“Yes? Can I help you?”
She stepped around clay flowerpots bursting with begonias and impatiens. Thyme grew between the bricks at her feet, sending up a dusky fragrance as she walked closer. “Are you Wolf Edwards?”
“I am. And who might you be?” He smiled, his face friendly, unguarded.
She pulled the ID from her pocket that Vera had typed up that very morning and watched his expression alter. “Detective Kala Stonechild. I’m here about Leah Sampson.” She was now a metre from him. She stood in full sun while he sat in the shade of a blowsy willow tree that draped around him, only a short distance above his head. His brow furrowed as he read the ID and for a moment, she hesitated.
He lifted his eyes to hers. “Has she gotten herself into trouble?”
“I’m sorry to say that she’s been murdered,” Kala said. The words never came out soft enough, but how could they?
Wolf started to stand and then fell back. He stared at her as if seeking evidence in her eyes that she was lying. When he couldn’t find any, he gripped the neck of the guitar with both hands and levered it upward, level with his chest. He began to swing it into the trunk of the willow tree but instead swung it past and into a rose bush several feet away. Kala stood stock still in front of him and waited, unfazed by his anger. She’d seen every reaction imaginable after delivering this news, from complete denial to physical illness. Without warning, he stood and kicked the stool against the trunk of the tree. One sob ripped through his throat into the silence of the garden. Kala took a step closer and put a hand onto his forearm.
“Should we go inside and sit?” she asked quietly. “I can tell you what I know.”
His back straightened. He searched her face, his eyes seeking purchase. “I need to know what happened.” Each word seemed ripped from his throat.
He turned abruptly and led her through a torn screen door directly into a kitchen. She took in a clean square room with a green tile floor and white cupboards. A wooden blind hung at a crooked angle over an open window. The sun streamed in through the open slats. She crossed to the table, ignoring the remains of a joint in an overflowing ash tray. They sat across from each other at the pine table.
“Tell me,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
I can’t share much, but we believe Leah was killed late Friday night or early Saturday morning in her apartment. When was the last time you saw her?” Kala pulled a notebook and pen from her handbag and sat back, waiting for Wolf to answer.
“I walked her home after she finished her shift on Friday. I watched her go into the house where she’s living. It was around nine-thirty. Then I met a buddy at the campus pub. Did it happen in her apartment?”
“Yes. Did you see anybody on the street or hanging around near her building?”
Wolf shook his head. “Was somebody waiting for her? If I’d walked her to her apartment door, would she still be alive?” He moaned and dropped his head into his hands. When he lifted his eyes to hers a minute later, they were wet. “I’d like to see her.”
“In time. Can I have the name and address of the buddy you met that night?”
“This is a waste of time.”
“It’s called crossing out possibilities.”
He sighed and gave her the information while she took it down. “How did you meet Leah?”
“I don’t see how this is going to be of any value.”
“It will help me piece together who she was and hopefully lead to who killed her.”
“From finding out when I met her?”
“It’s just one piece of her life. It could lead to more avenues for us to investigate.”
“High school. My parents moved to Brockville when I was seventeen and she’d grown up there. She was in grade nine and I was three years ahead. We lived on the same street and walked home together one day.”
“Did you begin dating then?”
“No. I thought of her more like a little sister. In fact, she hung out with my younger sister, Amber. You know how it is in high school. A three-year age difference is a lot when it comes to dating.”
“But things changed.”
“I started in psychology at Queen’s and saw her whenever I went home, usually at our house. She and Amber remained best friends through high school and our house was where they spent their time. Leah came to Queen’s four years ago and we started going out her second year.”
“You’re finishing up your Ph.D. this year,” Kala said.
Wolf nodded without asking how she knew. “I took a year off and travelled after my masters.”
“While you were dating Leah?”
“Yeah. We’d just started going out but I’d had the trip to India planned and didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I was volunteering with a children’s orphanage. Leah stayed here and carried on with her studies.”
Kala thought this man sounded too good to be true. “I understand that you and Leah broke up a few months ago. Could you tell me about that?”
Wolf shifted in his chair and avoided looking at her. Perhaps he’d realized for the first time how wrong this could all go. He crossed his arms across his chest and scowled.
“Leah had started up with a married man and I asked her to choose. She told me that I was insane. But Leah’d been secretive and gone one weekend without explanation. I could read guilt on her face. There was enough evidence that I knew it was true.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No.”
Kala searched his face. He’d answered too quickly, but she’d give him a little leeway … for now. He’d just had a major shock and perhaps hadn’t fully comprehended what was at stake when it came to proving his innocence.
“Can I see Leah now?” he asked.
Kala wrote her cellphone number on a piece of paper and ripped it out of her notebook. She set the paper on the table in front on him and stood. She looked down at him. “We’re currently doing an autopsy. Leah’s parents are here and perhaps you should contact them about the arrangements. We’ll be releasing her body once all the forensics are completed.”
