Bennett said to Kala, “Remind me not to apply for a transfer to this neighbourhood.”
“I don’t know. Life would never be dull.”
Etienne Manteau was laughing at something Prevost said as he reached their table. They both sat down and Prevost made the introductions.
Etienne was still smiling when his gaze came to rest on Kala. He had searching brown eyes that appeared to miss nothing. His smile tightened. “I understand that you are here to find out about Adele. We are in shock with what has happened to her. Nobody deserves that.” His accent was more noticeable than Lebeau’s but didn’t interfere with meaning. Kala marvelled at the ability of people to slip from one language into another so effortlessly.
“No. Nobody deserves what happened to her. Can you tell us what you know about Adele from her time working here?”
“Never missed a shift, that one. She kept to herself, but we liked her.”
“I understand she danced as well as served tables?”
“Mais oui. Most of the girls try dancing. It brings in extra money in tips.”
“Was she seeing anybody in particular?”
“She dated, but I couldn’t say. She liked a party. She had a friend by the name of Lana. Another waitress, but Lebeau must have told you that.”
“Yes, he did. Why did Adele leave?”
“No idea. She was at work one night and gone the next. No notice. She never comes back. Et maintenant …” He spread his hands wide.
“Your brother’s in Millhaven for murder.”
Etienne bowed his head in acknowledgement. “He is, but he is my brother always.”
“Have you visited Benoit in Millhaven?”
Etienne’s eyes latched onto her face. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation. You implied that you are standing by him.”
“It’s tougher to get there now. I was supposed to go a few weeks back but couldn’t. I need to book a new time.”
“Was Adele working here when your brother was charged with murder?”
Etienne frowned. “Odd thing to ask. I think maybe, but I am not sure. She might have gone by then. I never thought about the two things together.”
“Well, here’s my number if you think of anything else.” Kala slid a card across the table.
Etienne picked it up and stood just as the waitress appeared with three heaping plates of French fries topped with cheese and gravy. “I see you’ve ordered the house specialty. I’ll leave you to enjoy.” He stood and tapped Prevost on the shoulder. “À la prochaine, Prevost.”
“À la prochaine.”
“You two friends?” Bennett asked after Etienne had rejoined Lebeau at the bar.
“Let’s say that our paths cross … often. We are like un chat et une souris. A cat and mouse. We play a game that so far he is winning. But I think the cat wins in the end. It is always this way.”
“As long as you are the cat and not the mouse,” Kala said. “Sometimes it can be hard to tell when you play with the likes of these people.”
“Eh bien. You have hit the nail.” Prevost picked up his fork. “They weren’t lying about the poutine at least. Everything else these men say, take with a shaker of salt. Now, bon appétit.”
Kala visited the washroom before they left. She half-hoped that the waitress with the bleached hair would follow her in so that she could discretely ask her some questions, but this didn’t happen. As a Hail Mary, Kala left her business card in each cubicle and a few by the sinks. If any of the waitresses was too shy to come forward, maybe they would reach out when they were away from the probing eyes at Chez Louis.
Chapter Fifteen
Kala and Bennett were crossing the street to her truck when Prevost called to them. Kala turned around and saw Prevost waving his cellphone in the air. She waited for a car to zip by before crossing back to his side of the street.
Prevost met her on the sidewalk. “My team’s tracked down Lana Morris. She’s living ten minutes from here in a first floor apartment on Sherbrooke. We can head there now if you’ve time.”
Kala’s spirits jumped a notch. “I’ll follow you over.”
Prevost pointed. “My car’s just over there.”
Once on Sherbrooke, the drive became a series of stops and starts as they hit red light after red light. They passed stores and restaurants and entered a residential area lined in low-rise apartments. By the time they reached the three-storey apartment building where Morris lived, Kala’s jaw was sore from clenching. Not for the first time since they entered Montreal, she was happy to be living in a smaller city with fewer traffic headaches. She turned left at the next set of lights and started slowly down the side street looking for a parking spot. Cars were wedged in like sardines. Sun reflected off their windshields.
“Where do they expect visitors to park in these neighbourhoods?” She craned her neck to read the signs that limited parking to people with passes.
Bennett pointed to a space between two cars. “Just park there. If you get a ticket, Rouleau can pay out of his budget.”
“We haven’t much choice.” It took her a few tries to manoeuvre her truck into the tight space, but she managed.
Bennett whistled. “You’re one impressive woman. I can’t name many who could wheel in like you.”
“Thanks … I think.”
Prevost waited for her and Bennett on the sidewalk in front of a yellow brick apartment building with wrought-iron balconies. Even though the building faced a busy street, it was well maintained and Kala imagined the rent wasn’t cheap.
Kala turned to Prevost. “That was quick work, finding Lana.”
“The surprise is that Lebeau and Manteau didn’t know where she’s living. They have a network.” He shrugged. “Maybe they just didn’t care enough to find out.”
They started up the walkway together. Bennett brought up the rear. “I’ll let you do the talking,” Prevost said. “My source tells me that her first language is English.” Responding to Kala’s stare, he added, “We’ve checked into her documentation.”
