“Boris was shovelling snow and fell on the steps out front about an hour ago. He’s gone to the hospital with Adam to be checked over. I’m sure he’s fine but he might have sprained his arm or leg. He should be home soon.”
Antonia blinked and her mouth opened but she didn’t say anything.
Lauren waited a moment and added to fill the awkward silence, “I should have come right over to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Boris is fine?”
“Yes, at least, he will be once the doctor has a look at him.” She peered around the room. “Can I get you some water?”
“Ya.”
An empty glass sat on the bedside table and Lauren filled it from the tap in the bathroom. Antonia drank greedily, like a thirsty child, and seemed to rally a bit afterwards.
“I’ve been sick,” she said, wiping her mouth.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you feeling better now?”
“Little bit.”
Lauren had spotted photos in frames on the ancient oak dresser and pointed to one. “Is that your family in Romania?” She walked over and picked up the photo. Black and white. A mother and father and two kids. The girl was pretty. About twelve years old with dark hair and eyes. The boy was slightly older and taller, his face sharp like a fox. The picture was faded with age.
“Boris, me, with our parents.”
Lauren stood holding the photo and looked back at the bed. “But I thought Boris is your husband?”
“Brother. Boris is … Boris my brother.”
Lauren picked up the second photo of a different couple with two children, also a boy and a girl, although they looked to be one and three years old. She held it up at eye level. The woman was an older version of the twelve-year-old girl in the other photo. Stunning dark eyes with long black hair over one shoulder. Could this beautiful woman really be a younger version of the old woman lying in front of her? “Is this you, Antonia?” She moved closer to the bed and handed the photo to her.
Antonia smiled. “My husband Cezar and our babies Gabriela and Iuliu.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Taken.” Her smile trembled. Tears were streaming silently down Antonia’s cheeks. “All gone. Many years ago.”
“In Romania?”
Antonia lifted the photo to her lips and kissed it. “Tired. I want to sleep now. You go.” She closed her eyes but clutched the picture frame against her chest.
“I’m sorry for making you cry.”
“Go.”
“I’ll come back to check on you if Boris is kept at the hospital. I’ll let Mom know you’re here alone.”
Lauren stopped at the door and looked back. Was the woman hallucinating or had she and Boris let everyone believe they were married all these years? The photos seemed proof that she was telling the truth. How horrible if she’d lost her family, but how and who would have taken them?
Had her parents known the truth?
So many questions arising from two old photographs. She’d leave Antonia for now, but would have to let her mother know to check on her if Boris was much longer. They were friends, after all.
Lauren left the Orlov home and trudged through the snow to shovel out the last of the driveway. The uneasy feeling in her gut could be leftover nausea from her night in the bar or it could come from the newfound knowledge she’d gained into the secret past lives of her neighbours. If she’d grown up thinking of the Orlovs as an old, boring married couple and they were anything but, who else had she misjudged? More importantly, what should she do with these startling revelations about their relationship? Should she ask Boris to explain what was going on or would he think she was meddling? He’d never been the most approachable man. He’d kind of scared her as a kid, to be honest.
She finished shovelling the driveway and still had no answers. Adam texted her as she was carrying the shovels back to the shed.
On our way home. Boris sprained his wrist and bruised his side but okay otherwise. At pharmacy now getting Tylenol. Get the coffee on.
She shoved her phone into her pocket. Yeah, I’ll just trot right into the house and get that coffee going because I have nothing better to do than wait on you.
She looked across the yard toward the Orlovs’ property. At least the problem of taking care of Antonia was solved for the time being if Boris was coming home. She’d tuck away what she’d learned about them until she’d had time to digest it.
chapter twenty
In the end, Woodhouse decided to wait a day or two before bringing Tristan McKenna in again for questioning. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’d used up all his ammo for getting a confession. He needed time to reload.
He looked across at Stonechild. She’d come into the office late in the morning and been on the phone ever since. He was beginning to think her calls didn’t concern police work. He opened the file he’d started on her in his personal drive and made a note to that effect. Date and time she sauntered in and length of time on personal business.
“I can see you now, Woodhouse.”
Woodhouse lifted a hand. “Be there in a minute.” No way he was going to let Gundersund think he was at his beck and call. He shuffled through some papers on his desk and heaved himself to his feet a good five minutes later.
“You wanted to see me?” Gundersund asked, glancing up from his computer.
“Is Rouleau making another request to the public for people with information to come forward later today?” Woodhouse stood with his hands on his hips, feet shoulder width apart.
“Last I heard. Why?”
“I’d like to put Stonechild on the phones. Morrison said she and Bedouin were swamped with callers earlier this week and they’ll need another set of hands once we put out another public bulletin.”
“Stonechild is working the Zoe Delgado cold case.”
“Exactly. It’s cold and a few days working the phones won’t slow down her progress, which, I point out, has been zero after a week, oh yeah, with the exception of that dubious confession by a man now dead and unable to defend himself about moving her body.”
