Tumbled Graves

by Brenda Chapman

  Kala reached over and turned off the lamp on the coffee table, then stood and called for Taiku to come. She made the rounds, checking that the doors were locked before they started up the stairs to bed. As Kala passed by Dawn’s room, she stopped at the doorway and looked in. The blind was up and Dawn’s bed was bathed in pale moonlight. She was sleeping on her back, her hair fanned out across the pillow, one arm bent over her head. She’d kicked off the covers, which lay half on the bed and half on the floor. Kala tiptoed across the room and bent to retrieve the blankets and tucked them around her. Dawn stirred in her sleep and her eyes fluttered, but her breathing remained deep and regular. Kala stood for a moment looking down at the sleeping girl. She looked so young and beautiful in the silvery light, almost like a princess waiting to be awakened from a dream. Kala reached out and touched the smooth warmth of Dawn’s cheek with her fingertips. Then she turned and silently walked back to where Taiku waited for her just outside the bedroom door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Man, I hope that coffee’s strong.” Woodhouse grabbed a mug from the selection on the shelf and lined up behind Bennett. “When will I learn not to stay up half the night watching MMA fighting?”

  “Are they still showing that garbage?” Bennett handed Woodhouse the coffee pot.

  “Mixed martial arts is an art form. Pure poetry in motion. Two men in peak physical condition taking each other on with no holds barred.”

  “Not from where I sit. Two people kicking the shit out of each other is not poetic in any sense.”

  “All you wusses say the same thing.”

  Bennett shook his head and stepped around Woodhouse to take a seat next to Kala’s desk. She looked up at him from her computer and smiled. “Getting a cultural lesson from Woodhouse, were you?”

  “You might say that.”

  They were still smiling at each other when Rouleau and Gundersund walked into the office. Kala looked across the room and saw that Gundersund’s eyes were going from Bennett to her and back again. Then he turned to Rouleau and continued talking as they headed over to where Woodhouse stood sampling from his coffee mug. They also poured cups and emptied the pot before walking together toward Rouleau’s office. Rouleau called everyone to join them as he passed.

  Kala followed Bennett into Rouleau’s office and took one of the seats facing his desk. Bennett and Gundersund stood while Woodhouse slid into the seat next to her. Rouleau welcomed everyone to another workday before he reported on the interview with Ivo Delaney. He concluded with, “Bennett, I need you to locate the mother. We have to find out more about her son’s mental state and the death of his sister. Her drowning is bearing a striking similarity to Violet’s.”

  “Will do.”

  “Wouldn’t he have drowned his wife too?” Kala asked. “I mean, why kill his daughter that way but not Adele?”

  Rouleau thought for a moment. “Maybe she put up a fight. Maybe he wanted her to suffer.”

  Kala could see the logic, but did this fit with what she’d seen in Ivo Delaney? She wasn’t altogether convinced but admitted that the news of his sister’s drowning could be the game changer. He might very well be a cold-blooded killer when angry or threatened.

  “If you don’t agree,” Woodhouse said, “is it because you found some other suspect in Montreal?”

  Kala knew his question was meant to make her look incompetent. Rouleau nodded at her to tell them what she’d uncovered.

  “When Adele lived in Montreal, she waitressed in a dive bar and stripped on Saturday evenings at that same bar or another one down the street. Nobody knows why she quit suddenly or where she got Violet. I plan to do some more research today. I’m going to start checking adoption agencies, although it was probably a private adoption, which will be more difficult to track down.”

  “I think Ivo lost it when he found out she hadn’t given birth to the kid.” Woodhouse looked directly at her. “He didn’t like being lied to for nearly four years. Nothing more than that.”

  Gundersund said, “Still, it would be nice to tie up the loose ends.”

  “I’d like someone to head back out to the Delaneys’ and interview him today,” Rouleau said. “Are you done at the courthouse, Gundersund?”

  “I’m on standby in case I’m recalled, but hopefully they won’t need me again.”

