
‘I don’t know about Kimo. Around two o’clock, I think. Clément Cyr was pretty drunk, and he wouldn’t leave her alone. At one point she got fed up of him making eyes at her. I said to Corine I’d go back the next day to finish cleaning up. I must have left around three.’
‘Did Kimo have a particular kind of relationship with Clément Cyr?’
‘I don’t think so. If there was something going on, it would be none of my business anyway. Kimo likes men, that’s obvious, but Cyr was married. It’s up to him to stay out of trouble.’
Louis said goodbye to Moralès and made his way towards the kitchen.
Moralès went outside to find Érik Lefebvre fiddling with his phone.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, OK? I’ve got a phone call to make, if that’s all right with you.’
Moralès didn’t mind at all. The night was pleasantly mild. He walked to his car and got behind the wheel. He wondered where Corine was. It had been two days since he’d seen her. Tomorrow, he’d like to have a word with her. He wanted to ask her why Louis and Kimo weren’t on the list she gave him on his second day there.
Still straddling him, she arched her body, thrusting her chest forward and throwing her head back in pleasure. Sensing she was about to come, she straightened her neck and cast her gaze far away into the distance, out onto the shore and into the deep blue night.
Wednesday 3rd October
Gaétane Cloutier was standing at the kitchen counter, preparing sushi, as shimmers of sunlight reflecting off the sea danced across her face. She motioned to a stool for Moralès to perch on and poured him a cup of coffee. The fatigue from his concussion was still lingering, but the detective had taken his time and only left the auberge around mid-morning. Sébastien had still been in bed, and still there had been no sign of Corine’s car outside.
Through the window, Moralès could see Fernand Cyr, the man who was both Clément’s uncle and stepfather, doing some autumn tidying, putting sea kayaks and paddles away in the shed, rinsing wetsuits and hanging them to dry.
Gaétane Cloutier was sixty-two years old. She was thirty when she married Firmin, Clément’s father. It had been a civil ceremony.
‘We did it for Clément,’ she said, slicing salmon into strips. ‘Firmin and his brother inherited this house and my father-in-law’s shrimp trawler when their parents died in a car accident, on their way back from a wedding. When I first met the boys, they were living here together, fishing for shrimp and partying hard. I suppose, after their parents died, they thought life was too short not to make the most of it and do what made them happy.’
She stacked the strips of salmon neatly and cleaned her hands and the knife. Then she reached for a generous piece of tuna and set about slicing it the same way.
‘Those were the days of peace and love. I grew up in Quebec City and had just come out of university there. I wanted to be a teacher and I’d found a job in a school in Limoilou, not far from downtown. I was going to be starting in August. I had the whole summer off, so I dipped into my savings and decided I’d hitch-hike my way around the Gaspé Peninsula before I settled down to start my teaching career. Those were the days, eh? Or perhaps you’re too young to remember.’