Nightshade. Tom Henighan

“we’ve been putting you through the wringer here. Why don’t you let Clara take you out for a coffee? We’ll compare notes and talk to you again later, after we’ve had a chat with a few of the others over in the hotel. Just don’t disappear on me. I’ll probably have more questions.”

      “I’d like to go over to the gallery,” Daniel said. “There are a few things I have to check out.” He spoke in a low, flat voice and hardly looked at any of them. Clara came over and stood beside him.

      “That’s all right, then,” Paul said. “Attend to your exhibition, but don’t talk to anyone about the case. I may come back before dinner. You’ll be here, I take it? Ginette is playing a concert tonight, so you won’t see me this evening. But do me a favour and stay in touch. I’m sure to need more information after I visit that bunch in the Winthrop.”

      “I’d like to see your exhibition myself,” Sam said. “I’ve heard a lot about it.”

      Daniel nodded, the picture of indifference. His face looked puffy and pale, his round, dark eyes uncertain. Clara had taken hold of his arm, as if she were about to lead him out. Sam, irritated by what seemed the man’s introversion or passivity, added, “I’ll stick around with Paul a while, but I may see you over there later.”

      “Okay, fine,” Daniel said. Clara gave Sam a look; she seemed to be trying to convey something, but Sam wasn’t sure what. After she and Daniel had left, Paul turned to Dionne and McCarthy.

      “Well, any thoughts on our artist friend’s involvement in this?”

      Lieutenant Dionne shrugged his shoulders and said something in French.

      “Eddie is suggesting that we summarize what we know so far,” Paul explained to McCarthy. “It’s a good idea. You’ve been on this from the beginning, Eddie. Can you give me and our friends here a quick run-through?”

      Lieutenant Dionne pulled out a small black notebook, glanced at it, cleared his throat, and began:

      “On Saturday morning about ten o’clock, Professor Charles Linton, a professor from McGill who was attending a scientific meeting, was found collapsed in his room on the twelfth floor of the Hotel Winthrop, close to the Place D’Armes. He was pronounced dead by a physician shortly afterward.”

      “Which physician?” McCarthy asked.

      Dionne, confused, gave him an odd look. “No idea. Is it important?”

      McCarthy shrugged his shoulders. Dionne glanced at Paul, who nodded. The lieutenant continued:

      “Lab results showed atropine poisoning, administered by means of red wine, it seems, though no bottle or glass was found. He may have ordered the drink in a downstairs bar. Time of death was between midnight and 1:00 a.m. So far as we know, the last person to see him alive was his ex-wife, Jane Linton. They had drinks in the hotel bar late Friday night. She left him about 21:00 hours. He told her he was going straight up to his room, but he did visit the bar again much later, around 23:30 hours. We found a chit that says so. We’re checking room service as well. We also found sperm on the body, but no vaginal mucus. He’d masturbated that evening, probably.”

      Eddie looked up to make sure they were taking this in, then continued:

      “Other participants in the conference were staying in the hotel. Chief among them are Dr. Robert Ballard, an associate of Dr. Linton in the Arbor Vitae Corporation, and his family, and Drs. Kenny Chen and Anne Sergeant — she’s at the Ben Franklin — who are both senior scientists and members of Linton’s corporate board. However, there were many other scientists around as part of the meetings. Also, as you know, the artist Daniel Summerways, who protested against the scientists, and his friend Clara Kincaid, were and are staying right here, a few steps from the Winthrop.

      “According to the statement of Clara Kincaid, Daniel disappeared for an hour or so during the evening of the homicide, from about 23:00 hours to midnight. He was supposedly searching for some Thai food they particularly like. Mr. Summerways says that he wandered about and could find no Thai restaurants that were open, and that he got lost for a while before he found a Chinese takeout.

      “Quite a few of the conference scientists, of the Arbor Vitae group at least, including Chen and Sergeant, were at a party at the hotel and can provide alibis for one another. One other person at the party should be mentioned, and that is Mr. Frank Rizzo, the well-known local entrepreneur, gambler, and club owner, who, according to Dr. Ballard, was discussing business matters with the Linton group. A search of Dr. Linton’s room turned up only things that might be expected: clothes, professional papers and books, wallet and credit cards — apparently untouched by any intruder — as well as some bar chits. There was no sign of any kind of struggle. The only curious thing is that Dr. Linton had made an appointment to see someone in the force the very next day —”

      Sam interrupted at once. “You mean in the Quebec police force? That’s certainly odd.”

      “We’re trying to find out more about that right now.” Paul told him.

      “Has anyone examined Dr. Linton’s papers?” McCarthy asked. “Or checked any electronic devices he may have carried.”

      “The papers are in my office now,” Paul explained. “The only electronic devices were a cellphone and a laptop, but there were no unusual messages on either of them.”

      “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look over that material,” McCarthy said.

      Sam found himself irritated by the agent’s manner and his tight-lipped, knowing smile. The flat, bored voice didn’t help.

      “No offence, Mr. McCarthy, but just why is the FBI involved in this?”

      “I’m not at liberty to go into that,” McCarthy said very quickly. He paused and then added, “I’m surprised that you’re at liberty to ask.”

      “What the hell does that mean?”

      “I’m here on U.S. government business. That should be enough for you.”

      Paul threw up his hands. “Now, look, we’re all professionals, and we seem to have a tough case on our hands. Let’s work together on this, okay? Sam, why don’t you come over to the Winthrop with me. I want to have a quick second go at a few of the main players. On the personal side, I’d also like to tap into your musical expertise. I need to know what you think of a far-out piece Ginette is playing tonight.”

      McCarthy smiled and moved toward the doorway. “I’d like to talk to everyone again, Inspector — but later will do fine.”

      He was not taken in by the diversion; it was clear that Paul wanted badly to fill Sam in on the FBI presence, and perhaps other things.

      Sam was angry at himself for reacting to McCarthy, and silently vowed to be more guarded next time. He listened as Lieutenant Dionne, who had seemed quite intrigued by the tension between the two men, made a suggestion in French, which Sam understood: “So the birds are away for a little while, Chief. Shall we have a close look at the nest?”

      Paul nodded. Dionne got on his cellphone and called for help.

      Sam was glad they were leaving. With a final look at Daniel’s array of art paraphernalia, he followed his friend out of the room.

      Three

      A police car deposited Sam and Paul at the Winthrop, a hotel noted for its efficiency and lack of character, but well-located on the edge of the main historical district.

      The morning rush of summer tourists had begun to enliven the upper city. The ancient military parade ground, the Place d’Armes, charming in its old age, lay adjacent, surrounded in various directions by the structures of a lost world: residences of merchants and rulers, now converted into museums; courthouse and church, made suitable for visitors; convent and seminary, now open to the public.

      “War, religion, and money,” Sam remarked, eagerly devouring everything he could see. “The architecture changes, but the old power show goes on. And people arrive from every