“I’m Marci Stokes from the Whig-Standard,” she said. “Do you have an ID on the body?”
“No. Her next of kin would have to be notified first at any rate. But I’m sure you knew that.”
Marci’s mouth curved in the smallest of smiles as she pulled a notepad out of her pocket. “So, it’s a woman. How old?”
“Hard to judge.”
“Because she’s in such bad shape?”
“Not necessarily. How did you hear about this anyway? It’s the middle of the night.”
Marci smiled wider this time. Deep lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth before the smile disappeared. “Was she murdered or hit trying to cross the highway?”
“Too early to say.”
She lifted her eyes and studied his face. “How about this? I won’t print anything until you give the okay. I know these deaths can be … delicate.” She pushed back a strand of wet hair that had fallen into her eyes with the back of her hand. “It could be mutually beneficial if we work together on these cases. I’m good at cooperating with investigators as long as I get the story in the end.”
“You’re pretty much the only game in town yet you talk as if the competition is beating down my door to get the story. You must have figured out by now that Kingston news doesn’t normally make the national stage.”
“All small cities have their stories. It’s a matter of digging them out.”
“That sounds a lot like digging dirt. Has the Whig changed its focus from real news to the sensational?”
“On the contrary.” She pointed toward the tented area. “Is this incident related to the woman and her daughter who went missing yesterday? Adele and Violet Delaney?” She waited, grey eyes unblinking.
Rouleau managed a poker face while he ran the implications of what she’d said through his head. No doubt now that someone was feeding her information. Heath was not going to be happy. He’d have to be brought in to handle the leak. Rouleau kept his tone guarded. “Then you know that we haven’t anything to release yet about them at this point.”
“Listen, Detective Rouleau. We both know that the Kingston Police Force is remiss when it comes to sharing information with the public. I’m here to change that. I want to work with you, but it’s a two-way street.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my cellphone number. Call me day or night if you decide that you have something to share. I won’t wait forever though, before I go with what I have.”
Rouleau reached inside the white jumpsuit and tucked the card into his shirt pocket while he watched her stride back toward her photographer. He was leaning on the hood of their vehicle parked on the shoulder just past the police barrier. Stokes lifted an arm and pointed toward the tent. Her partner started snapping pictures in quick succession using a telephoto lens.
Fiona Gundersund appeared at Rouleau’s elbow. “We’re ready to transport the body back to my office. I’ll get the autopsy underway right after I have some breakfast. I see you’re getting to know our new crime reporter.”
“Not by choice. I’ll get Stonechild in to watch you work.” He checked his watch. “Should we aim for eight?”
“Works for me.” Fiona tilted her head toward Marci Stokes. “I hear she’s doing penance here in the backwoods until a political story she broke blows over. She offended some mighty powerful American politicians. She could be cooling her heels here a while.”
“Just what we need. Someone trying to find a story where there isn’t one.”
Fiona smiled. “We all have to make a living somehow, Jacques. Personally, I’d rather cut up dead bodies than write about the terrible acts performed by the living.”
The forensics team was still hard at work scouring the area around the highway when Rouleau got into his car. He turned the heater to high trying to shake the chill that had seeped into his bones. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but it promised to be a miserable morning — especially for the team searching for Violet Delaney’s tiny body in the river.
Some days he didn’t like his job much. This was turning out to be one of them.
Officer Halliwell jumped into the front seat next to Gundersund and slammed the door. Rain dripped from his coat and his face was slick with water under his police cap. He looked from the radio to Gundersund. “So, should I call it in?”
Gundersund ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and over his teeth while he thought over what significance to attach to the fact that Delaney’s car was gone from his driveway at almost six a.m. The outside light and a lamp in the living room window were both shining brightly, but Delaney wasn’t answering the door. He let his eyes wander across the yard to the dark line of trees at the back of the property. The shapes looked like hovering giants in the morning shadows. The child, Violet, had been forced through the woods to the river and thrown into the fast-flowing water, and not by her mother … or that was how things looked now. Adele Delaney had been taken somewhere else and held for a time before being murdered. The scenario was incomprehensible. Horrific.
The sound of a vehicle slowing on the main road caught his attention and brought him back from his reverie. A set of headlights swung their beams up the driveway as a car turned in.
“Don’t call the station just yet.” Gundersund pulled up the zipper on his coat and pulled the hood up over his head. “Will this damn rain never end?” He swung the door open and squinted at the car through the sheet of rain as it pulled in next to them. Ivo Delaney was at the wheel. Gundersund turned back toward Halliwell. “Let’s find out where Delaney’s been before I tell him about his wife. Then we can decide whether or not to bring him into the station.
“Hold up a minute, Delaney!” Gundersund called as he stepped out of the car. Delaney had already jumped out of his and was sprinting for the front door. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and rain plastered his hair to his head and soaked his shirt so that it was nearly transparent. He pointed toward the house without slowing and Gundersund gave chase. Halliwell’s door slammed and he joined in the run for the front door. They crowded into the front entranceway, dripping water onto the hardwood floor from their coats. Delaney backed up so that he was leaning against the staircase. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shook from the chill he’d gotten in the cool morning rain. Gundersund had never seen skin so pale, the man’s cheeks hollowed out in a face becoming more cadaver-like with every passing day. His eyes were wild and bright in the harsh light from the overhead lamp. There was no doubt that Delaney was a man in torment. The question now was whether or not it came from killing his family.
