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“Ruth Zardo,” said Abigail. “To thank her for the use of her poem. She’s been very supportive.”

Chapter 22

They got through the next interviews fairly quickly.

The parents of young children didn’t see much, beyond trying to corral overtired and sugar-hyped kids.

Annie, Daniel, and Roslyn were interviewed, and when they admitted they too had seen nothing, they left, carrying the children down the hill to bed.

At the door, Jean-Guy kissed Annie and the children. “I’ll be home when I can.”

By then Professor Robinson and Chancellor Roberge, with a Sûreté escort, had left for home.

The Scene of Crime unit was still at work. The body of Debbie Schneider was still in the tent and would be taken to the morgue once they were done.

It was close to three a.m. when they got to the teenagers and their parents.

The kids seemed to have taken a solemn oath of silence that lasted until Beauvoir’s first question. Then it came out. They’d stolen beer and cider and Tia Maria from parents and stashed it in a snowbank in the woods.

Beauvoir felt some sympathy for the Tia Maria boy, who looked especially green. He remembered his own first drunk. He and his friends had poured whiskey, beer, wine, and Drambuie together in what they decided was a cocktail.

The rest he couldn’t remember, except waking up facedown in the grass in his own vomit.

The last teen they spoke to was Jacques Brodeur. He was the one who’d found the body.

Athletic, handsome, he seemed the leader of the group. But Beauvoir quickly discovered a frightened boy beneath the bravado. Jacques’s parents sat on either side of him, as he told the story.

“We put the bottles in the snowbank. We’d heard warm alcohol makes you sick.”

“It’s not the temperature that’ll make you sick,” said Beauvoir. His tone had softened. Recognizing the boy wanted to talk. Needed to talk. “You’re not in trouble. At least not from us. Just tell us what happened.”

Jacques looked at his parents, who nodded.

“We were all pretty pissed by midnight. I had to pee, so I went into the woods. The fireworks lit up the ski trail, so I just followed it until I thought no one could see, and I let loose against a tree.”

Just the memory of that relief made the boy sigh.

There was a sharp inhale of disapproval from his father, while his mother compressed her lips in what might have been anger, or amusement.

“But then the fireworks stopped and it got real dark. I put on my phone flashlight and looked around. That’s when I saw it.”

“Now, be careful here,” said Beauvoir. “What did you see?”

The boy paused before speaking. “A dark patch on the snow, like a big branch had fallen. It hadn’t been there before.”

“Before? You’d been there before?”

“Well, yes.”

“To urinate?”

“Yes. And throw up.”

Now Jacques’s father actually moaned.

“For God’s sake, Geoff,” his wife said, leaning around their son to look at him. “I met you at fifteen, at a St. Jean Baptiste party, when you were leaning against a tree throwing up. Give the boy a break.”

This almost derailed, for a moment, the inquiry, as Beauvoir was sorely tempted to ask some questions about that. Like how she could possibly have been attracted . . .