Читать книгу Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Brenda Chapman - Страница 16

Saturday, December 24, 7:40 a.m.

Rouleau woke to the sound of the wind rattling the living-room windows and whistling down the chimney. The room was semi-dark. Winter mornings took a depressingly long time for the sun to rise and get rid of the gloom. He sat up, scattering the newspaper and blanket onto the floor, and gingerly stretched his shoulders and neck. They felt tight but not too bad. He’d fallen asleep on the couch under a wool throw and the sports section of the paper just after eleven o’clock. The distance from the couch to his bedroom upstairs had seemed too far.

It was Christmas Eve in the beginning stages of a murder case. Unfortunate timing, especially this year with half the force booked off and the skeleton staff working the labs was processing only the most pressing cases. Tracking down Underwood’s coworkers and family was also an issue. The autopsy was on track, however, and he should get a preliminary report first thing in the morning before the lab staff left early for the holiday. He was hoping for a fibre or some DNA from the killer.

He walked to the kitchen and got the coffee started. While it brewed, he put a Van Morrison record on the stereo and took a quick shower. Afterwards he sat at the kitchen table reading the paper that he’d started the night before. He raised his eyes to the window. The wind must have blown in a bank of snow clouds. Large flakes were swirling against the pane. It would have been a good day to hunker down and watch a movie. The idea of heading out in the storm to go to work when most people were enjoying a day off was infinitely unappealing.

He’d foregone a tree and decorations this year. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Christmas. The three weeks before Christmas had zipped past at unprecedented speed. It wasn’t too late to mark the day though. He’d get his father’s gift for his yearly visit to Kingston for lunch, then drop by the butcher and buy something special for his Christmas supper.

He swallowed the last of his coffee and set the cup in the sink. Breakfast was waiting for him at the drive-through on his way to the office. If all went well, he’d let the team off early. It was a hell of shame that after weeks of not much going on they had to get this murder at Christmas time. It was almost as if Vermette had ordered the case to ruin the team’s holiday plans.

Grayson, Malik, and Stonechild were working at their desks when Rouleau arrived with a box of doughnuts just before nine. He entered his office and checked his messages and the inbox on his desk. He spied the toxicology report sitting on top of the pile. It was already turning into a good day.

He grabbed the report and settled in at his desk to give it a thorough read. Twenty minutes later, he poured a cup of coffee and gathered the team in the makeshift meeting area at the far corner of the office space where they’d erected bulletin boards and charts. Bennett and Gage, two officers in uniform he’d wrangled on loan for the week, joined them for the debrief. Both were in their late twenties. Bennett was the taller of the two but both looked like they spent a lot of time in the gym. They’d been happy to accept the assignment.

“Right then. We have one new important piece of information from forensics. Underwood was drugged before he was forced into the trunk. Possibly, the drug was administered in a cup of coffee or some drink. It was a street drug in the date rape family.”

“It’s often slipped into women’s drinks in bars. He might have been having coffee with whoever killed him and they dropped it in when he wasn’t looking,” said Malik. “Makes sense it would be coffee since he went missing in the morning.”

Rouleau nodded. “It also means that he didn’t fight being put inside the trunk. Underwood is one hundred and fifty pounds and wouldn’t have been too heavy for one person to handle. Even a fit woman could have gotten him in there. He would have woken up, realized where he was, and tried to get out. His car was parked outside and the cold got to him eventually. Not a nice way to end it.”

He sat still for a moment while they all contemplated Underwood’s end. His eyes circled the group and rested on Stonechild. She was staring straight ahead at nothing, her eyes unreadable. An uncoiled energy radiated from her at odds with her stillness. He’d pay to know what she was thinking.

Rouleau stood and picked up a magic marker and positioned himself in front of the white board. “Let’s go over what we know so far. Family includes two adult children: Hunter Underwood, who’s been estranged from his father for ten years and recently back on speaking terms, and Geraldine Oliver, pregnant with her first child and married to Max Oliver, who works for Tom Underwood’s company. Then we have the first wife, Pauline, who still goes by the name Underwood, and the new wife, Laurel. She has a six-year-old daughter, Charlotte, with Tom.