“It’s early to be out and about. Where were you?” Gundersund stepped closer to Delaney so that he could catch every bit of emotion crossing his face.
“Couldn’t sleep. I thought driving around searching for my family was better than lying in bed going out of my mind.” Delaney’s teeth chattered behind blue lips. “I can’t believe they’re in the creek. I keep hoping to find them wandering …”
“Can you tell us where you drove exactly?”
“Why?” Delaney’s eyes flashed the first hint of defiance. They held Gundersund’s for one brief moment before his shoulders slumped and the fight appeared to fizzle as quickly as it had come. “I drove into Kingston and took Highway 2 to Highway 33 into Bath. I drove back through Kingston and took Highway 2 home. I didn’t stop anywhere if you’re looking for witnesses.”
His story was going to be hard to disprove unless a witness could put him elsewhere. Gundersund would leave his travel tale unchallenged for now. He motioned toward the living room. “You might want to sit down and wrap yourself in a blanket. I have some news that is going to be difficult.” He hated this part of the job. Delaney might have killed his wife and daughter, but if not he was going to be devastated by Gundersund’s next words.
Delaney shut his eyes and his bod
y swayed as if he was going to fall down. Gundersund reached out an arm to steady him.
“Tell me now.” Delaney’s voice was low and wretched. “Just tell me.”
“The body of a woman was found a few hours ago on the side of the 401 just outside Kingston on the way to Gananoque. We believe it to be Adele.”
Delaney’s body jolted as if a fire had been lit under him. His eyes widened, a crazed expression making his features grotesque. “My wife? Dead on the 401? How can that be? You told me that she’d drowned Violet and then herself. Now you tell me that she was killed on the highway? I could have been out looking for her all this time instead of answering your damn questions? You could have been out there doing your job.” Delaney pushed himself away from the staircase and began pacing, his arms rising and falling like a bird trying to take flight. A guttural growl came from deep in his throat.
Gundersund and Halliwell stepped forward in unison and somehow got their arms around him. He fought them for a moment before slumping against Gundersund. Between them they walked him into the living room and angled him onto the couch, his body limp, all resistance gone. Gundersund reached for the blanket lying across the back of the couch and wrapped it around Delaney’s shoulders while Halliwell kept a firm grip. Gundersund spoke to Halliwell as they worked Delaney into a reclining position. “We’d better get the paramedics out here. Call them and then see if there’s some brandy in one of the cupboards. He’s going into shock.”
“I’m on it.” Halliwell let go after Delaney sunk into the cushions and closed his eyes. He crossed the floor to the hallway already speaking into his cellphone.
Not for the first time since they stepped through the front door, Gundersund wished for Kala Stonechild’s silent presence next to him. He knew for a fact that she would have handled his botched interaction with Delaney with greater skill and compassion. Delaney had instinctively trusted her on their first visit. He wasn’t the first person in trouble who’d reacted to something they saw in her eyes. Black eyes as layered and mysterious as the Canadian Shield. For all her prickly toughness, a humanity could be seen shining from their depths. Gundersund knew this as a certainty because for a short time he’d been allowed into her world. Now he was left on the outside looking in with the feeling that he’d utterly failed her. The problem was, he had no idea why.
Chapter Ten
Kala finished her Tim Hortons coffee and tossed the cup into the garbage can on her way to the morgue. She wasn’t looking forward to spending the next couple of hours with Fiona Gundersund, her partner’s on-again, off-again wife. The way Fiona watched her when nobody else was looking made Kala uncomfortable. Behind the direct stare was a barely hidden dislike and Kala had a good idea why. Fiona saw any woman connected to her husband as a threat. She was territorial. An emotional leech. A wife who wasn’t going to let go of him even if she was getting it on with other men. Kala had heard the rumours. She thought Gundersund might be a fool for his devotion but she wasn’t going to get involved in his pitiful personal life. She’d done the relationship thing with a separated married man once before and never again. Especially not with her work partner.
Even if she found the kindness in the man attractive.
She pushed open the door to Fiona’s workshop and crossed over to the slab where Fiona was preparing to cut into Adele Delaney’s corpse. Classical music provided a soothing background to the whirring sound of a saw. The air was chilly and the smells disturbing but Kala normally took autopsies in stride. She’d shot and dressed deer in a past life. Only the violence of what had been done to Adele made this a difficult viewing. Even in death, Adele’s face was strong-boned in perfect symmetry, light reflecting off the golden highlights in her long brown hair. She’d been a good-looking woman and Ivo Delaney was far from a catch. Kala tried to reconcile the idea of the two of them together, but failed.
Fiona turned off the saw and looked at Kala through her protective glasses. Her long blond hair was tucked under a plastic cap. “Nice of you to join me, Detective. Your timing’s perfect. Ivo Delaney identified her this morning so everything is in order. The man could barely stand, he was so distraught. I think they took him directly to the hospital. I’m about to start cutting open her chest.”
