In the Shadows, page 1
IN THE SHADOWS
BY THE AUTHOR OF
The Red Floor (2011)
The Courier Wore Shorts (2013)
Where Bodies Fall (2015)
IN
THE
SHADOWS
SHEILA KINDELLAN-SHEEHAN
Published with the generous assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Canada Book Fund of the Department of Canadian Heritage, and the Société de développement des entreprises culturelles du Québec (SODEC).
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design: David Drummond
Cover and back cover photos: Robert Idsinga
Typeset in Minion by Simon Garamond
Printed by Marquis Printing Inc.
Copyright © Sheila Kindellan-Sheehan 2017.
Dépôt légal, Library and Archives Canada and
Bibliothèque nationale du Québec, fourth quarter 2017.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Sheehan, Sheila Kindellan, 1944-, author
In the shadows / Sheila Kindellan-Sheehan.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-55065-481-3 (softcover).– ISBN 978-1-55065-489-9 (EPUB)
I. Title.
PS8637.H44I58 2017C813’.6C2017-903138-4
C2017-903139-2
Published by Véhicule Press, Montréal, Québec, Canada
www.vehiculepress.com
Distributed in Canada by LitDistCo
www.litdistco.ca
Distributed in the U.S. by Independent Publishers Group
www.ipgbook.com
Printed in Canada on FSC certified paper
Forever remembered, always loved—
Irene Pingitore,
the vivacious team member
with the sparkle of a young girl.
Louise Morin,
what a joy for me to say
you were a friend of mine,
a touchstone of every day.
In memory of
Heike Emma Hanna,
a gentle friend with
the heart of a lion.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword.
–OSCAR WILDE, “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.
–CONFUCIUS
Characters
Major Crimes: The Team
TONI DAMIANO: 44, new acting chief of the Crémazie Division, working alone, trying to maintain her focus on a new investigation while assuming the responsibilities of the division
PIERRE MATTE: 43, detective, partner to Damiano who finds himself embroiled in a murder investigation that threatens his job and his person
RICHARD DONAT: 58, Chief of the Crémazie Division who enjoys a long-awaited anniversary Cajun dinner that goes horribly wrong with dire consequences
MARIE DUMONT: 43, a meticulous Crime detective who pursues all leads when the chain of custody is broken in a first-degree murder inquiry
MICHEL BELMONT: senior pathologist at Parthenais, the Montreal city morgue. When this pathologist plays detective, he proves his skills and insight to Major Crimes
DANIEL BOUCHER: a decent cop who decides to play vigilante and loses his badge, his livelihood and his freedom.
GEORGES PICHETTE: a high-priced mouthpiece hired to help Officer Boucher avoid prison time
CARMEN DIMAGGIO: 34, business woman, leaves a late-night party and inadvertently ventures into a nightmare as a witness to a shooting
CAITLIN DONOVAN: 36, university professor, the steadying influence of a long-lasting friendship with Carmen DiMaggio
MATTHEW ALLEN: an intelligent, quirky storyteller with dangerous skills
VELMA: the flamboyant producer of shows staged at Café Cleopatra confronts a real-life drama
PETER HENLEY: a university professor who ‘plays’ dangerously and pays the price
NATHANIEL GOLDBERG: a Montreal surgeon with new-found freedom that he uses to full advantage
RACHEL MEYER: Goldberg’s wife and mother of his two children, drawn into the spill of a tragedy
PAMELA MULALLY: the strength, the match and the love of the cantankerous Chief Donat
DYLAN KANE: the beautiful young man who finds more than shelter from middle-aged men
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
[June 17]
West Island
Saturday night began with a promise almost kept.
Chief Richard Donat and his wife Pamela, chic in a pale yellow dress and sporting a spring tan, celebrated their thirty-fourth wedding anniversary at Bistro Nolah, a little gem Pamela had discovered online in Montreal’s ’burbs – the West Island. The closest Pamela might come to her dream of ambling down Bourbon Street in New Orleans and listening to signature jazz into the wee hours at Preservation Hall on Peter Street, was their dinner that night. Her friends took vacations – she planned, and then often cancelled hers.
Bistro Nolah had a New Orleans atmosphere and earned raves for its Louisiana cuisine. Modern and refined, the bistro offered impeccable service, subtle lighting and the glow of intimacy. Richard had chosen a Chablis les Clos Grand Cru and had eaten his and Pamela’s “home-cooked” hush-puppies. When the bouchées arrived, Cajun Arancini, Pamela raised a hand to Richard. “No, you don’t! I want that. I left the hushpuppy because I’m saving myself for the bread pudding with its ‘boozy’ Bourbon sauce, as advertised.”
