Kala felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Fiona had a smile on her face but her eyes weren’t happy. She stopped in front of Gundersund and reached up to hug him. Her white wine slopped on the arm of his suit jacket. She let go but kept close to him. “Fancy meeting you both here. I was just saying to Colin that I thought you’d come, Paul. I didn’t know you were an art aficionado, Kala.”
“I’m not especially.”
“Paul, the Reynolds are over there and they’ve been asking for you.” She placed a firm hand on Gundersund’s arm. “Please excuse us for a moment, Kala. These are old friends of ours in from out of town. I won’t keep your partner long.”
Gundersund shot Kala an apologetic look before letting Fiona lead him away. “Have a look around. I’ll be back soon,” were his parting words.
Not if Fiona can help it. Kala nodded and smiled to let him know that everything was fine. She should have guessed how this evening would end.
She took a sip of punch and looked for Dawn. She’d moved in front of a painting of Lake Ontario that had to be five feet high and stood staring at it oblivious to the adults crowding in around her. Kala kept one eye on her and crossed to the bar to get her a glass of fruit punch.
Nearly an hour later, Gundersund met Kala and Dawn at the door on their way to the cab that Kala had called. He looked sheepish and less than pleased. “I’m sorry. I got tied up with some people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Let me take you home.” He looked for a place to set down his wine glass.
Kala almost felt sorry for him. He had no idea how Fiona had worked him. Kala shook her head. “No, you stay and enjoy yourself. The cab is outside and I need to get Dawn home. Tomorrow is a school day.”
“Thanks Gundersund,” Dawn said. “I really had a good time.”
He bent down so that he was at her level. “But I wanted to introduce you to the artist, Colin Hall.”
“It’s okay. We already met him. He said that I could come back anytime.”
Kala opened the door. “See you later, Gundersund. Thanks again for a lovely dinner.”
“I’m back in court tomorrow,” he said. “Will Montreal wait a day?”
“No, but Bennett has offered to come with me.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that. It wasn’t as if she wanted Bennett to go with her.
She followed Dawn out of the gallery and into the cab waiting at the curb. After making sure Dawn was buckled in, Kala glanced out the back window. Gundersund was still standing in the door watching them as the cab merged into traffic on Ontario Street.
Chapter Fourteen
The call came when Kala was waving goodbye to Dawn as the school bus pulled away. She almost didn’t answer after she saw whose name was on the screen, but thought better of it by the third ring. Bennett might have some information that she needed to know when she started interviewing people in Montreal. She put the phone to her ear. “Yeah? Got something for me, Bennett?”
His voice was loud and cheerful. “So happens I do. My company all the way to Montreal and back.”
“I told Rouleau I’d be fine on my own.”
“He decided you could use me riding shotgun. You’re to swing by the station and pick me up. If you’d like me to be the chauffeur, I’m okay with that.”
“I’ll drive. Be ready in fifteen.”
Shit. She dropped the phone back into her pocket and started back up the driveway toward her truck. The sun was weak but promised to gain strength over the course of the day. Already, blue sky showed through the patchy cloud cover like backwash in a watercolour painting. The evening of art appreciation appeared to have made an impact on her. The change in weather was the only good thing about the morning so far.
She got into the front seat and slammed the door. Cutting across town to the station was going to add time to the trip and she’d promised Dawn she’d try to be back by nightfall. The headway they’d been making over the week could topple if she wasn’t careful. Leaving the kid alone too much wasn’t going to help anything. Gundersund would be checking in on Dawn to pick up Minny after work, so that was something at least. Maybe she should think about hiring a housekeeper against Dawn’s protestations. That way she could work late without guilt pricking at her conscience.
As she drove across the city toward the station, she thought about how little supervision she’d had growing up. It hadn’t hurt her any. She’d turned into a fully functioning adult. She passed Princess and turned left onto Queen, giving wide berth to a man in a suit biking to work. Who was she kidding? The years between high school and college were not ones to be proud of. She sure didn’t want Dawn to follow in those footsteps.
Bennett was waiting for her in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of his car. He wore faded blue jeans and a black jacket, pretty much the same as she had on. Aviator sunglasses hid the blue eyes she knew would be bright and shiny. He was a morning person, an admittedly charming grin on his square-cut face, dimples on display. He was also a mind reader, pulling a cardboard container with two large coffees and breakfast sandwiches from behind his back where they rested on the hood. He climbed in the passenger side and handed her a coffee and sandwich.
“Almost worth having you along,” she said, accepting both.
She gulped down the food and set her coffee in the cup holder before putting the truck into drive. She’d take Highway 401 all the way into Montreal. Bennett had been around her enough to know not to engage in conversation until they were well on their way.
“Where are we heading first?” he asked once they’d passed the last Brockville exit.
She pulled into the outside lane and passed two transports before responding. “Adele Delaney worked at a bar called Chez Louis downtown on Sainte-Catherine. Her maiden name was Dufour. I made contact with the bartender, Philippe Lebeau, who said he’d be there at noon, so we’ll start with him. He gave me the name of a waitress by the name of Lana Morris who had worked with Adele. Apparently, they were good friends. I called her and left her a voice mail but she hasn’t called me back. We’ll try tracking her down after we speak with Lebeau.”
