Shallow End

by Brenda Chapman

  “Let’s get moving, then.” She reached down and poked him affectionately in the ribs. “Make Mom’s day and get to school on time.”

  “She’ll know we’re up to something if you start behaving.” He grinned at her before his face returned to its regular sullen default.

  “Yeah, well, if we get to school early, I can have a smoke before I have to sit through another boring math class. If I’m lucky, the teacher won’t check homework or there’ll be another note home.”

  Rouleau met with Gundersund in his office at going on ten o’clock Thursday morning. Gundersund looked tired and preoccupied. “Everything okay?” Rouleau asked.

  “Yeah, just trouble sleeping. What have you got?”

  “I’ve gone through all the reports and think it’s time to bring in Charlie Hanson and see if we can shake something out of him. I’m going to send Woodhouse over to pick him up from school. He knew Devon better than anyone and he’s clammed up. We need to break through the wall and find out what he knew.”

  Gundersund nodded. “You think he has infor-

  mation?”

  “I’m sure of it. Best friends since grade five and the last one to see Devon at school. I’d bet money he knows what happened to him. I believe this is worth a try.”

  “Anyone else we should be putting in the hot seat?”

  “Besides Jane Thompson?” Rouleau took a drink of coffee. “Her husband had reason to hate Devon.”

  “Yeah, Adam Thompson strikes me as a difficult man — unforgiving with a low tolerance for failure.”

  “A man concerned with projecting a good image?”

  “I’d say so. From what he said about Jane, her affair with Devon still rankles. He might have wanted to kill the problem. Take some revenge and restore his pride. Replacing his wife with a twenty-something-year-old might not be enough.”

  “He also wants to keep Jane away from the kids, so killing Devon and putting suspicion on her could solve another problem.”

  “Do you want us to bring him in for questioning?”

  “Let’s wait until after Woodhouse interviews Charlie.”

  “You really think it’s a good idea to let Woodhouse take the lead on that?” Gundersund looked far from convinced.

  “I’d like Woodhouse to have a role.” He’d decided to give Woodhouse more responsibility in the hopes that he’d start playing on the team. Woodhouse was also rude enough to take on a teenager who might respect that kind of approach. Sometimes, a gent-

  ler hand didn’t get respect from kids turned off to authority. “I wouldn’t mind if you watched the interview from behind the two-way mirror.” He might be willing to risk Woodhouse running an interview, but he wanted another set of eyes.

  “Will do.”

  “Stonechild late this morning?”

  “She said she had an errand to run but will be in shortly.”

  “Good. Heath pulled the tail off Jane Thompson during working hours too. Let Stonechild know.”

  “Any reason?”

  “The manpower is needed elsewhere and Jane hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary. In fact, the reports on her comings and goings are as exciting as dirt. I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to keep the tail.”

  “She would be on her best behaviour knowing she was being watched.”

  “I can’t justify tying up somebody when we don’t have any proof linking her to the murder. If you get me some evidence, now that’s a different story.”

  Gundersund left to wait for Woodhouse, and Rouleau stared at the pile of paperwork on his desk. He’d started going through the first file when Vera knocked at the door. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the charity musical.

  “Come in, Vera. I wanted to apologize for missing the play the other night. How’d it go?”

  “Good. I was sorry you didn’t make it.” She wasn’t smiling and cut off his second apology. “Hilary Eton is in the waiting area by the front desk and asking to speak to you.”

  Rouleau checked his watch. Still twenty minutes before his meeting with Heath. “I can see her now.”

  “I’ll go get her. I could use the exercise.”

  He watched Vera walk away; he wanted to call her back, but didn’t. He wasn’t sure she’d accept that he’d skipped the night out for no reason other than he hated sitting through a play, especially when singing was involved. Frances had known this and gone alone or with a girlfriend if there was something she wanted to see.

  Hilary Eton was suddenly standing in the doorway to his office, looking much like a bird that wasn’t sure if it should land or take off. Rouleau got up and ushered her inside, sitting her in the chair normally occupied by Gundersund. She crossed and uncrossed her legs while unbuttoning her coat. She was wearing kid leather gloves, russet red and expensive looking. Her coat was mohair and her black leather boots came above her knees over black leggings.

  Rouleau took the second visitor chair next to her, repositioning it so that he was facing her. “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “I’ve come to beg you to arrest the Thompson woman so we can get on with our lives. I implore you to do the right thing.” Her fingers picked at the fabric of her sweater.

  “As the investigating officers told your husband yesterday, we need to have more evidence before we can arrest her. I assure you that we’re working thoroughly and methodically to make a case against Devon’s killer. We’re as eager as you are to bring someone to justice for his murder.” He spoke gent-

  ly. “We have to be certain she killed him, but we haven’t reached that point in the investigation yet.”

  Hilary let out a sound of anguish. She half rose from the chair. “That woman was responsible for everything … everything. If but for her, Devon would have turned out differently. He wouldn’t … he would …” Her hands waved in the air. “How can you people not see what she’s done?”