“I rule out the six-year-old,” said Malik.

“I knew there was a reason I brought you on the dream team,” said Rouleau, toasting him with the marker. “Have another doughnut.”

Malik grinned and selected a chocolate one from the box. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Rouleau finished writing the names on the board with their connection to the deceased. “That brings us to his work colleagues. J.P. Belliveau is his partner. Of course, we intersect again with Max Oliver, who has an assistant named Benny. We’ve yet to track down Underwood’s clients, although we got a list from Underwood’s wife Laurel at our first visit. She said most of them were more social acquaintances than friends, but worth checking out.” Rouleau copied the names to the master list and then straightened. “Anybody else you can think of?”

Stonechild looked back through her notepad. “We met Pauline’s friend Susan Halliday outside her house. They were going for a walk.”

He added Susan’s name to the board. “She might have some information about Tom, depending how long she’s been friends with Pauline. Worth checking out. We can’t rule out that this is a random killing, but I’d say the fact he was drugged means either he knew his killer or some person followed him and drugged his coffee in a restaurant or coffee shop. The bad news is we have no viable motive and no suspects.”

“We might need to spin that,” said Grayson. “Otherwise, Vermette won’t be enjoying his Christmas turkey.”

“Why should we be the only ones suffering?” asked Malik.

“Let me worry about Vermette,” said Rouleau. “I’m going to send a few officers to check coffee shops in the area. Stonechild, could you take Gage and Bennett and begin the door to door in Underwood’s neighbourhood? Start with his home and see if Laurel has turned up yet. Malik and Grayson, head back to his office and have a read through his files. Belliveau is going to be there at ten and you can interview him again. I’m going to be doing some media interviews to keep the press from coming up with gossip to fill in the blanks. Any questions?”

“Should I interview Susan Halliday if I have time?” asked Kala.

“Sure.” Rouleau spoke to the team. “But it’s Christmas Eve so I want each of you to quit by five and take tomorrow off. If I have to call you in, I’ll need you to be in the vicinity, but likely that won’t be necessary. Plan a full work day on Boxing Day.”

They all stood. He motioned to Stonechild. “Can I see you a minute?”

She waited while the others spoke to Rouleau on their way back to their desks. He finished talking to Grayson and finally turned to her.

“I know this is a tough time of year to move towns, and now this case. I was thinking if you want a place to stay until you find an apartment, I have a big house with a spare room. It’ll save you some money and give you a chance to find somewhere permanent.”He saw surprise on her face and then hesitation as if she wasn’t used to offers so freely given. She looked at him for a moment, weighing his offer. She appeared on the brink of accepting when the openness in her eyes disappeared. “I’m okay where I am.” She softened her words with a quick smile.

“Well, if you change your mind, here’s my address and phone number. I’m in Kingston tomorrow for lunch but back by suppertime. You’re welcome to come by any time if you change your mind.”

She took the card and shoved it into her pocket. “Thank you, Sir.”

“It’s the least I can do. We’ve given you no time to get settled.” He sensed that any more discussion on his offer would make her withdraw even further. “That was all,” he said. “Check in later.”

She made no move to leave. “Any word yet on Whelan’s baby?” she asked.

“Nothing yet. The next few days are critical though.”

“I hope it works out for them.”

“I’ll pass along your best wishes when I speak to him later this morning.”

“Thanks.”

He watched her join the others and then walked to his office. He’d done what he could to ease the guilt he felt for bringing her into this unit at Christmas time. It would be no big surprise if she headed home early in the new year. He could tell by the expression in her eyes that she’d already figured out the state of things. If he were in her position, he wouldn’t be long leaving Ottawa either.

