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Décarie Expressway up to the Laurentians or south over the Champlain Bridge to the Eastern Townships or even to New York State thirty miles away.
    Dougherty said, “Maybe someone in those houses saw something,” pointing across the empty lot to a row of brand new, squat, two-storey houses — fourplexes with flat roofs that looked like cinderblock buildings, newer versions of the houses in the Point, but with the stairs to the second floor on the inside.
    â€œSeems far away,” Carpentier said, “but you might as well ask around.”
    There were stakes in the ground of the empty field, where new roads and probably more of the squat houses were going to go in, so it did seem unlikely anyone had seen anything.
    Dougherty said, “Who found her?” and Carpentier motioned to a group of men standing by the back of one of the factories.
    â€œSaw the birds circling and one came closer and saw the scarf.”
    Brenda Webber had been left face down, naked, with something tied around her neck that looked like a scarf, but Dougherty said, “It’s a bedsheet.”
    â€œHe wins the booby prize,” Rozovsky said and stood up from taking a picture. “Torn into strips, it looks like.” He started to raise his camera but stopped. No postcard shots here.
    â€œAll right,” Carpentier said, “let’s go get this Reverend Barker.”
    Dougherty stood for a moment and watched the coroner and his assistant move the stretcher closer and then start to pick up Brenda Webber’s body. The torn bedsheet caught on a rock on the ground and slipped off easily as the girl’s body was lifted, and Dougherty noticed she was still wearing her black running shoes.
    Carpentier was in his car then, and Dougherty got into his squad car and led the way. Grace Church, corner of Wellington and Fortune, a big old red brick building. Reverend Barker was in his office and recognized Dougherty as soon as he walked in. “Édouard, young man, what brings you here?”
    Dougherty said, “My mom’s still making me go to mass, Reverend. This is business.”
    Reverend Barker had hold of Dougherty’s hand, shaking it, and said, “Oh?”
    â€œBrenda Webber.”
    Reverend Barker nodded and let go of Dougherty’s hand. “I’ll get my coat.”
    It was only a couple of blocks to the Webber house but Dougherty drove and Reverend Barker sat in the passenger seat and asked for anything Dougherty could tell him.
    â€œIt’s as bad as you can imagine — she was naked, tied up, dumped in a field behind a factory off St. Patrick in LaSalle.”
    Reverend Barker nodded. That was all he needed and then they were in front of the Webbers’.
    There was a small boy, maybe five years old, sitting on the front steps pushing a Matchbox car around and he looked excited to see the police car and to see Dougherty in his uniform getting out of it. At that moment a young woman emerged from the ground floor apartment, saw Dougherty, smiled and said, “Eddie,” and then she saw Reverend Barker getting out of the car and Carpentier getting out of his own car he’d double-parked and said, “Oh no.”
    Reverend Barker took both her hands in his. “Arlene, is your mother home?” and the young woman nodded and Barker walked past her into the house.
    Dougherty said, “Where’s your father?” and she looked at him for moment and then said, “He’s at work, he’s working a double,” and Dougherty said, “Domtar?” She shook her head and said, “Packers.”
    Then they heard the scream from inside the house, the wailing, the sobbing, and Arlene turned and went inside.
    Carpentier said, “
Mon dieu
, it could be the same girl,” and Dougherty said yeah.
    A few people who had been sitting on their balconies or on their front stoops were starting to move closer to the Webbers’. Dougherty recognized