Closing Time

by Brenda Chapman

  Rouleau tucked his phone away and waited for Stonechild to return, uncertain if he should delve into her personal life out of concern for Gundersund or let things unfold. When she called to him from the doorway ten minutes later, her face revealed nothing. She was silent during their walk to her truck. He felt the awkwardness growing and wasn’t certain if she sensed the chasm as well or was too immersed in her own thoughts to notice. He put on his seat belt and looked over at her in profile. “Was that fellow part of the case?”

  “No.” She turned on the engine before putting her hands on the steering wheel and returning his stare. “His name’s Jordan Harrison. He’s Officer Clark Harrison’s brother, whom you remember is the lead on this case. Clark’s new baby had heart surgery, and Jordan came to tell me that Clark should be back on the job in another day or two since the baby’s responded unbelievably well to the treatment. Looks like you’ll be able to go home sooner than anticipated.” She smiled and put the truck into gear.

  Rouleau bit back more questions. She’d shared as much as she’d wanted to, and this was her story to tell … when she was ready. She was not a woman who could be pushed into confidences. He knew her well enough to understand that asking would only make her defensive.

  They drove down a side road to the Eglans’ home. A middle-aged man with a red beard whom Stonechild identified as Rachel’s father, Owen Eglan, was working in the yard, and he walked over to greet them, leaning on his rake while Rouleau and Stonechild got out of the truck.

  “How are you today, Mr. Eglan?” asked Stonechild.

  He pushed his ball cap back on his head. “Getting by.”

  “This is my partner, Jacques Rouleau. We’re here to update you and to ask a few questions.”

  “Come inside, then. Isabelle’s home.”

  Owen led them into the living room where Isabelle sat next to a table with a framed photo of Rachel surrounded by burning candles. She looked up from her knitting but didn’t comment on their arrival.

  “Take a seat,” said Owen. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Thank you, but nothing for us.”

  They sat next to each other on the couch. Rouleau didn’t know what Isabelle Eglan had looked like before her daughter’s death, but he imagined her greyish pallor and haunted eyes were a result of the tragedy. Her shirt hung loosely on her bony frame as if grief was wasting her away. Owen cast several glances at her but didn’t say anything before taking the easy chair. He took off his ball cap and twirled it around and around in his hands. His red hair was matted with sweat and an indent from the cap rimmed his forehead.

  “You were both at the town meeting,” began Stonechild. “An autopsy is being done on Thomas Faraday, and Forensics is going through what they found at the scene.”

  “Did they find any evidence of who’s doing this?” asked Owen.

  “I can’t say yet, but they will be thorough.”

  The clicking of Isabelle’s knitting needles stopped. “Do you think this man’s death is linked to our Rachel’s?” she asked.

  “We’re certainly considering the possibility.” Stonechild paused. “Have you remembered anything about Rachel’s actions during the last few months? Did she mention dating anybody new or was she talking about one person more than the others at Pine Hollow Lodge?”

  Owen and Isabelle looked at each other. Owen cleared his throat. “Isabelle and I have done some soul searching since … well, since Rachel’s death. We’ve come to realize that she wasn’t sharing everything with us about her life this summer. She lost interest in Darryl Kelly after she started working at the lodge and she began spending more time alone in her room when she was home. Rachel kept going to church with Isabelle, but she wasn’t interested in religion, would you not agree, Isabelle?”

  The needles resumed their steady clicking. “Yes.”

  He continued. “Rachel could have had a secret life going on this summer. We think she lied to us about her schedule and where she was after work. Isabelle spent a great deal of time at church and volunteering in the community, and I worked long hours, so we weren’t always up to date on her timetable. However, she’d always been truthful before, and we had no reason to doubt what she told us.”

  Stonechild said, “Thank you for sharing this. I know from personal experience that Rachel’s behaviour appears that of a normal teen trying to find her place in the world. The breaking away is as tough on them as on the family.”

