Tumbled Graves

by Brenda Chapman

  “That’s okay.”

  “When was the last time you saw Ivo alive?”

  “Yesterday. Sammy and I’ve been coming by to keep his spirits up. I brought some soup and homemade bread for supper around eight o’clock because I was working on a story and time got away. Anyhow, I found him cleaning up from a break in. He was quieter than normal and seemed, I don’t know, just empty. Drained. I helped him tidy for an hour before I had to get Sammy home to bed. I left him with the soup on the stove and he promised he’d eat.”

  “Did he say anything at all about Adele or Violet?”

  “Nothing specific. He talked about them as if they were still alive, I remember that.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, you know, Adele likes this photo and Violet always takes this stuffed giraffe to bed, that kind of thing. I thought it odd but decided it must be part of his healing process. I think in hindsight that he’d already decided to kill himself and join them.”

  “But he didn’t say anything that gave you cause to worry.”

  “No. He only said that the detectives who came to check into the break-in didn’t believe him. They thought he’d made the mess himself to have them think someone else had killed his family.”

  Stonechild sat back and looked at Gundersund. He signalled her not to react before taking over the questioning.

  “Let’s go back a bit further. When was the last time you saw Adele and Violet?”

  “I’ve already told the other officers.”

  “Perhaps going over it again might trigger things you forgot the first time.”

  “It was a week ago Tuesday. We went on an outing to Green’s Plant Nursery on Highway 2, about half an hour from here. We made a day of it. Adele drove and we stopped for lunch at Country Kitchen, which is a family restaurant a few miles down the road. We got to Greens’ around two o’clock after we stopped at the market to buy apples on the way, because Adele wanted to bake some pies for Ivo. Apparently, apple pie was his favourite. It had stopped raining for once but was chilly enough.” She paused and stared at the floor. “We were going to stop for ice cream at the same restaurant on the way back but Adele said it was getting late and she wanted to get home. It wasn’t even three o’clock but she seemed tired and complained of a headache. Then she cancelled playgroup the next three mornings, so I guess she’d been coming down with something. When she dropped us off, that was the last time I saw her. It’s not like I didn’t try to contact her all week. God help me, I thought because she kept not showing up at playgroup and didn’t return any of my phone calls or emails that she was avoiding me. Finally, she took my call the day before they went missing. She said that she’d been sick all week but that she and Violet would meet us at playgroup the next day. When they didn’t show up, I came to see for myself if they were okay. That’s when I found her car in the driveway and the front door wide open.”

  Stonechild said, “Ivo didn’t say that she’d been sick.”

  “Then maybe she really was mad at me for something. We don’t have many friends living this far out of town and Sammy was missing Violet. Maybe I pushed too hard to get us together. I still don’t understand why …” Her voice trailed off. She picked up the mug of tea.

  “Could Adele have thought that you had an interest in Ivo?”

  By her reaction, Gundersund’s question caught Catherine by surprise. She’d taken a sip of tea and spit it back into the cup, coughing and laughing at the same time. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Have you seen pictures of Adele? She was stunning and so full of life. Believe me, she did not look at me as competition for her husband. The idea is beyond ludicrous.”

  “People can imagine all kinds of things, whether true or not.” Gundersund kept his voice non-judgmental. “And you’ve been here a lot since she’s been gone.”

  Catherine reddened and opened her mouth without any sound coming out. “God, I could use a smoke,” she said when she finally become capable of speech. She took a deep breath. “Look, Officer, I was just being kind. I had no designs on Ivo Delaney and we had nothing, absolutely nothing, going on between us. I was friends with Adele, not Ivo, and even that friendship was mainly because of our kids.”

  “We have to check out every possibility.” Gundersund wouldn’t apologize for doing his job. He looked at Stonechild. “Any other questions?”

  “Not at this time. We’re sorry again for all of this.”

  She was playing good cop to his bad but that’s what made them an effective team. Keep the witnesses off balance with a soft touch before the hard questions.

  Stonechild stood and they left the kitchen together, leaving Catherine as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. In the front door hallway, Stonechild stopped.

  “She seemed genuinely shocked by your last question, but she protested a bit too much, did you notice?”

  “Her protesting was rather vigorous. Maybe she feels guilt for stepping in to look after him with Adele so recently gone. She’s been doing a lot of cooking for the guy and seemed to be here a lot.”

  Stonechild checked over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “She strikes me as lonely. It could just be that she’s embarrassed that her acts of generosity were interpreted as cold-blooded self-interest. She’s not at the top of my list for being a killer in any case.”

  “Nor mine.”

  “What do you make of her saying that Woodhouse and Bennett told Delaney they believed he ransacked his house to divert suspicion because he killed his family?”

  “Hard to believe either of them would do that, even Woodhouse. Delaney might have come up with that on his own, especially if he did kill his family.”

  “Should we tell Rouleau?”

  Crap. Gundersund hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I meant to tell you but we’ve been so busy. Just before this suicide call came in, Rouleau called. Frances died this morning and he’s staying on a few more days until the funeral. I’m really sorry she’s dead, and sorry for not telling you sooner.”

