Читать книгу Shallow End - Brenda Chapman - Страница 7

Rouleau met them in the hallway of the station at one o’clock. “Hilary Eton identified her son. She says that she knows who killed him.”

They were quiet for a moment. Kala knew that convicting someone was never as simple as this. Knowing and proving were different animals entirely. She looked at Gundersund when he said, deadpan, “Well, that makes our job way easier.” He gave her a crooked smile before asking Rouleau, “Is she alone?”

“Yes, her husband left this morning for business in Calgary. She’s reached him at the Calgary airport and he’s on his way back.”

“Where’s Mrs. Eton now?” Kala asked. She looked from Gundersund to Rouleau and thought he looked tired. She’d been worried about him since his ex-wife, Frances, died in the summer. He’d stopped gathering the team unless he had to and never went with them for a drink after work as he had before Frances’s death.

“I brought her into my office and am giving her a bit of space to make some phone calls. She should be about done.”

“Then I guess we’ll find out who it is that she suspects.”

She and Gundersund followed Rouleau into the main office. Woodhouse was on the phone and Bennett was pouring a cup of coffee by the window. Kala smiled at Bennett on her way by. She’d been hoping for some time to sit with him and catch up, but there’d be no break while this case got underway. She’d been surprised by how much she’d missed Bennett while he was in Ottawa recuperating at his parents’. One quick trip to Ottawa at the beginning of his convalescence had been more to reassure herself that he was going to recover than anything else, a way to ease some of the guilt she felt at getting him shot. She hadn’t been oblivious to his interest in her and knew he placed more importance in her visit than she’d intended, but he’d get over his crush, for that was how she saw it. She was thirty to his twenty-five and the age difference felt like a lot.

Mrs. Eton was framed in the window when they entered, arms folded across her stomach and looking out. Her hair from behind was golden-brown cut into a short bob. Wealth and style were evidenced by her well-cut wool coat and high leather boots. When she finally turned and acknowledged their presence, her grey-blue eyes swept over them without focusing. Watery black mascara had tracked down her cheeks, which were as pale as ivory. The lack of colour in her face was disconcerting, and Kala feared that she might pass out.

Rouleau must have had the same thought because he immediately crossed the room and guided her by the elbow to a chair directly behind her. “Can I get you some tea?” he asked, bending so that he was in her line of vision.

Her shoulders rose and her back straightened, and Kala blinked at the transformation on her face. Mask firmly in place, this woman would not be letting them see inside. Though still pale, her eyes were reso-

lute. “No, thank you.” She looked at Gundersund and Kala as they took seats on the couch. Her chin lifted. “Will this take long?”

To Kala, the woman’s upper-crust British accent spoke of a moneyed upbringing and private schools, much like the upper class characters in PBS crime dramas. Mrs. Eton could have been a faded version of the actress who played the lead detective in Prime Suspect. Kala wracked her brain to remember the actress’s name. She came up empty.

Rouleau took the seat next to Hilary Eton and she turned slightly to face him. “Just a few questions. We know how difficult this is for you but we want to find whoever killed your son as soon as we can.”

“Of course. I’m not sure where she’s living now, but you should be able to track her down without difficulty. She’ll be answering to somebody, I imagine.”

Rouleau’s face remained sympathetic, no sign of impatience to be found. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Eton, but I don’t know what woman you’re speaking about. Perhaps you could tell us her name and why you suspect her.”

Kala watched Mrs. Eton carefully to see if the shock of her son’s death had affected her mind. She was aware of Rouleau and Gundersund silently waiting with her to see where this would lead. Shock and grief could make even the most rational person lose their grasp on reality for a time. Mrs. Eton’s back arched higher into the chair. “You don’t remember my son’s case? It was a few years back, but still …”

Kala could see the gears turning in Rouleau’s head. He glanced over at Gundersund, who looked perplexed before comprehension dawned in his eyes. “Your son was one of the schoolboys assaulted by the teacher, what was it, five years ago?”

