Shallow End

by Brenda Chapman

  Gundersund met Kala’s eyes. He said, “Jane might still have killed Devon. This would give her a good reason.”

  Kala couldn’t argue with him, but she said, “You have to admit that if what Tiffany said is true, the suspect pool widens.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” He smiled at her.

  “This could mean re-interviewing everyone who knew Devon,” Rouleau said. “We need to get this right. Woodhouse is not going to thank you, Stonechild.”

  She gave a half-smile to them both. “And I’m already his favourite person.”

  “If you keep this up, next thing you know, he’ll be sending you jokes and videos,” Gundersund said. “Although, hard to say if he sends them to people he likes or ones he wants to annoy.”

  She picked up her glass and tilted it in his direction before drinking. “God invented the delete button for a reason.” Exhaustion was settling in and she thought about Taiku waiting in her truck. “I’ll be pushing off. Looks like we’re going to have another full day tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be leaving right behind you,” said Rouleau. “I’ll pick up the tab on this one. Good work, Kala.”

  Hilary Eton had taken up smoking again. She’d bought a family-size bag of chips and had the girl toss in a pack of Camels when she’d gone inside the store to pay for her gas. So far, she’d managed to hide her lapse from Mitchell by sitting in the backyard behind the pool shed when he was at work or sleeping. She knew she was going to have to stop after the one pack. Her heart doctor would have a fit if she knew.

  Mitchell had come home late as he always did, showered, and gone straight to bed. He’d had supper brought in to a meeting and refused her offer of heating up a plate of roast chicken and potatoes, left over from her dinner with Sophie. Work had been the reason he’d missed so many suppers with her and the kids over the years. He’d been travelling more before Devon’s death, but after her heart attack had started coming home earlier in the day when he was in Kingston, and had averaged three dinners a week. Now, he was back to working late and avoiding mealtime. She’d stopped minding because his absence gave her a chance to forget.

  The grandfather clock near the front door chimed eleven and Hilary roused herself to get up from the kitchen chair where she’d been sitting in the dark. Should she go outside for that cigarette or head back upstairs and slip in next to Mitchell? She only had a handful of cigarettes left and had herself rationing them out like mini-rewards for making it through another morning, afternoon, evening. She had to stick to her promise to herself and not buy any more. She needed to pull herself together, if only for Sophie.

  She left the kitchen and walked down the hallway toward the stairs, leaving the lights off but having no difficulty finding her way in the inky blue light coming through the windows. The rainstorm had passed by an hour earlier, leaving a dampness in the house that chilled her even though she wore a heavy cable-knit sweater. Foot on the third stair, she heard a noise overhead and craned her neck to look up, thinking at first that Devon was home before she remembered that he would never be coming home again.

  Nobody was on the landing and she kept climbing. At the head of the stairs, she hesitated. Sophie’s room was at the other end of the hall. She’d already checked in on her before going downstairs half an hour earlier and found her sleeping. She took a step toward her own room when a nagging worry made her stop and turn around. What would it hurt to look in on Sophie one more time?

  The carpet muffled her footsteps and she avoided stepping where she knew the floorboards would creak under her weight. Sophie’s door was shut as she had left it, and she hesitated again before turning the knob and pushing the door open. Her eye was first drawn to the row of stuffed animals on the window seat, Sophie’s bear Puddles staring back at her with his beady black eyes and thin thread smile. The covers were tossed back from the bed and she could see the whiteness of the sheets as she stepped into the room. Sophie was not in bed. Hilary looked toward the bathroom and saw the light coming from under the door. The jolt of fear at finding the bed empty fluttered back into its box to be replaced by concern that Sophie might be ill. She thought back to suppertime and remembered the paleness of her skin and their stilted conversation.

  “Sophie?” she called softly as she crossed the bedroom floor to stand in front of the bathroom door. She rapped lightly as she said, “Sophie, are you okay? I was passing by and noticed your light on.” Hopefully, Sophie wouldn’t realize that she couldn’t see the bathroom light from the hallway. She put her ear against the door and heard running water. She knocked harder on the door. “Sophie? Everything all right?”

  The handle turned under her hand and she pushed the door open. The faucet was wide open and water was running into the claw-footed tub, about to overflow the sides. Sophie was lying with her head resting on the back of the tub, neck elongated and angled just enough so that her face wasn’t submerged in the slowly rising water. Her long blond hair spread around her in the water like undulating seaweed, rippled by the flow of water that streamed onto Sophie’s feet and ankles before mixing into the pinkish pool. A steady supply of crimson blood was drip, drip, dripping onto the floor and staining the white bath mat where Sophie’s left arm dangled. The air smelled sickly sweet with fresh blood. Steam coated the mirror and filled the air in ghostly tendrils.

  The scene was horrifying. Obscene. Impossible to take in. The shock froze Hilary like an animal in the path of an oncoming car.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  She tried to unscramble her brain, to make sense of the nightmare in front of her. “Sophie! No!” she pleaded out loud. “No!”

