Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (86 page)

“The long hours Brian had to put into his business must have been difficult.”

Celia nodded. “Especially with her mother dying and her father shutting her out. I just hope Della’s okay. She deserves someone better than Brian. From what I saw, he needs to control and she went along with it. He never should have made her leave Toronto. She wasn’t cut out to be a housewife in a town the size of Kingston. She was made for a bigger life.”

The afternoon sun was fading when Rouleau sat across the desk from his new Chief of Police, Malcolm T. Heath. Heath was forty, younger than Rouleau by ten years, but well connected according to Gundersund. He’d used his influence to rise quickly through the force to rank of chief at an age when most were a few levels lower. It hadn’t taken Rouleau long to figure out that Heath wasn’t particularly involved in the day-to-day and didn’t care for detailed reporting. He preferred to be told the big picture and relied on a solid media relations team with himself as spokesperson to keep the force well positioned in the community. Heath’s Achilles heel was scandal. Any whiff of a negative news story and he whipped his communications machine into a frenzy. Rouleau wondered how tenuous Heath’s appointment was and who he owed. He could live with Heath’s PR obsession, however, because it didn’t involve micromanaging cases. Heath left the heavy lifting to the detectives.

Heath ran a ringed hand through his greying curls and leaned back in his chair to look out the window. On their first meeting, Rouleau had been reminded of a cherub — plump cheeks and rosy complexion with curly hair that women spent serious dollars to achieve in the salon. His round, blue eyes usually focused on a point just beyond Rouleau’s right shoulder. Heath would appear to have drifted off, and then surprise Rouleau with an astute observation. Rouleau was curious to know whether the Columbo routine was for real or a carefully tuned act. He’d buy it, though, if it meant the hands-off approach continued.

Heath swung his eyes toward Rouleau. “Any movement on the new hire?”

“I have someone in mind but am having trouble reaching them.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Odd. Are they working now?”

Rouleau shook his head. “Kala Stonechild is on a canoe trip and out of range. I’d like to give her a few more days.”

“I want to be staffed up by the end of the month.” Heath glanced at his computer screen. “Any luck finding a place to live?”

“I’m still at my father’s apartment. He had foot surgery four weeks ago.”

“There might be vacant student housing but you won’t want any part of that. I’ll send your email address to a friend of mine in real estate. She should be able to come up with something suitable.”

“Thanks.”

“This Munroe case. You think it’ll get any media play?”

“Depends if it goes to court. The Munroes could battle it out in the press.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Will do.” Rouleau stood.

“I’ll be taking a holiday next week. If something urgent comes up, let Vera know. She has my coordinates.”

“You’re heading out of town?”

“Fishing trip in Northern Quebec. Rainbow and lake trout, pristine lakes, and blue sky that goes on forever. It’s my yearly pilgrimage to commune with nature.”

Rouleau looked closer at Heath. Heath’s eyes were guileless behind wire-framed reading glasses. Rouleau could picture him on a cruise or stretched out next to a pool with a martini in his hand, but definitely not tromping around the woods or sitting patiently in a boat waiting for fish to bite.

Rouleau stood to leave. Heath scribbled something on a writing pad and ripped off the top sheet. He handed it to Rouleau.

“Tell Laney Masterson that I sent you. You should have a place to call home by next weekend.”

“Thanks, I’ll give her a ring.” Rouleau glanced down at the paper. Heath had written Laney Masterson’s phone number from memory.

He stopped at Vera’s desk on the way to his own office. She lifted her unusual almond-shaped eyes from the computer screen and met his. They were the warm amber colour of his ex-wife Frances’s tabby cat.

“Question, Rouleau?” she asked, her eyes dropping back to her work. Her elegant fingers, loaded down with gold rings and glittering stones, flew across the keyboard. Rouleau had only seen her blond hair wound tightly into a bun at the nape of her long neck, at odds with her tight sweaters and pencil skirts that showed off her Marilyn Monroe body.

“Just wondered if the Chief goes to the same fishing hole every year.”

Vera raised her eyes. He saw amusement in their golden depths. “You thinking of taking up the sport?” she asked. “You should know that he’s quite protective of his secret spot.” Her voice was low and suggestive.

