Читать книгу Shallow End - Brenda Chapman - Страница 6

Tuesday, October 4

Jacques Rouleau paid for his coffee and slipped between tables until he reached his team at the far end of the cafeteria. Gundersund moved into the chair on the other side of Woodhouse and Rouleau took his vacated seat at the head of the table. Kala Stonechild sat alone on Rouleau’s right. She looked up at him from her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Anything exciting to report, sir?”

“No. Still quiet on the major crimes front. That turned out to be the quietest September on record.”

Gundersund nodded. “Following up on a quiet summer.” He speared a sausage on his plate. “I can’t say that I’ve minded though.”

Rouleau caught the look that Woodhouse gave Stonechild. Something was going on between the two of them. Woodhouse hadn’t wanted her on the team — it wasn’t difficult to figure that out — but so far, the team was holding together. He could count on Gundersund to let him know if anything was getting out of hand. In any case, Stonechild would not appreciate his interference, of this he was certain.

“Look, Bennett’s back.” Gundersund pointed toward the entrance and Rouleau turned in his chair. Gundersund raised a hand to wave Bennett over. “He’s looking fit.”

“The young heal fast,” said Rouleau. Hard to believe Bennett had been in intensive care for two weeks from a gunshot wound five months earlier. He’d come as close to death as a person could without actually checking out.

Bennett sat in the empty seat next to Stonechild after he grabbed a cup of coffee. He took a drink and said, “Coffee hasn’t gotten any better since I was off, but it’s good to be back otherwise. What’ve I missed?”

“Nothing much.” Woodhouse bit into a cinnamon bun. “Your absence was barely noticed.” He smiled, a glob of icing hanging from his top lip.

“Well, I missed you.” Kala tilted her head sideways and smiled at Bennett.

Bennett’s dimples appeared. “Then it was worth taking a bullet.”

Woodhouse tapped his temple. “Getting shot has turned you into a soppy wuss. Good thing you’ve returned to work so I can toughen you up before it becomes permanent.”

Gundersund cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Bennett. You look completely recovered.”

Bennett swung his eyes over to Gundersund. “I am. My mother’s relentless cooking helped. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m actually glad to be away from all the homemade pasta and casseroles. By the way, thanks for all the phone calls and text messages, everyone. Especially you, Woodhouse, but no need to keep sending me those dirty jokes and videos.” He paused a few beats. “Really, no need.”

Woodhouse swiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Kept your spirits up, did I?”

“Sure, if you say so.”

Woodhouse tossed the last of the bun into his mouth and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt. “Laughter is the best medicine. Especially if it includes a dwarf, a goat, and a bar.”

“Right,” Rouleau cut in, looking up from his cellphone. His glance landed on Woodhouse for a moment. “Our quiet fall has officially ended. A body’s been found at Murney Point. Cause of death does not appear to have been natural. Gundersund and Stonechild, you take this one. Woodhouse and Bennett can tag along and will be at your disposal. Officers are on site and Fiona and the forensics team are on their way.”

“Any indication of who was killed?” Gundersund was already on his feet, scooping napkins and tossing cutlery onto a tray.

“No idea,” Rouleau said. “A homeless guy found the body. Check in when you have something to tell me.”

Without a major crime to solve, the team had been lethargic and adrift for months. Already Rouleau could sense an excitement in their faces as they organized to leave. They were hungry to get going, never a bad quality in a detective. Too bad it took someone else’s misfortune to give focus to their days, but this was the reality of their work. When it came right down to it, murder was the jam on their bread and butter.

Kala tried to breathe deeply and centre herself before getting out of the car. Gundersund turned left off King Street and showed his ID to the officer guarding the entrance to Murney Point. He was waved through and drove slowly around the bend into the parking lot facing Lake Ontario. A number of squad cars filled one end of the lot and Kala could see police scouring the shoreline. She glanced back at Murney Tower, a round, grey limestone fortress with a red band of windows rimming the border under a conical roof. She’d been meaning to take a tour of one of the two Martello towers open for summer visitors that guarded the Kingston shoreline since she arrived in Kingston the year before, but never got around to it. She was too late again this year as both museums closed their doors for the season in August.

Gundersund pulled into a spot some distance from the ambulance and turned off the engine. Wind off the lake buffeted the car and waves rolled in gusty swells against the shore. The day had the depressing feel of late fall as nature hunkered down for the first snowfall. Kala took a deep breath before stepping outside. The air had turned cool overnight and a wispy fog coated the landscape. She inhaled the dampness and cold and zipped her leather jacket as she joined Gundersund. A triangle of geese honked their way south overhead and she looked up. She could barely make them out against the grey sky.

Gundersund squinted and pointed toward the shoreline. “I see the top of someone’s head. The body must be just over there. It’s not a very steep drop to the water.”

They started toward the lake and passed a man with a scraggly grey beard and crochet cap sitting on a park bench with a small dog on his lap. An officer was standing in front of him with her notepad out.

A cop named Bedouin walked from the top of the cliff toward them. “Hell of a day for a murder.”

“Not one I would have picked.” Gundersund tipped his head toward the lake. “What’ve we got?”

Bedouin pointed toward the grassy section of land that sloped toward the rocky shoreline. “A kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen years old. Male. The homeless guy’s dog made a bit of a mess running around the body, which blended into the break wall at the base of the hill and was tucked into some bushes. I guess we’re lucky the mutt led his owner there in the first place. Might have taken a while to find the body otherwise. His name’s Bert by the way.”

“The dog?”

“No. The homeless guy. He’s a regular in the liquor store parking lot on Princess. I didn’t catch the dog’s name.” Bedouin smiled, revealing oversized front teeth that had earned him the nickname Gopher.

Kala asked, “How long’s the body been there?”

