Cold Mourning

by Brenda Chapman

  Once inside her room, she settled in the desk chair and pulled out her cellphone. Shannon should just be arriving home from work. It would be good to hear a voice from home.

  Shannon answered on the third ring. She sounded out of breath. “I just got in the door. I’m so glad you called.”

  “How are things in Nipigon?” How is Jordan? Does he know I’ve left town? She could hear Shannon settling into a chair, the sound of her boots clunking onto the floor.

  “It is so lonely with you gone. How’s it there?”

  “Interesting. We’re a small team of five, including the sergeant Jacques Rouleau. I have a partner, Charles Whelan.”

  “Really? You with a partner? Why can’t I picture that?” Shannon’s laughter bubbled across the miles.

  “Hey, I can be a team player,” said Kala. “When I have to.”

  “They don’t know you yet, do they, Kal?”

  “Not so much. I’m still in the honeymoon stage. How’s my boy?”

  “Taiku is fine. He keeps watching for you, but Doug and I have been taking turns bringing him on long walks.”

  “I miss him too. I’m thinking of getting a place where I can have him live with me.”

  “You should. I hate to think of you there all alone.” Shannon paused. “Jordan came by a few times. I told him you’d taken a job near Toronto. He looked about as dejected as Taiku.”

  “Thanks for covering for me, Shannon. I owe you.”

  “I saw Miriam shopping for groceries this afternoon. She’s getting big.”

  Kala closed her eyes. Jordan would do the right thing with her gone. “I hope she has a healthy pregnancy.”

  “Yeah.” said Shannon. “I still say she tricked him.”

  “Jordan’s a big boy. He knew what could happen.”

  “Well, there’s knowing and there’s being tricked. He hasn’t moved back in yet.”

  “Give him time. They’ll work it out.”

  “So what’re you doing for Christmas?”

  Kala looked around the colourless, cramped room. “Not sure, but I’ll think of something. Are you and Doug having the family for dinner?”

  “Yeah, just fifteen this year. I wish we would be sixteen, but maybe you’ll be home next Christmas. Call me if you need to talk. Christmas morning for sure.”

  “Thanks, Shannon. I’ll let you go make supper.”

  “Love you.”

  “Same.”

  Kala hung up the phone and stood to look out the window at the night sky, visible above buildings and the glow of streetlights. A nearly full moon hung suspended like a giant Christmas tree ornament in the darkness. She imagined Shannon and Jordan a thousand miles away looking up at the same moon. The idea gave some comfort, but not nearly enough.

  8

  Thursday, December 22, 7:50 p.m.

  Rouleau paid for his beer at the bar and sauntered toward the main entrance. He stopped to talk along the way, always keeping one eye on the people coming into the hall. He’d dressed in charcoal-grey slacks and a black Nordic sweater. Most of the women wore party dresses but the men were on the casual side like him. The room was a hum of conversation. He calculated over three hundred officers and spouses all told. Stonechild finally walked in as they were being seated. He met her outside the cloakroom.

  “I’d almost given up on you coming. I should have offered to pick you up, but it was too late by the time my old brain thought of it.”

  “No problem. Sorry I’m so late. It was hard to know what to wear.” She looked down at her black jeans and silver blouse. “This is about as fancy as I have.”

  “Our colours match. You look great,” said Rouleau. He should have filled her in on the dress code for the party. Another reason to feel like he’d neglected his duty.

  She shrugged and smiled. “Even if I’d known it was fancy dress, I’d have worn this because I didn’t bring anything else. Clothes aren’t really my thing.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who didn’t care about clothes.”

  “Then say hello to your first.”

  He steered her around a group of officers. “Whelan called. The baby is sick and he can’t make it. I’ve saved us a spot with Malik, his wife Annika, and Grayson over there by the exit sign. What would you like to drink?”

  “A soda and lime.”

  “Grab a seat and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” said Kala.

  “Call me Jacques.”

  He walked over and leaned on the bar while he waited for his order. He looked over at the table. She’d chosen the empty seat next to Malik and his wife, leaving the seat beside Grayson for him. He wondered if Grayson had managed to alienate her already.

  The opening speech by the head of the Police Services Board was followed by carrot soup, salad, and plates of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. Dessert and coffee rounded out the meal. Rouleau finished the last forkful of Baked Alaska and looked across at Stonechild. She’d eaten as much and as quickly as him. Their eyes met and he could see the amusement in hers as she lowered her fork onto her empty dessert plate.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she said. She patted her stomach. “I really shouldn’t have had that third dinner roll.”

  Malik looked over. “You tuck in better than Whelan. He’s going to enjoy driving around with you.”

  “As long as he likes fast food, we should do okay.”

  Malik laughed. “Whelan cut his baby teeth on Big Macs and fries.”

  “So what happens now?” asked Kala.

  “More speeches and then the DJ starts,” said Malik.

  Malik’s wife Annika leaned across and touched Kala on the wrist. “Why don’t we go to the washroom and freshen up before they start? It can be a long hour.”