  Hilary’s body was leaden, her limbs heavy weights that wouldn’t hold her upright. The pain in her chest was nothing compared to the fear coursing through her. She clutched at her heart and dropped to her knees on the tile floor, crawling through the blood and water on hands and knees to reach her daughter. Only when she’d pulled herself up the side of the tub and cradled Sophie’s head in her hands did she begin screaming for Mitchell at the top of her lungs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Naomi woke before Adam, the room still dark and a damp breeze rattling the blinds and gusting across her face. Adam couldn’t understand her need for fresh air when she slept but he’d gotten used to the open window. She’d reluctantly close it once winter temperatures dipped below freezing, but not before.

  She remembered that today was a PD day and they were to use their workday preparing lesson plans with an optional workshop at the school in the afternoon that she planned to miss. She rolled over onto her side, her head resting in the crook of her arm. Adam looked so childlike in sleep, not at all the rugged alpha male that still made her quiver with longing. His vulnerable side was as much a turn-on, but in a softer way. She reached out her fingers and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. His eyes opened and for a moment they lay side by side staring into each other’s eyes.

  Adam’s hand snaked under her nightgown and between her legs. She tensed and his hand stopped its upward climb. She forced herself to relax and rubbed his chest with her free hand, closing her eyes. Adam’s hand spread her thighs and he rolled onto her, his erection at full attention, pushing into her without caring that she wasn’t ready. The pain made her cry out, but he rammed harder as his pace increased to jackhammer speed. She wriggled her hips under him and soon began rising and falling with the rhythm of his thrusts. His passion, for that was how she chose to see it, climaxed quickly with a shudder deep inside her. He rolled off, panting slightly, staring straight up at the ceiling without touching her.

  “Naomi,” he said, turning his head sideways to look at her, “this isn’t going to work.”

  “Sorry?” She closed her legs and moved an arm up to cover her breasts.

  “I want you to move out. I’m hoping you can find your own place by next weekend.”

  She wondered if he’d found out about
Liam but knew this wasn’t possible. They’d been too careful. This must have something to do with Jane. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t love you and I can’t see this continuing. The sex is great but not enough. You must see that. I haven’t been fair to you or the kids and it’s time you and I moved on with our lives.”

  He pushed himself out of the bed. “I’m going to wash up and then go to the gym before I go into school, that is, if you don’t have plans this morning?” He waited for her to answer, his posture braced as if to take her tearful entreaties and a round of begging.

  Her first thought was how many times can one man work out, and her next was I’ll grovel over my dead body. She said, “I’ll be here packing and can watch the kids if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll leave when you get back.”

  “Thanks.” He stared at her with a puzzled expression flashing across his features but quickly turned and continued his strut across the carpet.

  She watched his tight bum and muscular back as he walked toward the ensuite. She was in shock, angry with how easily he’d discarded her, but the more his words sunk in, the more relieved she began to feel. Even so, pride made her want to fling her betrayal with Liam in Adam’s face, to shake his arrogant, conceited ego to the core, but self-preservation vetoed the idea. Adam was capable of cold retribution, and she knew he could crush her and her career. Better to leave with as much grace as possible and forget this unpleasant chapter in her life.

  She sat up and reached for her cellphone on the bedside table. She texted Liam as she strode across the room to get her housecoat and let him know that she’d broken it off with Adam. Their after-school sex had left her dissatisfied living with him and she had to get out.

  Liam’s reply was instant and ended with tiny emojis of a heart and thumbs up. “I knew you’d see the light. Come crash with me.”

  Naomi turned off her phone and smiled.

  At eight thirty Tiffany Hanson was in the Kingston police station giving her statement to Woodhouse and Bennett with her mother at her side, while Kala and Gundersund were in a separate interview room down the hall with her brother, Charlie. Charlie had said that he didn’t want or need a lawyer. Kala was sitting directly across the table from him while Gundersund sat silently on her right, his chair slightly back from the table. Charlie had to turn his head to look at Gundersund but so far had only given him a cursory glance. She thought Charlie was worn out and disengaged, his foot tapping under the table to some heavy metal riff likely playing inside his head.

  “Sorry to drag you back in here again, Charlie. Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  “Sort of.” His foot resumed tapping while his head began bobbing up and down and his index fingers played a beat on the table.

  Kala reached her hands across the table and covered his fingers. “You need to focus. We’re trying to help you here, Charlie, but you have to come clean with what you know. Understand?” She was deliberately repeating his name, trying to make a connection.

  His body went still. He looked at her, his eyes owlish and unblinking through the thick lenses of his glasses. He nodded. “K.”

  Kala released his fingers and pulled back. “Tiffany told me about Devon and the fact you both cooked up the affair with Jane Thompson. Can you tell us more about that?”

  “I didn’t want to say I saw them together but Devon told me I’d be sorry if I didn’t.”

  “Are you telling me that you both lied about him having a physical relationship with Mrs. Thompson? Remember that the tape is recording what you say and it can be used in court.”