  “Can you take this on? Stonechild can go with you.”

  Kala nodded. She could do the research anytime, at home later today if necessary. Seeing Ivo again would help her to get a better perspective on his state of mind. Adele might even have shared something with him about Violet’s parentage that he’d share with them if asked the right questions.

  Rouleau picked up a file on his desk. “Good. Well, looks like everyone has some work to do, so report in as you go. Have a good day everyone.”

  This time Stonechild agreed to drive together with Gundersund to the Delaneys’. He supposed it was because it was early in the day and they’d be heading back to the station when the interview finished. She seemed on edge whenever she didn’t have her own wheels, almost as if her escape plan was compromised.

  “Nice spring day,” he commented as he turned onto Division Street. The sky was blue with a filament of wispy white clouds off to the west. “No rain in the forecast for a few days.”

  “We could use the break. It felt like the monsoon season was never going to end.” She slumped back against the headrest. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m tired today.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t sleep that great either.” He didn’t tell her that Fiona was waiting for him when he left her the night before and arrived home. Fiona upstairs in his bedroom with a bottle of red wine and wanting to talk about their separation. It was almost one in the morning before he convinced her to leave. Her parting words were that she was going to fight him on the divorce because she knew it was a mistake.

  “How do you want to approach this?”

  “Sorry?” he tuned back into Stonechild’s voice.

  She was looking at him with a quizzical expression on her face. “I said, how do you want to handle our interview with Ivo?”

  “I think you should do the questioning. I’ll stay in the background. He seemed to trust you last time and we can only hope that he’ll feel comfortable enough to start spilling his guts. If he is as ill as we believe, he could be ready to get things off his conscience.”

  “Okay.”

  They settled back into silence, more companionable than awkward. This past week they’d become friends again. He knew it was because he was helping her with Dawn, but getting on Stonechild’s good side had been the furthest thing from his mind when he spent the last few evenings kid-sitting. He felt for Dawn and he liked her. While Stonechild struggled with her new responsibilities, he felt good helping the two of them out at home. Stonechild and Dawn would find their way given time. Right now he wanted to talk to Stonechild about his issues with Fiona. She might have advice on how to deal with a wife who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She also might open up to him more if she knew he wanted a divorce. On the other hand, knowing that he was free might make Stonechild run in the other direction.

  He took Princess Street through downtown and turned left at the harbour. The water level remained high under the bridge heading out of the city. He thought of Violet and the odds of finding her body with the swelled creeks and rivers. He hoped the rain would hold off for a while and give them a chance to locate her. He didn’t like thinking of her out there alone, even if her soul had long left this earth. She needed to be brought home.

  They passed ten minutes of silence and a steady stream of oncoming traffic before they turned into the Delaney driveway. He rolled halfway up the drive and parked behind two cars parallel to each other taking up the width of paved space. A ginger-haired boy about four years old sat on the front steps, watching them get out of the car.


  “There’s the neighbour’s son,” Stonechild said. “Sammy Lockhart. Catherine must be inside with Ivo.”

  “Did you find out if she’s married?”

  “No. She’s a single mom.”

  Gundersund thought for a moment. “It could be another avenue to explore.”

  Stonechild paused. “An affair, you mean?”

  “Has anyone checked her out?”

  “Just the basics. We can add a background search to the list, but I have to say that in appearance, Catherine is no match for Ivo’s wife, although she’s a freelance writer and seems intelligent.”

  “She might be better suited to him. One never knows what’s going on behind closed doors.”

  “We can do some probing today.”

  The boy had scampered inside the house by the time they made it to the front door. Gundersund studied Catherine Lockhart when she answered their knock. Her face was wide browed and pleasant; creamy white skin with red cheeks like a milkmaid in a British movie. The stress of the week appeared to be wearing her out by the dark circles under her eyes. She nodded to Gundersund but spoke to Stonechild. “We came by to check on him. I’ve had such a time trying to convince Sammy that Violet isn’t here anymore.”