  Rouleau said quietly, “Can you tell me about Devon? I’d like to hear more about him.”

  Hilary focused on him then and the frantic energy left her like air escaping a balloon. She settled back into the chair. “What do you want to know? That Jane Thompson broke and destroyed my loving boy? He was never the same, you know. She should never have been let out of prison.”

  “What was he like before the business with Mrs. Thompson?”

  Hilary’s face relaxed and she closed her eyes for just a moment. She looked at Rouleau. “He was active and advanced for his age right from the start, and such a good-looking boy. We had a special bond, the two of us. Mitchell was jealous, I think, because he wasn’t part of it and he tried to toughen Devon up. I think he understands now the bond I felt with our son because he has much the same for Sophie. It’s odd isn’t it, Sergeant, how one of our children can stir that feeling in us? And I don’t mean anything perverted, just simply an affinity with them that can’t be explained. Of course, all that disappeared with Devon after he was corrupted. Oh, Devon still had the charm and worked to please me, but he wasn’t the same.”

  Rouleau remembered Stonechild saying that she couldn’t get a real read on Devon even after all the interviews. Hilary’s ramblings held a truth that he couldn’t see yet. He waited, letting her know that he was listening, not daring to interrupt. The look in her eyes was as close to raw pain as Rouleau had ever seen, and he wondered if he’d looked the same when he heard that Frances had died.

  “I shouldn’t have come. Mitchell won’t be happy if he finds out.” She started to do up her coat, her long fingers fumbling with the buttons, having difficulty putting them through the holes.

  “I’m glad that you did. You’ve been under a great deal of stress and understandably want answers.”

  “Please forgive me.” She stood quickly. “I need to go.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No, you’ve done more than enough already.” She
extended a gloved hand and he reached for it. Her eyes held his. “Please let me know as soon as you arrest her. I think I could sleep then.”

  Rouleau watched her walk down the hall toward the exit and thought about what she’d told him, uneasy at what she’d revealed about her son. He’d relay the conversation to Gundersund and Stonechild and hopefully they’d cross-reference the information with conversations from other witnesses and make sense of it. He wished he was in a position to take a greater part in the investigation, finding directing from the sidelines a frustration. Necessary to have someone overseeing all the bits and pieces, but not the same as speaking with all the people in the victim’s life. He missed being on the front lines. That was the greatest loss that came with moving up the ladder and accepting a pay increase. That, and the time that he spent on paperwork that he’d never get back.

  He returned to his desk and opened the file he’d been going through before Hilary Eton had entered his office. He’d be the unit’s representative at a conference in Toronto on use of force in a week and had a lot of reading ahead of him. He had ten minutes to make some headway before his trip to Heath’s office to explain again why they hadn’t arrested Jane Thompson.

  It might have been the fact that Rouleau had given Woodhouse a job to do that didn’t involve door-to-door searches that made him enter Frontenac Secondary School by the front door and wait patiently in the office instead of barging into Charlie Hanson’s classroom and dragging the kid out. He’d conceded to Bennett’s suggestion that it didn’t take two of them to drive Charlie to the station and left him following up on some phone calls.

  Charlie shuffled into the office behind the secretary who’d gone to fetch him. Woodhouse was leaning on the counter and turned his head. Kid could have been him at that age. Same awkward looking slouch, hair wild and curly enough to mean he’d never be cool. The black glasses on the kid’s face would add to the “kick me, I’m a goof” look. Woodhouse straightened.

  “You’ll be coming with me, son,” he said. He motioned the kid to walk in front of him and they passed by a few giggling girls on their way down the hall to the main doors. Charlie kept his head down.

  A group of older kids was standing at the edge of the property smoking, and Woodhouse could almost feel the pain radiating from Charlie as he walked past them.

  “May as well sit up front with me. Not like you’re under arrest.”

  Woodhouse’s attempt at humour fell as flat as a pancake, but Charlie got into the front seat and did up his belt without comment. He’d brought his school bag and held it in his lap. He’d been in the middle of class and said he’d go home from the station.

  Woodhouse eased the car away from the curb, ignoring the rude gestures from the kids that he saw in his rear-view mirror as he pulled away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jane’s Thursday started with a pleasant surprise. The cop car that had become a fixture outside her apartment was gone. She had no idea why but took this as a sign that today was going to be a very good day.

  She dressed in her usual jeans and a new second-hand shirt that she’d bought for three dollars at the Sally Ann. She’d found it in one of the bags and recognized the quality of silk and cut from her old life, when she’d buy her own clothes at higher end boutiques. A royal blue shade, the shirt draped mid-thigh and she’d found a used silver belt to tuck it in at the waist. She could almost believe she was that same woman who’d once liked to dress up for a night out with Adam.

