Turning Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  Simmons paused, one foot on the ground and the other on the floor of the vehicle. “I’m the paperwork guy. Contracts, zoning applications, feasibility studies. That kind of thing.”

  “Is that how you got your hands on two apartment buildings?”

  Simmons finished sliding into his seat and reached for the seat belt. His voice was indignant. “I didn’t get them illegally if that’s what you’re implying. I purchased them above board in a fully transparent manner. You can check the records.”

  “Oh, I intend to. You can rest assured about that.” Woodhouse slammed the door shut and tapped the roof of the car sharply two times.

  They entered the station twenty minutes later. Woodhouse told Bennett to stay in the hall with Simmons while he spoke with the desk sergeant about booking a room. He waited until Stonechild and Gundersund arrived with Jeff Simmons and told them to hold up at the end of the hallway where Murray Simmons could see his brother.

  “All set,” Woodhouse said, sauntering down the hallway toward Murray Simmons and acting as if all were right with the world.

  “What the hell is going on?” Murray’s face flushed beet red and his hands bunched into fists. He craned his neck to look around Woodhouse at his brother standing next to Stonechild. Bennett grabbed Murray’s arm and hustled him into the meeting room as if trying to prevent him from seeing Jeff. Murray shook him off. “What is my brother doing here?”

  “We’re interviewing everyone who knew Ms. Armstrong,” said Woodhouse, entering and shutting the door. He kicked out a chair. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Simmons.”

  Murray looked like a fire pot ready to explode but he dropped onto the seat as asked. He pounded his fist on the table. “My brother didn’t do nothing. He doesn’t know squat about anything.”

  “Then neither of you have anything to worry about, do you?” Woodhouse took the seat directly across from Simmons and turned on the tape recorder. He recited date, time, and those present before settling against the back of the chair and folding his hands across his belly. “So tell me all about your relationship with Nadia Armstrong.”

  Simmons crossed his own arms. “She was a tenant in my apartment building.”

  “How long did she live there?”

  “Five, six months? I’d have to check my records to verify.”

  “Did you know her before she moved into the apartment?”

  “Nope.”

  “You might want to think about your answer. Did you know her when she lived in Ottawa?”

  “Never met her before she came in and decided to rent apartment 302.”

  “We have a witness who says that you visited Nadia twice a week in the evenings and stayed inside her apartment half an hour to an hour each time. What were the two of you doing?”

  Murray’s face whitened. “I might have dropped in a few times to fix the appliances. The last tenant hadn’t let me know they were breaking down. Who told you, anyway? If it was Mrs. Greenboro across the hall, that old woman has a few screws loose.”

  Woodhouse ignored Murray’s stab at identifying the source, though he was satisfied to have his own assessment of Mrs. Greenboro confirmed. “Isn’t that what your brother is there for? To fix things for tenants?”

  “Jeff looks after the building and general maintenance but fixing appliances is beyond his capabilities. I didn’t mind stopping in to get them in working order, seeing as it saved me a lot of money. Yeah, I’d spend a bit of time in her apartment on my way home. What of it?”

  Woodhouse could see his point but the explanation didn’t negate the obvious. He sweetened the sarcasm. “She must have had a lot of broken appliances if you were there twice a week for six months. What, were you working on her internal plumbing too?”

  Simmons laughed. “Is that what the old lady told you? Man, I think I was by maybe four times in total. I never jumped her bones, nor would I. I’m happily married with three kids, thank you very much. I get more than enough at home. Sorry. Should I have said that on tape?”

  “Only if you want bragging about your sex life on police record for posterity.”

  “I got nothing to hide.”

  Bennett spoke for the first time. “What about your brother? He was charged with inappropriate behavior. Stalking and sexual touching, wasn’t it?”

  The vein in Murray’s temple pulsed but he kept his voice level. “Jeffy has a simpler view of the world. He took a shine to a girl and didn’t know the first thing about how to go about asking her out. Not that she would have agreed … but he didn’t know that. He started following her around like a lovesick puppy and he tried to get her attention. She took it all wrong and called in the cops.”