“Well, you’ve done your research, Pamela.”
“Of course I have! I’m ordering the shrimp Creole with Jambalaya. You said you wanted the blackened catfish, the house special.” The waiter stood a few feet from the table and approached to take their orders when the Chief gave him the nod.
Richard was a second away from placing his cell phone on the table when Pamela’s green eyes turned dark. “You’re not …” Richard didn’t have time to comment.
“Your detectives can hold down the fort for tonight. You’ve trained them, so I know the team is capable of handling the weekend shift. We need this time, Richard. I want you with me on our anniversary. That cell phone of yours is an addiction, worse than another woman. At least she’d have her own place. It’s become a barrier between us and I hate it!”
Chief Donat could argue with the best and have big men sweating. Every ounce of his body was wired and angular. Stress came with the job and he’d begun a cop’s life at nineteen. Donat was a career man. Yet, he wasn’t above guilt for his many absences, late nights, and the loneliness his work had brought into their lives. He was no match for Pamela Mulally. He loved his Irish wife. Always had. He turned off his phone and stuck it in his pocket. Since the main course was freshly prepared at the bistro, the couple had time to talk.
Donat looked at his wife and still puzzled at times how Pamela had managed to handle him through the years. He wasn’t bothered by her skillful MO; it was a comfort and a consistency he relied on. Pamela appeared to be reading the timbre of his thoughts.
“If you’re wondering if I still love you, Richard, the answer is, I do. All in all, the years have been good to us. We have two beautiful sons and a grandchild on the way, and we have each other. We have been lucky. When I think of our many friends whose marriages ju
Richard owned a decent smile he rarely used, but he used it then. Still he had to add, “You knew what you were getting into, Pamela. And I’m speaking English tonight for you.” Both languages were spoken at home, and at times, a blending of both. Pamela was fluent and for that she credited Richard.
“I appreciate your English tonight. Your other point is hogwash! I was twenty-three. Who understands anything at that age?”
“Hmm, that’s probably true. I thought I’d be doing good when I joined the force, protecting Montrealers and putting bad guys in jail. I certainly never foresaw that political games, bureaucracy and stress go with the job. I suppose, I can add, who knows anything about the years ahead?”
“The present is what matters, Richard. You’re still doing good. You’ve remained a principled man, and I admire you for that.”
Donat rubbed his forearm and forced another smile. “I love you, Pamela. Know something? It was your name that caught my attention. I’ve always liked it. Classy.”
Pamela rarely missed anything. ‘‘What’s wrong with your arm?” There was a hint of alarm in her voice. There were times Pamela feared a phone call telling her Richard had collapsed at the office. She almost expected it. She worried about him. He was never able to turn the job off. Too many nights Richard came home stiff with anxiety and stayed awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and whispering to himself. Sometimes, he struck out in the night, narrowly missing her. Pamela tried to ease the anxiety by telling Richard she might need a helmet in bed. Richard began propping two pillows around his shoulders.
“The only problem with my arm is that I sleep on it at night. Getting too old for that, I guess. Everything wears out. I’ll have to find another sleeping position, and I’m already on my second one.”
Donat rested both his hands on the table. “Pamela, I make this promise tonight. For our thirty-fifth, we will drive to New Orleans and stay there until you’ve heard all the music you love and you’ve eaten so many beignets that your lips are white from the icing. Deal?”
“Don’t forget the cemetery. I’ll need a whole day, Richard. It’s a trove of history and lore, and I don’t want to miss anything. I intend to hold you to that promise.”
“I’ll keep this pledge, you’ll see.”
When their steaming entrées arrived, they didn’t disappoint. Nolah boasted of its presentation, and the boast was merited. Pamela took the first bite and began waving her hand in front of her mouth. “Whew, hot!” The waiter headed to their table with a pitcher of water, smiling. First-timers. Pamela grabbed a glass and drank.
“Are you alright?” Richard asked.
“I wanted authentic Cajun. Well, it’s that, and fire! I’ll take smaller bites with water.”
Donat doubted the catfish was as hot and dug into the daub of caviar and the fish. He too grabbed a water glass, not as desperately as Pamela. He took a second bite of fish including the generous bed of sweet potato under the fish. Richard tried to swallow, but he couldn’t – he didn’t reach for more water. His fork fell to the floor. He clawed at his upper arm and crashed to the floor. Pamela knocked her chair aside, rushed over to her husband and fell to her knees beside him. “Call 9-1-1! Hurry!” Their waiter ran over as concerned diners around their table looked on. Even the chef emerged from the kitchen because he could see his guests as he prepared the meals. Pamela undid Richard’s tie, unbuttoned his gray jacket and screamed his name.
