Читать книгу Cold Mourning - Brenda Chapman - Страница 5

Wednesday, December 21, 8:50 a.m.

Kala Stonechild sat in her Ford pickup in the parking lot of the Ottawa Police Station just west of Elgin Street. She’d spent the better part of the night driving and could have done with a shower and a good night’s sleep. Instead, she had ten minutes to make it inside or risk starting off on the wrong foot. It might be better if she restarted the truck and pointed it north. If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have done just that. She grimaced at herself in the rearview mirror and tucked stray strands of black hair behind her ears. She rubbed the grit out of her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Ready or not.

Stepping out of the truck was a pleasure after fourteen hours of driving. Her right leg had cramped and she winced as pain shot up from her calf. She took an extra turn around the lot to get the circulation flowing before heading toward Elgin Street and the front door of the station. The building was three storeys and flat grey, taking up a city block. The entrance was glassed in windows with a view of a giant mural painted the width of the far wall. Police officers in the community stared down at her in frozen stances. The uniformed cop on the front desk had probably been watching her on a television screen the whole time, but he barely glanced at her as she stepped up to the desk.

“I’m here to see Staff Sergeant Jacques Rouleau,” she said, looking around the foyer, taking in the layout. His voice drew her back.

“And who should I tell him is here to see him?” His nametag said Cooper.

She forced a smile. “He’s expecting me — Officer Kala Stonechild. I’m reporting for duty.”

Cooper lifted a clipboard and ran a finger down the list of names. “Here you are. Stonechild.” He looked at her directly for the first time. “I’ll just call Sergeant Rouleau to come get you. Have a seat if you like.”

“Thanks, I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ten minutes ticked by before a man in a grey suit walked toward her. He looked to be early fifties, but it was hard to tell because of his shaved head and lean body. Up close, his eyes were a startling green with tiny laugh lines etched into his skin.

“Sergeant Rouleau,” he said, extending a hand. “Welcome Officer Stonechild. How was the trip down?” They started walking toward his office. His voice had the faintest trace of a French accent that she wouldn’t have detected unless she’d been listening for it.

“There was a snowstorm outside Sudbury and I had to spend an extra day waiting it out. Other than that, the trip was uneventful.”

Rouleau glanced sideways at her. “Did you find a place to stay in Ottawa?”

She nodded. She hadn’t yet, but it wouldn’t take much to find one.

They passed a room with several desks and officers talking on the phone and then turned right into another room. It was a little more cramped with six desks and a closed office directly ahead. The fluorescent lighting hurt her tired eyes. Three men stood next to a coffee machine, each one holding a full mug. They stopped talking and turned in unison when she and Rouleau walked in. Kala met their stares square on. An East Indian with darker skin than hers, a red-headed stocky Irishman, and a sandy-haired looker with brown eyes and wavy hair. She hoped he wouldn’t be her partner. All four men stood close to six feet tall; she’d be the short one on the team at five seven.

Rouleau made introductions and each shook her hand. Sandeep Malik, Clarence Whelan, and Philip Grayson. “Whelan will show you around. You two will be working together.”

The heavy-set, red-headed man gave her a nod. She was happy to see the wedding ring on his left hand. He had the look of a well-fed man happy with his lot. No complications. That’s all she wanted in a partner. No suggestive looks or subtle innuendos. No avoiding late-night drinks and pretending his hand on her leg wasn’t an invitation. She looked past him to the good-looking one, who by process of elimination had to be Grayson. He’d looked her over when she first came in, but now he was deep in conversation with Sandeep Malik. She turned to Whelan and held out her hand. He didn’t hesitate and reached out his own. His grip was warm and strong.

“Good to have you on board, Kala.”

“Thanks. Good to be here.”

Rouleau was heading to his office. “Take Stonechild with you on that assault call. When you get back, she can get her paperwork over with.” He said it without turning and continued walking without waiting for a response.

“Nothing like jumping right in,” said Whelan. “Your desk is there, facing mine. Sorry you won’t get a chance to warm the chair.”

“Lots of time for that.”

“Have you got a gun?” he asked. “Not that we’re going to need it on this call.”

She patted her jacket. “Side arm. Don’t worry. I’ve got the carrying permit.” They started walking toward the door and out of the building. “It’s nice not having to wear a uniform.”

They reached a black four-door Chevy and he motioned for her to get in the passenger side. “Good thing we have indoor parking,” he said, starting the engine and turning the heater up high, “because it’s as cold as a witch’s tit out there.”