  Stonechild kept her voice warm and low. “It’s good of you to be here. We know how difficult this has been for you and Sammy and Ivo. We have a few questions for Ivo today so having you here is a huge help.”

  Gundersund was learning to appreciate how adeptly Stonechild managed the line between empathy and police work. She never said anything without a reason. Woodhouse could take a lesson. He followed a bit behind her as Catherine led them into the kitchen at the back of the house. Sammy was already sitting at the table with his back to them. Ivo looked up from where he sat, holding with both hands onto a cup of coffee that rested on the table in front of him. Sunlight streamed into the room from a large window over the sink, surrounding Ivo in a golden glow. The word demented popped into Gundersund’s mind when he studied Ivo’s dishevelled appearance and red-rimmed eyes. He looked like a man skirting on the edge of sanity.

  Stonechild took a seat kitty corner to Ivo. Catherine put her hands on Sammy’s shoulders. “Time for us to go to the grocery store, Son. We’ll be back within the hour, Ivo.”

  Sammy shrugged off her hands and got out of the chair. “Can I get some ice cream this time?” His voice was petulant and demanding at the same time.

  “If you behave as you can. We’ll see.”

  “I’ll be-be-have-have.” He jumped past her and shot down the hallway.

  Catherine sighed heavily. “We won’t be long. Ivo’s out of bread and milk and I thought I’d get something to make a meal for him.” She spoke as if he wasn’t in the room.

  “We’ll wait until you return,” Stonechild said. She met Gundersund’s eyes briefly and he could see that she was biding her time and would question Catherine later. He signalled that he was going to slip into the background as they’d agreed and crossed over to the counter out of Ivo’s line of vision. From his vantage point, he could see Ivo’s face and Stonechild in profile.

  Stonechild sat silently beside Ivo for several minutes until Gundersund felt his legs cramping from holding himself in one position. He wondered at her tactics, but in the end her patience paid off. Ivo tipped his head toward her.

  “I didn’t kill my wife. I sure as hell didn’t kill our daughter. Violet was my daughter no matter who …” His voice broke and Gundersund watched Stonechild place a hand on his forearm resting on the table.

  “Did Adele ever speak of anyone from her past who might have worried her or done something to her that made her frightened?”

  Ivo thought. “No. She always said that the past didn’t matter, only the future. It was just this last week that I thought something was wrong. She didn’t want to talk about it, that is until she told me that Violet didn’t have a birth certificate and couldn’t register for school. She admitted that she hadn’t gotten Violet by the regular channels.”

  “How did she get Violet?”

  “A private adoption, she told me. I asked her about paperwork and she said that there wasn’t any.”

  “Did she say whether Violet was born in Montreal?”

  “No. She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Stonechild was silent again. Gundersund shifted positions and waited. When she resumed speaking, he too felt himself being lulled by the calm spell she was weaving around Ivo Delaney. “We’ve learned of your sister’s drowning when you were teenagers. Can you tell me about that?”

  “Olive?” Gundersund could hear genuine surprise in Ivo’s voice. “She drowned but it was an accident. We were out in the boat and she went for a swim. I dozed off and when I woke up, she was gone. Why are you asking me about this? Adele and Violet didn’t even know her.” He seemed to see something in Stonechild’s eyes. His voice rose. “You can’t believe there’s a connection.” He half stood from his chair, but lowered himself when Stonechild reached out again and gripped his arm.

  “We have to look at all the pieces and put them together as best we can. You’ve said that you’ve had difficulty with depression since you were a teenager. You didn’t tell us about Olive.” She spoke mildly, without judgment. Ivo responded by sinking back into the chair and blinking, once, twice, three times until his eyes closed.

  “My parents blamed me. I blamed myself, not for killing her, but for not saving her. Her death marked every waking minute of my life until I met Adele. She didn’t care about my miserable past. She made me happy. Do you know what it’s like, officer, not to have any hope left that you’ll ever be happy again?”