“Four. Four years ago. Sexually assaulted. We were notified that Jane Thompson was out on parole five weeks ago, a day I’d been dreading since she was sentenced. I’ve been jumping at shadows since I heard, but then …” She shrugged her shoulders. “One has to carry on, doesn’t one? I didn’t want to live in fear and my hope was that she’d leave Kingston to go somewhere that nobody knew her. From what I’ve heard, her husband divorced her and wants nothing to do with her. Could anyone blame him? Besides, Devon is that much older. He was only twelve years old when it happened.” For the first time, her voice broke. “I thought … I thought he could handle what she’d done to him.”

Rouleau leaned closer to her and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to have to ask you questions at this terrible time.”

Her voice got louder, her British accent more pronounced. “No, I want to help. I need to help. Devon deserves retribution. We, that is, Mitchell and I, have felt that she ruined our son’s life when she corrupted him. She was convicted of that, you know. Corruption of a minor, gross indecency, and sexual assault. She was in a position of trust and the judge said that was the greatest evil of all when he sentenced her.” She got to her feet in one abrupt motion. “I have to go, Sergeant. I need some time. Could we resume this when my husband is back this evening?”

Rouleau nodded. “I’ll have an officer drive you home. Do you have other children, Mrs. Eton?”

“We have a daughter, Sophie. She’s thirteen, in grade eight. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her about Devon. She adored him.” She stopped and looked panic-stricken around the room. “My purse? I don’t remember where I dropped my purse. Did I leave it in the taxi? Oh my God.”

Kala spotted a black bag on Rouleau’s desk. “There it is,” she said and motioned that she was on her way to get it. The purse was Italian leather with a designer label and heavier than expected when she picked it up. The zipper was partly open and Kala caught sight of an iPad and two pill bottles before she crossed the distance to hand the purse to Hilary Eaton. Was she taking medication for an illness? The unnatural pallor to her skin could be from a medical condition.

Mrs. Eton accepted the bag with a large sigh and clutched it to her chest as she walked toward Rouleau standing by the office door. “What time is your husband’s flight?” he asked as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass in front of him.

“Eight o’clock. He’s got a car in overnight parking at the airport and will be driving straight home. I’m certain he’ll want to speak with you as soon as possible.”

“We’ll come by tonight. We’ll be keeping you both apprised every step of our investigation.”

“Thank you.” She stopped two steps into the hall and turned to look at Rouleau. “I thought abusing my son was the greatest evil, but now, I know it wasn’t even close. Letting that woman out of prison to seek revenge on my family was far, far worse.”

Rouleau walked with her to the outer office, telling Kala and Gundersund that he’d be back after he saw that she was delivered safely home. Gundersund trailed behind Kala to the coffee machine sitting on a filing cabinet at the far corner of the open concept office. He stood behind her while she poured two cups. She added cream and sugar to both and handed him one. Gundersund looked as if he was trying to get a read on her mood.

“Seems to be more cases of female teachers having affairs with underage students,” she said. “Makes you wonder what’s going on when a married woman finds a boy sexually attractive and risks everything — her marriage, her relationship with her children, her job.”

“I don’t get the attraction either, but we may as well get started on the leg work. Why don’t you read up on Jane Thompson while I track down her parole officer and find out where she’s living? We’ll be going over to pick Jane up once Rouleau gets back.” He took a sip from the mug.

“Works.” Kala started back to her desk. “I’ve got a burning question for you,” she said to Bennett on her way by. “Who was the British actress who played the lead on the TV series Prime Suspect?”

Bennett cocked his head and thought for a second. “Got me. Must have been before my time.”

“Helen Mirren,” Woodhouse said without taking his eyes from his computer screen, “played DCI Jane Tennison in the Prime Suspect series.”

“I knew Hilary Eton reminded me of someone. She could be Mirren’s well-heeled sister,” Gundersund said. “Well done figuring it out, Stonechild.”

Woodhouse added, “The series is a classic. You don’t know what you’re missing, Bennett.”

Kala dropped into her desk chair and adjusted the computer screen. She did a quick search and brought up an image of the actress. “They do look alike. It’s uncanny, really.” She closed the window and clicked back on the Google search.

Time to get down to business.