Rouleau smiled. “Night, Vera. See you tomorrow.”

She returned his smile. “Later, Rouleau.”

Chapter Five

 R
ouleau left the station and drove slowly down Princess Street toward downtown. Rounding the curve south past the Division Street intersection, he took in the shops and cafés that lined the busy street. Far in the distance he glimpsed the sparkling blue of Lake Ontario, just past the Holiday Inn at the bottom of Princess. Traffic was stop-and-go but not as bad as it would be in the Ottawa core at this time of the evening. He rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the door frame. A hot breeze ruffled his sticky shirt and gave the illusion of relief. The temperature had risen over the afternoon and clung to the city like heat from a sauna. Finally reaching Ontario Street, he hung a right. The road paralleled the waterfront, his father’s condo building with a view of the harbour several blocks farther on. The Royal George, where his father lived on the seventh floor, protruded awkwardly, a green glass tower of modernity, the last in a series of high rises that included an upscale hotel.

Rouleau pulled into the visitor parking lot and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment, looking toward the lake, visible over the tall grasses that lined the property. He attempted to let go of the stresses of the day to find the reserve of patience now required. His father, a normally calm, methodical man, had become irritated by the limitations surgery had wrought on his body. The last few days he’d sunk into a worrisome depression, a state so foreign to him that Rouleau could barely bring himself to think about what it foreshadowed. The urge to find his own place to live was eating at him, but he wasn’t sure if he should leave his father alone just yet.

Rouleau exited his car and took the elevator to the seventh floor. He used his key to enter and was surprised to hear his father’s hearty laughter coming from the living room. A woman’s voice joined in and Rouleau’s heart lightened. His father had refused visitors, so this was a good sign.

Rouleau walked down the short hallway lined in bookcases and rounded the corner. Both faces turned to smile up at him: his father stretched out on the couch, and surprise of surprises, Kala Stonechild in a chair facing him. A black Labrador retriever lay at her feet, its alert eyes following his every movement. The dog looked friendly but on guard. Rouleau crossed to the empty easy chair and dropped into it. He reached across to squeeze Stonechild’s shoulder and the dog’s eyes followed him. “You’re here,” Rouleau said, leaning back. He grinned wryly at having stated the obvious. “So you got my messages then?”

“I did.” She shrugged and her lips curved upward. The smile almost reached her eyes. Almost, but not quite. She was dressed in a white cotton blouse, gauzy and unbuttoned to just below her collarbones, and faded jeans. A turquoise, white, and red beaded belt was threaded through the loops. Her ebony hair hung in two braided pigtails to her chest. She’d taken her sandals off at the door and her bare feet were tucked underneath the coffee table.

Rouleau glanced over at his father. His blue eyes had recovered some of their brilliance. “You’re looking better, Dad.”

“I’ve had good company today,” his father responded. “I hope you’re about to pour us each a little of the Glenfiddich before dinner.”

“Of course.” Rouleau stood. “Ginger ale, Kala?” he asked. He knew she didn’t touch alcohol. She nodded and he walked into the kitchen. When he returned with the drinks, Kala and his father were deep in conversation, as if they’d known each other a long time instead of a few hours.

Rouleau sat down and took a sip of the single malt. It burned pleasantly all the way down. He looked at Kala and waited for her to tell him why she was sitting in his father’s apartment. She raised her eyes to his and smiled as if fully aware of his impatience for her to commit to his job offer. She took her time, letting his father finish talking about his research at the university before responding.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be staying in Kingston. I’ve come to check out the town on my way to Ottawa. Grayson is waiting for me to join the unit again.” She shrugged. “I thought I’d resign in person.”

“Where would you go if not here?”

“Not sure. My old job in Red Rock is still open.”

“Is that where you really want to be?”

“One place is as good as another.” Again the slight lifting of her shoulders. The defiant tilt of her jaw he’d seen before. “I’m not ruling out your offer. I’m just saying that I don’t know what I want to do yet.”

“How did you find my father’s apartment?”

“I’m a detective, remember?” she said. “You left a trail of bread crumbs as wide as Highway 417.”

“I’d like you to come work for me.”

