“A good turn out.” His dad commented. He was also craning his neck to have a look around the church. He swivelled his head back to face Rouleau and said, “Frances had a lot of friends.”
Rouleau knew some of them on sight but nobody well. Frances had been the sociable one. The one people naturally gravitated toward. His job had kept him from socializing except on the odd occasion, but if he was honest with himself, he’d liked it that way. Frances had attended many functions without him when they were together and she’d carved a new life these last years since she’d left the marriage. Her present husband’s family took up four pews alone.
The smells in the chapel caught in the back of Rouleau’s throat — roses, incense, and grief from the families who’d sat in these pews before. He knew you couldn’t smell grief, but today it filled all of his senses like dense fog. He couldn’t pull himself out from under the depression that had settled into his being since Frances drew her last breath. Gordon had been with her when she slipped away. Rouleau had waited in his father’s hotel room for the news.
Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” played through speakers at the front of the room and the murmur of conversations stilled. Frances had loved this song. She would have chosen the music before she got too sick. Rouleau bowed his head and closed his eyes.
“Well, well,” said his father. He touched Rouleau’s arm. A flurry of activity at the end of the pew and Kala Stonechild slid past knees until she was in the space next to him. Gundersund caused more disruption as people stood to let him by. He squeezed his bulk into the remaining space next to Stonechild.
“You didn’t have to come,” Rouleau said.
“Accept that we’re here for you.” Stonechild turned her head to smile at him.
He returned her smile and felt something of the emptiness lift. He felt her arm rest against his and the warmth penetrated the cloth of his suit jacket. She kept it there until they stood to watch Frances’s family walk together up the aisle to the reserved pews at the front of the chapel.
Later, after the service and reception of tea, finger sandwiches, and assorted cakes, they found a bar on Elgin Street and settled in with a round of Scotch and Stonechild’s usual soda and cranberry. Two refills later and Henri left them to walk back to his hotel, refusing company, saying he could use the time to clear his head. Rouleau knew that his father was giving them room to discuss the case before the third round of Scotch left him and Gundersund the worse for wear.
“I’ll be back to the hotel soon, Dad.”
“Take as much time as you need, Son. I’m going to go to bed as soon as I get to the room.”
Gundersund walked with his father to the entrance before heading for the washroom, leaving Rouleau alone with Stonechild.
“This must have been a hard week. You should have been walking up the aisle with the family.” Her eyes were compassionate.
Rouleau couldn’t return her stare for long. “No, it was better that I didn’t. Gordon is her husband now.”
“But you’re still her family, even if you weren’t together. Anyone can see that.”
Rouleau was quiet for a moment. He’d shared some of his story with her at Christmas in Ottawa when they’d been drawn together over a lonely holiday. He thought he might owe her an explanation having let her into his confidence as far as he had. “The rage I felt for Gordon when I found out about their affair should have been directed at me. I was the one who neglected our marriage and let her slip away. Gordon stepped in to give her the attention that I should have given all along. It was only right that he be with her at the end.”
“Your call.”
He could tell that she wasn’t convinced. Part of him liked that she was ready to come to his defence, however misplaced.
Gundersund arrived with two glasses of Scotch. He put one in front of Rouleau before settling into the seat next to him. If he noticed the silence at the table, he gave no sign. “So should we go over the case before the whisky takes hold?”
“I’ve kept up with the reports,” Rouleau said. “Reading them has been a break, believe it or not. What happened in Montreal today?”
Stonechild hunched forward. “Cécile now says that Violet’s father is Etienne Manteau and that they purposely led Benoit to believe that he’s the father. She was scared about what he’d do to them if he found out his brother was sleeping with his girlfriend. The real kicker is that she said Etienne dreamed up the plot to have Adele kidnap the baby and to keep her hidden until they knew Benoit would be staying in prison. The plan went awry when Adele disappeared with the child.”
Rouleau took a second to process the information and its implications. “How trustworthy is Cécile?”
Gundersund said, “All of them are serial liars. They take a grain of truth and embellish to put themselves in the best possible light. Cécile is no different, although she’s managed to keep herself out of the kidnapping plot. Her only crime would be not reporting Etienne and Adele when she found out.”
“It’s difficult to trust what she’s saying.”
“She’s been careful to lay the blame for that on Etienne, who’s currently being interviewed by Prevost.” Stonechild pulled out her cellphone and checked for messages. “Prevost promised updates on Etienne but we have nothing yet, although he texted an hour ago that they’ve let Cécile go after a few hours of questioning. They’re considering charges.”
Gundersund added, “Benoit Manteau’s appeal is moving forward, and from what I hear he stands a chance of getting out. The key evidence has been found to have holes. However, nobody doubts that he ordered the hit that landed him there.”
“Making Etienne and Cécile very nervous, I would imagine.” Rouleau took a drink while he considered the angles. The drink was peaty amber with a satisfying burn that lingered in the throat. “If we go with this theory that Ivo Delany didn’t kill Adele and Violet, but their murders were a result of her kidnapping the child, where did the killer hold Adele for the day and night before her body was tossed on the highway?”
