Murder In The Course Read online

  Murder In The Course

  Agnès Ruiz

  Translated by Felix LAI

  “Murder In The Course”

  Written By Agnès Ruiz

  Copyright © 2018 Agnès Ruiz

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Felix LAI

  Cover Design © 2018 Agnès Ruiz

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  For

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About The Author

  “Books by Agnès Ruiz”

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  Chapter 1

  The famous Tour de l’île de Montréal was coming to an end the day before. A few bikes were racing here and there all day long, far from the whirl in last few days. Joggers were also enjoying the sunlight shining upon the large green space. It was a clean-up time. Many volunteers were working hard in the park Jeanne Mance.

  Among them were Milo Trembley, his friend Victorin Sénécal and his wife Olga. They signed up each year. They were marching in line, one hand holding a spade and the other hand a garbage bag. They were laughing, retelling recent anecdotes and stories that happened long ago. They were planning their next journey.

  Suddenly, Milo stopped talking. His body was totally frozen when he saw a breathtaking scene.

  — “What is it?” he spluttered.

  He felt like being in a TV series. His heart was beating so fast while his mind told him that was impossible. Olga Sénécal pushed him so that he could give a response. She saw him placing his hand on his chest. He winced and knelt down.

  — “Milo! What happened?” Victorin shouted.

  He rushed to Milo when his friend fell to the ground. His head hit the corpse which they had just found.

  Olga called for help. A small crowd gathered. Sounds of murmurs rose and fell in the buzzing crowd. Someone took out their cell phone. Some of them were shooting video. Others told their loved one what just happened. Many called the police just as their instinct told them to do so.

  When the ambulance arrived, Victorin Sénécal announced that there was a pulse in Milo’s body. He kept performing CPR on Milo.

  — “Let me take care of your friend,” said the emergency physician. “Back away, please.”

  Victorin did what he said but looked haggard. He got back to his companion.

  Now she saw the whole interesting picture. Milo’s chest heaved, while a woman remained motionless. There was a huge bloodstain on his T-shirt.

  The second paramedic was leaning towards the woman without moving her.

  — “She’s dead,” said Olga who was still shocked by the events.

  Chapter 2

  The forensic pathologist arrived at the crime scene with a team of scientists. 2 police marked off the zone and dispersed the curious onlookers.

  Raoul Corpus looked around for Detective Rachel Toury, the investigator in charge. He was clearly the first one on the scene. A police officer gave him the information gathered from the scene and pointed at Olga Sénécal, who was still there.

  — “Did you touch the body?” asked the coroner.

  He looked serious. He might be too rude to say that, but he was quite confident in what he said. The lady shrank back at this verbal assault. Raoul had not yet introduced himself to her. She had to do her best to refrain herself running away from this place that had already turned her stomach.

  Finally, her body stopped trembling and spoke firmly in a thin voice. She stuttered but tried to pull herself together, bracing herself up to explain what happened.

  — “I knew there was nothing else to do for this poor girl. Yet ... it was more powerful than me. I felt like I didn’t let it happen in this way. My husband was taking care of Milo. I couldn’t stand idle. I ... I checked if she had a pulse. I put my hand on her carotid. You see, there.” she said and touched her own neck.

  The doctor wondered who Milo was. He threw that question at her, blunting her momentum. He knew that it wasn’t about those 2 victims except they were hit by a ricochet.

  Olga Sénécal kept convincing Raoul Corpus. Raoul hated dealing with witnesses. He rather liked staying in his morgue, where the corpses spoke for themselves at his autopsies.

  How could he proceed in this specific environment? Why weren’t Rachel Toury or Jean-François Millet there?

  He had no choice left. He had to leave the first-hand findings behind to start a discussion with Olga Sénécal. She spoke too much. He wanted to shut her up. How did Rachel Toury or the psychologist keep talking for so long? How did Rachel Toury or the psychologist keep talking for so long? How did they keep listening, extracting and interpreting the key points from an overwhelming number of messages?

  To give some reassurance. That’s what the detective would do, no doubt. He pushed himself to think critically.

  — “Everything goes well for now,” he mumbled.

  She looked at him as if he had just talked nonsense. Olga Sénécal reclaimed conversation.

  — “I think so. But for this victim,” she continued, “Intractable.”

  Raoul Corpus cringed. It wasn’t necessary to scrutinize what she said. He sighed with his eyes wide open, trying to spot the car of detective Toury or investigator Millet. To put it simply, a familiar face would help him get out of this bad situation.

  — “Did you come here alone? Someone could take you home.”— “I was with my husband. I’ve told you. You didn’t hear anything. Did you? He was there, with Milo.”

  She roughly showed where Milo Trembley fell down.

