Monday Mourning

Energy’s girl was identified as Manon Violette, a fifteen-year-old Montrealer who’d disappeared in the fall of 1994, six months after Marie-Joëlle Bastien. Manon’s skeletal age and height suggested she’d survived in captivity for several years.

By March, the bones of Angie Robinson, Marie-Joëlle Bastien, and Manon Violette were returned to their families. Each was laid to rest in a quiet ceremony.

Kimberly Hamilton was never located.

Anne and Tom-Ted plunged full-tilt boogie into counseling.

She took golf lessons. He bought gardening books. Together they planted a godzillion azaleas.

I had no further contact with Tawny McGee. She spent weeks in intensive in-patient therapy, eventually moved home to Maniwaki. It would be a long road back, but doctors were optimistic.

Anique Pomerleau’s photo went out across the continent. Dozens of tips were received by the CUM and SQ. Pomerleau was sighted in Sherbrooke. Albany. Tampa. Thunder Bay.

The hunt continues."

"For Anique Pomerleau.

For Kimberly Hamilton.

For all the lost girls.

From the Forensic Files

of Dr. Kathy Reichs

For legal and ethical reasons I cannot discuss any of the real-life cases that may have inspired Monday Mourning, but I can share with you some experiences that contributed to the plot.

The weather was sunny and shirt-sleeve mild that week in September in Montreal. An Indian summer hiccup before the nine-month freeze.

Friday, September 14, was created for hiking the mountain, playing tennis, or biking the path along the Lachine Canal.

Instead, I got a call to report to the lab.

The case was waiting when I arrived, Demande d’Expertise en Anthropologie on my desk, bones on the counter. I went straight to the form and scanned the information.

LSJML number. Morgue number. Police incident number. Investigating officer. Coroner. Pathologist. Description of specimens: fragmentary skeletal remains. Expertise requested: biological profile, manner of death, postmortem interval.

I looked at the three brown paper bags sealed with red evidence tape.

Right.

According to the summary of known facts, the episode began with a backed-up toilet in a pizza-by-the-slice joint. Plunger failing, the frustrated proprietor called in help. While banging pipes, the plumber spotted a trapdoor behind the commode.

Curious, the plucky plombier pried, then peered, then plunged underground.