Laura nods, numb.
“Do you promise me that?”
She nods again. “I promise.”
“In that case, it’s no longer up to us. It’s up to God’s judgment, and God doesn’t make mistakes.”
But the moment she exits the church, she knows she’s not going to keep the promise. If what it takes for her to be safe is Tony not waking up—then Tony must not wake up.
TWENTY-SEVEN
2017
To say everything doesn’t turn out to be as easy as I hoped would be an understatement.
My phone call to the SQ wouldn’t be too out of place in a Franz Kafka novel. After being on hold for what felt like three hours, I was shuffled between this and that department by bored receptionists, then put on hold again, and then forwarded yet somewhere else. Finally, I got to talk to a man who sounded about Pierre Bergmann’s age, whose exasperated condescension seemed to seep through the static of the line with every loaded moment of silence as he patiently heard me out.
Then he assured me the case was in good hands, and someone would get back to me shortly. I asked for contact information. He asked me on whose behalf I was calling again. La Presse? Some TV station?
I briefly contemplated lying, which I probably should have done, because the moment he heard I was a freelance journalist, that polite patience came to an abrupt end. He told me someone would be in touch and hung up.
My conversation with Frank went a little better. At least I got to talk to him as soon as I dialed the station.
“It’s an interesting theory, Stephanie,” he told me at last.
“It’s not a theory! I have witnesses here who told me—”
He sighed on the other end. “Yes, yes, I know all that.”
“You do?”
“Yes, of course.” He chuckled. “I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I’ve heard all these stories hundreds of times.”
That’s news to me.
“Everyone has,” he explains. “But you have to take it all with a grain of salt.”
“Grain of salt? A woman told me Michelle tried to kidnap her toddler!”
“Helene,” Frank said. “Yes, I know. Did you hear the one about Michelle being a changeling? Now that the body hasn’t been identified as Michelle, that’s what they’re saying. That she’s a supernatural creature who got swapped with the real Michelle. Should we believe that one also?”
“Of course not,” I seethe. “Which is why you need to look at my database and compare the DNA to these missing kids. It’s one of them. I’m sure of it.”
“And I’m absolutely certain the SQ is already doing that,” Frank tells me.
Now is my turn to sigh.
“The thing is, they’re professionals. They have their methods. I was a little angry they took over so quickly without giving us a chance to try and solve it, but you know what? I decided to put my pride aside. In the best interests of this case. Like you very correctly pointed out, this is a dead child we’re talking about. What they do might not make the most sense to us, but I trust their process.”
I look at the rows of old photos on my laptop screen.
“Stephanie, are you still there?”
I nod. My neck is a little numb from squeezing the phone between my shoulder and my cheek. Feeling like an idiot, I realize he can’t see me nodding. “Yes, I’m here. Well, can’t you at least get in touch with them? Give them the information for me? I can’t get anyone to take me seriously over there.”
“Sure I can, but I doubt anything will come of it.”
I feel an irrational anger rising. “Those methods of theirs,” I say, “didn’t help any of these kids. Not only are they still missing, no one has been held responsible.”
“I’m not saying they’re perfect,” he says. I’m detecting impatience in his tone. “Nobody is saying that.”
“Anyway, can I come to the station first thing tomorrow? I’ll have copies of all my materials ready.”
“Sure,” he says, sounding a little defeated.
“Great. Thanks, Frank, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I’m about to hang up when he speaks, “Stephanie—”
“Yes?”
“One more thing. About you and Luc.”
Oh crap. Not this. Not now. “There’s nothing untoward going on between me and your son, Mr. Bergmann.”
“Good to hear. Because he’s married, you know. Happily married. And as I’m sure you remember, in this town, people like to talk.”
Oh, I sure do. I grit my teeth so loudly I suspect he can hear it through the phone. “Well, I can assure you. It’s just stories. As unsubstantiated as those wild tales of Michelle murdering animals.” I really shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. By his sharp sigh on the other end, I know I hit the mark.
