She stopped when she reached the road to look back at Underwood’s grey stone mansion. It was an imposing residence. Too many rooms to be cozy and too much space for three people. It was a depressing contrast to the shacks she’d lived in growing up.
She checked both ways and pulled onto Winding Way.
All that money and what had it gotten him? Nothing that mattered much in the end.
This time, there was no dog to greet her. The property was silent and deserted. Kala stepped away from her truck and looked around. Hunter hadn’t cleared the woods from his property or cut back the brush. His house nestled into the pines and snow as if it was posing for a Christmas card photo. Even the low cloud cover and first flakes of snow added to the effect. It left her homesick for her own woods and her own cabin.
Hunter didn’t answer the door although his truck was in the driveway. She knocked a third time, jumping from foot to foot to keep the circulation moving. When he still didn’t answer, she started walking toward the side of the house. She reached the corner and heard music coming from the back of the property. A narrow path led her around the side of the house to a barnyard-grey workshop. Through the window, she spotted Hunter standing in front of an easel, dotting at his work with a paintbrush, totally absorbed while classical music filled the shop and spilled into the winter air. He wore a white denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into black jeans, and he’d tied his hair back from his face with a red bandana. Kala watched him for a full minute before she knocked, thinking about how she would tell him that his father was dead.
Hunter opened the door and his eyes searched her face before he stepped aside to let her in. “Just give me a minute.” He crossed the floor to turn down the stereo and then returned to his easel to close up the paints and soak his paintbrush in turpentine.
She took the time to look at the bronze statues. Two sat next to each other on a work table. The first was of a pig-tailed girl in a leotard on a balance beam. The second was an older girl spinning on ice skates. Her hands were spread wide and her face turned upwards. The detail was exquisite. She turned to face him. “Your work is brilliant. I can feel the joy in each of these children. Are the pieces for sale? They are just so perfect.… I’m not much of an art connoisseur, but these are magnificent.”
Hunter tucked his head. When he looked up, he was smiling. “No, these were all done on commission. They’re Christmas presents. The dad is coming to pick them up later today. He had them done for his wife.”
“They’re simply beautiful,” she said.
“Thanks. I’m told I have my mother’s eye.”
“You’re both very talented.” Kala moved closer to the door. “I’m actually here on police business.”
“I thought that might be the case.” He waited, his grey eyes on hers.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news. We found a man’s body early this morning and we believe it is your father.”
Hunter’s brow furrowed. “You found his body? Where?”
“In his car. At the Central Experimental Farm.”
“Are you sure it is my father? Was it … suicide?”
“I need you to come with me to make the official identification, but we believe it is him. The car is registered to your father. We couldn’t find Laurel to tell her so you are the first of the family to know.”
He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe it.” He looked up. “Geraldine doesn’t know?”
She shook her head. “No. You’re the first we’ve been able to reach.”
“Shit.”
She thought he was upset that she hadn’t told Geraldine, but then she realized that his eyes were looking past her to the door. She heard a clumping noise outside. The door opened at the same time as she turned. A cold blast of air filled the room, bringing with it a hugely pregnant woman. Her smile disappeared when she looked from Kala to her brother.
“Hunter! I’m early. They got my hair appointment mixed up and I just kept driving. I’m sorry.” She held a bag with a baguette sticking out the top and a cake box under her other arm. “I can just go up to the house and wait for you until your customer leaves.” She turned to go but Hunter stopped her.
“No. It’s fine, Geraldine. I was expecting you. Come in out of the cold. Here, let me help you.” He reached for her packages and guided her gently by the arm.
Kala studied the two of them together. Geraldine had a long, narrow face with a wide nose that made her eyes look too close together. Her eyes were grey like her brother’s, but a paler, washed-out shade. Hunter leaned into her as if protecting her from what was to come.
“I have to drive into town for an hour or so. Will you be able to get the soup on the stove and kick back until I return? I prepared it last night so it just needs heating up.”
Geraldine looked up at him and smiled. “Of course. I’ll read that book you keep meaning to lend me.”
“In the bookcase on the right,” said Hunter. “Fabio will keep you company. He’s sleeping by the hot air vent in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about me then.” Geraldine held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Hunter’s sister, Geraldine.”
“Pleased to meet you. Kala Stonechild.” She shook Geraldine’s. She’d decided to play along with Hunter. His eyes had flashed a silent pleading for her to go easy. If Geraldine hadn’t been so obviously pregnant, she would have asked some questions about her father. There’d be time enough after he identified the body.
Hunter took his coat from the hook by the door and followed them outside into the frigid morning. Kala took a moment to inhale the frosty air while she surveyed the dark line of woods that stretched to the east of Hunter’s house. The sky was heavy with clouds and the snow was starting to pick up. She led the way on the narrow packed path back toward the house and continued to the driveway while Hunter helped Geraldine and her packages safely inside. He joined Kala in the driveway where she stood next to his Jeep.
“Thanks for that. Dad and Geraldine are close and I don’t know how this is going to affect her. I want to make sure it really is Dad before we have to put her through a load of grief.”
“Understood, but we’ll need to speak with her afterward.”
Hunter unlocked the Jeep and reached for the scraper. He started the engine to warm it up and began cleaning snow off the windshield as he talked. “I’ll follow you.” His hand stopped mid-motion like he’d just thought of something. He turned to face her. “You never said how he died.”
Kala hesitated. “I think it best you identify him. Then we can talk about how he died.”
He started to protest but stopped himself. Instead, he shrugged and raised the scrapper to the windshield. “Fair enough. I guess waiting another hour won’t make much difference, that is, if it really is my father.”