“Her father’s here?”
“Yes. Is there something I should know?”
Wolf shook his head again and looked down at the table.
“When you’re ready to tell me something of substance, I’ll be ready to hear it,” said Kala. She pointed to the paper. “That’s my cellphone number. Call me anytime. I should also advise you not to go anywhere. We’ll certainly be back to speak with you again.”
She left by the back door and was stepping over the trailing vines on her way to the gate when he came outside and called to her.
“You didn’t tell me how she died. I think you owe me that.”
She stopped and faced him. He reminded her of too many other people who’d just found out the world as they knew it had ended. Maybe she didn’t owe him anything, but the anguish on his face gave her pause. She took a few more steps and raised her hand to push open the gate. She looked over her shoulder at him.
“Leah died of a stab wound. We’re following up on every lead, I promise you that.”
He took a second to digest her words before nodding. He wiped his forehead and pushed the hair from his eyes, then he pulled the door shut and disappeared inside.
It was nearly six o’clock and Rouleau could feel his stomach rumble with hunger. He’d breakfasted on four cups of coffee and a stale doughnut and missed lunch. He decided to get through the day’s reports quickly and head to his father’s to cook the steaks, still wrapped in brown paper in the meat cooler from the day before. He’d gotten home too late from the murder scene to cook supper and his father had managed with a sandwich. He’d said that morning that he would wait for Rouleau to get home even if it meant a late meal.
There was a knock on his office door and Gundersund entered. The big man looked tired, the scar on his cheek sharper than usual against his pale skin. He took the seat across from Rouleau.
“Any word from Stonechild?
”
“Not yet.” Rouleau looked over Gundersund’s shoulder. “But it looks like she’s just arrived.”
Rouleau watched her crossing the floor in the outer office to her desk. He raised a hand and signalled for her to come into his. She hesitated, then walked past her desk and pushed open his office door, flashing Gundersund a quick smile before taking the seat next to him.
Gundersund’s eyes fixed on Rouleau as he recapped the day’s progress. “We think somebody grabbed her just inside her apartment. There’s no sign of a forced entry so the attacker could have been waiting in the laundry room. It’s the most likely scenario.”
Kala interrupted. “I spoke with Wolf Edwards, who walked her home Friday night. He watched her go up the sidewalk to the house but didn’t see anybody lurking outside.”
“He’s the ex-boyfriend?” asked Rouleau.
“Yeah, but I got the feeling he didn’t know about her death. He seemed genuinely grief-stricken. He gave me the name of a friend he met up with after he dropped Leah off. That’s why I’m late. I went to check Rick Carlson out. He wasn’t home so we’ll have to follow up.” Her eyes darted to Gundersund and then straight ahead.
Rouleau looked from Kala back to Gundersund, who sat silently, his hands still in his lap. “The door-to-door interviews haven’t come up with anything else. Nobody saw or heard anything. What about the autopsy?” Rouleau asked Gundersund.
“What I told Kala this afternoon about the autopsy hasn’t changed much. Leah’s ribs and fingers on her right hand were smashed in addition to lots of other bruising. She was superficially cut with a knife over a good part of her body but the thrust in her stomach killed her. Fiona says we’re looking for a hunting knife most likely, six-inch blade.”
“Was she raped?”
“No.”
“What about her co-workers?” Rouleau swung his eyes back to Kala. “Find out anything useful?”
“Hard to say. It’s going to take a few visits to get all the secrets out of them.”
“Well tomorrow, Kala, you’ll be working with Chalmers and Woodhouse on the rape case. Gundersund can make the follow up call to the help line.”
“But …” Kala began.
Rouleau held up a hand. “I know. This is hardly the time to split you up, but the two of them need a woman’s point of view. I apologize if that sounds sexist, but I assure you it’s a compliment. You can move back and forth between the two files.”
“The two of them already given up?” asked Gundersund, amused. “Or have they got a lead that needs chasing down?”
“They got nothing today that we didn’t already have,” Rouleau said. “I need some imagination on this file.” He slid a folder across the desk in her direction. “A little light reading for your evening’s entertainment.”
“How did you guys ever get along without me?” Kala asked, reaching for it.
“Not all that well obviously,” Gundersund said.
Chapter Thirteen
Gundersund watched Stonechild as he packed up his desk to head home. She’d started up her computer and was now hunched over the file that Rouleau had given her. He didn’t find her pretty in the regular sense of the word. Arresting. That was the word he’d use. High cheekbones, dark eyes with so much hidden in their depths anybody could get lost just trying to find a way in, long legs, and a toned body. She looked unapproachable; an island unto herself.
She flipped a page and set down the file, typing her password on the keyboard. Her eyes skimmed the computer screen then lifted toward him. He was leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
“No, but I thought you might like to grab a bite to eat.”
“What, now?”
“It’s past suppertime, so yeah now.”
“I have to read up on this rape case.”