Cold air blasted into their faces. He backed the unmarked car out of his space and turned it to face the exit. They merged with the traffic onto Elgin and kept going south to the Queensway on-ramp heading west. He cut across two lanes to the show-off lane.

Whelan glanced at her after they passed the Bronson exit. “There’s some perv in the west end who gets into apartment buildings and jumps women in the lobby. He likes to grab them from behind and fondles them through their clothes. Then he gives them a shove into the wall and runs off.”

“Lovely. How many times has he done it?”

“Five so far. This latest woman called it in twenty minutes before you arrived. She’s in her apartment and shaken up but says she’s not hurt. None of the women has given us a great description of the guy and we’re hoping this time we get more to go on.”

“Is he escalating?”

“Rouleau’s worried enough that he wants this nipped in the bud, so to speak.” Whelan flashed a smile. “Welcome to the big bad city. Our investigations unit is an offshoot of Major Crimes. It was formed to prevent crime from happening and to take over tricky homicide and major crime cases after a certain time period from Major Crimes. We’re the latest trial balloon. If we end up proving good value, we could be the way of the future, that is, if we get the chance to show our stuff.”

“Some would say policing needs to start thinking outside the box.”

“Or it just comes down to resources. Hard to keep a handle on crime if there aren’t enough cops on the street. So what brings you to Ottawa anyway?”

“Just wanted a change.”

“You were with the OPP up north?”

“Yeah. Out of Red Rock. Before that, I worked a reserve in the far North. When this job came up, I thought it would be a chance to try city policing.” It was the story she’d decided on as she drove south. It was as good as any.

Whelan glanced at her. “Where you staying?”

“Not sure yet. I thought I’d bunk at the Y until I have a chance to look at apartments.”

“I’d take you home but we have a one-month old with colic. You’ll thank me later for not offering.”

“That’s okay. Your first?”

“Second. Harry’s three and gotten wild since baby Logan showed up. Meghan is sending me for a vasectomy as soon as she can get me into a clinic. Either that, or separate bedrooms.”

“More information than I need,” said Kala. “Really.” She pretended to cover her ears.

Whelan laughed. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time and I like to lay my cards on the table.”

“Well that makes one of us.” Kala smiled but she kept her eyes straight ahead. Traffic was light and they’d crossed the city in no time. Whelan eased the car across the lanes to the Woodroffe off-ramp.

Rouleau filled his coffee cup for the third time that morning and wandered over to look at the photos of murder victims posted on the wall in their meeting area: a homeless man, two gang members, and a cab driver. They’d been handed the cases from homicide after his team formed – newly cold cases with little to go on. He wasn’t convinced his team would uncover enough evidence to solve any of them, but that wouldn’t stop them from painstakingly building the files. Solving any one of them would validate the unit’s existence.

His heard his phone and made it back to his office by the third ring. He said his name automatically before he checked the incoming caller. Frances. It was a shock to hear his ex-wife’s voice.

“Jacques.”

The same breathy way she’d always exhaled his name when they were together, a honeyed combination of warmth and exasperation. He smiled to hear her say it again. His heart beat faster. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.

“I thought it was time, that’s all. We promised each other we wouldn’t end up hating, remember?”

He closed his eyes. “I remember.”

“I wonder … do you think we could meet for coffee or a drink maybe?”

All the times he’d longed to hear her voice. For months she’d avoided contact, and now she was offering him … what? He had no way of knowing. “When?”

“Tonight, if you’ve time. I know it’s short notice.”

“I can make it tonight. Should I pick you up?”

“No. I’ll meet you at the Royal Oak on the Canal at eight thirty. Just for a drink though. I’ll have already eaten. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

He hung up the phone and pictured his ex-wife the last time he’d seen her. She’d just come from the hairdresser’s and her naturally brown hair had been cut short and streaked with blond highlights that made her face pale and her eyes darker. She’d lost weight and walked with a new confidence, but he’d liked it better when she was a curvier size twelve. They’d just signed the divorce papers and she was in a hurry to cross the street and catch a bus to her apartment in Sandy Hill. She was wearing a new olive-green pantsuit with a gold scarf knotted around her neck and it had struck him sad at her need to remake herself. She’d tilted her chin up and out like she did when she’d made up her mind about something and wouldn’t hold his eyes as he said goodbye. He’d wanted to hug her but knew she wouldn’t welcome his touch. He’d made it the three blocks to his car before he’d crumpled into the front seat and wept.

