“So, their marriage was solid?”
“From all that I saw, yes.”
“I realize this sounds like gossiping and I apologize.” Officer Stonechild gave an apologetic smile. “Again, I’m only trying to get a sense of Vivian’s state of mind.”
“Of course.”
“You appear close with your brothers. Are you?”
Lauren considered the question and where her answer could lead. This cop was too easy to talk to and she had to be on her guard. Past experience with the police had taught her this if nothing else. “We’re a close family,” she said. Let them prove otherwise. “Vivian’s death is going to take a long time for all of us to get over.” Her eyes welled with tears again and she didn’t stop one from sliding down her cheek. She supposed this sorrow came from shock. She wasn’t used to crying in public.
“I’m sorry again to ask questions at this difficult time.”
The door to the viewing room opened and Tristan walked toward them. Lauren could tell that he’d been crying but he’d composed himself before leaving Vivian. He raked a hand through his hair as he strode with seeming purpose down the corridor. “Should we go to the hospital to see Dad, then?” he asked when he reached her. “I need to tell Mother what’s happened before she finds out another way.” He looked at Officer Stonechild and seemed to challenge her with his tone. “That is if you don’t need anything more from me.”
Lauren knew he was putting on false bravado. If he didn’t, the feelings inside him would shatter his rigid facial features into a million snivelling pieces right before their eyes. She’d been witness to it before. The officer studied him but hid what she was thinking about his insolence, for that’s how Lauren saw it. She was impressed when Officer Stonechild spoke in the same sympathetic voice as before.
“Yes, we’re done for now. We’ll be in touch soon with more information. Here’s my card if you have questions. You can call me directly at this number.”
“Thanks,” said Tristan, slapping the card against the top of his hand. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
Lauren sensed the officer watching them make their way to the end of the long green hallway, but when they reached the elevator, she looked back and there was nobody there.
chapter eleven
Their mother was in full queen mode when Lauren and Tristan entered their father’s room: seated next to his head, holding court while nurses went silently and efficiently about their business. Mona was in a chair at the foot of the bed and Adam had gone for coffee. The blind was drawn and the curtain half pulled around the bed so that the light had a yellowish cast. Lauren thought she could smell decay when she bent over her father and kissed his cheek. His face was so porcelain pale as to appear bloodless and his papery skin tasted salty on her lips. She pressed her leg against her mother to lean in since Evelyn refused to move from her place of honour even though it made proximity to their father awkward. Lauren thought unkindly that this was her mother’s intention.
“What is the news on Vivian? Adam told us there’s been a development but we should wait for you to arrive with the latest update,” Evelyn said to Tristan, who was stationed at the end of the bed, watching Lauren and waiting his turn to draw close to their father.
Tristan looked decidedly uncomfortable but spoke clearly enough. “Vivian is dead, Mother. They found her body a few hours ago off the Rideau Trail not far from our house. Lauren and I just came from police headquarters where we went and identified her.”
“No!” Evelyn pushed herself out of the chair. Horror filled her face and she raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth. She moaned, “How can this be?” Realization of what was to follow seemed to quickly supersede any feeling of grief. She glared around the room. “I will not have this a second time. How will we bear being scrutinized like common convicts with your father dying? They’ll make your life — our lives — a living hell.”
Tristan straightened his shoulders, ignoring the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye and slid onto his cheek. “I didn’t do it and I have no fear of an investigation just like I had no fear when Zoe died.”
“Good God, you don’t think the police will link the two deaths and pin them on you? I know that I would if I were looking for a prosecution.”
“She might have died of natural causes,” Lauren said, secretly moved by her brother’s attempt to keep himself together enough to stare down Evelyn. “We don’t know anything yet about how she died.”
Evelyn’s shoulders dropped but the hard line of her mouth remained. “I hope you’re right.” She lowered herself back into the chair, looking older and washed out. “She was carrying my grandchild.”
Her last words were nearly drowned out by Mona’s wailing, which had been growing in intensity once the impact of Tristan’s words sunk in. Lauren wanted to walk over and slap her senseless but was prevented when Adam pushed the door open and walked up to the bed. His eyes went around the space and landed on Mona. He set the tray of coffee onto the bed and crouched down to put an arm around his wife. She rested her head on his shoulder and he rubbed his hand in circles on her back. Lauren felt herself relax as Mona’s caterwauling gradually subsided. “Tristan told you,” he said.
“Vivian really is dead!” Mona cried. She tilted back her head and looked up at Adam. “How will we bear this?”
“We’ll find a way. Poor Vivian.”
Adam’s voice was as anguished as Lauren had ever heard and tears welled up again. She had to get a grip or she’d be wailing right along with Mona.
Adam straightened, releasing Mona from his arms, and asked, “Are you okay, Tris?”
“I’m in shock. I can’t believe I’ll never see Vivian again. It’s like I’ve fallen into a nightmare all over again.”