  She kept to her routine, drinking a cup of instant coffee while waiting for two pieces of bread to brown in the toaster. She threw the last of the loaf into the garbage, and after her sparse meal, checked that all the perishable food was emptied from the fridge and cupboards. She’d only bought what she’d needed and the garbage bag was less than half full. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she tucked her toothbrush and the toothpaste tube into her purse and left the soap on the side of the sink. She hated to leave the shampoo and conditioner, but she felt it would be wiser not to have anything with her that looked like she was going to be gone longer than a day.

  She’d be back to freshen up before leaving this place for the last time. The ringing of the phone in the bedroom startled her as she was putting on her jacket. “What now?” She could leave, but if it was her parole officer making a spot check, she had to be available. Everything had to look like business as usual. She crossed the short distance and picked up on the third ring. The voice she loved and often despaired of breathed into her ear: “I don’t know why I felt this urge to call you this morning, but something felt off last night.”

  Jane kept a groan from escaping. She stared out the window and said, “I’m fine, Sandra. Just on my way out the door to work.”

  “You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  “Of course not.” Jane pulled the receiver away and cursed under her breath. All the good karma from the cop car being gone was disappearing with this call from her sister.

  “I thought I could pick you up after work and we could pay Mom a visit at the home. I know this isn’t what you want to do, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe seeing her again would be cathartic. You’ve given her more power in your imagination than is good for you. When you see her, you’ll know what a diminished, helpless person she really is. What time are you off?”

  “I’m seeing my parole officer after work. Can I think about it? I’m not saying no, but just not today.”

  “I thought you saw your parole officer on Fridays. Today isn’t Friday.”

  “He had to change the day this week because he’s going out of town for a conference.” Stop talking, Jane, she ordered herself. The less you say, the less your story sounds like a lie. “Listen, Sandra, I really have to get moving. Call you later?”

  That pause again, and then, “Yeah, I’ll call you tonight at seven. I love you, Sis. I don’t think I’ve said that often enough.”

  Now where did that come from? “Love you, too.”

  A crackle on the line. “Jane? Jane, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  Sandra’s breath was a whoosh in her ear. “I woke up with this bad feeling today and had to call you. You remember how I got those premonitions as a kid? I always knew when you were in trouble. Like that time those kids beat you up and I found you hiding in the park because you were scared to go home and face the wrath of mother for ripping your jacket and getting it covered in mud? Well, I woke with the same kind of feeling today.”

  “Could this bad feeling be tied to the fact the police think I killed Devon Eton?” Jane tried to make her voice light even as a flutter of anxiety started in her chest. “Then I’m starting to get premonitions too, if that’s the case.”

  “Don’t make fun. I’m serious about this. You have to take care today, Jane — and think about a visit with Mom sometime soon.”

  “Okay, okay, I will.” Jane hung up the phone and added the word “not” into the empty bedroom. She didn’t plan to visit their mother again in this lifetime. It would take more time to get over never seeing her sister again, but that was a sacrifice she’d have to make to get what she really wanted.

  And what she really wanted was almost within her grasp.

  She left the apartment, walking quickly toward the bus stop on the other side of Princess while trying to ignore the worry Sandra’s call had started in her head. Damn her sister for picking today of all days to play at being a clairvoyant. The weather was co-operating, at least. Overcast and chilly but no rain forecast until after dark. She did up her jacket and scanned the road for signs of a bus. She could see one in the far distance letting people off at a stop. The first leg of her journey was right on schedule. If her luck held, soon she’d be miles away and her life in Kingston would become but a distant memory.

  Word didn’t take long to make its way to Tiffany that Charlie had b
een picked up by the cops. Soon after, she’d left history class on the pretext of going to the washroom and slipped out the side door. She chewed on what Charlie’s trip in the cop car could mean all the way to Winston Churchill Public School, hoping to get to Sophie as she’d promised Charlie, but not convinced this was the best course of action now that the cops were homing in on him. She knew that she had to do something, though. Charlie wasn’t the type of kid the courts would look favourably on.

  The school buses were idling out front of the school when she rounded the corner. She quickened her pace to a run, jumping off the sidewalk onto the road to get around a group of girls. She thought she saw Sophie’s distinctive white-blond hair but as she got closer realized it wasn’t her. Sophie always walked home so Tiffany figured she’d hang out near the entrance and wait. Kids came out in waves and then she recognized a couple of girls from Sophie’s class.

  “Hey, Madeleine!”

  The redhead turned and Tiffany waved. She’d remembered the girl’s name at the last second and luckily been right. The two girls walked toward her.

  “Hey.” Tiffany smiled. “I’m looking for Sophie Eton. Is she still inside?”

  Madeleine shook her head. “Her mother came and got her last class for an appointment. I think she’s seeing a shrink. Do you want me to pass along a message?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll catch her later.”

  Tiffany walked back to the sidewalk and pulled out a cigarette from the crumpled pack in her bag. She waited until she was out of sight of the school before putting it into her mouth.

  Now what?

  She could cross the street and go home to wait for Charlie to show up, but something told her that he was going to be a while.

  What if he starts talking?