“Well, twist my arm.”
Gundersund was waiting for Kala at her desk after the meeting broke up. “Do you want me to check in on Dawn later?” he asked.
“If you’ve time.”
“I’ll make time.”
She shut down her computer and picked up her handbag. “How’s Fiona?”
“Home with her foot up. She twisted her ankle but it’s not a serious injury.”
“That’s lucky. How did she do it?”
“Fell on the bottom step going into the backyard.”
Fell on a step at the same time Gundersund was making supper for her and Dawn. Kala wondered if Gundersund had put two and two together. She decided not to pursue it. He was too nice a man for his own good and she didn’t want him questioning his sense of duty. “Are you staying in the office or going on interviews?” she asked.
“Haven’t decided.”
“I’ll see you later, then?”
“Yes, but call in after Brockville.”
“I will.”
He lowered his voice. “Are we good, Stonechild?”
She wanted to take away the uncertainty she saw in his eyes. She checked that no one was watching and reached over to touch the back of his hand. “We’re good. I’ll call when I’m on my way to Ottawa.”
Marci had suggested getting Peter alone, so when Kala arrived in Brockville at quarter to ten, she drove straight to the Jiffy Lube. She was in luck. Peter was behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee in his hand. He held it up in her direction when she entered the shop and she nodded. They took their cups to the two chairs in the waiting area and settled in.
“I figured you wouldn’t stay away,” he said by way of an opening. His puppy-dog brown eyes flickered over her and looked out the window. “That reporter, I’m guessing?”
“She called me, yes.”
“I shouldn’t have sat in on her interview with Lorraine.”
“Why not?”
“The way she stared at me. Like a bug under a microscope.” He pulled his eyes away from the window to look at her.
“She thought you had more to tell about Nadia but was intuitive enough to know that you’d never talk to a reporter.”
“Damn straight.”
“About which part?”
“Both. No way I’d air dirty laundry in public. Nadia … well, let’s say my wife has rose-coloured glasses when it comes to her sister. She wanted her to be good so she bought into the illusion.”
“Whatever you tell me won’t be shared with the media. I promise you that.”
“Nadia was hooking before she came to live with us.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I do, because Nadia told me.”
“When?”
“Right before she dropped her nightgown on the floor and propositioned me. I told her to put it back on. Lorraine doesn’t know and I don’t want her to find out.”
“How did Nadia react when you rebuffed her?”
“She said that she saw the way I looked at her when Lorraine wasn’t watching. But she only imagined my interest because I had none. I told her she was going to have to move out or I’d tell Lorraine what kind of two-faced bitch of a sister she was letting stay in our house. She left a week later.”
Kala believed the disgust on his face. “Do you know if Nadia went back to soliciting in Kingston?”
“I don’t know but I could make a guess.” He sighed. “Maybe she didn’t. Nadia was trying to start a new life for her son. The only time I was alone with her after that incident, she said she was sorry and hadn’t meant anything by it. She’d had a few drinks and was lonely. She said she was planning to make a go of it in Kingston and we should let bygones be bygones.”
“And that’s how you left it?”
“I told her not to let her sister down again.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about Nadia that would help me to understand her?”
“I only know her from what Lorraine told me about her and from those months she lived with us. Nadia loved her kid. She may have only tolerated Lorraine and pretended to be a decent sister, but Hugo meant everything to her. Maybe Hugo was enough to make her want to pull herself together but I believe the addict in her wasn’t far from the surface. She was like this streetwise, tough chick pretending to fit into the civilized world of diaper bags and soccer moms. I hoped the straight life would win for her kid’s sake. I had trouble believing it would, though.” He shrugged. “Looks like we’ll never know now.”
“Well, thanks for being so candid. I’ll see where this fits in to what we uncover in Kingston.” His eyes were focused back on hers and she wondered if he knew their effect.
“I’d like Lorraine to keep her good thoughts about Nadia, if that’s possible. She’s been through enough hell where her sister’s concerned.”