“Well, if you come eat with me, I can tell you what’s in the file since I wrote everything in it.” He smiled. “I can even tell you what I didn’t include.”
She studied him a moment longer, biting her bottom lip as she considered the offer. “I guess I could eat.”
“Then let’s go.” Gundersund stood and waited for her to pack up her bag and shut down her computer.
“Where are you staying?” he asked as they walked out of the building.
“Heading toward Bath, on the Old Front Road.”
He stopped for a second, then resumed walking as he said, “No kidding. We must be neighbours. I moved out that way about a year ago.”
“I’m staying at a friend’s. Marjory Littlebear.”
“The land claims lawyer?”
It was Kala’s turn to stop. “You know her?”
“I’m just down the road. She’d come over Sunday evenings and we’d walk my dog. I have a border collie named Minny.” He watched Stonechild’s face but couldn’t tell if the news pleased her or not. If he had to guess, he’d bet on the side of not. “What were the odds?” he asked smiling.
Her face closed down but not before he saw the grimace. “I like my privacy,” she said. “You might not find me as good a neighbour as Marjory. She’s gone for a month or so.”
“She told me last week she might be going North on short notice,” said Gundersund. “I guess you could be her replacement, seeing as how you have a dog needs walking too.”
They continued toward the parking lot. He shortened his strides to match hers. “Is that your truck?” he asked, pointing to a black Ford. When she nodded, he said, “Mine is the silver Camero over there. We can meet up at the Merchant Tap House at the bottom of Princess Street. I can lead if you like.”
“I passed by it in my travels.” She glanced over to his car. “Nice wheels. What year?”
“It’s second hand 2010. My pride and joy. See you in a bit then.” He started to cross the parking lot but stopped and turned when she called his name. She’d opened her truck door and stood with one foot on the riser.
“My dog Taiku doesn’t like other dogs much. You’re better off taking those Sunday walks without us.”
She slid into her front seat and slammed the door without waiting for his response.
The first dinner crowd shift had finished and the pub staff was regrouping for the nine o’clock rush. The hostess offered them their choice of seats. Gundersund followed Kala through the tables to the back corner in the smaller room to their right with a window overlooking Princess Street. Night had fallen and candles flickered on the tables.
They took a few minutes to read the menu and order: bangers and mash with a pint of Guinness for Gundersund; chicken burger, fries, and salad with a soda and cranberry for Stonechild.
Gundersund stretched out his legs under the table, angling them so he wasn’t crowding Stonechild. He liked this bar. It didn’t pretend to be anything but a place to drink. The food was basic too: no pretentious sauces or fancy presentation. Rock and roll pumped through the speakers. His kind of music. Tunes that never wore out.
“This place has a good feel,” said Stonechild, as if reading his mind. She leaned back in her chair and stretched out her legs alongside his.
He nodded his agreement. “So how long have you known Rouleau?” he asked. For the first time that day, the pinched look left her face and she smiled.
“Not long. We met last summer in Ottawa when I went to work on his team. We hit it off.”
Two peas in a pod as far as Gundersund could see — a twin set of loners. “I heard he was married.”
“Are you digging for dirt, Officer Gundersund?” asked Kala. Her smile widened.
He grinned back. “Maybe. It’s good to know who you’re working with.”
“Rouleau was married but now he’s single. His ex-wife remarried last year but she’s been ill. Rouleau doesn’t talk about it.” Her gaze studied him. “I found this out from my last partner in Ottawa. We’re detectives after all. So how about you? Married or single?”
“Separated.”
“T
his job is tough on relationships.” He heard genuine regret in her voice.
“We’re cop clichés all right,” he said.
Their food arrived and they agreed to talk work after they’d eaten. Gundersund glanced across at Stonechild as she ate the food. She ate like a kid, not caring if anybody watched her devour every morsel, licking her fingers as ketchup oozed from the burger. A spot of relish dimpled her cheek. Gundersund grinned and bit into one of the sausages. The smoky taste laced with garlic, cayenne, and rosemary spread like fire across his taste buds.
Fiona had picked at the meals he’d cooked her, saying she wasn’t hungry, but he knew it was vanity driving her small appetite. She’d feared growing out of her size four clothes as if her worth was tied up in a dress size. She’d hated his complacency about putting on weight and getting old. When he knew their relationship was going south, he’d started going to the gym to prove he was open to changing for her. After she’d left, he kept going, hoping it would bring her home. At some point, he’d just given up the fight and stopped working out.
Kala pushed her empty plate toward the edge of the table and sighed contentedly. “So what’s the story on Chalmers and Woodhouse?”
Gundersund took one last bite of mashed potatoes and put his plate on top of hers. “Let’s say they’re not known for their relentless search for the truth. Rouleau was saddled with them as was the last series of inspectors in his job. Chalmers used to be good but he doesn’t care anymore. Retirement is on his horizon and he’s been easing into it for a while. Unfortunately, he and Woodhouse found each other. They share the same work ethic.”
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