  “Maybe he tried something with Nadia Armstrong.”

  “Nah, he learned his lesson. We sent him to live with relatives on a farm in the U.S. and he hated that. He wouldn’t do anything to get sent back there. I told him to never go into a tenant’s apartment alone and he hasn’t. My brother had nothing to do with what happened to Nadia. I guarantee you that.”

  Woodhouse cut in before Bennett could form another question. “We’ll need a list of dates and times you visited Ms. Armstrong’s apartment and a signed statement as to where you were the evening she went missing.”

  “Yeah, I can get you that, although the dates I stopped by her place will be a guess. My visits would have been on a Monday or Thursday, though, because those are the days I pick up my daughter at ballet and have some time to kill between work and the end of her class.”

  Woodhouse stretched. He’d done enough of these interviews to know Simmons wasn’t going to give him anything. “Officer Bennett will take your statement and then you’re free to leave.”

  “What about Jeff?”

  “You can wait in the lobby. If he’s as innocent as you say, he’ll be joining you shortly. If not …” Woodhouse raised his hands and flipped them over so that the palms faced the ceiling.

  Simmons stood and glared down at him before the bluster returned to his voice. “Then you’ll be releasing him right after me, because neither of us had anything to do with that girl’s death.”

  In the second interview room, Kala tried to think of how to approach Jeff Simmons after Gundersund’s efforts had fallen flat. He’d wrapped up his tough-guy approach and was looking at her as if to say, what now? She couldn’t tell if Jeff had been deliberately obtuse or if the person they saw was all there was. She glanced at her page of doodles and raised her head.

  “Jeff, you said that you never went into Nadia Armstrong’s apartment alone; is that correct?”

  His disconcerting stare, wide and unblinking as a garter snake’s, swung over to her. “I never went in alone.”

  She tried to think of what he wasn’t telling her. “Did you go in with anybody else, maybe when Nadia and the baby were there?”

  He was silent, his eyes darting between her and the wall behind her head. “You won’t tell my brother?”

  “No. This is between you and me. For the purposes of our files only.”

  He wiped a hand across his nose. “She asked me in sometimes.”

  She had to strain forward in her seat to hear him. “Could you repeat that a little louder, please, Jeff?”

  “Some afternoons after my work was done, she’d ask me in for a Coke. I said no at first, but she said it was our secret.”

  “Nadia was kind to you.”

  “I didn’t mind watching her baby when she went out. Hugo. He only woke up once and I sang to him like she told me until she got back.”

  “You’ll miss her friendship.”

  “I liked spending time with her.”

  “Do you know where she went those afternoons when she left you with Hugo?”

  “She said that she was working on a project.”

  “What kind of project?”

  “One to bring in money for her and Hugo. She said they wouldn’t be living at Bellevue Towers much longer.”

  “Did she say who she was working wi
th on her project?”

  “I don’t remember.” His face drooped sullenly, a stubbornness in his eyes.

  “That’s fine,” said Kala. She kept her voice low and smiled whenever his stare crossed hers. “How about Murray? Did he like to visit Nadia too?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You never saw him enter her apartment, say on a Monday evening?”

  “I dunno.”

  She leaned back in her chair and studied him. “I’m going to give you my card, Jeff, and if you ever remember, you can call me. Would you do that, Jeff?”

  “I guess.”

  “I have one more question for you.” She hesitated and forced her body and face to relax, leaning forward as if they were friends having a chat. “You were charged with assaulting a girl a few years ago. Can you tell me what happened?”

  She jerked back reflexively as his face contorted. If panic had a human name, it would have been Jeff Simmons.

  “I didn’t do nothing wrong. She lied and said I was trying to do something bad to her. I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!” He was pushing himself out of the chair, yelling as he got to his feet. “She set me up. Murray said she was nothing but a lying whore!”