  “Devon made up the story. He forced me to back him up.”

  “Does anybody else know?”

  “Tiffany. I told her.”

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “See Charlie, the problem I’m having with your story is that Devon isn’t here to defend himself. I’ll need more than just your word that this new version of events is the truth.”

  “Mrs. Thompson talked about going out of town one weekend with her family. Devon decided we should go to her house and have a look around. We went Saturday night and he got me to climb in through an open window on the second floor. They’d left a ladder by the back shed so it wasn’t hard. I let him in and he worked on her computer for a while, I guess adding some porn photos, and he took some of her panties out of the laundry hamper on our way out.”

  “Why did you go along with him?”

  Charlie squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “He’d done other stuff. I was scared he’d hurt my mom or sisters.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  Kala let silence fill the room. He looked up at her with head bowed and then lowered his eyes to stare at the table. He crossed his arms across his skinny chest and slumped back in the chair. Today, his black T-shirt sported a blow-up of Bart Simpson’s face saying, “Don’t have a cow, man.”

  “We need more to go on,” she said, “if we are going to be able to help you.”

  Charlie’s foot began tapping again. Kala thought she’d lost him but after a minute of silence, he started talking in a voice that grew increasingly bitter as the dam burst.

  “Devon was smarter than anyone I knew. He liked to make fun of people because it made him feel like a big man. I thought that’s all it was at first. You know, all talk, but then he started doing horrible things and I didn’t say anything. I guess I liked having a friend for a while. Then, I was scared of what he’d do to me if he knew I’d turned on him, so I went along with it. I never told anybody.”

  “What kind of horrible things did he do?”

  “He’d lie all the time. Make up things about

  people and make sure everybody knew without letting on that he was behind the smear. He loved doing that, especially watching somebody get humiliated or shut out of the group. He told me that the best thrill in the world was to find out what somebody really cared about and then ruin it for them.”

  Kala asked softly, “And what did he find out you really cared about?”

  When Charlie raised his head, she was surprised to see his eyes were red and brimming with tears. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Maybe telling will help. Whatever he did must be hard for you to carry around.”

  Charlie sniffled and wiped at his eyes again. Gundersund left the room and returned with a box of tissues that he pushed across the table as he sat down. Charlie grabbed a handful and blew his nose.

  “It didn’t start out bad. We were at his house watching television. His mom was out and his dad was at work. I don’t know where Sophie was. We were kind of bored so Devon said, ‘Let’s go into my mother’s medicine cabinet and find something to get high.’”

  “When was this, Charlie?”

  “Not long after his mom was home from her heart attack.”

  “Okay.”

  “So we went into her bathroom and went through her pills. She had a lot of shit, including some Percodan left over from her operation, so Devon put some of them in his pocket. He said she wouldn’t miss them. We went to my house to take them and listen to music in my room because my mom was working late. Dad was home but he was drinking in the backyard. We took some of the pills, and then Devon said that we should sit with my dad for a while. I was surprised and then worried because Devon thought my dad was low class and not worth his time. Dad had been drinking for a while but he wasn’t loaded, just happy and telling stories. I could see Devon was laughing at him and not with him, if you know what I mean, so after a while I said let’s go. Devon just kept sitting there with this big shit-ass smile on his face, not budging. Dad offered us a beer and I said no but Devon took one. When Dad left to have a whiz, Devon took out a pill and put it into his beer. He said it would be a big laugh.” Charlie’s voice bro
ke and he struggled to control his breathing, which was coming in sobs. “Before I knew what was happening, Dad was back and drank that beer in a few gulps. I watched him afterward and he seemed okay, so I thought, maybe nothing is going to happen. The Percodan wasn’t doing that much for me except this kind of nice feeling. Devon said he’d get Dad another beer and went over to where he was keeping the two-four on the picnic table. Devon opened one and came back and handed it to Dad. He sat down again and watched Dad drink it and then said he had to go home. Devon told me that he’d changed his mind about the music and was leaving. I went in my room and crashed. Mom found Dad dead in the lawn chair when she came home from her shift.”

  “You believe the drugs that Devon put into the beer killed your father?”

  “I know they did. It wasn’t painkillers he put in the beer; it was his mother’s heart medication. It didn’t compute at the time that the pill wasn’t Percodan but I saw the one that he dropped into the open beer bottle and checked his mother’s medicine cabinet next time I was over. I think he put more pills in the beer he opened for Dad. Devon had his back to us and he had time.”

  “Was an autopsy done on your father?”

  “No, but it’s too late if that’s where you’re heading. Dad was cremated.”

  “You never told anybody this.”

  “I confronted Devon after Dad’s funeral. He told me that I’d agreed to the joke and I was as guilty as he was that it turned out the way it did. He said that keeping quiet would be better for me and for everyone else in my family, if I got his drift.”

  “His mother must have noticed the missing pills.”

  “She kept quiet if she did.”