  Kala nodded. She instinctively liked this elegant woman dressed in a gold sari with red and silver threads woven into a border at the neck and hem. Gold bangles slid up and down when Annika moved her long, graceful arms. Her liquid black eyes searched Kala’s as if she could see inside to her core. When Annika leaned back, Kala could still smell the musk rising from her skin. Malik stood and helped his wife to her feet. He touched her back lightly with one hand before she stepped away to lead Kala toward the washroom.

  The line was short and they didn’t have long to wait. They met again in front of the mirrors. Annika was refastening a comb that held back her hair in a tight bun. “So how do you like the force so far?” she asked. Her Indian accent was soft and lilting. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  “I think I’m still having culture shock. I miss my home.” Kala surprised herself by this confession, but something about Annika reminded her of Shannon.

  “I know what you mean. When I first arrived in Canada to marry Sandeep, I thought my heart would surely break. India has its problems, but it is still a most beautiful country. And Canada was so cold. It took me a long time to get used to the cold.”

  “You must have loved Sandeep a lot to move to a new country.”

  “On the contrary, I’d never met him before I came to Canada. Our families arranged our marriage.” Annika finished straightening her sari and turned to face Kala. “I’ve learned to love him. He is a fine man.” They started walking slowly toward the door. “Do you have anyone special?” asked Annika. “Back north where you come from?”

  Kala didn’t want to talk about what she’d left behind, but she’d opened the door for this question. “I had someone, but it didn’t work out.”

  Annika nodded, her eyes sad. “You’ve come at a tough time for the team,” she said. “Sandeep says you need to solve a high profile case soon or everything will stop. He would be sorry as he deeply respects Jacques Rouleau.”

  “Oh? I had no idea.”

  “Internal politics. I should say no more.”

  They entered the main hall. A man’s voice boomed from the front of the room. Kala looked toward the microphone that had been set up on the makeshift stage. A bald, sha
rp-featured man was giving the punch line to a joke and laughter rippled across the tables. He was short but muscular in a hunter green turtleneck and brown suit jacket. She saw him looking in her direction.

  “Inspector Vermette,” Annika said over her shoulder. “He tells dirty jokes, no matter the occasion.”

  Kala sat down next to Rouleau and looked toward the stage then back at Rouleau. He leaned back in his chair, not smiling. His eyes were fixed on Vermette. She turned back, curious to watch the man everyone seemed to dislike. After Vermette finished speaking, a female officer invited everyone to mingle until the music started.

  Rouleau stood. Kala looked in the direction of his gaze and stood just as Vermette reached their table, his hand outstretched. His grip was vice-like around her own. She kept herself from squeezing back as hard.

  “Welcome to our little family. It’s nice to soften up Rouleau’s team with some femininity. Has Jacques organized your media training yet?”

  She shifted her eyes to Rouleau. He shook his head very slightly. She looked back at Vermette. “I believe it’s in the works, but has to wait until after Christmas.”

  “Of course,” said Vermette. “The holidays really mess us up. Too bad criminals don’t take the week off too. I’ll leave you in Sergeant Rouleau’s capable hands then. Enjoy the rest of the evening.” His eyes slid up and over her head, abruptly dismissing her as he stepped around her to join another table of men.

  Kala turned to Rouleau and waited for him to explain.

  “Thanks for that,” he said. “I meant to tell you about the training but the Underwood case took over.”

  “Am I to be the minority face of the force?” she asked. She lowered her eyes. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

  “No need to apologize. Let’s say Vermette could set racial relations back fifty years. Male-female relations too, for that matter. I’ll see about getting you signed up after the holiday.”

  Kala stepped outside onto Preston Street. The temperature had dropped. When she exhaled, her breath streamed in front of her in a white plume. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and started walking. She’d stayed later than she’d planned, but officers kept coming over to be introduced. She pulled up her sleeve and glanced at her watch. Nearly two a.m. No wonder she was exhausted.

  She was almost at the corner when she heard her name being called. At first she thought it was a mistake. She turned around, waiting for the red light to change. She recognized Rouleau in a black duffel coat hurrying toward her, a cellphone at his ear. He raised his free hand toward her to wait as he listened to whoever was on the other end. He said something into the phone before disconnecting.

  “They’ve found a man’s body. The car is registered to Tom Underwood so looks like it’s him. We can take my car.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The Central Experimental Farm just south west of here. Should take us ten minutes. Somehow, his parked car missed detection all week. I hope you didn’t have any plans. This is going to be a long night.”

  “No plans.” Suddenly, she wasn’t tired anymore. Adrenaline was kicking in. She trudged through the snow beside Rouleau and felt as close to alive as she’d felt since she pointed her truck toward Ottawa four days earlier.

  9

  Friday, December 23, 7:00 a.m.

  Geraldine Oliver woke up before Max but pretended to be asleep. It was another hour before he shut off the alarm and finally got out of bed. Seven a.m. Forty minutes and he’d be gone for the day. The baby was heavy in her belly. For the past two months, she’d been forced to sleep on her side, her back to Max. She couldn’t believe she had four more weeks of discomfort before the baby was due. Surely the kid was full size by now. Any bigger and it would come out riding a tricycle.

