Turning Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  “If she kept the child, one has to wonder where it is.” Kala hoped the bulletin had gone out. She was suddenly anxious for this meeting to finish up so she could check.

  “Wonder whether she killed the baby as well as herself, you mean,” said Fiona. “The girl had to be desperate to jump off that building. Based on her old wounds, her partner was beating her. I’d guess she’d had enough.”

  Kala wanted to keep options open. “That would be a worst-case scenario but we aren’t there yet.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions without evidence, Fiona,” Gundersund cut in. “Probably the child was adopted or is safely at home with this girl’s mother or another family member.”

  “Then who was beating her? Because that’s what we can conclude from the marks on her skin.”

  Cavanaugh coughed and took a moment to clear phlegm from his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “Getting over a cold. I’m having a tox scan done on her blood and running more tests. We’re checking with dentists’ offices to see if we can get a match for her teeth, at least the ones still intact. I’ve put a rush on the requests.”

  “Anything else to report now?” asked Gundersund.

  “Nothing that will help identify her. I’ll have the written report to you by end of day.”

  “In that case” — Gundersund slapped his thighs and pushed himself to his feet — “I have to let Rouleau know the results so far. Coming, Stonechild?”

  “Sure.”

  She thanked Trevor and Fiona and followed Gundersund into the hall. As they walked toward the stairwell, he said, “By the look on your face, I’d say you’ve got doubts about the suicide.”

  “I didn’t know I was so readable.”

  “I’ve gotten to know you.”

  She ignored the intimacy in his lowered voice. “Well, I have questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “How did she get to the construction site and why even pick it to start with? Most women carry a purse or wear a watch or have a cellphone. Why did she have absolutely nothing? If she got there by bus, where was her bus pass if she wasn’t carrying money?”

  “She might have planned to kill herself so she left everything behind. People often leave their wallet, watch, jewellery, phone, whatever at home before setting out to commit suicide.”

  “I don’t know. This entire scenario doesn’t sit right.” She led the way into the stairwell. “Especially her being a mother and having those old scars on her body.”

  “That could be her motivation for ending it all. Maybe her partner was beating her. Maybe she had postpartum depression.”

  “Or maybe it was somebody else’s motivation to throw her over.” She stopped mid step and looked back at him. “You think I’m dreaming up something that isn’t there.”

  “No, I’m playing devil’s advocate. I agree that there are oddities, especially because I know how intuitive you are.”

  Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much tension she was carrying in her shoulders. She relaxed her mouth and smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I could very well be wrong but my gut tells me I’m not.”

  He smiled back. “Your gut should be surgically removed and used as a teaching tool for new recruits.”

  “God, Gundersund. What an image after the autopsy.”

  “Sorry. I never sleep well after watching the fileting and removal of organs. I’m going to need a few beers to change channels and get those images out of my memory bank and the smell of that place out of my nose.”

  “Attending an autopsy is nothing compared to what the victim went through. I remind myself of that and think of witnessing the autopsy as a sacred duty.” She turned back to continue up the stairs. A moment later, she felt the pressure of Gundersund’s hand on the small of her back.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’ve never looked at an autopsy that way before but think I will in future.”

  “A spiritual outlook helps to cope with the worst trauma,” said Kala, “and it keeps me able to do this job.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The clock clicked over to 7:00 p.m. Kala had waited until the office was empty before shutting down her computer and putting on her coat. She checked the hallway, then crossed the room to Woodhouse’s desk. He had a prime spot next to the wall and was lucky enough to have a bulletin board, which he’d covered with photos of comic book superheroes, wrestling champions, and sports cars. His desk was clear except for the obligatory computer; a plastic Mighty Mouse figurine wearing a Superman cape, one arm thrust skyward as if in flight; an Ultimate Warrior coffee mug filled with pens and pencils; and a phone accompanied by a notepad for taking messages. Kala picked up the mug and shook her head. The wild-haired man depicted on it was bare-chested, his bulging arms flexed, his eyes glaring out from a blue-and-red mask and his oversized muscles close to exploding. She set the mug back in place.

  You are one predictable dude, Woodhouse.

  She took a last look toward the door before methodically going through his desk drawers. He wasn’t a pack rat so the search was easy — minimal paperwork to sort through and what there was of it routine. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected to find. Maybe a smoking gun linking Woodhouse to Marci Stokes? But in hindsight, she knew he was too smart for that. She didn’t bother to turn on his computer. It would be password protected and if she guessed wrong a message would notify him that someone had tried to log in. She’d have to wait until he happened to leave the computer open and stepped out of the office. Risky at best.

  She stood up as the door to the office started to open. By the time Desk Sergeant Fred Taylor stepped into the room, she was almost back at her own desk, her heart pounding like a metronome on speed.

  “You’re still here,” Taylor said. “I didn’t bother to ring through because I thought everyone had gone.”

  “I’m on my way.” She was glad she’d thought to put on her jacket before carrying out the search. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was breathing hard from the exertion of distancing herself from Woodhouse’s desk. “I had a few reports to finish. Have you got something?”

