The Dead of Winter Read Online Free Page B

himself with an outstretched hand. He was dressed like he was going to lead a Special Forces team to take out a bunch of terrorists.
    â€œInspector Vanier, it’s wonderful to see you again. Inspector Morneau, Métro Security.”
    Morneau flashed a white-toothed smile that was more formal than friendly, and Vanier racked his brain to remember where the hell he had seen him before.
    â€œInspector Morneau, good of you to come out on Christmas morning.”
    â€œThank you, Inspector. We’re taking this very seriously. We must get it cleaned up as soon as possible.”
    â€œIt not easy to clean up five bodies, Inspector. It’s not like litter.”
    Morneau didn’t notice the rebuke. “Your Detective Sergeant St. Jacques has already been here for some time,” he said, gesturing to the back of the office. Vanier followed the gesture and saw Sylvie St. Jacques looking over the shoulder of a computer operator at a bank of TV screens. She was wearing black pants and a thick sweater and had the aura of someone tightly coiled but in control. She smiled up at Vanier as he approached, beckoning with her hand as if to get him to move more quickly.
    â€œTake a look at this, sir,” she said. “Victim number four in the station at 8.30 last night.”
    Vanier looked at the screen she was pointing to. There was a bag lady in a heavy dark coat shuffling down the platform with two large bags in each hand and two smaller ones tied to her belt. She kept her head down as she moved forward to a bench and sat down, arranging the bags around her feet. Then she leaned back against the wall and was still.
    â€œShe sits there for half an hour without moving, and nobody so much as looks at her. People wait for trains, get on them and leave or get off and leave. And it’s like she isn’t there. They all walk around her. Now, fast forward to 9.05.”
    Vanier watched as the image jumped and then stilled, with 21:05 printed in the bottom left hand corner of the screen.
    â€œJust here, sir. Look.”
    On the screen, the unmistakable figure of Santa Claus appeared from the platform entrance, complete with a white beard and a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked up and down the platform and then walked directly up to the bag lady, put his bag down beside her, and leaned forward, seeming to whisper to her.
    They watched as she raised her head and then her arms as if to welcome Santa. He reached into his sack and pulled out something in the shape of a fire log and handed it to her. She took it and held it for a moment before smiling up at him again. Vanier wondered if she recognized him, or was simply happy to see Santa Claus.
    â€œNow watch this, sir.”
    In the grainy black and white image, Santa leaned in even closer to the woman, held her chin and kissed the top of her head.
    St. Jacques counted, “One, two, three, four, five. Five seconds, sir. He held the kiss for five seconds!”
    Breaking the kiss, Santa stroked the old lady’s hair and, again, seemed to whisper something to her. Then he picked up his sack and started back along the platform. Before he turned into the platform exit, he stopped and lifted his arm in a farewell wave to the bag lady. Then he was gone.
    â€œWe have him going up the escalator and out the door onto St. Catherine Street. Then we have nothing more until 10 p.m.,” said St. Jacques.
    The operator skipped the tape forward to 22:00, and the image showed the bag lady slowly rise to her feet and put Santa’s gift in one of her bags. Then she pulled them all up and began shuffling along the platform, away from the entrance.
    â€œWhat did he give her?” asked Vanier, trying to understand what he had just seen.
    â€œThey found a brand new woolen throw with her, the sort you can find anywhere. Probably useful to keep you warm if you’re sleeping rough. Rolled up tight, it could be the gift.”
    â€œAnything else from the CC