Читать книгу Cold Mourning - Brenda Chapman - Страница 8

Thursday, December 22, 8:25 a.m.

Rouleau leaned on the kitchen counter and looked out the window rimmed in frost. The darkness had lifted enough that he could see chickadees eating birdseed from the feeder that Frances had hung on a low hanging pine bough, now covered in a thick coat of snow. He’d kept the feeder replenished even after she left.

He filled his mug from the coffee machine and took a sip while he looked at all the work he’d been putting off. When he and Frances had moved in five years ago, he’d planned to redo the kitchen and get rid of the blue cupboards and the green and grey tiled floor that puckered in places like a wizened apple. After that, he’d wanted to tackle the fake oak panelling in the front room and rip out the gold shag carpet and spring for new windows and doors. That had been the plan when he put in an offer on the fifties bungalow on a dead end street that ran alongside a bike path. So far all he’d accomplished was contracting out the new roof the summer before.

He ran his hand along the jagged edge of the counter. Time to start getting organized and clean the place up. Might be a good idea if he decided to sell.

He took a final swallow of coffee and dumped the rest into the sink, then grabbed his parka from the back of the kitchen chair on his way to the front door. He checked his cellphone as he walked. One message waiting. He punched in his password and listened to Vermette telling him to be in his office at nine for a briefing. No time to stop for breakfast like he’d planned.

He bent to put on his boots, then stood and closed his eyes, letting the rush of grief fill him. Frances. He wrapped an arm around his stomach, clenching back the pain that rose from somewhere deep in his guts. He let the sick feeling overwhelm him for a few moments before straightening and taking a deep breath. The intensity lessened. She hadn’t looked ill. Perhaps it was a misdiagnosis after all? Maybe she’d be one of the lucky few to beat the odds. She couldn’t give in yet. She’d always been strong. Do not go gentle into that good night. Dylan Thomas, if he remembered his high school English. Frances would know the whole poem by heart. She had an amazing memory when it came to words on paper.

He used to come home unexpectedly to find her in the kitchen reading from a poetry book she’d picked up at the Sunnyside branch of the public library. Her lips would be moving and her forehead would be fine lines of concentration as she stirred the pot on the stove with her free hand. He’d stand and watch, drinking in the sight of her, the white curve of her neck as she bent over the pages, sliding his eyes down to her full hips, long legs, and bare feet. She’d look up to find him there, her eyes lost in a world he could never follow, then lighting with happiness as she took him in. If he was lucky, she’d read those same lines to him after they made love while the meal simmered on the stove and the afternoon light shifted from lemon yellow to pale pink and grey in the gathering dusk, his head resting on her breast, his arm wrapped loosely around her stomach.

Vermette was talking on the phone when Rouleau entered his office and dropped into the chair across from him. The conversation on Vermette’s part consisted of a lot of head nodding and murmured agreement. Rouleau searched his face. Vermette wouldn’t be happy to be forced into the obsequious end of whatever was being discussed.

He took the time to look at the man across the desk. Early fifties, wiry build, and slightly oversized head, glistening like a soft-boiled egg. Vermette’s pale blue eyes were framed by incongruous long, black lashes that looked as if they’d been combed through with mascara. He favoured tight dark suits and different coloured turtlenecks. Today’s was white with a coffee stain approximately where his navel should be. A man who grew up in the tough east end of the city, he’d broken free of his family and neighbourhood and beaten the odds. By all rights, he should be in jail, not heading up the city’s police force. He should have been someone to admire.

Vermette thrust the phone back into its cradle. He scowled first at the phone and then at Rouleau. “Fuckin board member. Think they know everything. Brains so far up their arses, you have to dig with a shovel to get a coherent thought.” He ran a hand across his forehead, wiping away tiny beads of sweat. “So, where are you with the Tom Underwood business?”

“We met with his wife yesterday. She gave us a photo that Kala passed on to Missing Persons like you asked.”

“I know, but now I want a couple of your team on this one full time.”

“Any particular reason?” Rouleau studied Vermette’s face. A purplish vein pulsated like a turn signal in his right temple.

“Underwood’s got business contacts. Somebody with strings to pull is putting pressure on us to find him.”

“We don’t know that anything has happened to him. It’s been just twenty-four hours since he didn’t show up at work. I admit it looks less good as time passes, but …”

“Until the man is back in the bosom of his loving family,” Vermette interrupted, “finding him has just become your number one priority. Do good work on this one and your unit could get some recognition. It’ll please the board if their inane pet project succeeds at something.”

“Underwood’s company website says they make military equipment, amongst other things. They have contracts with National Defence and some overseas.”

“We don’t need to start dreaming up some lame-brained government conspiracy. Just start tracking down his movements and talk to his family and coworkers. If he really is missing … well, we’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

Uncertainty had entered Vermette’s voice and it made Rouleau curious. Vermette had argued strenuously against the special unit, saying it would dilute investigations of Major Crimes if his officers were torn in too many directions.

Rouleau stood. “I’ll get on it then.”

He was half-way to the door when Vermette said, “How’s that Native woman working out? Stonechild, is it?”

“Kala Stonechild. Should be fine. She’s a quick study.”

“I hear she’s easy on the eyes. See she gets some media training. We may as well make use of her appearance.”

“I’ll ask Kala if she wants to be a media spokes.”

“She doesn’t need to be asked. Either she does as she’s told or we send her back to the reserve where she can spend her days locking up drunk relatives.”

Rouleau took a step toward him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Vermette tilted his head and met Rouleau’s narrowed eyes before his slid away. He smiled, “Just kidding.”