“Of course you’re in shock. I’m sorry.” Adam looked at each of them in turn and dropped his voice. “With Dad not able to take charge this time, I’ll remind everyone that we have to stick together. We know that Tristan is innocent, but the husband is always the first one whom the police suspect. This combined with Zoe’s unsolved murder and Tristan is in real danger. We might not get another chance to talk privately before the police are swarming around, so let’s back him up and get them to look for the real killer.”
“Thanks, brother,” said Tristan, and Adam crossed the short space and grabbed him in a hug.
“The police in this town are idiots,” said Evelyn. “They harass good upstanding families and ruin reputations. I will do everything I can to make sure they don’t get away with it this time.”
“I support you fully, Tristan,” said Mona, drying her eyes with her sweater. “I know you couldn’t have done this.”
We’re circling the wagons, thought Lauren. The McKennas might be dysfunctional in private, but by God, we put on a good show of solidarity when it counts. A shiver travelled up her spine and for a second she was overcome by the feeling of impending disaster. Something evil had been unleashed and they were not going to escape this time. She looked at her father and listened to the rasp of his breath, fainter now than when she had entered the room. She’d grieved when she’d first heard that he had cancer and had been heartbroken the last several months when his health declined. Now that his final days or hours were here, she was numb, unable to grieve anymore. His death would be a release from his suffering and for this she was grateful.
“What about you, Lauren? Are we agreed on this?”
She lifted her head and looked at Adam. He’d released Tristan and they stood side by side with Adam’s hand resting on his brother’s shoulder. Adam’s dark eyes demanded that she answer him. They were all watching her, waiting for her to proclaim her undying support to the family unit. She heard a noise and looked toward Evelyn, who’d opened her mouth to say something but shut it again like a big blowfish sucking in air. Lauren’s eyes swung back. Saint Mona’s china blues were round, glistening spheres of suffering. Tristan looked as if he was having trouble holding his head up and Lauren directed
her response to him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from being wrongly convicted,” she said. “You know that I’ve always been on your side.”
Tristan nodded. His eyes would not meet her own and the black premonition exploded inside her again, unleashing a fear that made her want to run back to her safe condo in Toronto and the anonymous life she’d carved out for herself. A life without drama or people judging her as the sister of the teenage killer who’d gotten away with it. A place where her nightmares had stopped and she’d made peace with her dead best friend.
This isn’t going to end well, she thought. This isn’t going to end well at all.
They gathered in the meeting area. Gundersund was pinning the last photo of the crime scene to the wall when Kala took a seat between Andrew Bennett and Tanya Morrison. Woodhouse was in the corner, legs stretched out and chin on his chest with his eyes shut.
“Is Rouleau coming?” asked Kala. She expected Heath to return from vacation sooner than later and Rouleau would be returning to the head up Major Crimes. He needed to get involved in the case right off the mark.
Gundersund turned. “No. He’s stuck in meetings, but I’ll fill him in later. I want to divvy up the workload now.”
Kala nodded and glanced over at Woodhouse. Could he look any more disinterested? Was he even awake? Gundersund appeared unfazed by Woodhouse’s apathy. He asked if the coffee was ready and invited them all to fill their mugs before he started the briefing. They took him up on the offer and even Woodhouse stirred himself to get a cup. Once resettled, Gundersund began by going through the facts that they had so far, followed up with new information from the coroner and Forensics.
“As we knew from looking at the body, she was strangled and Dr. Shumaker reports that her own scarf was used to strangle her from behind.”
“Do you think she wandered up the path and someone took advantage? Could have been a stranger,” said Bennett.
“Or a family member. The husband comes to mind,” said Woodhouse. “From all accounts, he got away with one murder already when he was in high school.”
“All options are on the table,” said Gundersund, “including Zoe Delgado’s unsolved murder and links with this one. Rouleau wants Stonechild to look into the Delgado cold case while Woodhouse leads the investigation into Vivian’s death. The two of you will be speaking with the family again and interviewing neighbours. Fortunately, we already have the initial interviews taken by Stonechild and Bennett when Vivian was reported missing, but alibis will need checking and stories going over again. Morrison will be helping both teams with research or whatever is required and Bennett will assist Woodhouse. We’ve been lent a couple of beat cops to help Woodhouse with door to door. I’ll be coordinating from headquarters until Captain Heath gets back from holiday and Rouleau returns to head the investigation.”
Kala didn’t mind being charged with the cold case because she knew it might tie in to the McKenna murder. The obvious links to Tristan McKenna would need to be scrutinized. She wondered, however, why Woodhouse was being handed such a key role in the investigation. She supposed it came down to Rouleau’s assignment and a lack of resources. She’d heard chatter that Rouleau had been trying to place Woodhouse with another division. She hadn’t asked Gundersund or Rouleau, not wanting to get drawn into giving an opinion about Woodhouse. She would find it hard to be kind and so preferred to say nothing.
“I’ll want Morrison and Bennett on door to door,” said Woodhouse. “I’ll re-interview the family, starting with the suspicious husband.” He grinned.