They were silent as they each pondered the question.
“They could have gone to Montreal and back in that time.” Gundersund spoke hesitantly, as if he didn’t believe his own suggestion.
Rouleau nodded. “The question is why would the killer go to all that trouble? Any distance with a body in the vehicle is a bigger chance of getting caught.”
Kala said, “Maybe he has a friend who lives in Kingston. These guys are connected to the biker network.”
“Might even have been Benoit directing her murder from inside if Etienne had let him know where Adele was living.”
“That’s unlikely,” said Kala. “Etienne would want to keep the child’s location a secret from his brother. Remember that Benoit believes the photo he’s carrying around of a mixed race child is his daughter, not a blond, blue-eyed girl with his brother’s DNA.”
“What if Benoit found out another way?” Gundersund asked. “He’d have good reason to kill Adele, and drowning the child would exact a twisted revenge on Etienne and Cécile. It would send a message.”
“Who would have told him and what are the odds he’d discover their location the same time as Etienne did? Makes no sense whatsoever.” Stonechild moved her chair back. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the washroom.”
Rouleau watched Gundersund watching Stonechild walk away. “She’s not one to mince her words.”
Gundersund looked at Rouleau. “I don’t think we should rule out Benoit. He’s conniving and ruthless. Someone could have tipped him off, especially if he might be getting out soon.”
“We still haven’t ruled out Ivo killing his family. Some might say that his suicide confirms his guilt.”
“Yeah, we haven’t managed to narrow this down much.” Gundersund’s phone vibrated on the table. He took a minute to read the incomin
g message. “That was Prevost. Etienne denies everything, even being father of the child. Prevost is holding him overnight while they search his apartment and car. He says there’s no need to return to Montreal this evening.”
“So you’ll be heading back to Ottawa?”
“Looks that way. And you?”
“I’ll drive Dad back in the morning. He’s still got to pack and will need some rest after today. I should be in the office early afternoon. Where’s Dawn, by the way?”
“She’s with Vera. She should be a fashionista by the time we pick her up.”
Rouleau raised his glass and smiled. “Stonechild’s going to love that.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
There’s a spot over there.” Gundersund pointed to a space at the end of the lot. “Next to the white van.”
“Are you sure Vera said to meet them at this ball diamond?”
“Positive.”
He could hear the cheering as soon as he stepped out of Stonechild’s truck. The stands were filled with parents, grandparents, and kids, who sat in the higher rows. The team that was up to bat took up the bottom row of one of the two stands. As Gundersund and Stonechild approached, a boy swung at a ball and it bounced past the pitcher to the shortstop. A great throw to first and the boy was out. The kids sitting in the bleachers grabbed their ball gloves and headed for the field while the team in the field raced toward their bench. Gundersund saw Dawn running in from second base. She was the only girl on either team that he could see.
Vera waved from the top of the farther set of bleachers where Dawn’s team was gathering.
“This way,” Gundersund said to Stonechild. Dawn was standing near home plate wearing a batting helmet with her back to them, taking practice swings. She’d be first up. “We’ll let her know we’re here after she has her turn at bat.”
They climbed past legs and bodies until they reached the empty space next to Vera. He’d never seen her dressed down, as she was now in faded jeans and a plaid shirt that tied at the waist, although she had on her red high heels. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail that poked out from the back of her Blue Jays ball cap.
Stonechild sat between them and kept her eyes on Dawn. “What’s going on?” she asked Vera.
“Dawn told me she’d been asked to play in this tournament but she didn’t think she should because the girls in her class were jealous. I convinced her to give it a try. You can’t spend your life giving in to what other people want you to be. This is her fourth game since yesterday and it’s the final. She’s better than most of the boys out there.” Vera stood and yelled, “Hit the cover off that ball! You got this Dawn!” She put her fingers to her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
Four heads turned to look up at her. They were girls who looked to be from Dawn’s class. They nudged each other and one of them said something and they all laughed.
“I think I’m starting to understand,” Stonechild said under her breath.
Gundersund leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to watch Dawn. She stood at the plate holding the bat with easy assurance, elbows bent, feet planted, body turned slightly with her eyes on the pitcher. The pitcher looked around at his players and the outfielders moved in.
“She got to first two innings ago but the batter after her swung out. We’re down one.”
“What inning?” Stonechild asked.
“Eighth and we have last bat.”
“Is she the only girl out there?”
“Some of the other teams had a girl or two but she’s the only one on the teams that made the final.”
The pitcher threw an overhand fast ball but Dawn didn’t swing. It looked low but the umpire called a strike.
“Have an eye, ump!” Now Gundersund was on his feet.
A second pitch, low and away. The umpire signalled ball. Another pitch. Another ball called.