“Ah. Did you call ahead to let her know we’re coming?”
“Mais non. I thought surprise might be the best way to get her to talk.”
They entered the hallway and Kala knocked on unit number two. She could hear music thumping from behind the door. She knocked again, louder this time. She was rewarded by the music being turned down and footsteps. The woman who opened the door resembled the other waitresses from Chez Louis — tall, well endowed, and long, blond hair — although her features were sharper and older than the girls in the bar. Life appeared to have taken its toll in the papery lines around her eyes and mouth and the brittle dryness of her overly bleached hair. She was still attractive though and in good physical shape. She tilted her head and regarded Kala over the chain lock that she’d left in place.
“Yes?”
“Lana Morris?”
“Yes?”
Kala held up her police identification. “I’m trying to find out information about Adele Dufour. I understand that you were friends with her when she worked at Chez Louis. Philippe Lebeau sent us to speak with you.”
The chain scraped out of the lock and the door opened wide. Lana stepped aside to let them in. “Has something happened to Adele?” she asked as Kala moved past her.
Kala stopped and turned. “I’m sorry to tell you that she’s been murdered. We found her body on the highway just outside of Kingston.”
Lana frowned. “My God.” She pointed down the hallway. “That way to the kitchen.”
Kala glimpsed the back of a man’s head slumped against the back of the couch on their way by. Cigarette smoke drifted in a plume above his head.
The kitchen had a large dining area with an island separating the stainless-steel appliances and granite
countertop from the glass-topped table where they all took seats. Kala took a moment to study Lana’s face while they settled in. The lack of emotion gave her pause. If Lana had been a friend of Adele’s, Kala would have expected something more than one feeble exclamation at hearing the news of her murder. Lana’s eyes, rimmed in dark eyeliner, weren’t meeting anyone else’s. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Lana glanced at Kala and then lowered her eyes again.
“When did this happen? Who would want to murder Adele?” Lana’s questions were oddly out of sync with the flatness in her voice.
Kala studied her expression. She couldn’t detect any grief or even surprise. She said, “That’s what we are trying to find out. How well did you know Adele?”
“Very well at the time, but we didn’t keep in touch after she quit Chez Louis. She told me she wanted to move somewhere smaller.”
“Was she dating anyone?”
“Nobody in particular. She dated but not exclusively. She didn’t hang out with the other girls, just me. She liked to workout, party, and sleep.”
“You both danced at Chez Louis. Did you dance at other clubs?”
“A few times, but mainly at the Louis. And before you ask, we weren’t hooking. Bikers hung out there, but not so much after Benoit get locked up. Etienne changed course. He wanted to run a clean operation.”
Interesting. Kala still couldn’t get Lana to meet her eyes. “Do you know if Adele was ever pregnant?”
“Adele? No. She told me that she didn’t want kids.”
“And you?”
Lana gave a short sharp laugh. “No thanks. I hate kids.”
“Is there anything more you can tell me about Adele? What kind of person was she?”
“She liked to party hard and work hard. She got tired of it though. Last time we spoke, she said that she missed the small-town life.” Lana paused and appeared to be searching for something more to say. “I was sorry when she moved away.”
“Did you find it odd that she never made contact again?”
“Not really. We were good friends but I understood. She wanted a new life and the best way to do that is to cut off the old one. I wished her happiness even if I wasn’t in it.”
Kala tried one more time. “So you didn’t know that she married and had a daughter?”
“Are you kidding me? I never would have guessed she’d end up saddled with a family in a million years. When I knew her, that wasn’t in our game plans.”
Prevost stood apart from them speaking into his cellphone in rapid French. Bennett looked back up at the apartment building and appeared to be searching the windows for Lana Morris. They were outside on the sidewalk and Kala was getting fidgety. It was time to get back to Ottawa. Dawn would be arriving home from school soon. She was about to suggest to Bennett that they get moving when Prevost slipped his phone back into his pocket and sauntered over to them. He smiled at Kala as he stopped next to Bennett.
“I find her story that Chez Louis is a changed bar interesting. She might think this is so, but our sources say something is going on. We will not stop our watching of them. You Anglos have that saying about a leopard and its spots, n’est-ce pas? But this is our concern, not yours. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“Only if you find out something that involves Adele Delaney and helps to explain her murder.”
“My ears will be on the alert, you can be certain of that.”
“Do you believe them when they say that the girls weren’t hooking?”
The side of Prevost’s mouth rose in what passed as a smile. “I think these people stretch the truth to hide what they are really up to. If they weren’t being paid, they were still making the rounds with the bikers. My guess is that money changed hands. It is often this way with the strippers. The Manteau brothers were no angels.”
Kala nodded. “I thought as much.” She looked across the street at an old man on a scooter. He was zipping down the side of the road, a small white dog on his lap. She kept watching him as she mused, “We believe that Adele Delaney’s daughter Violet was not her biological child, although Adele let everyone, even her husband, think that she was. I can’t get past this feeling that whatever happened is about the child.”
