One or the Other by John McFetridge Page A

strangled first.”
    â€œSo why are you on it?”
    â€œDetective Carpentier is friends with the captain in Longueuil, so I’m here helping out. And one of the bodies washed up on the Montreal side of the river.”
    â€œNasty business,” his father said.
    â€œBut it’s got to be done.”
    â€œYou want another drink?” His father was already up and going to the cabinet beside the oven where he kept the booze.
    â€œDinner’s almost ready.” Dougherty’s mother was coming to the table with plates. Then she called Tommy up from the basement, finished mashing the potatoes and brought the food to the table, saying, “So, how is Judy?”
    Dougherty said, “She’s good.” For a moment he thought about mentioning that her parents had split up, but he knew that would just lead to a whole lot of questions and he didn’t have any answers.
    Tommy came upstairs and grunted his way through the meal, giving one-word answers to every question he was asked. Before he’d even chewed the last mouthful, he got up from the table and left.
    Dougherty said, “You don’t make him do the dishes? You always made me and Cheryl clean up,” and his mother just said, “It’s no trouble.”
    It was almost eight when Dougherty left the house and drove to the Longueuil police station. He got there just as Legault was leaving, pulling out of the parking lot in the unmarked car as Dougherty was pulling in. He rolled down his window and said, “Where you going?”
    She said, “We’ve been replaced,” and drove off.

CHAPTER
EIGHT
    Dougherty walked into Captain Allard’s office and knew right away the two men with him were detectives. Plain dark suits, white shirts, ties and giving off the vibe that they ran the place.
    Allard said, “
Bonjour, Dougherty
.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œWe’ve decided — I’ve decided — to bring in our detectives to run this one.”
    Dougherty said, “That sounds like a good idea, this is a major case. Can I still be any help?”
    â€œYes, of course.” Allard looked relieved. “We will need to coordinate with the Montreal police, of course.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œSo,” Allard said, “this is Detective Boudreau and Detective Lefebvre.”
    Boudreau was standing up and held out his hand and Dougherty shook it, but Lefebvre was sitting down and didn’t make a move.
    Dougherty said, “What about Sergeant Legault?”
    Lefebvre said, “This is homicide, it’s not women’s work.”
    â€œNo,” Dougherty said, “it’s police work.” He regretted it as soon as he’d said it, but he didn’t like these detectives. And, he realized, he did like Legault — he liked the way she’d been honest and up front with the families of the victims. He’d been looking forward to working with her.
    Allard said, “Sergeant Legault is still working the investigation. She will be the liaison with the families.”
    Lefebvre said, “We’ll call you if we need you.”
    Dougherty said, “Okay.”
    He left the office and drove a few blocks to Taschereau and stopped at a strip mall. Found a phone booth and called the pager number on Legault’s business card. He punched in the pay phone’s number, hung up and waited.
    And, as he expected, the phone rang within a minute.
    â€œDougherty.”
    There was a pause and then Legault said, “
Oh, c’est toi.
Que veux-tu?
”
    Dougherty spoke French, saying, “Let’s have a drink.”
    â€œNot interested.”
    â€œWe’re still working, let’s work.”
    â€œDo they need someone to bring coffee and doughnuts to the office?”
    â€œLook, I can see a place, La Barre 500, you know it?”
    â€œNot there, everyone knows it.”
    Dougherty smiled to himself a little. Legault was