‘I’ll do what I can but if this information has something to do with her death …”
“I know. It’ll be tough to keep secret.”
“But hopefully not impossible.”
Back in her truck, Kala sat for a second, leaning on the steering wheel and staring through the Jiffy Lube front window. Peter had gone deeper into the shop and was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t decide if he was the faithful husband he professed to be or if he’d gone further with Nadia than he’d ever admit. They’d never determined who had fathered Hugo. Ottawa was about an hour from Brockville and he could have met Nadia there easily enough before she got pregnant. It might not be a coincidence that he and Lorraine were now trying to get custody.
Kala took out her phone and texted Morrison that she was leaving Brockville. She sincerely hoped this Danny friend would have some answers about Nadia’s state of mind before she died. She followed up with a quick text to Gundersund before pointing the truck toward the highway leading to Ottawa.
Rouleau called Gundersund into his office in the late morning. They settled in with strong cups of office coffee brewed sometime around 7:30, if Gundersund calculated correctly. Anybody drinking it would be wide awake for the afternoon. Rouleau didn’t take long to get to the case.
“Woodhouse’s team has not managed to track Nadia Armstrong’s movements the day she died. In fact, nobody’s given us much to go on concerning her lifestyle or the people she associated with. The public appeal hasn’t generated anything either.”
“Hopefully Stonechild and Morrison will come up with more in Ottawa.”
“Heard from them yet this morning?”
“Stonechild texted she was leaving Brockville around ten-thirty. She didn’t say anything about her interview with Peter Billings.” Gundersund hoped his voice didn’t give away his longing to hear from her. The thought that she might regret yesterday’s physical contact had him nervous as a cat.
Rouleau was silent for a moment, twirling the coffee mug on his desk. “I’ve received a confidence that someone could be feeding information about our cases to Marci. Woodhouse would be my first guess, but it’s only a guess at this point.”
“Who told you?”
“Not important, although I’ve asked them to bring me definitive proof.”
“Would Marci confirm —”
Rouleau didn’t let him finish his thought. “No. It would go against everything a journalist stands for. I wouldn’t ask her to break her code by revealing the identity of her source.”
“Too bad. Would have simplified our lives. What do you plan to do if Woodhouse turns out to be the leak? I might add that I wouldn’t be surprised either.”
“I haven’t decided how to deal with him yet.”
“But you’ll do something?”
“That I can promise you.”
Andrew Bennett looked across at his partner, Woodhouse, and wondered how much longer he’d tough it out on the Kingston force. He’d jumped at the chance to transfer from Ottawa to work with Stonechild and Rouleau again but the cons were starting to outweigh the pros — and by cons, he meant Woodhouse. Even the sound of
Woodhouse’s name had become grating. Self-righteous, condescending, self-serving bastard. Bennett’s desk phone rang, interrupting his therapeutic search for adjectives. He picked up.
“Officer Bennett.”
“Yeah, it’s Fred Taylor. I got a woman asking to speak to you about the Armstrong case. Could be a nutbar. You want to take it?”
“Sure. Make my day.”
“Happy to let you deal with her.”
Bennett didn’t recognize the woman’s voice right away until she asked, “You the young man who came to my door yesterday? The good-looking one?”
“Mrs. Greenboro?” He took a quick look at Woodhouse to see if he was listening. Happily, he was texting away on his cellphone, oblivious to Bennett’s call.
“Of course it’s me, young man. I told your gatekeeper about six times. I think he might need a hearing aid. You should look into it.”
“Thanks for the tip. How can I help you today?”
“I have something more to tell you about Nadia Armstrong but I want to do it in person.”
Bennett checked his watch. “I could come by around four o’clock. Would that work for you?”
“Do you imbibe?”
“Excuse me?”
“Four o’clock is martini hour. Do you like them shaken or stirred?”
Is this a test?
“I’m not fussy.”
“Well, if you come by at four o’clock, you’ll have to partake. I insist. While your answer was diplomatic, stirred is the right response. Bond had it wrong. I can see you’re going to need a lesson in the finer points of life. Don’t bring that overweight partner of yours. If you do, I won’t let you in.”