“I gathered that from your phone messages.”

“You’ll like Kingston. It’s a welcoming kind of town.”

“I don’t know yet if this town is for me. Honestly, I feel more at home in the North.”

“The Criminal Investigations team is small, and you’d be working with another inspector named Paul Gundersund. He’s good. We also have a solid in-house forensics team and cold case unit in our division. Think about it. That’s all I ask.”

She nodded, but her eyes were evasive. Rouleau had the uneasy feeling he’d oversold the job.

“Will you stay for supper?” his dad asked her. “Jacques will be cooking some steak with baked potatoes. We’d be delighted to have you.”

“Thank you, but I really have to be going. Taiku needs a walk and I have to check in with my friend.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Just west of the city but this side of Bath. My friend owns a house on the water. She’s expecting me sometime today.”

“At least finish your drink before you go,” his father said. “It’s been a long time since I had a young woman come to call.”

Kala’s eyes swept the room and Rouleau’s eyes followed behind. It was the lair of a long-time bachelor with few feminine touches. The parquet floor was typical of the apartment buildings built in the eighties, now in vogue again. The oak furniture was solid, functional, but not pretty. His dad kept piles of documents and textbooks on the floor and scattered across the dining room table where he worked on his computer in front of the balcony window. An anemic vine had taken over one wall, surviving god only knew how on sporadic watering and inattention. His dad’s ten-speed bicycle leaned against the wall behind the couch, put out to pasture until the cast came off his foot.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked him, lifting her glass.

“I moved into an apartment near the university campus after Jacques took his first job in Ottawa. What was that, son, twenty years ago now? I moved into this condo when it was built a few years ago.”

Rouleau’s phone rang in his pocket. He reached for it, saying, “One minute, Dad. I should get this.”

It took a few seconds to assimilate the facts from the dispatcher. A young woman had been called in dead in an apartment just off campus. He was needed on site as soon as he could get there. It was certainly murder. Gundersund would meet him there. She rhymed off the address and repeated it to be sure.

Rouleau slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at Kala and his father. Both sets of eyes watched him expectantly, one set liquid black and the other a crystal blue. They’d overheard his side of the conversation. There was no point hiding his destination.

He stood. “A murder just off campus. I have to go.”

“Should I come along, sir?” Kala asked. She’d already pushed herself to her feet. “It might help me decide to come on board.”

Rouleau thought about it for a nanosecond before he nodded. Perhaps all wasn’t lost with Stonechild after all. This case could very well tilt her decision in his favour.

Chapter Six

 K
ala followed closely behind Rouleau in her truck. Taiku sat in the passenger seat, his nose through the open window. She reached across the console and ruffled the fur on his back.

“So what do you think, boy? Is this a town you’d like to spend time in or should we keep moving?”

Taiku pulled his nose from the window and turned his head toward her, his pink tongue lolling to the side of his mouth. He stared at her as if considering her question.

Kala laughed before turning back to the road. Sometimes she thought Taiku was a human disguised as a dog. He was smarter than most people she knew and was considerably more dependable.

They were heading east, but only for a short distance before Rouleau turned north on Gore. The grey limestone houses dated back to Sir John A. Macdonald’s time. It was a pretty city with mature oak trees and wide streets flanked to the south by Lake Ontario. This felt like a town you could breathe in. She was surprised to find herself looking forward to a few days at her friend’s place.

Rouleau pulled left onto Sydenham and she followed a few car lengths behind. A busy scene greeted them a few blocks in. Police cars and an ambulance with red lights flashing filled the street. The target house was toward the far end of the street and they had to park and walk a short distance. Kala left Taiku locked in the truck parked under a shady oak with the window open and an order to stay. He immediately lay down on the seat, his shaggy head resting against the passenger door, his black eyes watching her walk away.

Rouleau stood waiting for her on the sidewalk next to his car. He looked tired, his eyes sadder than she remembered. The connection she felt to him was odd. Uncomfortable and uncharacteristic. She’d felt it in Ottawa the short time they worked together. It was the reason she’d detoured on a last-minute whim off the 417 to find him. She’d been surprised that he’d sought her out for this job. She hadn’t decided yet whether to trust him.