“A week isn’t exactly a long time when you consider the case is fourteen years old.”
“My point. It’s not pressing.” He didn’t like Gundersund’s cold stare but gave as good as he got. Gundersund was the first to look away. He sighed and rocked back in his chair.
“You might be missing the bigger picture, Woodhouse, if you don’t consider that Zoe’s and Vivian’s murders could be connected.”
“Au contraire. I’m quite sure that the same murderer did them both in and I’ll even go out on a limb and state the obvious: Tristan McKenna was nailing both dead girls and he’s the most likely killer. We don’t need to spend resources on the Delgado murder because once we get him for his wife’s and lock him away for the rest of his life, we’ll have justice for both.”
“Interesting approach.”
“Yeah. It’s called efficient police work.”
“Stonechild stays on the Delgado case. I can get another officer to help with the phones.”
“Your call. The buck stops with you.”
“Yeah, my call. Anything else?”
“I’m going to interview the McKenna family one by one. They’ve had a day to deal with the father’s death, although that shouldn’t come into play in a murder investigation, in my view.”
“Go for it.”
“You surprise me. I thought you’d want me to put on the kid gloves for a week.”
“No, you’re right. We need to move this case forward. A pregnant woman has been murdered and she deserves our best effort. I also don’t like the idea of an unpredictable killer out there.”
“Great.” Woodhouse started backing out of the room. “I’ll drive over to the house and get started.”
“Are you taking Bennett?”
“I’ve got him on the door to door. I can handle this on my own.”
“I could come with you if you need another set of ears.”
<
br /> “Nah, I’m good.”
Woodhouse stopped for a burger and a beer at Harper’s on Princess before reaching the McKenna house at 1:30. The dead man’s wife opened the door. He searched his memory and came up with her name. Evelyn. He flashed his ID and asked to speak with her inside unless she’d prefer to go with him to the police station.
“I’d prefer to answer your questions right here,” she said.
He tilted his head in what would pass as agreement and stepped inside. A mangy-looking mutt skidded around the corner and growled at him deep in its throat from a few yards away.
“Clemmie!” Her voice was sharp, but she made no move to intercept.
“Lock that dog in another room or I’ll have to do something about it.”
That got her moving. He watched her drag the dog by its collar into the den and shut the door. Its barking kept up for another ten minutes but was muffled by the thick walls.
“That’s not like Clemmie,” she said leading Woodhouse into the living room. “He normally likes people.”
“That’s okay. I’m not a dog person.” He took the couch and undid his jacket. She kept the house hot. “Is anyone else home?”
“No. My sons and daughter-in-law, Mona, have gone to the funeral home to make final arrangements for my husband’s cremation. I have no idea where my daughter, Lauren, has gotten to. Likely, you’ll find her in a bar somewhere.”
“Sorry for your loss.” He checked his watch. “Bit early for the pub.”
“Not for her it isn’t. You’re not here about my husband, David, and my children, though.”
“No. I’m lead investigator looking into Vivian’s murder. I’d like to ask you some follow-up questions if you’re up to it.”
And even if you’re not, just because I’m the police and I can.
She was a severe-looking woman with short grey hair that she hadn’t bothered to dye when she’d had it permed into curls. She was tall, which he liked in a woman, but pear-shaped, which he did not.
Bottom-heavy with no tits. Beats me why anyone would marry someone who looks like you.
Her eyes flicked over him and a sour look made her appear even older. “Ask away.”
He took out a tape recorder and set it on the coffee table. “Do you mind? This is more reliable than taking notes.” He hit record without waiting for her response. “When and where did Vivian meet your son and what can you tell me about their relationship?”
“They met in Edmonton about five years ago when Tristan was there on a book tour. It was about the time his book was climbing into bestseller territory and he was appearing on all the talk shows. She thought he was a celebrity and he didn’t do anything to make her think otherwise. He should have told her that one book does not a millionaire make, especially in Canada. They got married within six months of meeting each other and Tristan moved to Edmonton.”
“And how was that working out?”
“Good, although they went through a bad patch last year. I’m sure she was disappointed when she found out he wasn’t making money hand over fist. He’s working on another book but he’s more a plodder than a genius.”
“Not a high assessment of your son’s talents.”
“I’m only telling you this, Officer, so you understand that Tristan doesn’t have the cunning or smarts to pull off one murder, let alone two.”
“Although he did write a bestseller. What was it about anyway?”
“It was science fiction. My son read an article about drones before there actually were drones available to anyone who wants one, and he used the premise to write a futuristic story. He had a terrific editor who should have gotten co-author status but didn’t.”
“Are you telling me that your son’s success was a fluke?”
“There’s a reason he only had the one bestseller.”
Woodhouse was used to non-supportive parents — hell, his could have taught a master class — but this woman was running laps around them. “How about your other kids? How are they doing?”