“Understood.”
Bennett hung up and glanced again at Woodhouse. He was still engrossed in his phone and still unaware of Bennett’s phone call. Bennett could share the information with Woodhouse — probably the wisest path forward — but every fibre of his being rebelled against the idea. What would be the harm in meeting with Mrs. Greenboro on his own time? She probably had nothing much of interest to share, anyhow. What could it hurt to make the old lady’s day?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kala took the Queensway across the west end of the city and exited by the Nicholas off-ramp into downtown Ottawa. It was too early for rush hour but traffic was backed up at the lights anyway. Rather than waste time circling the streets to find a parking spot in the ByWard Market, she drove into the city parking garage on Clarence and paid the inflated downtown fee. She walked to the Heart and Crown pub at the other end of Clarence, taking a moment to enjoy the spring breeze and the chance to stretch her legs. Tanya Morrison was waiting for her at a table for two in front of the bar. A half-drunk glass of Guinness sat on the table in front of an open menu.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Kala, shrugging out of her leather jacket. “Have you been here long?”
“Forty minutes. No problem. I knew you’d get here eventually.”
The waiter appeared and they ordered cheeseburgers and fries.
“The hell with the diet,” said Morrison as the server set a soda and cranberry on the table in front of Kala. “I need a good dose of grease and carbs.”
“That rough?”
“This morning was. I spent it with Nadia’s parents and the mother is a wreck. She blames her husband so you can imagine the tension.”
“Why does she blame him?”
“For the last fight with Nadia and for not making up. She thinks his actions pushed her to move to Kingston rather than come home with the baby.”
“Many marriages never recover from a child’s death.”
“You’d think such a tragedy would bring a couple closer, but I guess I can understand how it does the opposite. The upshot is that I got nothing more out of them that would help us find her killer.”
“But you found Danny?”
“I did. He’s working at a tattoo parlour on Rideau Street not far from here. His full name is Danny Fazendeiro but he’s known as Faz to all his friends. He was basically a street kid but seems to be doing better. Apparently, he’s a rock star in the tattoo business.”
“How did you ever track him down?”
“I visited all the shelters and soup kitchens and talked to a lot of street people. On my second trip to one of the shelters, a volunteer who’d been working there for several years remembered Nadia and somehow realized that Faz was the Danny that I was looking for. Lucky for us Nadia had called him Danny once in her hearing. She said they both used to come in together sporadically but she hadn’t see either for a couple of years. Faz was off work yesterday when I went in. He starts today at one.”
Kala checked the time on her cellphone. “He should be arriving about now. Let’s hope the food comes quickly so we can get over there. It’s past time we figured out what was going on with Nadia. I’m hoping this Faz kid holds the key.”
At 1:30, they were opening the door to Tat’s Ass Tattoo Parlour, a brightly lit space with photos of previous customers’ art projects plastering the walls. A girl with green tattooed sleeves adorning both arms and pink roses colouring her upper chest greeted them with more bubbliness than Kala thought was warranted. The girl introduced herself as Skyla and invited them to sit and go through the tattoo books. “Although our artists can do pretty much whatever you want, even if you just describe your idea,” she said. “You’re so in luck today. Faz is with a customer right now but he’ll be free to meet you soon. He’s the one everybody asks for.” Her face was radiant with either delight at his craftsmanship or lust — Kala couldn’t tell which.
“How long until we can see him?” she asked.
Skyla checked her book. “Ten minutes?”
Kala looked at Tanya, who nodded. “Okay, we’ll wait.”
They could hear voices in the next room rising and falling. A woman shrieked once and then laughed.
“Wild horses …” muttered Morrison, flipping through one of the books and wincing at every photo. “I pray to God this fad is over by the time Sara and Jack are old enough to sneak to one of these places behind my back.”
“It’s been more than ten minutes,” said Kala. “We should have shown our warrant cards and gotten this going.”