Bennett was on his phone. Kala glanced over and saw that he’d brought up a map.
“Looks like there’s a few sketchy bars in the area,” he said.
“We might find that Adele had an interesting past before she settled down with Ivo.”
“I like a woman with an interesting past.”
She stole another glance to see if he meant anything by that, but he had his head down studying the map. She let his comment pass.
They made good time on the 401 and took the auto route 20 past Beaconsfield and Pointe-Claire. It was closing in on noon as the road angled north past Westmount.
“Turn left on Rue Guy,” Bennett said pointing at the next intersection. “Then hang a right on Rene-Levesque.”
They kept going past the university and turned left on Berri and right on Sainte-Catherine. The street was flanked on both sides by dull yellow and red brick buildings with tired storefronts — pawn shops, drycleaners, restaurants, low-rise apartment buildings with wrought-iron balconies, mom and pop shops. The section of town was depressing. It felt to Kala like a place where hope came to die.
Chez Louis was in a two-storey building that took up the entire block on the corner of Rue Sainte-Catherine Ouest and Rue Peel. The Z and U were burned out on the red neon sign on the front plate glass window so that it read che lo is. Kala figured you could tell a lot about a business that didn’t care if its signage was kept up. The bar would be known by the regulars and outward appearances wouldn’t matter. The owner wasn’t going out of his way to attract a genteel clientele. The windows were darkened so that you couldn’t see the interior. Speckles of light glinted from flecks of stone in the pink-coloured stucco.
“I wonder what we’re going to find inside,” Bennett s
aid in a deadpan voice. He pointed. “Parking spot over there.”
“Thanks.” She pulled a u-turn at the intersection and cut off a van. The driver leaned on his horn. His middle finger was in the air as he sped by.
Bennett shook his head. “Welcome to the hood.”
“Hard to believe this is where Adele chose to live when she left Gananoque. From a small-town place of beauty on the water to concrete and brick.” Kala eased the truck into the parking spot. “Michel Prevost should be waiting for us inside the bar. He’s a detective on the guns and gangs squad.”
“So you’ve gone through the channels for the interviews.”
“Rouleau called in a favour. Prevost should also have insight into Chez Louis and its crime connections.”
Bennett paused with his hand on the door handle. “Woodhouse thinks this is a wild goose chase, but I want you to know that I disagree. Even if nothing turns up, I like that you’ve got us covering all the bases.”
“Some creative use of clichés there, Bennett.” What was he really telling her? To watch her back with Woodhouse, but he was on her side? If he knew how little she cared about the station politics or Woodhouse’s opinion of her, he wouldn’t have bothered. She did a shoulder check before opening her car door, then looked back at him and smiled. “Time to get this show on the road.”
The inside of the bar was no surprise: a cavernous room with a long bar across the front wall, utilitarian dark wooden tables and chairs, a stage and dance floor toward the back of the room. The place reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke that had embedded itself in nooks and crannies over the decades. Lighting was minimal and the blackened windows gave the sense of being cut off from the rest of the world. You could start drinking in the morning and it would feel like the middle of the night. Kala had lived in the Northern Ontario versions of this bar once upon a time. She liked to think of that period as the lost years. Luckily, it had lasted just long enough for her to know that she never wanted to go there again. Silent flat screen televisions were placed at strategic locations on the walls, high enough for patrons to have to crook their necks to watch whatever sports event was playing. At the moment, a Vegas poker game was filling in air time until something better came on. Men sat over bottles of beer at three tables. The waitresses were chatting in the corner. They were young and buxom with low-cut tops and black miniskirts. Their straight hair trailed down their backs.
A large man with dark curly hair sat with his back to them at the bar. He turned his head, then stood as they approached. He held out a hand and she took it. “Inspector Stonechild. I’m Michel Prevost. Good to meet you.” His English voice was deep, the words carefully formed but still thick with a French accent. His eyes were black and assessing.
Kala held out a hand. “Good of you to meet us. This is Constable Andrew Bennett.”
Prevost shook both their hands but spoke directly to Kala. “Philippe Lebeau is in the back getting beer. He said to call him when you are arrived.”
Bennett started for the door next to the bar. “I’ll get him.”
Kala took the stool next to Prevost. His cologne was musky and a pleasant contrast to the room. “I appreciate you coming out.”
“Anything for mon ami, Jacques Rouleau. How is he, by the way?”
“Good. You two go way back?”
“Back to a murder case fifteen years ago. Let’s say that I wouldn’t be sitting here next to you if not for Rouleau. So, any word on the missing child?”
“No. We think she was drowned in the river behind their house. We’ve found various bits of her clothing on the trail and in the river.”
“Désolé. C’est horrible, ça.” Prevost shook his head. His black eyes filled with regret for the little girl he’d never met. Kala felt herself warming to this bear of a man. “By the way,” he added, “I’ve got my people searching for that other waitress, Lana Morris. Rouleau mentioned that you are looking for her.”