Grayson poked his head around the doorway to Rouleau’s office. “Got a minute?”

Rouleau glanced at the photo of a murdered cab driver named Abul-Jabbar Amin on his desk. Whoever had attacked him that January night a year ago had pummelled his face into a bloody pulp, crushing his nose and bludgeoning the right side of his face with a weapon that was never recovered. Rouleau closed the folder. “Sure. Come in.”

He watched Grayson cross the room and flop down in the chair on the other side of his desk. Rouleau glanced at his watch and mentally kept track. Five minutes in, Grayson got down to it.

“About Stonechild. Are you sure she’s a fit for our team?”

“She’s young but comes highly recommended.”

“She doesn’t have experience in major crimes and isn’t familiar with Ottawa. I think she’ll have a hard time.”

“I’m willing to give her a chance.”

Grayson spread his hands upward. “I just wanted to let you know the team isn’t opposed to her working with us, but we have concerns about her experience.”

“Point taken. I know I can count on you to help her settle in.”

Grayson stood to leave. “Sandeep and I are heading to the Rideau Centre to track down the missing homeless woman Annie Littlewolf and then we’ll call it a day.”

“Nobody at the women’s shelter phone in yet?”

“I checked and they haven’t seen her. They’re worried because she and Claude were always together and now that he’s dead, they’re not sure what she’ll do to herself.”

Rouleau sighed. “Or maybe she saw whoever left him dead in the alley and she’s gone into hiding. Find out what you can and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You should call it a night too.”

“Soon.”

Grayson turned at the door. “I just want you to know it’s not because Stonechild’s …”

“Descended from the original inhabitants of this great land?” asked Rouleau with his head down.

“Yeah. That.”

Rouleau lifted his eyes and shook his head at Grayson’s retreating back. Don’t cause me any grief, he thought. The team can’t take any more pressure.

He reopened the Amin file to sift through it again with Grayson and his prejudices filed away but not forgotten. He picked up the photo of the murdered cabbie. There had to be some detail he’d missed that would lead them to new line of enquiry. Nobody should get away with what they did to this man.

At six thirty Rouleau put on his overcoat and boots to grab some supper at the Oak before Frances arrived. Maybe the lamb stew and hunks of crusty bread. It had been their favourite pub when they were together, even though it changed hands now and then. It was conveniently located halfway between his office and their first home off Main Street in Ottawa South. Could there be any significance in her choosing it as their meeting place? He told himself not to read anything into the flicker of hope that started in his chest. It could be a dangerous thing if allowed to take hold. He hadn’t seen her since November a year ago. She’d started a new life and hadn’t wanted him to be a part of it.

Once he thought he’d seen her in the ByWard Market picking out a pumpkin for Halloween, but when the woman straightened up, it wasn’t Frances at all. The woman who turned to face him was thirty years younger. Then he noticed the children trailing behind her as they searched for the perfect pumpkin. He watched them for a while, trying to capture the feeling he’d had when he thought the woman was Frances.

He glanced through the door into the main office. Stonechild was clicking with one hand on her keyboard and talking into her phone. There was something unnerving about her. Something about her watchful black eyes — eyes that looked tired when she glanced his way. Whelan had long since gone home. She lowered the receiver as the desk sergeant Cleese approached, waving a piece of paper. She covered the mouthpiece with one hand pointed toward Rouleau’s office with the other. Cleese spun around and changed direction.

“The Chief wants you to look into this ASAP,” he said, handing Rouleau the paper. “A businessman named Tom Underwood hasn’t been seen since last night. He didn’t show up at work today and his wife hasn’t heard from him. She’s the one called it in. Sounded worried. Says he’s never done anything like this before. Always keeps in touch and would never miss work.”

“This should go to Missing Persons. She can fill out the form, but it’s a bit early to start anything else.”

“Chief says this one is ours. We’re to give her the star treatment, he said. He specifically asked that you handle it. After we give her the priority treatment, he wants you to hand it over to Missing Persons and they can take it from there.”

“Great, and everyone’s gone for the day. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a run out to see her, politics being what they are.” He called across the room to Kala, who was still talking into the phone. “We’ve got one more call. Are you free to come with me?”

Stonechild nodded.

“We’ll take my car,” he said.