Fifteen more minutes and Faz appeared from the back room with the woman who’d been recently inked. “How would you like to pay for that?” Skyla asked the woman as she stepped over to the counter.
Faz was a skinny kid with dirty-blond hair that hung straight past his shoulders. A scruffy goatee and moustache added to the hippy look along with loose faded jeans, an untucked black T-shirt, and a red-and-blue beaded necklace. Kala counted only two tattoos on him: an eagle on his right shoulder and green script on his forearm whose words she couldn’t make out. His grey eyes were constantly moving, like those of a crack addict who couldn’t focus. His smile was shy but sweet, reminding Kala of a much younger boy.
“We’re not here for tattoos,” said Kala. She and Morrison pulled out their IDs. She watched his eyes pass over the badges and back up to her face. His expression had sharpened, the smile now a straight line. “Come in the back,” he said. “I don’t need Skyla overhearing whatever it is you’re here about.” He led them into his workspace and they took positions facing each other on either side of the reclining chair. Faz crossed his arms across his chest and waited.
“We’re here about your friend Nadia Armstrong,” said Kala, pulling her eyes away from the photos of tattoos that covered the wall behind him. The one of a man’s face covered in green ink made her queasy. She focused on Faz’s face instead. “We’re very sorry to tell you that she died a few days ago.”
Faz stared at her. “I don’t believe you.”
“Nadia’s family has identified her. I’m sorry, but there is no doubt.”
Faz lifted a hand to cover his mouth. His eyes reddened and filled with tears, but he didn’t make a sound. He swallowed several times and blinked rapidly until his eyes cleared. Kala waited, giving him time to absorb Nadia�
��s death.
His voice was husky. “Did she OD?”
“Possibly, but we believe someone was with her who killed her, or at least tried to cover up her death. We’re working to find out who did this and why.”
Faz turned away from them and punched his fist into the wall. The sound of smashing plaster filled the room. Kala rounded the table and put a hand on his back. She could feel his shoulder blade jutting through his shirt and his entire body seemed to be vibrating. She got an arm around his waist as his knees began to buckle and manoeuvred him onto the chair. She nodded to Morrison, who was already on her way to get a glass of water from the cooler in the waiting room.
“This is shock,” she said. “Your body is reacting.”
Morrison returned with the water and Faz drank before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. “Man, I thought I was going to pass out.” His voice was achingly sad when he said, “I can’t believe Nadia’s dead.”
Kala waited until some colour returned to his cheeks. “Is your hand okay?”
He looked down and shook it out. “Knuckles hurt but it’s fine. Guess that wasn’t the smartest move for a tattoo artist.”
“It’s going to throb.”
“Don’t worry. I’m tough.” He gave her a half smile.
She waited until he’d finished the glass of water. “We don’t know much about Nadia and we’re hoping you can enlighten us. Were you her boyfriend?”
“Not exactly. We were together for a while but not recently.” He rubbed his forehead slowly and looked up at Kala. “Could we get out of here? I could use a drink and this isn’t the best place to reminisce about her.”
“Of course. Where would you like to go?”
“There’s a quiet place called the Albion Room not far from Rideau Centre. It’s a short walk from here.”
“Sounds good.”
They filed out of the room, and Faz told Skyla he’d be gone a while and to keep an eye on the place. They walked to the Albion without saying much and entered the bar, which fed into a restaurant. Kala could tell that Morrison was as surprised as she was at the sophisticated feel of the space: dark leather couches and white leather chairs, round wooden tables, black hanging lamps of various shapes and sizes, and a floor-to-ceiling window facing a red brick wall. The bar running across the end of the room had a stained wooden top with shiny white tile as its base. Teak panels lined the wall behind the bar topped with wine bottles lying on their sides in a criss-cross of wooden slots. Pleasant jazz floated through the room from speakers hidden in the ceiling. This didn’t seem like the kind of place Faz would hang out but he waved at the bartender and sank into one of the couches as if he’d been here many times before.
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