“Thanks for that.”
The door next to the bar opened. A compact man in jeans and a black T-shirt exited ahead of Bennett. Tattoos started at his knuckles and spread up both arms. A green pattern of crosses and snakes. The body art extended up the side of his neck, making Kala curious about what was going on under his shirt. She imagined he exposed his chest every chance he got to show off his tats. He looked her up and down with the practised look of a ladies’ man. He reminded her of a puffed out rooster, all cocky stance and flashy feathers.
“Salut.” He slid in behind the other side of the bar and positioned himself between her and Prevost. “You have questions about Adele Dufour? I’ll give you ten minutes. Then my lunch crowd will be pouring in.”
Kala met Bennett’s eyes. She could see disbelief mixed with humour. The pronouncement did seem overly optimistic. Kala pulled out her notepad. “Adele Dufour worked here for eight years, up until about four years ago, correct?”
“That sounds about right. She waited tables.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Did a bit of dancing on the side.”
“What kind of dancing?”
“We have strippers on Saturday night. Adele was a crowd favourite.”
“Did she date any of the customers?”
Lebeau was silent for a longer moment before he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Nobody special. From what I saw, she played the field.”
“How would you describe her?”
“A good-time girl. She liked to party but she was an okay worker. Reliable and not too much into the drugs, which is saying something in this business. She preferred alcohol.”
“You said that she was friends with another waitress.” Kala glanced at Prevost. “Lana Morris.”
“Yeah. They hung out sometimes.”
“I phoned the cell number you gave me but she hasn’t called back. Do you know Lana’s address?”
“Nope. Sorry.” He took out a rag from under the counter and began wiping the counter in wide circular motions. “I don’t know what else I can tell you about Adele. She worked here but she never got close to anybody except for Lana. She hasn’t been back in four years, not since she quit.”
“Did she have any kids?”
“Adele? No way. That would have cramped her lifestyle.”
“Was she friends with anybody else that you remember?”
“Nobody else. The girls come and go here. Adele was one of my longest but she made good money dancing and in tips. Like I said, the men liked her. I gave her Sundays and Mondays off and she was happy with that. Most bars don’t give two days off in a row.”
“Was she hooking?”
“No. Definitely not.”
Kala looked at Lebeau until he raised his eyes to hers in what could be taken as a leer. “How do you know she wasn’t?”
“I just know. If the girls are hooking, we don’t keep them. Now, if that’s all your questions …” He pointed behind her and Kala turned. Several of the tables were now filled with men and the odd woman. The waitresses were handing out menus and taking beer orders. “I’ll have to end it here. You’re welcome to stay for lunch. I recommend the poutine.”
“Yeah, thanks. If you remember anything, here’s my business card.”
He took the card from where she’d slid it on the bar and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he winked at Kala and walked to the end of the bar where two waitresses lined up to place drink orders.
“Speaks perfect English,” Kala commented to Prevost.
“He’s fluently bilingual. Better for business. Would you like to stay and talk here?”
“If you’ve got the time.”
“Certainement.”
They found a free table near the stage and gave their order to a waitress: three large orders of poutine, beer for Prevost and Bennett, ginger ale for Kala. Prevost waited until the waitress was
out of hearing range. He leaned in.
“We’ve had our eye on this bar for some time. It’s a well-known biker hangout. Lebeau has two cousins, Etienne and Benoit Manteau, who are well known to police and the owners of this establishment. Benoit currently is serving life in Millhaven for murder. He was transferred a few months back from Quebec’s maximum security pen, Donaconna, because he was being threatened by opposing gang members also locked up in that institution. In not his best career move, Benoit made a hit on a Hells Angels member and word got around. He’s been locked up for five years of a life sentence at this point in time. Etienne Manteau became the sole owner when Benoit received his sentence. The three cousins grew up together in Gatineau across the river from Ottawa. They are like this.” Prevost tightened his hand into a fist. “Etienne Manteau might pay a visit while we are here. Si on est chanceux.”
They stopped talking as the waitress set down their drinks and cutlery. Kala looked across at one of the waitresses who’d been sending glances their way from the time they sat down. She looked older than the other girls, her eyes heavily made up in dark liner and aqua eye shadow. All the colour had been bleached from her hair until it was Caribbean sand-white.
“Don’t look now,” Prevost said, drawing Kala back. “Etienne Manteau just walked in and is talking to Lebeau at the bar. He’s in the black leather jacket — long hair and beard.”
Bennett was sitting in front of Kala, facing the bar. He looked past Kala’s shoulder.
“And?” she asked him.
Bennett’s eyes came back to hers. “He’s got the macho look down. Women are probably lining up.”
Prevost nodded. “They pass their women around from what we hear. There doesn’t appear to be any lack of them.”
Kala casually turned and let her eyes make a sweep of the room until they found Etienne. He was only about five eight but broad shouldered. “We should probably call him over for a chat.”
Prevost stood. “Let me do the honours.”
Tumbled Graves Page 10