Rouleau thought about telling Vermette what he thought about him before walking out the door and into early retirement. He’d leave this crap behind and sell the house and go somewhere warm. Australia was a place he’d always wanted to visit. He could stay a year and see if it suited him. Find a little house with wide windows that looked out on the sea and let the seasons slip by. Learn to appreciate Australian beer and grow a beard.

His feet moved toward the door without conscious effort. His hand encircled the brass doorknob and he pulled the door open and stepped through. Screw Vermette. He’d go when he was ready, at a moment of his own choosing. When the time was right.

Whelan watched his new partner Stonechild step into the office as if she was walking into a crime scene. She’d stopped just inside the doorway and checked to her left and right, her black eyes sweeping the entire room before she seemed satisfied and started toward their desks. He could picture her walking through the woods, silent, sure-footed, and alert. Something in her eyes made him wonder what she’d seen in her life that brought her here. Haunted. He didn’t know why that word popped into his mind. He wasn’t a fanciful man, preferring a night of football and the sports section of the paper, but there was something about her.

She sat down in the chair facing him and stretched out her long legs. She was wearing Cougar winter boots, black cords, a black sweater and grey jacket. Green-stoned earrings sparkled from her ears, the only bit of colour. “Sorry I’m late. I had trouble falling asleep.”

He checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes isn’t a major crime. Have you eaten?”

She shook her head. “No time.”

“There’s a cafeteria upstairs. Let’s go.”

“You sure?”

“Rouleau’s in a meeting so we have half an hour I figure. May as well make use of it.”

“You don’t have to ask twice. My stomach’s been grumbling like a grizzly bear since I got up.”

“Then let’s go feed the beast.”

They got coffee and the breakfast special — scrambled eggs with sausage, hash browns, and whole wheat toast. Whelan spotted Malik and Grayson near the back wall and turned, motioning for Kala to follow him. She hesitated but then nodded. The two men had had their heads together and were laughing until their eyes moved past Whelan to Kala. Malik saluted her before looking away. Grayson focused on his cup of coffee, raising it to his lips and draining the last.

“Shit, snow’s started again,” said Grayson, his eyes swerving toward the line of windows. “Should have bought a snowblower.”

“Three days till Christmas. Looks like it’ll be a white one.” Malik smiled at Kala. “So how was your first day?”

“Good.”

“You’ve arrived in time for our annual Christmas party. Did you tell her about it Whelan?”

Whelan hit a palm to his forehead. “Is that tonight?”

“Yeah, it’s tonight.” Malik looked back at Kala. “The whole force should be there, or at least those off shift. Dinner and drinks in the San Marco Hall on Preston Street. Gets underway around seven.”

Whelan groaned. “I promised Meghan I’d watch the kids while she goes for a haircut. I’m going to have to show up late.”

“Tell her to change her appointment,” said Grayson.

“Not if I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. She’s been talking about this all week. I’ll have to give you directions, Kala. It’s just outside downtown.”

“West end, right?” asked Kala.

“I can drive you,” said Grayson looking across at her for the first time. “Where’re you staying?”

Kala glanced up at him. “I can make it on my own steam. I’ve got to figure the city out sooner or later.”

“Well, if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

The silence stretched awkwardly. Whelan smiled to himself. Rejection looked good on Grayson, who prided himself on his female conquests. Whelan reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone that was vibrating against his chest. He glanced at the screen. “Rouleau’s looking for us. I’ll just send him a message to meet us here.”

“Wonder how it went with the big F.U.,” said Malik. “The Chief’s nickname,” he explained in answer to Kala’s questioning stare. “When you hear Vermette talk, you’ll understand why.”

“Rouleau handles him okay,” said Whelan. “Don’t envy him that job.”

“That’s because no matter how hard the big F.U. pushes Rouleau, he doesn’t react. If it were me, I’d probably be up on aggravated assault charges by now.” Grayson stood. “Anyone want a refill while I’m up?”

Sandeep handed over his cup. “With cream, thanks.”

Whelan watched Grayson cross the room and spotted Rouleau. He’d entered while they were talking and was ordering food from the woman behind the counter. He might have believed Grayson’s bravado about Vermette if he hadn’t seen them all chummy in the bar recently.

Sandeep turned back to Kala. “I imagine you didn’t have to deal with the chain of command where you came from.”

“We still had to report up.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Wanted more experience in a different unit. I heard about this opening and the timing was right.”

Whelan nodded. “My partner followed his wife to Germany. She’s got some high tech job.”

Sandeep looked at Kala again. “Many murders up north?”

Kala smiled. “We had a murder once. Fellow killed his best friend in a hunting accident. Turned out the best friend was sleeping with this guy’s wife and he wasn’t too pleased. Other than that, we’ve got the usual drunk driving, B and E’s, people lost in the woods. Bears chasing people up trees.”

“You’re joking.”

“Yeah, bears can climb trees faster than most people so you’d have to be an idiot to think climbing a tree was going to save your hide. Maybe you should try a northern placement.”

“Not sure my wife would take to living in the wilds. She might be a match for the bears though.”

Whelan hoisted a forkful of egg into his mouth, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Probably for the moose, too.”

Rouleau slid into the seat next to Kala and took a bite of his fried egg sandwich. Grayson set down the coffee mugs and sat across from her. Rouleau drank from his coffee cup then looked around the table.

“So, today Whelan and Stonechild are going to find Tom Underwood. His welfare has become your raison d’être.”

“Ahead of finding who killed buddy homeless man?” asked Sandeep.

“Ahead of every case we’ve got on the go.”

“Since Underwood hasn’t been missing more than a day, I can only assume Vermette’s lost it completely,” said Grayson.

Rouleau grinned. “Not ours to question why my young friends.” He looked at Whelan and Stonechild. “Check in as you go. Keep good notes because this case seems important to Vermette. Let’s see if you can bring Tom Underwood home where he belongs in time for Christmas.”