  She heard Max rummaging around, getting his suit from the closet and searching for his shoes under the dresser. It was easy to keep her breathing deep and even. She even drifted off a few times. She sensed him standing over the bed looking down at her and slowed her breathing even more. What the hell was he doing? Did he think he could stare her into waking up? At long last she heard him cross the floor and start down the stairs. She let her breath out in a loud sigh when he reached the bottom.

  She waited a good fifteen minutes after she heard the front door slam before she swung her aching legs over the side of the bed. It would have been catastrophic if he’d come back for something and caught her up and about. He’d have known she’d been faking sleep to avoid him.

  She flicked on the flat screen on her way to the bathroom. Max had left it on CNN, and she didn’t bother to change the channel. She just wanted to hear another voice. If she hadn’t promised Hunter she’d drive to his place for lunch, she would have run a bath and spent the morning lying in bubbles and reading the Harlan Coben thriller she’d picked up at the library. She’d become good at idling away her days, but not today. A quick shower would do and then she’d eat something light and head off to the hairdresser’s for a shampoo and cut. There’d be enough time to stop at the bakery for fresh bread and dessert before the drive to Hunter’s.

  She reached for a towel and facecloth in the cupboard. Her hand lingered, her fingers stretching to the back of the shelf and under a pile of towels. Her hand closed around one of the two bottles she’d hidden the day before. The glass was deliciously smooth to her touch and she ran her fingers up and down its curved length. She remembered the colour of the bottle was emerald green, her favourite colour. She forced her hand away from the temptation and traced her fingers across her bulging belly.

  One day at a time. She could put off a drink one more day.

  The bathroom tile was cool under her bare feet. She sat sideways on the edge of the bathtub, awkwardly bending over to turn on the taps. Her fingers opened wide under the rush of warm water. It felt soothing and she sat for a while longer. Then, she stood with a grunt and slipped out of her nightgown. It pooled around her feet in a silken heap. Her face reflected exhaustion in the mirror but her eyes were determined.

  She stepped into the shower and raised her face to let the water pour over her in a steaming cascade, the drops hitting her skin like pin pricks. She kept her eyes closed and avoided looking down at her misshapen belly.

  Max had said he could hardly stand to look at her anymore. He’d told her she’d have to start dieting right after the baby if she wanted him to be attracted to her again. He’d prepaid her gym membership, not even asking if she wanted it. She’d imagined herself beautiful when they first met because he’d looked at her like she was. Now, when she looked into his eyes she saw the homely woman she’d been all along. His disgust hurt like a knot twisting in her chest. It was the most horrible feeling she’d ever known. At times, taking another breath had been an effort, the pain threatening to strangle her.

  Kala pressed Laurel Underwood’s doorbell one more time. Rouleau had dropped her near her truck after she’d offered to make this call on her way home for a few hours of sleep. He’d continued on to the station to update Vermette. Whelan should have been with her, but he’d left some jumbled message on her cellphone around midnight and hadn’t been reachable since. So far, she thought working with a partner wasn’t much different than working alone.

  It was the morning before Christmas Eve. She’d expected Laurel to be at home. A cheery evergreen wreath with a silver bow and red berries that hung on the door felt out of sync with the news Kala had come to break to Tom Underwood’s wife. She didn’t plan to give many details about the death. It would have done no good to talk about how they’d found her husband’s stiff body crowded into the trunk of his Mercedes. The coroner, Grogan, estimated Underwood had been dead a few days, but it was hard to say when exactly because the freezing temperatures had kept him preserved like meat in a locker. Grogan said that Underwood was alive when he was locked inside the trunk. He’d found scratch marks inside the trunk and Underwood’s nails were ripped and ragged, caked in dried blood. Underwood had definitely been alive and try
ing to get out. She thought about what he must have gone through when he realized the trunk would be his frigid tomb. The cruelty of somebody leaving him to freeze made her want to punch something.

  She pulled out her cellphone and called Rouleau. “Nobody home at the Underwoods.”

  “How about Underwood’s daughter, Geraldine Oliver? Are you okay to go over to her place?”

  “Yeah. I could do that, but I’ve never met her. It’ll be a shock, and didn’t somebody say she’s pregnant?”

  “Right. It might be better if she heard from a family member.”

  “I can drive out to Hunter’s. It won’t take too long now that I know where he lives.”

  “Sure you’re not too tired?”

  “I can go a few days without sleep. Anyway, somebody in the family has to be told before word leaks out.”

  “We’ll need him to identify his father, although there’s no doubt based on the photo Laurel gave us. You sure you’re okay to do this?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve broken the news of a sudden death to family members before. Any word from Whelan?”

  “Nothing. When I reach him, I’ll get him to meet you.”

  “I’m on my way then.”

  “Bring Hunter to the station.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m pulling in Grayson and Malik. They’ll be here within the hour. I need to sign off. I’m being paged.”

  Kala tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and walked back to her truck. She trod carefully on the icy driveway. It hadn’t been plowed since the last light snowfall and drifts hid patches of black ice. The cab of the truck was still warm from her drive to the Underwoods. She turned the heater up high and pushed a John Hiatt CD into the player before starting down the circular driveway.