“The father is dying in Kingston General,” said Gundersund. “Try to be sensitive, Woodhouse, as much as you can.”
“Sensitive is my middle name.”
“Only if you hyphenate it with prick,” said Bennett under his breath.
Kala looked around but she was the only one who’d heard him. She put a hand over her mouth and smiled. “See you later?” she asked, looking up at Bennett as he stood to leave.
“Yeah. I’ll check in.”
She and Bennett had been going to the gym together a few times a week and grabbing a quick bite on the odd Friday after their workout before she went home to Dawn. Kala didn’t consider them dates and hadn’t wanted anything more. Still, she found herself wondering what it would be like to start up with him. She hadn’t been physical with anybody for a long time and Bennett was attractive, amusing, and obviously interested. She could do a lot worse. She looked toward Gundersund at the front of the room. He was talking with Morrison but watching her as he spoke.
She stayed until the others had filed out and approached Gundersund, who was gathering papers from where he’d left them on a table. He didn’t notice her right away and she waited for him to raise his head. He jumped when he saw her standing so close to him but recovered and gave her a quick smile before his face turned serious. “Do you have a question for me, Stonechild?”
“Sorry to startle you. I was wondering if I should begin by interviewing Zoe Delgado’s father and brother. This might be a stretch, but they could be harbouring some hatred for Tristan if they believed he killed Zoe. I checked and they still live in the neighbourhood.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.”
“I might be crossing into the new case.”
“A chance we’ll have to take.” He grinned and she knew he wasn’t concerned about her treading on Woodhouse’s turf.
“Any idea when Captain Heath is coming back?” She didn’t care really but wanted to keep talking to him for a few moments more. She’d missed their easy friendship more than she would ever admit. He’d had a way with Dawn and she’d come to rely on his help in the past.
“No word yet. Vera is trying to track him down in Tuscany.”
And now, the real reason for waylaying him. “Do you happen to have any inside track with Corrections?”
“I’ve got a few contacts. Why?”
“A guy named Fisher Dumont got early parole from Millhaven a few months ago. I’m attempting to find out where he’s living since he was released.”
“Is he connected to any of our cases?”
“Not directly.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks.”
She swallowed the twinge of guilt she felt at her subterfuge. If she’d told Gundersund that it was personal, he might not be willing to break rules and she’d be back to wading through the red tape, and she hated red tape more than anything.
chapter twelve
Kala returned to her desk and read the entire police
file on the Zoe Delgado murder. It was hot in the office and she took off her wool sweater and draped it over the back of her chair. She rolled up the sleeves of her black turtleneck but still felt the sweat soaking through under her armpits. The rest of the team was gone and she could focus without interruption, getting up once to brew a pot of tea. At quarter to one, she bundled up again and got into her truck to grab some lunch on her way to the Delgado garage on Centennial Drive off Gardiners Road. The cold snap was continuing another day under a cloudless blue sky. The sun was strong, but not strong enough to get the temperature above twenty below zero. Closer to twenty-five below with the wind chill. She didn’t envy the officers doing door to door or searching the trail for forensics evidence.
She drove west and cut north past motels, gas stations, and an A&W with the wind lifting gusts of snow against the windshield. Even wearing sunglasses, the sun was dazzling and she squinted as she looked at the twin lines of snowbanks on both sides of the road. The Delgados’ shop sat on a flat, barren stretch of land across the road from the Exit 611 truck stop and next to Neilson Dairy. A sign at the entrance to the property said DELGADO AUTO with a finger pointing in the direction of the building. The snow had piled against the west side of the one-storey garage and covered the cars waiting for service in the lot. The low building had a flat roof and was made of concrete block painted dark grey with two bays for working on veh
icles attached to the office. One scraggly clump of cedars was trying to stay alive next to roll-off bins tucked in along the east wall.
She parked near the cedars and fought to stay upright as she battled the wind to the front door. The office walls were lined in pine and the aroma from a half-full pot of coffee on a filing cabinet hit her as soon as she walked through the door. That and the oil smell. Nobody was behind the counter but a bell had tinkled her arrival when she opened the door so she positioned herself near the counter in full view of whoever was inside the bays. The office was cramped but clean. Her eyes fixed on a calendar of fifties pinup girls — a red-haired woman in a yellow bustier and silk stockings graced January — hanging next to a Mickey Mouse clock. Mickey’s white gloves were indicating quarter to three. A minute or so later, a grey-haired man in navy coveralls walked through the connecting door wiping his hands on a greasy rag.
“Can I help you?”
“Mr. Delgado?”
“That’s right. I’m the owner. That your truck outside?”
“It is, but that’s not why I’m here.” She pulled out her ID. “I’m Officer Stonechild with Kingston Major Crimes and I’d like to ask you and your son Matt a couple of questions if you can spare some time.”
His welcoming grin changed to a frown. “What’s this about, then?”
“You haven’t heard the local news today?”
“Never got around to turning on the radio. Had a late night in the shop yesterday and back early this morning. We’ve been working flat out all week, trying to catch up.”
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