“We were going for a piece on how the people who witnessed the shooting felt about the release of Valdemar Montresor,” Una goes on.
“I get why you were there,” I say, now understanding how impactful this story would be. The headline flashes before me:Cop’s Trauma Relived as Monster Montresor Released. It would have made a great companion piece.
“We started with the obvious stuff. How was he feeling about it all? Did he believe that he’d served his time? Did he think there was something wrong with the justice system? You know the drill.” She twirls her hand as she recites the questions as if she’s thrown a fishing line out and is reeling it in with the answers hooked on the end. “I know I said he was retired, and when some people retire, they can tend to lose their marbles a bit, their minds not as fresh as they used to be, but I think something like that would stay with you. You would picture it in your head every day for the rest of your life.”
The dream is still fresh on the fringes of my mind. It’s clear Valdemar hasn’t forgotten any of that day.
“I get what you’re saying, but can you please just tell me what this is about?” I ask.
Una glances at Pierre, who purses his lips as if to tell her she got herself into this, so now she needs to be the one to get herself out of it.
“It was his answers. They weren’t what Dupin and I were expecting,” Una says.
“What do you mean?” I fold my arms.
“Dupin was asking him the questions, and I was packing away my camera, as we’d done the photos first, the sun having been in the perfect position through his front window. He kept fidgeting with his hands like he had worry beads in them and glancing over his shoulder.
“When Dupin asked him how he felt about Montresor’s release, he started out saying the obvious, that he’d done his time and the public had to have faith in the justice system, but then he went on to say it was a relief.” Una’s eyes narrow, a quizzical look overtaking her.
“Dupin had also noted the oddness in the answer but ploughed on, maybe thinking the same as I was, that the guy wasn’t as sharp as he used to be. But then Dupin asked him if he felt safe with Montresor walking around, and he said he hasn’t felt safe for the past ten years, so some things never change. Again, not the most obvious answer, but for the sake of trying to rescue the interview, Dupin pushed on and asked him if he thought ten years was long enough to atone for taking a man’s life.
“The silence that followed felt never-ending, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but eventually, he said that he hadn’t atoned in ten years, so he wouldn’t expect anyone else to.Hehadn’t atoned. Not Montresor.Him.”
Normally, I would be hot on the trail of what Una has told me, my journalist nose to the ground to pick up the scent, but my brain is mush, overloaded by recent revelations. I almost feel like laughing. I’m not sure I can carry anything else right now; my head is full to the brim, and I don’t quite feel like myself anymore. It’s not unlike how I felt after Ed had died, like the world was carrying on around me and I was just floating, letting the world unravel.
Pierre breaks the silence, disrupting my thoughts. “I told her it was nothing. Just the ramblings of a retired cop who probably has early-onset dementia or something.”
“No, it didn’t feel like that,” Una argues. “Dupin then changed tack and asked him what he could remember about the shooting. He was evasive, told us he couldn’t remember the details, and when Dupin pushed him, he shut down, claiminghe didn’t have long before he needed to get ready for an appointment.”
“So, what are you saying?” I ask.
Una looks me dead in the eye as if she’s holding a camera and lining up the lens. “I’m saying I think something about that shoot-out isn’t ringing true.”
“Like what?” But I already have my suspicions. I can still feel the dream, Valdemar’s arms wrapped around my waist as the gun was taken from my hand.
“I don’t know. All I know is that there’s something here, something worth looking at,” she says.
Pierre attempts to ease the tension. “I’ve told her this is a waste of time. It’s just an old guy losing his memory. Itwasten years ago, after all.”
“If there was just someone else we could talk to, someone who was there who might be able to shed some light on what actually happened, but there’s no one.” Una shakes her head.
“There is someone,” I say.
“There is?” Una’s eyes light up as Pierre rolls his. “Who?”
I just stare at her, no words needed as her face drops.
“You can’t be serious.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Let’sjust go check on her, you said, and tell her about the weird cop.” Pierre throws his hands in the air, staring Una down through his long lashes. “You never said anything about trying to arrange a meet and greet with Valdemar Montresor.”
Una holds her hand up to silence him. “It’s a great idea, Evangeline, but I don’t have those kinds of contacts, and I’m not sure he would be willing to talk to us even if we had a means of asking him.”
I’m asking for trouble when I grab my phone from the table and unlock the screen. There’s no need to search for his number, as there are already five missed calls from him.
Last night’s dream comes back to me.