“Overnight. Probably not much longer.” He looked back at Gundersund. “Your wife should be able to tell us more. She’s been down inspecting him for a good fifteen minutes.”

Gundersund stared out across the lake. He said without looking at Kala, “Why don’t you head over and have a chat with Fiona while I double back and talk to Bert?”

“Don’t you want to see the body before he gets moved?”

“I won’t be long.”

She watched Gundersund head over to the park bench and sit down next to the homeless man. Her six-foot-three partner made an imposing figure next to Bert, who obviously hadn’t been surviving on a healthy diet. Bert laughed at something Gundersund said and Kala turned toward the hill.

She walked to the crest of the cliff and looked down into the gully, which was thick with white mist. A bell was clanging somewhere off to her left and the rushing sound of the wind was steady in her ears. Her home was further along this same shoreline on the western outskirts of the city. She stepped carefully toward Fiona on the slippery rocks and stopped a short distance away. Fiona’s long blond hair was tucked under a plastic cap and she was wearing the white suit and boots of the forensics team. A young man dressed in the same white suit stood next to her, typing notes into an electronic device. Every so often, he fought to stay upright as a blast of wind attempted to push him onto the rocks. His eyes travelled across the space toward Kala and he bent to tell Fiona. She looked up and stared for a second in Kala’s direction before lowering her head and resuming inspection of the body.

Kala surveyed the bobbing line of flotsam along the shoreline and the rolling grey waves with the white haze blotting out the horizon. The whistling wind and crashing waves muffled all other sound so that her ears felt stuffed with cotton batting. She planted her feet and scanned the band of rocks and bushes at the base of the break wall, finally coming to rest on the dead boy whom Fiona was crouched over. He was on his stomach, legs splayed and face turned away from her. She could make out short black hair and broad shoulders but not much else because of the angle of her view and the mist. While she waited for Fiona to finish up, she replayed her last encounter with her partner’s wife. Fiona had walked into their office looking for Gundersund but he’d left for a dental appointment. They were alone and Fiona walked over to stand in front of Kala’s desk.

“I suppose Paul’s told you that he’s asked for a divorce.”

“No, we don’t discuss …”

Fiona spoke over her. “We’ve been to see a mediator and she wants us to see a marriage counsellor. Paul doesn’t want to, but I’d like it if you could encourage him. He … he respects your opinion.”

Kala experienced dismay at being drawn into her partner’s marriage and, for the first time, pity for Fiona. From what little Kala had gleaned from water cooler chatter, Fiona had brought this upon herself by leaving Gundersund for a year to move in with a doctor. The affair had already ended when Kala arrived in Kingston the year before, and Fiona had taken every opportunity since then to wrangle her way back into her husband’s life. He appeared reluctant, but Fiona was attractive and persistent. The office pool gave convincing odds for his capitulation by Christmas. The desperate look in Fiona’s eyes had been a first and Kala had had to force herself not to react to it. “Your husband and I don’t discuss our private lives,” she’d said, “and I’m not getting involved. Sorry.”

Fiona had stared at her with a half-smile on her lips, the desperate look hardening into something tough and calculating. Her voice dropped. “If you think I’m leaving my husband for you to trap like a sneaky bitch, you can think again. You might fool the men with your big doe eyes and quiet suffering, but I’ve got your number. You’re as conniving as they come but you have no idea who you’re messing with. Consider yourself warned.”

She’d stormed off before Kala could respond to the stunning attack, disturbed not only by the threat but also the twisted version of her friendship with her partner. Kala had promised herself that she’d steer clear of Fiona and keep Gundersund at arm’s length outside of work hours. So far, she’d managed both. She hadn’t been surprised when Gundersund had started leaving work on his lunch hours twice a week to go for counselling because she’d known that Fiona wasn’t going to let him go easily. After each session, he’d returned to the office stone-faced and uncommunicative and Kala hadn’t encouraged him to talk about it.

Fiona straightened from a crouched position and said something to her assistant. Then she climbed the rocks until she stood a few feet from Kala. Even from the short distance away, she had to speak loudly above the noise of the wind and waves battering the shore.

“No ID on his body. He was dragged down the hill but he was already dead.”

“How did he die?”

“Blunt force trauma. The back of his head is a mess. Whoever hit him wasn’t holding back. He took a couple of good blows. I’d say somebody was extremely angry.” Fiona glanced at her before looking away and the words hung an unspoken challenge between them. Kala was tiring of this silent game but felt helpless to end it.

Fiona started climbing and passed as close to Kala as she could without brushing against her. “I’m cold and want to get out the wind. I’ll have my report later this afternoon.”

Kala waited a few moments before turning to follow her. She looked up and saw two paramedics who were carrying a stretcher appear at the top of the incline with Gundersund following behind. He met Fiona and stopped to speak with her before continuing on down the hill toward Kala. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“The station received a call that a seventeen-year-

old boy named Devon Eton is missing. He didn’t come home last night but his parents thought he was at his friend’s place. They often played video games late and Devon would sleep over. This morning his mother found out he wasn’t there and hasn’t been able to find him any of the other places she thinks he might have gone.”

“Do you have a description?”

“From what Fiona just told me, he matches the kid down on the rocks.” Gundersund looked toward the body. His blond hair was beaten straight back by the wind. He raised his voice to be heard above the breaking waves. “The mother was upset about something but didn’t want to get into it on the phone. She’s going to be even more upset when she finds out her kid is dead. Ready for a closer look?”

Kala pushed back a strand of hair from her eyes and nodded. “After you,” she said.

They’d have a few minutes with the boy before he was carted up the hill into the waiting ambulance. She tried to hang on to the inner calm she’d found in the car as she followed her partner across the slippery rocks.