“Does anyone know CPR?” Pamela shouted hysterically.
“I’m a nurse,” a diner called out and joined Pamela on the floor and immediately began chest compressions. Five minutes later, the paramedics arrived, began the oxygen and IV bag and loaded Richard into the ambulance. Pamela left with them. Switching to French, Pamela told them who Richard was. The ambulance appeared to pick up speed. The driver called in a Code Blue. She watched the paramedic continue CPR so roughly she was alarmed. Pamela didn’t realize she was crying. She focused on Richard whose head had turned toward her. Pamela felt another burst of hysteria and something worse. When she was extremely nervous, she felt a strong urge to laugh. She blamed the tic on her mother who had said that tears and laughter were first cousins. Pamela cupped her hand over her mouth to conceal the laughter rising from her throat.
For once, she couldn’t read his expression. What was it? What was Richard trying to tell her? That he was scared, that he was in pain, that he was saying goodbye? What? Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving dark streaks of blue eyeliner and mascara. Her hysteria increased. What if Richard died? What if she never understood what he was trying to tell her? Would he ever forgive her and understand the reason for her confusion? Her chief, felled by a spicy dinner! Pamela dashed that thought. Black humor was not something Richard ever appreciated. Pamela bent down and studied Richard’s face.
Then she understood. He wasn’t trying to speak. He was expressing bafflement. It was bafflement that caviar and catfish could take down the Chief of Major Crimes! Tears and laughter provoked a single roar that shook Pamela’s whole body. Richard’s stretcher bounced en route to the Lakeshore General Hospital. The next half-hour was a blur. On arrival, a triage nurse followed them into a small trauma room. Curtains closed around Richard, the ER physician and two nurses. Pamela found herself suddenly on the outside, steered back to the overcrowded waiting room and guided up to the triage nurse for information.
“I know you are very upset, but I do need to ask these questions.”
Pamela looked at her hands. “Oh, my God, I’ve left my purse behind! I don’t even know where. What will I do?” she shouted, weeping loudly. “I’ve lost everything and that’s not like me! What am I going to do?”
A weary Good Samaritan, heard the frightened woman, left her seat and went over to Pamela. “Come and take my seat. You can use my phone. First of all, where were you tonight?”
“My purse might be in the ambulance or at the bistro or I might have dropped it. I just don’t know!”
The woman helping Pamela asked. “May I call for you?”
Pamela grabbed the cell. “What’s the number?”
“It’s right there on the cell phone, but I should call. You’re very nervous. Please let me try.”
Pamela was stubborn and it took three tries to get it right. “Yes, hello, my husband fell ill. I’ve lost my purse and all the information in it!” Her voice rose to a shrill.
The hostess on the other end was young and calm. “We have your purse Madam – don’t worry about that. How is …”
“Thank God!”
“How is your husband?”
“I don’t know. How can I get the purse?” Pamela realized something else. “Our car is still there. I have to call my sons. I can’t do this alone!”
“Both will be safe till you get here. We’re open till one.”
Pamela finally looked at her Good Samaritan and fell into her arms. “Thank you.” Still holding onto the cell phone she tried to call her son Denis. The number escaped her, and she gave her forehead a few good raps. “I can’t remember Denis’s number. What’s happening to me?”
“Look, sit down. Give me the phone and his last name, and I’ll call him for you.”
The woman found the number, called and handed the phone to Pamela. “Denis!”
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Dad’s had a coronary, I don’t know. He collapsed. We’re at the Lakeshore General – I’ve lost my purse – I don’t have the car.”
“Mom? What? Slow down. Dad had a heart attack? You lost your purse and the car is gone, too?”
“If you don’t get here quickly, your father might die,” Pamela sobbed.
“Mom!”
Pamela couldn’t speak. The woman took the phone. “Denis, I’m trying to help your mother. She’s left her purse and car at this Bistro Nolah on boulevard St-Jean. We’ve called; they have both there. Here’s their number. Wait a sec – okay it’s …”
“What about keys? Have you any news of my father?”
“Not yet.” The woman turned and asked Pamela, “Is there an extra set of car keys in your purse?”
Pamela jumped to her feet once more and took the phone. “Yes! Thank God! The extras are in my purse, Denis. Hurry, I need you.”