  “I guess we knew that was coming but it’s never easy. Did he sound okay?”

  “Tired but holding up, I’d say.”

  “Don’t worry about the delay in telling me. I know this case took over.”

  “Thanks.” He looked upstairs. “Say, I have to check in with Fiona. Can you hold on a few minutes?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a quick look in Ivo’s office and then I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “It’s just that,” Gundersund paused, “Fiona hates suicides. They get to her even if she doesn’t show it.”

  “No need to explain to me.” Stonechild gave her unreadable smile and started walking down the hall. “She’s your wife after all.”

  He let her go without responding. He wanted to say wife in name only, but that somehow felt like a betrayal to Fiona. She still wanted the marriage to work, or so she was insisting. Until she agreed to the divorce, he didn’t want to discuss their relationship, even with Stonechild. Maybe he and Fiona went so far back that they could never completely untangle their lives. They’d be friends eventually he hoped, but knew they couldn’t live together anymore. He was going to have to be patient until Fiona came around to knowing this too.

  Kala finished her search in Ivo’s office and re-entered the hallway. She’d heard Gundersund’s feet thump up the stairs and knew the coast was clear for exiting the house without running into him. He’d be up talking to Fiona and probably making plans to see her after work.

  The same officer was outside and media had gathered in the driveway. A young blond reporter in a red trench coat was talking into a handheld microphone while a guy holding a TV camera on his shoulder filmed her. Three other media types hung around smoking cigarettes and chatting several feet away.

  Kala started down the driveway, sticking to the side farthest a
way from the reporters. She was approaching the road when she heard her name being called. She turned to see the new reporter from the Whig running toward her. She’d seen the woman at the station but couldn’t recall her name. Her copper-coloured hair was distinctive.

  “Marci Stokes,” she gasped as she stopped in front of Kala. She rested her hands on her thighs and bowed her head as she took a few deep breaths. “Whew. I need to get to the gym.” She straightened up and grinned at Kala. “I’m with the Whig-Standard. I wonder if you could tell me what’s going on inside the Delaney house. I’m hearing rumours of suicide.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t comment.” Kala took a step sideways to go around her.

  “Officer Stonechild, isn’t it?”

  Kala hesitated. Marci Stokes’s brown eyes were friendly, but Kala never trusted a reporter. They were always after a story. Media training had taught her that nothing was off the record. Ever. She said, “That’s right.” One more step and she was by.

  “I’ve found an article in the Sudbury Star about your life before becoming a policewoman. I was hoping to have a conversation with you for my article.”

  Kala stopped and stood stock still. She turned slowly to face Marci Stokes. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m writing a profile about you and wanted more background to flesh out the story. I was hoping you could share more about your history.”

  “You can’t be serious. My life is not news.”

  “The Star article has a photo. You were homeless and somehow pulled yourself up to become a cop. Readers would be very interested to know your life story and the way you changed everything around to get to where you are today.”

  “I don’t suppose I could talk you out of writing this?”

  “Not likely.”

  Kala’s mind was scrambling at a hundred miles an hour. A great feeling of dread filled her. Tamara Jones had placed Dawn with her because of her upstanding character. A role model — that’s what the social worker had called her. Now Marci Stokes was going to spread her sordid past all over the news in the name of a good, uplifting story. She had to think how to stop this woman from digging any deeper.

  “We could meet at the Merchant this evening.” The words were out before Kala gave them much thought.

  Marci Stokes tilted her head and appeared to think the offer over. “I could do that. How’s seven?”

  “Yeah. Seven works.”

  Kala kept walking, not sure what she was going to do but knowing that she was going to have to come up with something fast. She still had to manoeuvre her way through the meeting with Tamara Jones and Mrs. Zelasko at four o’clock with no idea why they’d called her in. Before Gundersund had broken the news of Delaney’s suicide she’d left a message with Dawn to call her back in the hopes that she could get a heads up on the school situation. She pulled out her phone and checked for messages. Nothing.

  When she reached her truck, she looked back at the Delaney house. Catherine Lockhart had nailed the tragedy on the head when she’d said how quickly this family’s lives had changed. All three dead within a week — and barely anyone left to mourn them. She’d seen evidence of a good family in the photos and cozy lived-in rooms when she’d first entered their home. The house had had an aura of happiness, even with Adele and Violet gone. Their essences had felt alive to her that first visit, but not anymore. This time the house felt sad and empty, any lingering traces of the Delaney family driven out by Ivo’s horrific end.

  As she stood on the road, letting the grief she felt for this lost family ride over her, a gust of wind lifted her hair and cooled the heat on her face. She tilted her head way back and stared at the blue sky, the sun stronger than it had been all month. Are you circling out there, Ivo? Are you with Adele and Violet and finally at peace?