  Isabelle lowered her knitting and raised exhausted eyes. “I saw her with Father Vila in his office. He … they were sitting so close on the couch and he had his hand on her leg. They were both flushed and I thought … I asked what they were doing and he stood up and said that Rachel was confiding in him about a problem she was having with Darryl. I wanted to believe him.”

  “But you weren’t certain?”

  “Her shirt was rumpled with the top two buttons undone and she fastened them when she thought I wasn’t watching her. I asked her later what was going on, and she said that I should be pleased that she was taking an interest in the Church. Wasn’t that what I wanted? She was angry with me and being sarcastic, so I let the matter drop. I should have made her tell me.”

  Owen was sitting motionless, his elbows resting on the chair arms, his hands bunched into fists. His voice was incredulous. “Father Vila was seducing our daughter and you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “I wasn’t sure, and it seemed so horrible even to doubt him. I just … I just forgot about it.”

  “Horrible? You think that was horrible? What about what he was doing to Rachel? You and your damn religion. I should never have let your obsession take over our lives. It drove Rachel away from us and now it might have killed her.” Owen stood and charged toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” cried Isabelle.

  He stopped and turned, glaring at her. “To sort out this priest. Somebody has to make him pay for what he did to our girl.”

  “Hold it right there,” Stonechild said, and Rouleau cut off Owen’s path. “We don’t have proof of anything. Father Vila could in fact be innocent.”

  “Then I’ll force the truth out of him.”

  “Let us handle this, Owen. Your interference could jeopardize the investigation. We will get to the bottom of what was going on, but we have to be strategic in how we go about it.” Stonechild was on her feet.

  “Nothing good will come of you going after Father Vila in anger,” said Rouleau, and he stared down Owen until he stopped trying to push past him. Rouleau put his hand on Owen’s arm. “We will find out what happened.” He felt Owen’s anger deflate under his touch.

  Owen put his ball cap back on his head and tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket, sliding his hands into the pockets. With head lowered, he said, “Make sure you do.” He tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll be outside working in the yard.”

  “Thanks, Owen,” said Rouleau, and he stepped aside to let him pass.

  Stonechild met Rouleau’s eyes. Hers were bottomless black and brimming with steely determination. She looked back at Isabelle. “We’ll be on our way. Please don’t share this information with anybody else, especially Father Vila.”

  Isabelle picked up the ball of wool that had fallen onto the floor. “I don’t want to believe any of this. Father Vila has always been so good to us.”

  “Sometimes people are not what they appear.”

  “I don’t know who to trust anymore.” Isabelle returned Stonechild’s stare. “You can rest assured I won’t tell Father Vila anything. His fate is in God’s hands now.”

  Stonechild nodded at Rouleau, and they turned to leave. The fierce clicking of knitting needles followed them down the hallway and out of the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Rouleau studied Stonechild as she put the truck into gear. “Are we returning to talk to Father Vila?”

  “He’s not going to admit to anything.”

  “Probably not. You almost had him talking though
before his secretary interrupted.”

  She smiled. “Are you attempting to gently lead me somewhere, sir?”

  “I’m only going over options.” He smiled back. “Like any decent partner would.”

  “It’s hard to think of you as my backup.” Her eyes went from amused to worried. “I feel as if whatever bad mojo is gripping this community is picking up momentum. Do you feel it, too?”

  “I don’t know the players as you do and I’m not as perceptive as you are. I wish I were — but if you’re sensing some impending catastrophe, I know better than to doubt the veracity.”

  “I’m convinced that somewhere in Pine Hollow Lodge is the key to Rachel and to both murders. Rachel Eglan and Thomas Faraday stirred up strong emotion that resulted in someone lashing out. What do you say we head back to the lodge and see if we can get a better handle on the relationships? The priest isn’t going anywhere … not yet anyway.”

  “Lead on.”

