В сердце большого города скрываются тайны и загадки. Каждое утро открывает новый слой этой истории, напоминая о безвозвратности прошлого. Внутренние драмы и судьбы, переплетающиеся в пространстве и времени, создают непредсказуемую атмосферу будничной мелодрамы.
In some irrational way, looking at him made me think of Don Ho and tiny bubbles.
“That’s a start,” I said.
Cookie Jar pointed to the one unoccupied computer in the room. “If you need something prior to 1974, I’ll explain how to use the books.”
I crossed to the terminal, took off my jacket, and hung it on the chair back. Anne followed.
Slinging my purse strap over the jacket, I turned to her.
“There’s no reason for you to sit and watch me punch a keyboard and dig through old books.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Right.
“Beats cooking and freezing casseroles for surgeries and funerals.”
“Wouldn’t you rather shop?”
“Fuck shopping.”
Anne was in the Mariana Trench of doldrums. Sitting here watching me was not going to cheer her.
“Go to the basilica. Scout out a place to eat. When I’ve finished, I’ll phone your cell.”
“You won’t get frustrated and throw another hissy?”
I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Go forth and shop with the mighty.
Three hours later, I was still at it.
The online research had taken forty minutes, thirty-seven figuring out what I was doing, three printing out information on the building’s current owner.
Digging backward through the tomes of bound deeds had taken somewhere in the vicinity of an eon.
Cookie Jar had been polite and helpful, patiently taking my money and photocopying the record of each transaction as I found it.
In the course of my research, I discovered several things.
Claudel was correct about the building’s age. Prior to construction, the land had been part of the CNN train yards. Since then, the property had changed hands several times.
I was studying my collection of photocopies when one name leaped out.
I knew that name.
Why?
A local politician? A singer?
I stared at the name, willing a synapse.
A television personality? A case I’d worked? Someone I knew?
The date of transfer was before my time in Montreal.
Then, recognition.
“Sweet mother of Mary!”
Jamming the printouts and photocopies into my purse, I grabbed my jacket, and bolted.
13
OUTSIDE, SNOW WAS POWDERING THE STAIRS AND HANDRAILS, and adding to mounds lining the sidewalks and streets. I didn’t care. As soon as I cleared the doors I phoned Claudel.
The CUM operator told me Claudel was out. I asked for Charbonneau. Out.
“This is Dr. Brennan from medicolegal.