“Adam is an Air Canada pilot who flies the larger planes overseas. He married Mona, a teacher and a compliant little thing. A ray of sunshine if you like that sort. They have a handicapped son. Autistic, but on the higher end of the scale, although he has a violent streak. I guess Mona’s sunny ways help to keep her and Adam from pulling out their hair. They live in Vancouver. As for my middle child, Lauren, I believe we already established that she’s a disappointment.”
“Lauren lives in Toronto?”
“Yes, and has a bathroom and kitchen design business. She’s keeping her head above water.”
Woodhouse checked that the tape recorder was working. Nobody was going to believe this conversation if it wasn’t. Talk about a negative piece of work. “How would you describe your son’s relationship with Vivian this trip? She was pregnant so that must have changed things.”
That brought a smile. “Tristan couldn’t do enough for her. The baby was all he talked about.”
“Who do you think killed her, Mrs. McKenna?”
“Why, I have no idea. It must have been a stranger.”
Woodhouse took a few seconds to go over what she’d told him so far. “You seem to be saying that Vivian was a gold digger. Is this your opinion of her?”
“Perhaps initially, but I came to see that she was good for Tristan. They built a life together and were starting a family. He was happy.”
“Did they come to visit you in Kingston often?”
“No. They hadn’t been back since last summer and they came because we’d only found out that David had cancer. I saw no sign of animosity between the two of them although Vivian spent a lot of her time in the spa. She was one for getting beauty treatments. She worked at the Bay in cosmetics.”
Are you for real, lady? The sour look on your face could curdle milk.
“Did you see Vivian and Tristan the day she disappeared?”
“No. I’d gone to the hospital before anyone else got up. She was missing when I got home late in the afternoon and I phoned you people.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“The evening before. We had supper together here at the house and all Vivian talked about was the baby.”
“Who else had supper with you?”
“Tristan and Adam. Mona arrived as we were having dessert. She flew into Toronto and drove from the airport that afternoon.”
“Did Vivian have plans for the next day?”
“She kept saying she was tired and would have a spa treatment in the morning and rest in the afternoon. I can’t recall if she said anything else.”
“Well, I guess that about does it. We’re going through her cellphone and the agenda she kept in her purse. Do you know if she kept a diary or anything like that?”
“I’d be surprised if she did. I never heard that she read books or spent much time thinking about anything besides fashion, makeup, and spa treatments.”
“But you said that she met Tristan at a book signing?”
“I thought that odd too until I found out she was there with her co-worker, who was the science fiction reader.”
Woodhouse stood and Evelyn did as well. He walked to the front door with her right behind him as if she wanted to make certain he left. He stooped to pull on his boots. “One more question,” he said, looking up at her. “Was Tristan ever violent?”
He didn’t expect her laughter.
“Goodness, no. Tristan could get angry like any of us, but he’s the biggest coward I know when it comes to physical altercations. His sister Lauren fought his battles for him.”
“Lauren?”
“I can see that I’ve surprised you, Officer. Women can be tougher than men when we need to be. Surely you know that.”
“I’m beginning to.”
He opened the door and a rush of cold filled the hallway. The sunshine sparkled off the snow, making him squint. He looked toward the neighbours’ house. They’d been questioned but hadn’t seen Vivian this
visit if they were to be believed.
“How well do you know your neighbours?” he asked as he put on his sunglasses.
“We see them around. Antonia usually comes over for tea at some point in the day. They don’t have any other friends that I know of.”
“Odd people, are they?”
“If keeping to themselves is odd, then I suppose so. David and Boris liked building things out of wood and became friends over time. Antonia is quiet and shy but she liked coming over to have tea, as I said. Her imperfect English embarrasses her. We’ve been neighbours a long time and gotten used to each other’s ways.”
“I wonder if they’re home.”
“Boris sprained his arm this morning shovelling snow and is likely resting. I haven’t seen Antonia for a few days. She’s been sick off and on so I imagine she’s laying low. Boris told me she was sleeping a lot this week, getting her strength back.”
“I’ll catch them when I return later to talk to the rest of your family.”
“Calling ahead will ensure they’re here.”
“No idea which pub Lauren might be in?”
“I don’t keep tabs on her.”
“Well, thanks for your time.”
She shut the door and he heard it lock behind him. He’d thought about asking her if David had said anything about moving Zoe’s body fourteen years ago but decided against it. Let Stonechild follow up since she was working on that end of the case. Probably not important anyway at this point, if it was even true.
He was opening his car door when the mutt appeared in the living-room window, jumping up and down and barking like it was possessed.
God save us from yappy little dogs and old women with nothing good to say about anyone, he thought as he gave it the finger before climbing into the front seat.
Boris got off the couch and watched the latest cop drive away. He’d been home a few hours and napped for most of them. He’d shaken off Adam McKenna’s offer of assistance and made the short walk from the car on his own steam and glared at the front steps on his way past. Damn fool place to fall.
Bleeding Darkness Page 14