  Taiku was waiting at the door and Stonechild took him for a run while Rouleau settled in at the counter with the case file and a bottle of beer. He read through Rachel’s forensics report and all the witness statements, making notes as he went, looking for inconsistencies. Lies. Half-truths. Hoping he brought fresh eyes to Stonechild’s and Harrison’s observations. So far, he’d only spoken with Martha and Shane, Father Vila, and Rachel’s parents, but he had a good picture of the other suspects from Stonechild’s objective, concisely worded comments. He’d learned to read between the lines from her reports on other cases. She never wrote anything without careful consideration.

  He stretched and checked his watch. An hour had passed since he started reading. Stonechild should have returned by now. He shut the folder and slipped into his shoes. There was no sign of her or Taiku along the shoreline so he hiked through the woods toward the main lodge. He glanced into the parking lot on his way to the road. Stonechild was leaning against the back of a stranger’s truck with Taiku lying on the grass nearby. The same man she’d spoken with at the restaurant was standing an arm’s length away from her, his back to Rouleau, and they were deep in discussion. The man moved aside when she looked over and waved in his direction. Rouleau started toward them.

  “Sorry I’m so long getting back,” Stonechild said. “Jordan downloaded a file that Clark sent to him and brought the material over to us. It’s additional information that was unearthed from the background checks on the people who were here the night of Rachel’s death.”

  Rouleau held out his hand and Jordan grabbed on in a firm handshake. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, sizing each other up without needing to speak. Rouleau was sorry to admit that he liked the person he glimpsed behind the intelligent brown eyes.

  “I’ll be on my way then,” Jordan said. “Clark should be back tomorrow, and I’ll stand down. He said the Faraday autopsy is this afternoon so he should have more to share.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” said Stonechild.

  Rouleau left them and started back toward the main road. He waited for Stonechild at the path entrance. “Seems like a good guy,” he said when she fell into step behind him on the path.

  Her voice was low, no telltale emotion. “He is.”

  The wood floor was littered with rotting leaves and pine needles, and shafts of sun filtered through the boughs overhead. The shifting shadows and silence felt both embracing and ominous, and Rouleau shivered inside his cotton shirt. Taiku startled him as he bounded ahead of them, brushing past his leg. He was glad when they emerged into the bright clearing.

  “I’ll put on a pot of tea and we can go through this stuff,” said Stonechild. “I’m hoping a few more of our band of suspects will be at supper.”

  She strode ahead into the cabin while he lingered outside, looking at the lake to give her a moment to herself. The water was rippling gently against the shore and reflected the satiny blue sky. Woods encircled the bay, dark treetops lining the horizon. It wouldn’t take but a minute to leave the stretch of land occupied by the lodge and be in complete wilderness. Stonechild was at home in this world. He thought about the body language he’d witnessed when he’d found her with Jordan and knew instinctively that there was a deep connection between them. Stonechild was grappling with a decision not unlike the one he had to make with Marci. Yet he and Marci had not formed as strong a relationship as he’d had with his ex-wife, or even as serious as whatever was going on between Stonechild and Jordan. He’d be sad to let Marci go to Paris without him, but he wouldn’t be devastated. He suspected from the couple of times he’d seen Stonechild with Jordan that she had more at stake.

  When he entered the cabin five minutes later, the tea was steeping, and the files were organized on the coffee table in the living room. Stonechild’s face was devoid of conflict or emotion of any kind. He took a seat on the couch next to her, added sugar to the mug of tea she’d poured for him, and began reading.

  “Petra and Shane married out of high school. They both grew up in Sudbury,” Stonechild said after a few minutes of silence. “They’ve led a nomadic life and spent the last several years out west. Shane worked in the oil fields when he wasn’t cooking in restaurants.”

  Rouleau raised his head. “What did Petra do for work?”

  “She danced in strip bars, but sporadically. Some waitressing jobs. No evidence of being in the porn industry. They moved to Sudbury a couple of years ago. Shane was working in a restaurant, but it closed.”

  “So, up-and-down income.”

  “Looks that way. You’ve got the info on Martha and Neal. Anything interesting?”