  “I’ve known my own despair, Ivo.” She spoke so quietly that Gundersund almost missed what she said. “We both know that words don’t help, but believe that you will be happy again. We’ll find what happened to Adele and Violet and knowing will help you to accept. Remember what you said. You have to go on for both of them. They wouldn’t want you to give up. Are you in contact with your mother?”

  “No. She wants it that way. She moved to the Okanogan Valley when my father died. I know because she called me to tell me about his death and to say that she was moving out there. He didn’t want any contact with me when he was alive and she said she had to respect that. I’m still hoping she’ll change her mind.”

  “I hope that for you too. For both of you.” Stonechild turned in her chair. “Gundersund, would you make some hot coffee? Ivo’s has gone cold and I think we could all use a cup while we wait for Catherine and Sammy to come back.”

  “Coming right up.”

  He got busy filling the pot with water from the tap and measuring coffee grounds from the canister next to the machine while Stonechild kept up her conversation with Ivo. She didn’t find out anything else useful, although Ivo looked slightly more together by the time Catherine and Sammy tromped into the kitchen with three bags of groceries. Stonechild rose from the table and left it to Gundersund to speak with Catherine while she helped Sammy unpack the food. She’d already convinced Ivo to go upstairs to have a shower.

  Catherine led Gundersund into the living room so that her son wouldn’t overhear. “I’ve thought and thought about anything that might help, but there’s nothing. The last week I saw Adele and Violet, we met for playgroup twice and then the outing to the plant nursery. Adele begged off stopping for ice cream on the way home, saying she had a headache. That was really the last time I saw her.”

  Gundersund asked, “Did she speak about her life before she met Ivo?”

  “No. She said she lived in Montreal and has a much older sister somewhere in the Ottawa Valley, but she never talked much about her life before Ivo and Violet.”

  “Did you find it odd that she had so few friends?”

  “Not really. We both like the solitary life, so I understood her des
ire to be alone for the most part.”

  “Did she share anything about her relationship with Ivo?”

  Catherine grinned unexpectedly. “She laughed about his bumbling ways, but only fondly. I came to believe that she genuinely cared for him.” The humour left her eyes. “You probably find them an unlikely match, as did I, but I never saw any animosity between them. Ivo adored her and he doted on Violet. He’s lost the only people he was close to, as have Sammy and I. We’re going to have to stick together to get through this. I see that now. Adele wouldn’t want me to leave Ivo alone. He really has nobody else.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kala set a mug of tea onto her tray next to an egg salad sandwich and bowl of vegetable soup. She paid at the cash and found a spot at the end of a long table away from the handful of other cops lingering over a late lunch. Gundersund had been called back to the courthouse as they were leaving the Delaney property so they’d driven downtown together and she’d caught a cab back to the station. The one time she didn’t take her truck and of course she’d needed it. What was it that British people called that? Sod’s law. It had been a classic case of Sod’s law.

  She dipped her spoon into the bowl and raised a brimming scoop of hot soup to her lips. The cafeteria made good soup, she’d give them that. Maybe she’d cook a pot of black bean soup for Dawn on the weekend. Homemade soup always felt like comfort food. It could warm the empty places and fill your belly. She might even teach Dawn how to make bannock to go with it.

  Kala lowered the empty spoon and checked her wristwatch. Two-thirty. She had to be at the school in less than three hours. Dawn would be waiting for her in the library and they’d drive home together after her meeting. As the time got closer, she found herself getting more and more anxious. Schools had never been her favourite place to spend time, that is until college. She’d attended several grade schools and high schools during the foster years and had always been an outsider. School had mirrored her life, bouncing from one family to the next and never being part of any of them for long. The only good thing was that she’d found school easy and had earned a scholarship out of high school. She hadn’t pursued higher education for five years after graduation but that was a story for another day.