  — “Ah yes. That’s true. Excuse me. It’s very unusual to fall down like this.”

  — “Falling down? They crashed together. Look! Who the hell are you?”

  Olga suddenly asked herself whether there was really no journalist standing before her to write an exclusive story or anyone who had nothing to do with the police. He was wearing a jacket with a logo. Damn, she didn’t have her glasses to check that.

  She bent down to decode the letters. Raoul Corpus resolved her doubts at once.

  — “I spend more times on the dead than the living.” He said, “I just need to do my job. For this young lady.”

  He showed the dead body. Olga hated meeting with this man without a second thought. She felt a chill inside her body.

  It sounded absurd. There was nothing she could do right here. Her life must be too enjoyable that this environment had got on her nerves. It was the first time she considered not doing voluntary work next year. For her, the Tour de l’île was a party. Could she pull herself out of this challenging day?

  What about Milo? The cell phone in her hand stayed silent. She would’ve wanted her husband to c
all her and tell her some good news. The paramedics appeared confident just now. They told her firmly that they got him in time. Could she believe them?

  Raoul Corpus turned away from her. What she experienced right now was no worse off than what she thought Raoul would do. But she stayed there watching what was happening. She did what many others would do. Sometimes, she chatted with someone who just dropped by in order to find out what people were talking about currently. Why did such curiosity come out in this way?

  The coroner heard all this brouhaha behind him. He turned his back on the dead body. He was talking on his phone, no doubt, for giving his first-hand findings.

  He stood up slowly and asked the police officers on guard to take some photos. It looked silly to give such orders. They knew their job scope. They knew what to do. And this wasn’t their responsibility.

  Chapter 3

  Detective Rachel Toury and the investigator Jean-François Millet were chatting while walking to the crime scene. She noticed Raoul Corpus from far away. They greeted each other, and the coroner introduced Olga Sénécal.

  — “An ambulance was leaving with her husband and her friend Milo Trembley. He suffered a heart attack when he came to know about the dead body.”

  While Raoul Corpus was explaining the situation, the poor lady was holding tight her cell phone in her hand, swiping and tapping on the touch screen countless times.

  Finally, Detective Toury interrupted and said, “You should’ve stayed with your friend and your husband. Millet, the investigating officer, will take down what you’re going to say and take you to the hospital.”

  Rachel left her car keys to her colleagues and let them take their own course. She turned around and faced Raoul Corpus to know more about the dead body.

  She began the dialogue bitterly and said, “Tell me I was here yesterday.”

  She was scanning the giant park briefly.

  — “I didn’t know you were riding a bike,” said the coroner.

  — “With my family. Have fun, just like that,” said Rachel. “Valentin and Kyle were more enduring than me.”

  She smiled but then erased the trace of untimely joy. They were now facing the victim.

  The posture was impressive. Both of her legs bent backwards. Her arms were on either side of her body. She was still wearing her sneakers.

  — “Looks like she’s running but on the floor,” said the bewildered Rachel.

  Raoul Corpus looked at his colleague. Then he fixed his eyes on the dead body, but her tightly sealed lips gave him little clues about this case. He continued to do his work. That was what he was most familiar with.

  — “Obviously, he died from stab wounds. He got stabbed several times in his belly. We clearly see the knife cuts on the T-Shirt.”

  Rachel went around alone and frowned.

  — “I’m wondering where his bike is. He was still wearing his helmet.”

  — “It might have been stolen by someone,” said Raoul Corpus vaguely.

  Rachel upheld this theory. It might not be the first time robbery happened to a dead body. She would never understand what particular people did.

  She still gave orders to rake through the park. Maybe the victim ran away from her attacker and arrived here, leaving her bike somewhere?

  The photos were taken as good as they should be. She was figuring out how to identify the young woman. She had anything on her but an armband with a number.

  — “That’s all we have! It’s quite unusual ...”

  Rachel let the coroner take the body to the morgue.

  She couldn’t stop worrying about the victim. She got a running-like posture, a bike helmet on the victim’s head, but she couldn’t find the bike. Nothing helped. She got nothing from her. No locker key, car key or door key. It was quite rare to see someone nowadays without a cell phone. It was quite odd ... especially for a young lady. The coroner believed that she was less than 30 years old.

  Rachel Toury called several times. Someone showed her which way she could go to get the list of participants of Tour de l’île. It wasn’t faraway. Taking a little walk wouldn’t distract her from thinking about the case.

  When she went inside the room, she explained to a worker what was happening. The girl lost her smile at the moment when she was asked about the list.

  — “That’s another thing. We didn’t have such kind of incidents before. For us, Tour de l’île is a social gathering. It ends in a tragedy.”