The catcher got up from his crouch and raced out to the pitcher’s mound. They talked with hands hidden behind their gloves. Dawn took a few practice cuts across the plate while she waited.
This time the ball came hard and fast, waist level across the middle of the plate. Dawn put her body into her swing and a sharp crack split the silence. All heads moved to follow the arc of the ball as it rose over the head of the left fielder and hit the ground and bounced its way toward the fence. Dawn sprinted, past first, past second, and slid into third before the throw landed in the third baseman’s glove with a sharp pop. He swung the ball down to tag her, but Dawn’s hand was on the bag, her body stretched out at his feet. A groan and boos came from the bleacher next to them but everyone sitting behind Dawn’s team was on their feet clapping and cheering. Even the four girls in front were celebrating with high fives. Dawn stood up and wiped off the dirt from her jeans and got set to run.
The next two batters didn’t fare so well. The first popped out to the shortstop and Dawn had no chance to run home. The next batter swung out. A tall boy stepped up to the plate.
“Go, Cody!” Vera yelled.
“How do you know him?” Stonechild asked.
“He’s the one who got Dawn out here. Apparently Cody’s the class heartthrob. He was emailing, texting, and calling her so many times after you dropped her off that I was concerned because I thought someone was harassing her. She finally told me about the tournament. He seems like a nice kid.”
The four girls in front began jumping up and down and calling his name. Cody glanced over before he got into position. The pitcher whipped the ball to third but Dawn made it back to the base before she was tagged out. She took a shorter lead off and the pitcher squared his body to throw. Cody connected with a fast ball down the centre of the plate. This time the ball cleared the fence and he loped around the bases. Dawn waited for him at home plate and they hugged before racing back to the bench.
The girls ran over to jump all over Cody. Dawn stepped back and turned to look up into the stands. She smiled and waved when she saw Gundersund and Kala sitting with Vera. Some of her teammates stood up to pat her on the back and give high fives.
“One mystery solved,” said Stonechild. “Nothing like a pack of jealous adolescent girls to torment a perceived threat. What should I do about it, Gundersund? My inclination is to go down there and punch the crap out them.”
“My gut tells me she’s handling it okay on her own. I have to say though, she’s nobody’s doormat.” He could have added “like you,” but he didn’t.
Stonechild was quiet for the next inning while Dawn’s team held off a late rally by the opposing team, keeping them from scoring. With a one run lead, they didn’t need their final at bat and the celebrations began after the teams shook hands. Gundersund led the way down from the bleachers to congratulate Dawn. He saw Stonechild sizing up the group of girls who’d gathered around Cody and the pitcher. He could tell she wanted to do something to make them regret having gotten Dawn into trouble, and was relieved when she turned her back on them and left that battle for another day.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kala arrived at work early after a restless night’s sleep. The night before had proved anti-climatic following the excitement of the game. Dawn had been exhausted from her weekend of baseball and headed straight to her room to read before falling asleep. Kala hadn’t thought it a good time to get to the bottom of the school drama, but she planned to as soon as a good opening presented itself. The opening might even be later today when she finally sat in on one of Dr. Lyman’s sessions.
The thought of someone probing her motivations and psyche made her want to run for the hills, but if this soul-baring would make the difference between keeping or losing Dawn, she’d give it a shot. If Marci Stokes went ahead and published her article, Kala feared that Tamara Jones, in her earnest suit and black-and-white view of the world, would decide that Dawn had to go to a more suitable family. The thought of losing Dawn because
of her own past life was a pricking worry at the back of Kala’s mind. She knew now that keeping Dawn was the right thing to do. Not just because they needed each other, but also because Dawn deserved a stable home. Kala accepted that she had lots to learn about being a guardian, but she was going to do her best — all made easier because she was more attached to the kid with every passing day.
She’d put on a pot of coffee and was pouring herself a cup when Bennett walked into the office. He grabbed a mug from his desk and reached her as she set the pot back on the hot plate.
“You’re the early bird. How’d it go in Montreal?” he asked.
She picked up the pot again and filled his cup as she spoke. “Good. Michel Prevost is holding Etienne Manteau and trying to get him to come clean about visiting his brother in Millhaven and possibly doing something to Adele and Violet. I doubt Prevost is going to make any headway, but you never know. How was your day?”
“Not as productive as yours.”
Kala glanced over and could see that Bennett was holding back on something. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
They headed back to their desks. He flopped down in his chair, looking like he’d lost his best friend.
Kala rolled her chair closer to his desk. “What is it, Bennett?”
He looked at her for a few beats, then shrugged. “I’m just having trouble with the way we handled Ivo Delaney. I keep thinking we could have done something so he didn’t resort to killing himself.”
“He had mental issues and he’d just lost his entire family. You have to factor these into his decision.”
“I guess.”
“He was in incredible pain. Sometimes people can’t take carrying on anymore and you have to respect their choice, no matter how abhorrent.”
Tumbled Graves Page 24