Prevost’s black eyes studied her. “I have found that the thing that sticks in your mind often is for a reason. You should follow your gut. Rouleau would tell you this also.”
She smiled and extended her hand to shake his warm one in a final farewell. “You and I are on the same page it seems, Prevost, because I can’t seem to make myself do anything else but. Even when I know I should be going down the easy path, I have to take the hard one. I have to know the truth.”
Prevost held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “If ever Rouleau retires, I will get you a job in my unit. It wouldn’t be long for you to love Montreal.”
She looked over at Bennett who was starting across the street toward her truck. “Thank you, again,” she said. “I’ll keep your offer in mind, but for now I’m calling Kingston home.”
Chapter Sixteen
From where he sat in the main office, Zack Woodhouse watched Rouleau reading a report at his desk. Rouleau had left his office door open but was unaware that Woodhouse had returned from the useless search at the Delaney property. Woodhouse took a drink from the can of Coke he’d picked up on the way in before opening the antique cars website. He liked to check out the cars for sale at least once a day. He needed parts for his Austen Healy but would consider trading it in if a model in better condition showed up. He clicked on a few links and read car descriptions without taking any of it in. His mind was chewing over the best way to reveal what he’d found to Rouleau.
Kala Stonechild needed to be brought down a few pegs, that was one thing he knew for sure. Waltzing into the station like she was God’s gift to policing. He didn’t consider himself a bigot, so the Native part didn’t bother him. Live and let live he always said. No, he wasn’t anywhere close to being narrow-minded. What bugged him was the fact she hadn’t paid her dues and had Rouleau and Gundersund fawning all over her like a couple of lap dogs. As for Bennett, the guy was thinking with his dick.
It wasn’t right. She had them eating out of her hand, getting the best assignments while he was stuck doing the crap grunt jobs. You wouldn’t catch Stonechild tramping around the bush looking for a drowned kid, not when she could spend the day in Montreal on a useless wild goose chase that they all knew Rouleau agreed to just to humour her. Shit. Somebody had to save the rest of the team from themselves.
Woodhouse enlarged a file he’d minimized on the bottom of his screen. The face of a much younger Kala Stonechild filled the monitor. Her eyes were staring straight into the camera as if daring it to take her on. Her hair fell in two braids to her shoulders and she was sitting on a curb in front of an underpass. She wore ripped jeans and a stained buckskin jacket. Her feet were bare and dirty. An older man with grey hair to his shoulders and a beard that went halfway down his chest was standing next to her. His clothes weren’t much better. He held a sign that read Hungry. Please spare some change. Woodhouse scrolled up to the headline: “Homeless Problem Growing on Sudbury Streets.” He scanned the article even though he’d read it through several times. The two heroes of the piece were homeless, both Native, both alcoholics. Somehow, the reporter had thought it a good idea to name them. Kala Stonechild and Charlie Two Feathers. Shit. If he hadn’t named them, Woodhouse would never have found the article. It was dated ten years earlier.
“So how’d it go at the Delaneys?”
Woodhouse jumped and clicked off the screen with one jerk of his hand. Rouleau had snuck up on him like a stealth bomber. Woodhouse belched and felt the Coke fizzing in his nose. He tried to keep the guilt he felt out of his voice.
“Yeah. They called it off until the water levels have a chance to go down. They figure a few more weeks an
d they’ll give it another try unless the kid’s body washes up somewhere and a local spots her. I was about to file my report in the system.”
Rouleau frowned. “This will just prolong the heartache. Well, good work, Woodhouse. You can file the report tomorrow if you want. It’s been a long day.”
“Thank you, sir. I might just do that. Say, any word from Stonechild and Bennett?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I guess I’ll call it a day then.”
Woodhouse thought over his next move. Should he hit Rouleau with Stonechild’s sketchy past now or wait for a better moment? Would there ever be a better time? The problem would be explaining how he’d found the article. Rouleau was no dummy. He’d figure out pretty quickly that Woodhouse had been on a search. While Woodhouse hesitated, he caught sight of trusty Vera trotting into the office in her tight purple skirt and high heels, hips swaying like a pendulum. Everyone knew how she got her job. The only thing Woodhouse found offensive was that Heath was dating Vera’s cousin too. The three of them must get up to quite the weekends. Both women were real lookers. Too good for Heath. Vera’s eyes flicked over him before she stopped in front of Rouleau.
“A call just came in from Kingston General Hospital. Ivo Delany is doing better and they say you can see him if you keep the visit short.”
“Terrific.” Rouleau’s face brightened. “Hopefully he’ll have some answers for us.” He took a step towards his office but stopped and looked back. “You want to come with me, Woodhouse?”
Woodhouse’s first thought was did he have a choice? His second thought was that this was the kind of opportunity he’d been waiting for. His evening in front of the tube with a couple of beers and a pizza could wait. Stonechild’s past could sit on the back burner a while longer. “Sure thing.”
Rouleau nodded and kept walking. “I’ll just get my coat. We should probably take our own vehicles so you can head home when we’re done.”
Tumbled Graves Page 11