  “Not sure. There’s a worried young lady at the front desk who says she’s here about a possible missing friend. She seems uncertain about anything but with the Jane Doe suicide case … I thought maybe the two could be connected. Rouleau said to keep the case top of mind when processing public enquiries.”

  “The bulletin went out this afternoon and calls have been flooding in with no real information. This sounds like another dead end but I can talk to her. Give me a sec to make a call first.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”

  He left and Kala fished her phone out of her jacket pocket. She texted Dawn with a message to go ahead with supper because something had come up and she’d be home even later than she’d indicated in her last text. She waited a minute to see if Dawn would message her back and briefly considered calling before throwing the phone into her bag. She had to stop worrying about the kid; she’d never been anything but responsible. Kala would have a quick chat with this woman and get home to Dawn and Taiku before 8:00 p.m.

  Based on Taylor’s description, Kala had expected someone younger than the woman who rose from her seat in the waiting area to greet her. Teagan McPherson had frizzy red hair, drawn features, and slightly bulging eyes. Her coat was stained and her jeans were too snug over her wide hips.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Kala said after shaking her hand. “I’m Officer Stonechild. Let’s find a quiet place where we can talk.”

  In an empty meeting room they took seats kitty corner to each other at the end of the long table.

  “I haven’t got much time,” Teagan said in an Irish accent after refusing tea or coffee. “I’ve left the children with a lass from across the hall. She has school tomorrow.”

  “Then let’s get right into it.” Kala took out a notepad and pen. “Who do you believe is missing and for how long?”

  “Her
name is Nadia Armstrong and she lives in apartment 302, a floor above me in Bellevue Towers. The building is located at 60 Alfred Street at the corner of York. Nadia asked me to mind her baby overnight. She went out last evening and hasn’t been home all day. I even got the super to let me into her apartment to check.”

  Kala raised her head. “Can you tell me what Nadia looks like?”

  “Early twenties. Black hair. Slender and tall … well, not short. She had a diamond stud above her lip. Pretty.”

  “Where was she going last evening?”

  “I have no idea. Like, we weren’t friends or anything. She moved into the building late last year and she wasn’t overly friendly. I was surprised when she asked me to look after her wee babe Hugo yesterday, quite frankly.”

  Kala tucked her notebook into her pocket and stood. “Wait here for a moment while I make a call.”

  “Do you know where Nadia is?”

  I believe I do. Kala hesitated. “I have to check with my team and we’ll go from there.”

  Teagan sighed and slumped back into the chair. “As long as this doesn’t take too long. My son, Aiden, can be a pure handful at bedtime and I promised the wee sitter I’d be home to tuck him in.”

  Rouleau answered on the second ring. “I’m on my way. Call Gundersund and get him back to HQ. I’ll line up Trevor Cavanaugh for a viewing. If the dead girl is Nadia Armstrong, we’ll want to lock down her apartment until Forensics has a look in the morning.”

  “You think the girl was murdered?”

  “Not sure yet, but it never hurts to dot the i’s until we have conclusive proof one way or the other.”

  “For what it’s worth, sir, I agree with you.”

  They signed off and she sent another quick text to Dawn to let her know she’d now be home very late. She ignored the flutter of worry that Dawn hadn’t answered her previous text and returned to break the bad news to Teagan. She’d have to stay another hour at least to identify the dead girl.

  Dawn had meant to catch the bus home right after class ended. In fact, she was at her locker putting on her jacket when Emily came to talk to her.

  “I have a math test tomorrow that I forgot about and I need help. Do you have an hour to spare?”

  Dawn considered the timing for a second before agreeing. After all, Kala wouldn’t be home for at least another hour and Taiku was fine indoors for a few more. They found seats in the library and Emily struggled through some problems before finally announcing that she got the concept. They worked through a few more problems to be certain, then Dawn checked the clock above the librarian’s desk.

  “I have to get home,” she said, gathering up her books. “Are you meeting up with Chelsea and Vanessa?”

  “Chelsea’s sick today.” Emily checked her phone. “Vanessa’s with her mystery boyfriend. Do you have time to go for coffee? I could drive you home afterward. The rain has started up again so it’ll save you getting wet.”

  “If we go somewhere close by.”

  They chose the Tim Hortons on the way to Dawn’s house and settled in with cups of hot chocolate. Dawn checked her phone while Emily went to the washroom. Another message from her father. Should she delete it and cut the tie now or see what he wanted? She waffled, knowing that Kala and her mother would be upset if they knew Fisher had been contacting her. Feeling guilty, she opened her aunt’s message first. Another arrived while she was reading the first.

  “Anyone exciting?” asked Emily, sliding into the seat across from her.

  Dawn set her phone on the table. “Just my aunt letting me know she’s got to work on a case and won’t be home for a while.”

  “So you can stay longer?”

  “Not too long. I have to get home to take the dog out.”

  Emily seemed to be mulling something over. She asked, “Why do you live with your aunt instead of your parents?”

  Dawn had known she’d be questioned at some point and she had her answer ready. “My parents are divorced and out of the city a lot. It’s easier to live with my aunt while I’m going to school.”