  He bolted for the door, but Gundersund was there first, blocking the way. “Sit down, Jeff,” he ordered, but followed up with a gentler voice, “Officer Stonechild only wants to hear your side.”

  Kala stood and moved closer to Jeff, who again wouldn’t meet her eyes. She reached out and touched his arm. “I think we have all we need for now. You’re free to go home, and don’t forget to call me if you remember anything to help us. Will you do that, Jeff?”

  He dropped his head and nodded once before Gundersund opened the door and ushered him out.

  “He’s one scared rabbit,” said Gundersund after Jeff’s footsteps disappeared down the hall. He turned and looked at Kala. “Good work getting him to talk. All I managed to do was intimidate him.”

  “Well, you are twice his size.”

  Gundersund took a step closer to her. She could smell his scent. Citrusy cologne and musky soap that made her knees weaken. “Are you intimidated?” he asked, and she saw amusement in his crystal-blue eyes. She thought he might bend and kiss her; she looked up at the camera suspended from the ceiling. He followed the direction of her eyes and stepped back, turning so that his back was to the lens. “Your response will have to wait until later,” he said. His grin made her bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling back in case the camera operator was recording their exchange on tape.

  They were halfway down the hallway when Gundersund said, “Woodhouse told me that he got to Murray through his brother. What do you think?”

  “Woodhouse has been dealing with them both, so maybe he can. Let’s track him down and find out what happened in his interview. I’m not convinced that either of them is in the clear yet.”

  “Yeah, there’s something about the pair of them that doesn’t ring true.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Rouleau walked down the windowed hallway through the fading daylight toward Ellington’s office. He was tired and this was his last obligation before he could leave for the day. His father had been working on a beef stew, which he promised would only get better the later the hour. Rouleau was relieved that Henri was perceptive enough not to ask why he hadn’t been spending evenings with Marci. He didn’t want to have to explain that she was being fed information by somebody in his team. Until he knew more about her relationship with the leak, he had to keep his distance. He was using this investigation to buy time.

  Ellington appeared ill-tempered when he looked up from the paper he was reading. Rouleau took the seat across from him. “What have you got?” Ellington asked without preamble. He turned the page face down on his desk.

  “Nadia Armstrong had occasionally worked as a prostitute in Ottawa until she started seeing an older man — who is likely the father of her baby.”

  “She was turning tricks?”

  “Looks that way. She might have been having sex with Murray Simmons, the owner of the apartment building where she was living. The team is pursuing the lead. Nobody has come forward yet to say they saw her the day she went missing. We’ll be making another public plea.”

  “You can handle the media?”

  “If you like.”

  Ellington picked up the paper again and pursed his lips before saying, “It’s beginning to sound like her murder was a one-off — if it even was a murder. Sure, somebody moved her body, but maybe they didn’t kill her. She might simply have OD’d. Can you follow up with the coroner and see if he can run more tests? We’ll soon be able to stand down from news briefings, and the public will lose interest.”

  “We can’t know that yet.” Rouleau hoped he was misreading the indifference Ellington started to show ever since he’d said the word “prostitute.”

  “Once the media finds out she was involved in a high-risk lifestyle, this story won’t be front-page news anymore. People will think it’s too bad but maybe she shouldn’t have engaged in such dangerous activities. I’ve seen this scenario play out over and over.”

  “Or the media could give the story a higher profile.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. The emotional investment will end once the public hears that the deceased came from the underbelly of society. They’ll feel safe in their ivory towers, high above the ugliness. Trust me on this. Nobody wants to think too deeply about what really goes on in the back alleys while they’re tucked up warm and snug in their beds at night. Anything else?”

  “No, I’d say that about wraps it up.” Rouleau stood. His weariness at being part of a system that would allow a political player such as Ellington to rise to a position of authority weighted his footsteps across the plush carpet … and Ellington was only one in a long string. Still, say what you might about the absent police chief Malcolm T. Heath but he wouldn’t have lost interest in bringing a killer to justice just because the victim was a prostitute. Rouleau hoped that his decision to return to Major Crimes wouldn’t result in irreparable harm to the force. But he wasn’t the one who’d picked this replacement. The police board could have chosen better. Ellington’s voice stopped him at the door.