Kala nodded. “You’re not wasting any time on this one.”
“Rouleau’s lucky it’s been a slow month. I have nothing else pressing at the moment.”
“Do you know what killed her?”
“You weren’t at the crime scene this morning with Paul?”
“No.”
Kala watched the expressions flit across Fiona’s face as she assessed this information before she spoke. “It was likely the knife wounds in her stomach. She bled out but not where her body was found. Her abdomen is a mess.” She whipped the sheet away from Adele’s body to show the jagged gashes that crisscrossed Adele’s stomach. It looked as if an operation had been performed without the final suturing to close the openings. “It would have taken a lot of stitches to close these wounds, as you can see. Not that any surgeon would have made a mess like this.”
Kala frowned. Why had the killer carved up Adele’s stomach? Was there a message in choosing to brutalize this part of her body? To disfigure a woman so terribly seemed personal. Angry. The door behind Kala opened and she turned. Bennett nodded hello and came over to stand next to her. He took one look before averting his gaze from the table.
“Rouleau sent me to observe.”
“Your first time?”
“Yeah. Does it always smell so bad?”
Kala exchanged a glance with Fiona. Fiona’s lips curved up and she turned on the saw. The whirring noise cut off conversation. She lowered her head and began cutting into Adele’s ribs.
Kala nudged Bennett with her elbow. She leaned in and spoke loudly into his ear. “If you need to get some air, just step outside. I can fill you in later. The first time is always the hardest.”
“I can handle it.” A muscle twitched in his square jaw.
“Of course.”
Fiona was skillful and methodical, Kala would give her that. She spoke into a microphone and recorded her findings as she went. By the time she’d removed and weighed Adele’s heart, Bennett was the colour of a pierogi.
Kala took pity. “Ready to make a coffee run?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Kala figured he wouldn’t be in any rush to get back. Twenty minutes later she got a text from Bennett that he’d been corralled by Rouleau. He was on his way to the Delaney house to help with the search for Violet. He was sorry about the coffee. Kala smiled to herself before turning her attention back to Fiona and the work at hand.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before. Someone removed several of her internal organs, including her uterus, appendix, and spleen. I’ve heard of killers cutting off fingers so the victim can’t be identified, but never this. It’s … bizarre.” Fiona jumped up to unplug the whistling kettle. The autopsy had finished late in the afternoon. She turned her back on Kala and filled the teapot with water, then placed the pot and two cups on the desk between them. “I have sugar but no milk.”
“Black is fine.”
Fiona mashed the teabags with the back of a spoon before pouring. She handed Kala a mug with the words “Made in Canada” stamped on the side. Kala wondered if the double entendre was intentional. Fiona took a sip and sat back in her leather chair. “Heaven. My arms are aching.” She looked over at Kala and continued their conversation about the autopsy as if no break had occurred. “So what do you make of it?”
“Not sure yet.”
“She died somewhere else but not long before she was dumped on the highway. The marks on her face were from being tossed onto the pavement from a moving vehicle.”
“So time of death?”
“I’d say between seven and eleven that evening. Sh
e had bruising on her wrists and ankles from being tied up. I found sores on her mouth from been gagged. How was her marriage?”
“Her husband said all was going great.”
“Do you believe him?”
“We’re looking into their relationship, but it’s tough since they were reclusive for the most part.” Kala wasn’t keen to speculate at this point in the investigation. Fiona seemed in tune with her thoughts because she shifted subjects after another sip of tea.
“I guess you’ve heard that Paul and I aren’t together at the moment.”
Kala held up both hands. “None of my business.”
“I know you say that, but the station is a small family. Anyhow, I just want you to know that Paul and I’ve weathered a lot. I’d like to get back with him but he’s tentative, even though we’ve gotten, well, intimate again. I hope … well I hope that you’ll respect that we’re trying to make our marriage right.” She opened her blue eyes wider as if she was opening herself to Kala.
Kala’s cellphone beeped. Saved by the bell, she thought. She lifted the phone from the desk where she’d set it and clicked on Paul Gundersund’s text. Meeting at the Merchant in ten. She thumbed in an okay before standing and looking down at Fiona.
“I have a debrief to get to. Sorry to run. I wish you well getting your marriage back on track. Believe me that you have nothing to worry about on my account. I meant it when I said your relationship with your husband is none of my business.” And you don’t need to know that I’m off to meet him now. “Thanks for the tea.”
Ten minutes later, Kala was in her truck heading down Division Street to Princess. The Merchant Tap House was at the bottom of Princess, not far from the Holiday Inn that looked out over Lake Ontario. She and Gundersund liked to meet at the Merchant when they had notes to compare. She found a parking spot a street over and was only fifteen minutes late when she walked in the front door. She checked out the main room first before crossing the hall to the smaller room to the right of the main entrance. Gundersund looked up from his beer and smiled at her. Rouleau was with him. She slid into the empty seat between them. A waitress arrived immediately afterward with a cranberry soda and lime.
Tumbled Graves Page 6
