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“And? Is he willing to share the file with us?”
“The question isn’t whether he’s willing or not.”
Louis shifts closer, assailing my senses with his glorious aftershave, his indecently good looks, and his criminally powerful pheromones. Raunchy images of yesterday’s episode flash before my mind’s eye. Suddenly, it’s too hot in the room.
I scoot to the end of the sofa. “What’s the question then?”
“Barely a month after the fire, all the police servers were corrupted by a virus.”
“The radio stations never reported that attack.”
“Even I didn’t know,” he says, visibly amused by my statement. “My clearance at the time was insufficient.”
I slant him a look. “Don’t tell me you believe this was a coincidence.”
“According to the police chief, they’d suffered a number of attacks before, but none that bad. It gutted their network. Nothing could be recovered. They ended up recreating all their digital files by scanning what they had on paper.”
“In short, they no longer have the coroner’s original report.”
He shakes his head.
I spring from the sofa and begin to pace the room. It helps me think, but mostly, it keeps me even farther away from Louis’s dangerous pheromones.
“Let’s recap.” I come to a halt on the other side of the coffee table. “The official theory so far is that Jeannette was a serial arsonist, right? Her motive was her pathological love of fire. The arson attack she launched on our foster home when she was fifteen corroborates that theory.”
He levels his gaze with mine. “You’re wondering how the coroner’s doctored page fits into it.”
“Aren’t you? Who would tamper with Pierre Housard’s autopsy report and why?”
He shrugs.
I resume my pacing, but I find it difficult to concentrate.
“Maybe…” He looks at the report and then back at me. “Maybe the coroner knew that Housard was a MESS agent keeping an eye on the guards and the staff. If he’d mentioned it in the report, we can assume the page was revised to remove that information.”
I stop again. “By whom? The police chief? The former head of MESS, Carlo Bodden-Bock?”
“I’d say, the latter.”
“But why? He could’ve simply redacted that information. Why replace the whole page?”
Louis rubs his hand through his hair. “It does seem like a bit of an overreaction.”
“What if the problem wasn’t the mention of Housard being a MESS agent?”
“Then what?” he asks.
“His cause of death.” I don’t elaborate letting him connect the dots on his own, like a big boy.
“Are you suggesting Housard hadn’t died in the fire?” he asks. “That he was already dead when the fire broke out?”
“Bingo!”
Someone knocks on the door, and Louis invites them in. I was expecting Angie, but it’s Rudy, looking well rested and as dapper as ever.
“The traffic may be slow due to bad weather,” he says. “I was going to propose we leave a little earlier than planned to make sure we don’t arrive late at Madame Bodden-Bock’s house. It’s in the heights to the west of Pombrio, a good hour’s drive in these conditions.”
I turn to Louis. “This appointment is too important, especially given what we just learned.”