  The wind buffeted the pine and balsam branches in the thicket of trees not far from the property line and rattled the wind chimes left hanging from one of the lower limbs. Kala squinted in the direction of the sound. She caught sight of silver chimes hanging from a hook with the wires attached to a top that looked purple from a distance. She jumped down the culvert and up the muddy knoll, skirting past a boggy patch until she reached the spot where she’d seen the swaying metal tubes. She reached up and lifted the chimes from the pine branch and held them up for a closer inspection. The ceramic top was handmade and the blur of purple up close was a mass of violets, each one meticulously hand painted. Inside the top, she found the words for my Violet painted in cursive gold lettering.

  There had been love.

  Very gently, Kala returned the wind chimes to the exact spot on the branch. The wind caught the chimes and their music began again. Somewhere up above in the pine tree, a cardinal trilled its throaty call. Compost and earth and damp leaves filled her senses. In the shelter of the trees she felt distanced from the activity going on just up the driveway. This place felt sacred. She bowed her head and said a silent prayer for Adele, Violet, and Ivo. She wished them safe journey to the other plane and rest for their tortured souls. When she finished her prayer, she closed her eyes and let the peace of the spot calm her.

  When she opened them again and looked toward the house, Gundersund was standing on the front steps, looking toward the road, searching in the direction of her truck. As she watched, he lowered his hand from where he’d cupped it over his eyes to cut the sun’s glare. He leaped down the steps and started down the driveway. He still hadn’t seen her standing in the shadow of the tree. She turned and cut across the grassy incline toward her truck where she’d wait for him to make his way to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mrs. Zelasko was dressed in a shapeless lime-green shift sprinkled with watering cans and dahlias, striped yellow and blue tights, and sturdy black clogs. Kala didn’t normally notice someone’s fashion choices except for identification purposes, but Mrs. Zelasko’s wardrobe intrigued her. Surely, the offbeat clothes were deliberately chosen to give her some sort of psychological advantage over her pre-adolescent charges? The woman didn’t strike Kala as daft, but these clothes made her appear kooky and untrendy. If not for the intelligence in her eyes and her no-nonsense manner, Kala might have been fooled by her appearance.

  They’d been sitting looking at each other for five minutes, Kala at one of the student’s desks and Mrs. Zelasko behind her own, when Tamara Jones finally came flying into the room, her brown hair spilling out of an elastic on top of her head.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I had to remove a child from a home and it took most of my day.” She dropped a file folder onto the desk and squeezed into the seat across the aisle from Kala. The smile she beamed at them felt out of place after what she’d just revealed.

  Mrs. Zelasko shuffled some papers on her desk. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” She looked directly at Kala. “Ms. Jones and I thought it would be a good idea to touch base on how things are progressing with Dawn. Getting right to it, has she admitted to stealing the iPhone, Officer Stonechild?”

  Kala met her eyes without wavering. “She has not. I am of the opinion that Dawn didn’t steal the iPhone and wonder if we should investigate other scenarios.”

  Mrs. Zelasko looked far from happy with this suggestion. “Giving in to a false version of events is not going to help your …” she glanced down. “I suppose we could call Dawn your niece as she’s begun referring to you as aunt. Anyhow, perpetuating an untruth will not help in the long run. I was hoping we could have Dawn apologize to the girl in a private meeting, which I would supervise of course. That way, Dawn would take responsibility and the girls could start afresh.”

  Kala looked across at Tamara. Her head was bobbing up and down in agreement and Kala knew that the two had discussed this beforehand and arrived at a plan to force Dawn to make restitution. They’d already made up their minds about her guilt.

  Tamara’s entire demeanor was one of earne
st, well-intentioned concern. She asked, “Have you been to counselling with Dawn yet?”

  “We have an appointment.” Kala knew that she had to give them something. She hadn’t set one up yet, but not because she hadn’t meant to. She ventured on. “Perhaps we should wait until Dr. Lyman has a word with Dawn. We wouldn’t want to impede any progress that she’s been making by jumping the gun on this thing.”

  Tamara’s face scrunched up into a frown. Mrs. Zelasko appeared to be thinking. When the teacher finally spoke, her words were measured. “I, that is we, were hoping to have this problem settled as quickly as possible. When are you meeting with Dr. Lyman?”

  “She only has time for us later in the week. I could update you right away after our session.”

  “What do you think, Ms. Jones? Can this wait a few more days?”

  Tamara tilted her head from side to side, her ears nearly touching her shoulders each time. “I guess we’ll have to see if Dr. Lyman can get through to Dawn. Yes, I think this would be the best way to go. Have you noticed any change in her behaviour in the classroom, Mrs. Zelasko?”

  “She’s still keeping to herself, although I understand that she’s been playing baseball at recess.”

  Tamara’s face brightened. “Well, that is something to build on! How is she at home, Kala?”

  “Good. Everything is going well.”

  Kala was tiring of this game of cat and mouse. They held most of the cards, but she also had a working knowledge of the social services system. She’d spent her entire childhood in it, learning how to survive.

  “Well, let’s plan to meet this time next week.” Mrs. Zelasko looked at Tamara. “Can I keep you for a minute after this meeting?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Zelasko.”

  Kala wormed her way out of the desk and stood. “I’ll be on my way then.” She would leave them to it to plot their next moves.