  “I’m off-site tomorrow, but available by text if something comes up. Shut the door on your way out, if you would. I have a call to make. And Rouleau?”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep me in the loop. The public might lose interest, but I still need to report up. Let me know about the new test results.”

  “Of course.”

  Rouleau almost collided with Vera, who was rushing to her desk, coat on, purse swinging over her shoulder. He reached out a hand to steady her but she brushed him away.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot something in my desk.” She skirted past him and rummaged in the top drawer. Rouleau stood watching her, uncertain of her mood.

  “That was a quick meeting,” she said at last, looking up as she slammed the drawer shut. She straightened. “Did his majesty tell you that I handed in my resignation letter this afternoon? I imagine he found it on his desk before you arrived.”

  “No, I had no idea. Vera, surely this is premature. Ellington won’t be in the job for long. He’s merely a placeholder.”

  “You have no way of knowing that. I heard from Laney and she says that she and Heath won’t be back in Canada for a few months at least. They’re sunning themselves on the Riviera and planning a jaunt to Tuscany in May. She thanked me for holding down the fort. The damn irresponsibility of both of them.”

  “Did something else happen with Ellington?”

  “Isn’t what’s already happened enough? I won’t be objectified and paraded in front of the media like … like a brainless mannequin with cleavage.”

  They were speaking in hushed voices, hers becoming angrier with every word. Rouleau was finding it difficult to accept what was unfolding. Guilt coursed through him over his inaction. He should have ignored her request to stay out of it and confront
ed Ellington. He’d certainly planned to, once he got the chance. He asked, “Have you got another job offer?”

  “I will have. No need to concern yourself.”

  “Let me take you for a drink. We can talk this through, Vera.”

  “What, so you can change my mind?”

  “If I can.”

  She stepped closer, and he became aware of her light lavender scent. “That’s not going to happen, Jacques. I’ve been thinking of leaving for a while. This latest addition to the team was just the push I needed.” She smiled and tilted her head while keeping her tawny eyes on his. “I’m here another week so there’s still time for that drink. But it’ll be to toast my departure. I’ve made up my mind and there’s no turning back.”

  School was over for the day, and the hours Vanessa had grown to dread had once again arrived. Leo had said to bring Dawn with her this time to meet Shawn B. but Dawn was nowhere to be found — not that Vanessa had looked too hard. She suspected Dawn was tutoring Emily in the library but decided not to look there. Then, when Leo asked her if she’d seen Dawn in the school, she could honestly say no. She wouldn’t flinch under his evil-eyed scrutiny.

  She felt bad about involving Dawn when she let herself think about it, even if the choice wasn’t hers. Leo was a creep and Shawn B. was hard to figure out. She still had welts on her stomach where Leo slapped her for saying she didn’t want to go with Shawn ever again. How could she bring Dawn into this, even if they weren’t really friends? Vanessa wouldn’t wish Shawn or Leo on her worst enemy. But what would they do to her if they thought she’d gone behind their backs to warn Dawn? She shivered even though the late afternoon sun was warm on her face and arms.

  They’ll post the naked photos and video of me on the internet and email them to my parents, friends, and teachers. That’s what they’ll do. They’ll humiliate me and wreck my life.

  Her feet were lead weights carrying her down the sidewalk.

  Leo was waiting for her partway along the street, sitting behind the tinted windshield of his black car. In the school washroom, she’d changed into the clothes he’d given her to put on. Black lacy underwear, short skirt, and striped red T-shirt. He’d told her to wear her running shoes and tie her hair in pigtails; the total ensemble made her look about twelve years old unless you saw the bra and panties. They scratched uncomfortably as she walked down the sidewalk.