Free The Dead of Winter by Peter Kirby Page B

didn’t answer.
    â€œSo how long did you stay?”
    â€œThey had guests, and I saw I was holding them back. My presence seemed to remind them of what Christmas was supposed to be. I was making everyone uncomfortable. So I stayed for an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, and then I left. I drove back to town and parked at the Cathedral.”
    â€œSo what time did you get back to the Cathedral?”
    â€œAround 5.30, maybe six o’clock, I suppose. But I didn’t want to go in. I decided to go for a walk. Around Old Montreal mostly, it was beautiful, very quiet and peaceful. There was hardly any traffic. Walking through the old streets I felt that I was back in a Quebec of the past. In a Quebec that still believed in Christ. It was comforting.” The priest drifted off, remembering his walk, Vanier waited for him to come back.
    â€œSo what did you want to see me about, Inspector?”
    â€œI am investigating the deaths of five homeless people on Christmas Eve. Your name came up as someone who might know the victims.”
    â€œI’ve seen the newspapers. You think they were killed, Inspector?”
    â€œI didn’t say that. Right now, I don’t think anything. I just want to find out who these people were. We’ve got their names, but we don’t know anything about them. I thought you could give us some information about who they were.”
    Vanier sat back into the chair like someone with nowhere to go, but desperately in need of a rest. He stared at the wall, giving Drouin room to talk.
    Drouin waited.
    Vanier barely stirred. “I’m tired. Maybe it’s the season,” he said, almost to himself. “This time of the year is difficult for many people, isn’t it, Father?”
    Drouin was lost in thought and didn’t respond immediately. Finally he said, “It should be a time of rejoicing.”
    â€œI haven’t been rejoicing. You know what I have been doing? I’ve been pulling corpses out of holes. At this time of year, who wants to do that? But you know what keeps me going? These people were daughters and sons, maybe sisters or brothers. Maybe they even had children, grown children. Grown children celebrating Christmas in their own families while their mother or father slept on the street. Did anyone spend a few seconds this Christmas wondering where any of these people were? Christmas is a time for families isn’t it, Father Drouin? No matter how dysfunctional. And yet they all died alone. I suppose that’s what hit me the most. Five deaths in one night, and they all died alone. That shouldn’t happen at Christmas.”
    Vanier sat up and pulled the pack of photographs out of the envelope. He laid each of them out on the table in front of Drouin.
    â€œDo you recognize any of these people?”
    Drouin leaned over and examined each photo carefully. “Yes, Inspector. I know all of them.” He began pointing to each photograph. “Céline, Joe Yeoman, Madame Latendresse, Pierre Brun, and George Morissette. They were all what we call clients. I ministered to them. It’s hard to believe they are all dead in one night.”
    â€œYou don’t seem shocked.”
    â€œI am beyond shock, Inspector. When I saw the reports in the newspapers I knew that I would probably know some of them. I don’t know what’s happening. I have to believe that God is at work. But He knows so many ways to test us poor humans.”
    Vanier pulled a pen out of his pocket and began writing as Drouin talked, scribbling bits and pieces of information of the lives of the unknown. Even though the interview was being taped, he felt compelled to take notes, to write things down. Scribbling scraps of information in an effort to create individuals where before there had been only empty space, to make people out of corpses.
    Laurent watched through the two-way mirror as Drouin released every scrap of information he had on the five.