  “Still, must be hard not seeing them much.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Vanessa’s not taking her parents’ divorce well. She’s gotten all secretive and this new boyfriend seems … I don’t know … sketchy.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “I saw him when he picked her up once, but only from a distance. He looks older. Like maybe too old to be dating a fifteen-year-old.”

  “How old is he?”

  “She won’t tell me.” Emily picked up her hot chocolate. “I’ve tried talking to her. Chelsea tried. Vanessa is being evasive, you know? It’s so not like her.”

  “She probably wants to be sure of their relationship before she brings him into the circle. She’ll come around.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Leo somebody. She never told me his last name.”

  Dawn didn’t know Vanessa well enough to offer to talk to her, let alone to offer advice on dating or even on parents divorcing, for that matter. Dawn could commiserate about the loneliness that came from feeling you didn’t belong anywhere but it wasn’t like Vanessa was becoming an orphan. She’d end up with two homes and at least one parent who cared about her. She’d still be blond, white, and privileged. Dawn finished her hot chocolate. “I should be getting home.”

  Emily was looking at her phone. “Speak of the devil. Vanessa wants me to pick her up downtown.”

  “Then you should go. I’ll be fine on the bus. The stop is on the next block.”

  “No, I can take you home.”

  “Listen, this might give you a chance to find out about the guy Vanessa’s dating. Really, I’m fine getting home on the bus.”

  “I guess. I’ll drive you home next time for sure.”

  They parted at the door and Dawn pulled up her hood as she started down the street. The day was darker than usual because of the heavy cloud cover. Sunset was more than an hour away, yet it felt as if it had already begun. The wind blew a spring chill through her jacket and she shivered when she reached the bus stop and stopped moving. She’d planned to message Kala but didn’t want to pull out her phone with the rain pouring down. By the time the bus pulled up ten minutes later, she was soaked and cold and not thinking about texting. She sat at the front of the nearly empty bus and the driver chatted to her about the rain keeping people home and off his route. He let her off at the intersection of Front Road and Old Front Road and she walked home through the gathering dusk.

  Taiku was happy to see her. She let him out while she changed into dry clothes. It was only after she’d fed him supper and made a pot of tea that she remembered Fisher’s unopened message. She sat staring at the rain snaking its way down the kitchen window while she considered what she should do. Listen to her mother and Kala or give him a chance to be part of her life? Taiku seemed to sense her worry. He padded across the floor and rested his head on her thigh. “What should I do, boy?” she asked, rubbing his head. “Cut my dad loose or try to help him?” She picked up her phone. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened his text. She read it through twice before typing her reply.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rouleau’s father, Henri, was waiting up with a bottle of Scotch on the table when he finally arrived home just before midnight. “Sit down mon fils. Take your shoes off and let me pour you a few fingers,” Henri said, getting up to take a tumbler from the sideboard. “How did the evening go?”

  Rouleau sighed as he stretched out his legs and settled into the easy chair. “I believe we’re dealing with the murder of a young mother.” He took the proffered glass from his father. “Merci, mon père.”

  “De rien.” Henri topped up his own glass and sat in the chair angled to face his son’s. He sipped and studied Rouleau over the top of the glass. “Why only believe? Aren’t the facts conclusive?”

  “A few mitigating factors point to murder, including testimony from the wo
man minding the dead girl’s child.” He took a sip of Scotch and let the burn slide down his throat. “The woman said that she barely knew the victim, Nadia Armstrong, but that she hadn’t been acting suicidal. Nadia told her that she needed a night out and would be by first thing in the morning for her baby, an eight-month-old named Hugo. Apparently, she’d been smiling and bright-faced, like any young twentysomething let loose on the town for an evening of fun. She was dedicated to the baby.”

  “Was she meeting someone?”

  “If she was, she never said, but I believe she must have done. The alternative is that she met a stranger, which would mean an altogether different level of concern for the public.”

  “Mon Dieu. The poor child.”

  “This woman that Nadia left her baby with said there was never any man about that she saw. Nadia wasn’t married. Her parents live in Manotick, on the western edge of Ottawa. I’ve sent two officers to break the news. They should be arriving any time now.”

  “Kala Stonechild?”

  “Paul Gunderson and Tanya Morrison. They volunteered. Hopefully, the parents won’t be in too bad a condition after learning their daughter has died to give us information.”

  “It is a parent’s worst nightmare to have a child die before them, especially a violent death.”

  “I know.”

  “What will become of this dead girl’s baby?”

  “I expect her parents will take him. Child Services is involved.”

  Henri drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the side table. “I must go to bed and I suggest you do the same.” He rested his hands on his knees. His eyes were apologetic and his voice hesitant. “You know, son, if you prefer to spend nights with Marci, I’m fine on my own.”

  Rouleau knew that Henri must have debated saying this for some time. He wanted to put his father’s mind at ease without making him feel a burden so he chose his words carefully. “I may spend the occasional night with her, Dad, but for now, we’re happy leading our own lives for the most part. We enjoy each other’s company but we also have other interests and work to keep us busy. It’s also a good idea to stay apart as a new case unfolds, optics being what they are when a Homicide staff sergeant is dating a crime reporter.”