  — “I know what happened. I was here with my spouse and our children.”

  — “Are you sure? She is dead. I mean, she is assassinated.”

  Rachel Toury nodded her head slowly. While that girl was searching for the inscription relevant to the number of the race bib found on the victim, Rachel discussed about the race, as if this snag, which was the dead body, had to be removed.

  Finally, her finger stopped tapping and his forehead creased.

  — “I don’t understand.”

  — “What happened?”

  — “Well, the number you gave me links to a male name.”

  — “That must be a mistake.”

  — “See it yourself.” said Rachel calmly. She showed no anger, as if she was pondering on something.

  Rachel leaned over the document. Obviously, Vincent Bilodeau wasn’t the young lady found on the path.

  — “55 years old. In fact, nothing matches. Would you mind giving me a copy of the list?”

  — “It’d be better if you send this to me by email.”

  — “Perfect.”

  — “Let me remind you: There’s a large number of people,” said the staff.

  — “Not to mention all the participants who doesn’t register,” she replied firmly.

  Chapter 4

  Jeff came to report to the Detective soon after his hospital visit. He could have a discussion with Milo Trembley, who remained under observation. According to the specialists, his case was no longer worrisome.

  The statements of Victorin Sénécal matched with those of his wife Olga.

  There was nothing more about the victim in the park Jeanne Mance for now.

  Rachel was irritated and said, “She didn’t come to join the Tour de l’île and then go back home with nothing.”

  — “Why not?” said Jeff, “If she doesn’t live alone ...”

  Rachel had thought about this possibility. But she kept the double keys with her when she left the house, even though her husband was there. Needless to say, everyone didn’t do that. She proposed another idea.

  — “If our stranger was good at cycling, as suggested by the helmet when they found it, the keys could still be hanging on her bike.”

  — “I’ve already seen this. That’s true. Like a pouch fixed on the frame,” said Jean-François Millet. Rachel enjoyed the moment when she found her thought was echoed in her colleague’s mind. They were trying to put words on hypotheses, either put them as far as possible to test a certain reliability or refute and dismiss it.

  — “But it’s all vanished,” said Jeff.

  — “Paul and Jacques are trying to find witnesses around the park. We’re going to meet Vincent Bilodeau.”

  They needed to know why the race bib was founded on the victim. Rachel had easily got the address from the file send by the staff of Tour de l’île.

  It took about 20 minutes to park in front of his detached house. He lived in Longueuil on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River. Facing Montréal.

  The neighborhood seemed quiet. The yards were well maintained. A woman was walking with her dog. She was holding her cell phone on her ear. A child brushed against the police vehicle when cycling. On the other side of the sidewalk, a father was holding his little girl in his arm while enjoying an ice cream.

  Rachel Toury and Jean-François Millet got out of the car and ringed the doorbell just across the street.

  A man opened the door while holding a cup of tea. His twitching right eye revealed his interest in the strangers. He kept
smiling. Droplets fell from his abundant curls. Obviously, he just came out of shower.

  The police introduced themselves and asked to enter his house for a moment.

  — “Why? Is there any problem? Do I park the car illegally?”

  He tried to look over his shoulders to locate his car.

  — “My wife's car is in the garage. My son’s car is in the alley. I have to find a place to ...”

  Detective Toury interrupted and said, “No need to apologize, Mr. Bilodeau. We come here for something else. We’re criminal investigators.” He blinked his eye again.

  — “Oh! It sounds serious.”

  — “Indeed,” said Jeff.

  They arrived at the living room. What a terrible mess! The man felt embarrassed, trying to remove the stuff as he asked them to have a seat.

  — “I know why you’re here. It’s about the Tour de l’île. I don’t have the time to deal with all this stuff. I have to do exercise ... Also, my wife is spending her vacation at her mother’s house. My son is sleeping ...”

  — "No worries! You can leave these things behind,” said Rachel.

  — “So why are you there?”

  — “We’d like to talk about your race bib. The bib you just wore during the Tour de l’île.”

  — “What? Is that a joke?”

  The man frowned with a half-smile and eye twitch. The contrast was striking.

  — “It isn’t, unfortunately,” said Rachel. “We found a body in the park Jeanne Mance. Were you there, weren’t you?”

  — “Um... Yea. But I do not like the change in this conversation.”

  Jeff interrupted and said, “We’re just following the clues.

  He went back and forth, looking here and there without leaving the room. Vincent Bilodeau was watching him. He was agitated by this unusual intrusion.

  — “Clues that lead to me? That's a bit rich.”

  — “What did you do with your bib after the race, Mr. Bilodeau?” asked the Detective. “Some people like to keep them as souvenirs.”