  “They grew up in Sudbury as well and married in their early twenties. The lodge was in Martha’s family and she took it over five years ago when her father died. The lodge had a few rough years when she started out, but it’s made a modest profit the last three years. She and Neal own property in Cobourg, which is where they spend part of the winter. They’ve vacationed the last couple of Januarys and Februarys in Arizona.”

  “Neither couple has kids.” Stonechild flipped through more papers. “No police records.”

  Rouleau picked up another page. “You had Phil and Greta Bocock checked out, too. Remind me again, who are they?”

  “They both taught Rachel and were at Pine Hollow Lodge for supper the night she died. Phil was her English teacher and Greta taught her phys. ed. Phil appeared to fancy himself her writing mentor. The Bococks sat at supper with Father Vila and Sara, and Reeve Neilson and Elena. Clark had a preliminary report done on their work history but I asked for more depth. We already ruled out the Neilsons as they both have ironclad alibis.”

  “The Bococks moved from Toronto five years ago. They’re both active in the community. Greta has a daughter from her first marriage who lives with the father in Toronto. A bit odd, isn’t it?”

  Kala shrugged. “They might not have wanted to uproot her from her friends and school.”

  “You’re right.” Rouleau skimmed the rest of the page. “Their police records are clean, too. Nothing else jumps out.”

  “No records, as you’d expect for teachers.” She bowed her head and shuffled more papers. “The last two reports are on the Hydro workers. Ian Kruger lives in Thunder Bay. He met Blaine Rogers at trade school, as they were both attending the same years. Blaine is from Marathon, which is a small town a couple of hundred miles east on Highway 17, if memory serves. This is their first placement together. Hmm. Ian has two drunk driving charges and lost his licence for six months when he was in school. Clean since then. Blaine’s record is clean. They both passed their college course with honours and were hired by Ontario Hydro straight after graduation. The rest of the information is straightforward.”

  Rouleau picked up his cold mug of tea and leaned against the couch back. “So nothing all that helpful. I know Father Vila is your main suspect, but a priest committing murder is difficult to contemplate. Not outside the realm of possibility, but still unusual.”

  Stonechild leaned back next to him a
nd put her feet on the coffee table. “What if I’ve surmised incorrectly and Rachel wasn’t having sex with him? Who else is a candidate?”

  “Neal and Shane. The Hydro workers. Her teacher, Phil Bocock. We haven’t ruled out the possibility that she was seeing a woman. Petra is overtly sexual. There’s also Greta Bocock and Martha Lorring. Any one of them has a lot to lose if they were in a physical relationship with a sixteen-year-old — Rachel was fifteen at the start of the summer, making a liaison even more risky for an adult.”

  “We haven’t ruled out the possibility that her murder wasn’t about sex at all. Darryl had reason to be angry with her for ditching him.”

  “And her own mother was losing control of her.” Stonechild rubbed her temples. “We’re no closer to a solution than when all this started.”

  “Where do you think Thomas Faraday fits into the picture?”

  “He was always in the background, taking photos and watching. His financial records indicate that he was barely scraping by.” Stonechild straightened. “What if he knew who killed Rachel and was blackmailing them? He would have had to believe that he held enough cards to be safe from harm.”

  Rouleau considered the implications. “Quite possibly. He could have tried to weasel out some money and misjudged the person’s unwillingness to kill off a threat.”

  Stonechild looked at her watch and tossed the file she was holding onto the table. “I feel as if we’re still spinning our wheels, but maybe we’re starting to get a bit of traction. In any case, I’m starving. Are you ready for supper? It’s time you met more of the cast of characters now that you know all their deepest secrets.”

  “I could eat. Hunter chicken, was it? A good hearty meal.”

  “Shane’s an inspired cook. His skills are underused out here in the woods. He could be working at a swanky restaurant in a major centre for a lot more patrons.”

  “Makes you wonder why he seems content to go from job to job without establishing himself.”