Kala shivered inside her leather jacket and leaned on the bell for a second time. She’d seen a curtain move inside the living-room window and wasn’t going to leave until somebody answered the door. It took another three minutes but patience won out. The bald man in a tweed jacket and red ascot who slowly opened the door had rheumy eyes and no memory of who lived next door. She thanked him for his time and snapped her notebook shut as she strode over to Gage and Bennett on the sidewalk. Two hours of door-to-door and she’d come up with exactly nothing. It made her want to throw something.

The tips of Bennett’s ears were cherry red and his moustache sparkled with white frost. “These people haven’t got a clue who their neighbours are. God save us from people with money.”

Kala shook her head. “One guy said if he wanted to know who lived next door, he’d move into a slum where they share diseases.”

“The Christmas spirit kinda touches you right here, don’t it?” said Gage, tapping his chest. “Wonder what it feels like to be this rich and able to tell everyone to take a piss.”

“Damn satisfying, I imagine. There was one bit of information,” said Bennet. He lowered his head to read from his notes. “Woman decked out in a gold lamé jumpsuit who lives across the street said she woke early the morning Underwood disappeared and is certain she saw him scraping ice off his windshield. Says it was around six thirty.”

“I would have been black as pitch at that hour,” said Kala. “How did she know it was him? Do you think she’s reliable?”

“I’d say so. She got a look when he got into the car because the overhead light went on. Says it was definitely him.”

“Did she see Laurel’s car in the driveway?”

“No, just his. She said he was alone and drove off a few seconds later. Then she went for a shower and didn’t see anything else.”

“Well that’s something at least. Establishes he left of his own accord. It would help to know where he was going so early in the morning since he never showed up at the office,” said Kala.

“Did you check his phone messages and incoming calls?” asked Bennett.

Kala nodded. “He didn’t have any incoming calls that morning on his cell or home phone. His daughter Geraldine called the night before the party, but nobody else.” She began to shiver. “It’s just past lunchtime and too cold to stand around here any longer, so why don’t you both get home to your families and start enjoying the holiday? I’ll go talk to the ex-wife’s friend Susan Halliday on my way back to the station to file the report.”

“You sure?” said Gage. “We can file if you like.”

“It’s okay,” said Kala. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Well, happy holidays,” said Gage. “I expect I’ll be getting a call to come back into the station just as I’m sitting down to a turkey dinner tomorrow.”

“Criminals enjoy working through dinner hour,” said Bennett.

“That’d change if they had to deal with my wife’s anger when I get called into work. I haven’t had one uninterrupted Christmas meal in five years.”

Kala smiled. “Well, maybe this’ll be your lucky year.”

“Bloody unlikely, but thanks for holding out hope.”

They separated and she got into the car she’d been assigned for the day. She jiggled the key in the ignition and turned the heater up high. She looked across the street to the Underwood front entrance. Still no sign of Underwood’s wife and the little girl. For a woman who’d been so desperate to find her husband, their disappearance was odd. Worrisome, even.

She looked down the empty street toward the river. This would be a perfect morning to bundle up in her parka and Kodiaks and head for a tromp in the bush with Taiku. Last Christmas Eve they’d gone to the beach and walked its length while the sun rose above the churning waters of Lake Superior. Chunks of ice had been scattered like sculpture along the shoreline. She’d brought along her camera and taken pictures. One she’d even framed and put up in the office of her cabin. She closed her eyes and for a few seconds imagined herself there. The wind off the lake, miles of evergreens, and wild, haunting stillness. The smell of biting, cold air untouched by city traffic and the softness of Taiku’s fur against her cheek as she squatted next to him to watch the sun’s orange and pink fingers across the horizon.

Her lips parted in the beginnings of a smile. Three deep breaths and the tension left her shoulders and neck. When she opened her eyes again, the loneliness had lessened, tucked back into the well she carried deep inside. Her eyes surveyed the over-sized houses one last time as she set the car into drive and slowly pulled away from the curb.