10
Friday, December 23, 11:30 a.m.
Rouleau walked with Kala and Hunter toward the room where Tom Underwood’s body was waiting for identification. He’d tried to prepare Hunter for what he was about to see, but he knew it would still be a shock to see his father’s body laid out on the table. Kala stood behind Hunter while he gave his recital, her face impassive. Surprisingly, she didn’t look tired. In fact, she looked like she’d just started her day. She made Rouleau feel old. There’d been a time he could go a few days and still perform, but not anymore. Between briefing Vermette and bringing Malik and Grayson up to speed, he’d managed a fifteen-minute cat nap in his office chair. It had left him feeling worse, not better.
He led Hunter and Stonechild into the viewing room. They lined up next to him and he grabbed the sheet. “Ready?” he asked.
Hunter nodded and Rouleau rolled the sheet carefully down from Underwood’s face and halfway down his chest.
Hunter took a step forward. His eyes swept the man on the table and then back to Rouleau. “That’s my father. Tom Underwood.”
“You’re certain?”
Hunter nodded.
“I’m sorry. We’ll do all we can to find who did this.” Rouleau glanced at Kala who’d also taken a step forward. She shook her head just as Hunter turned his full gaze on her. Rouleau realized his mistake. “Let’s step into the office next door. Perhaps you can answer a few questions and we’ll tell you what we know.”
Hunter nodded again and they filed into the coroner’s office. It was Spartan clean with a desk, computer, and a wall of filing cabinets. Posters of the human anatomy covered two walls. Hunter lowered himself into the one chair and bent forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. Kala leaned on a filing cabinet and Rouleau stood in front of Hunter, waiting for him to collect himself. It didn’t take long before Hunter looked up.
“Was my father murdered?”
Rouleau nodded. “He died in the trunk of his car. Preliminary findings are that he froze to death.”
“My God.”
“We’re not exactly sure when, but probably a few days ago. We’re running tests.”
“This is like a bad dream. My father wasn’t the easiest man to get along with, but for somebody to murder him in such a heinous way … it’s unthinkable.”
“You were estranged from your father until recently. Can you tell us why?”
Hunter slowly raised his head. “What you’re really asking if I could have murdered my own father? If I said I found that offensive, I don’t suppose it would matter to you.”
“We are a far cry from accusing anybody, but the sooner we start finding out the situation of everyone involved in your father’s life, the sooner we can solve who left him to die.”
“I see.” A look crossed Hunter’s face as if he was choosing what to reveal. Rouleau noticed and glanced over at Stonechild. The look in her black eyes signalled that she’d observed it too.
Hunter looked at a spot between them. “My father and I had a falling out about ten years ago. I didn’t like the fact that he was fooling around on my mother and told him so. When he left her, I ended contact with him.”
“You didn’t talk for all this time?”
“I live far enough out of Ottawa that we didn’t run into each other. I might have seen him leaving my mother’s once or twice but that was it. We didn’t seek each other out.”
“It seems like a long time to be upset about his affair.”
“I wasn’t upset after the first while. It was more I didn’t feel anything at all for him. He didn’t matter to me one way or the other.”
“Can you account for your movements over the last week?”
“I spent yesterday afternoon in town getting groceries and meeting friends at the pub. Other than that, I’ve been home working. I had a few pieces on commission to finish before Christmas.” He glanced at Kala as if seeking confirmation.
“Did you see anybody over this time?”
“Just customers.”
“We’ll need everyone’s name, including your pub friends. Jot down their addresses and phone numbers for me, would you?” Rouleau slid a pen and notepad across the desk.
Hunter complied, then tossed down the pen. “Is that all?”
“All for now.”
Hunter stood and started for the door. Rouleau called to him.
“Do you have any idea where Laurel Underwood might have gone? We’ve been trying to reach her to let her know what’s happened.”
Hunter stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “No idea. Sorry.” He didn’t turn around as he pushed open the door and kept moving.
Rouleau and Stonechild followed him into the hallway and watched him get into the elevator. Rouleau turned to Kala.
“He’s hiding something.”
She nodded. “I have the same feeling. He’ll be heading home now to tell his sister Geraldine what happened. She came by for lunch just before we left. I’m certain we can rule her out. She’s so pregnant there’s no way she could have gotten her father into the trunk.”
“She might have hired somebody to do it, or managed it with somebody else’s help. Maybe Hunter’s.”
“Hunter said that Geraldine and their father were close.”
“That might mean nothing. I’ve seen close family members kill each other over the most insignificant things.”
“You’re saying to keep an open mind.”
He smiled. “The first rule of investigation.”
“Any word from Whelan?” Kala asked.
“No. I’ve asked a squad car to go by his place and check in. I hope to have an answer soon.”
“There seem to be a few people missing. It’s like Ottawa has a black hole that people keep dropping into.”
He smiled again. “Sounds like the script for a science fiction movie. Let’s hope not. Vermette has already let me know that we’ll be running this investigation through Christmas season because staff in Major Crimes is at a minimum. One just had surgery, another two are off with the stomach flu, and of course there are the booked holidays. I’ve got Malik heading up a team at Tom Underwood’s office and Grayson at his home. They’re going through his things to see if there are any clues hidden in his effects. Underwood’s laptop and computers are already in the lab being gone over. You should go home and get some sleep.”
“If you need me, I’ll have my cell close by. I can be here inside of ten minutes.”
“Hopefully, we’ll both get time to rest. I don’t anticipate any news for a few hours at least. I’m going to stay down here for a bit.”
“Okay.”
He watched her walk down the corridor and get on the elevator. He’d meant to ask her where she was staying, but his mind was sluggish. There were several hotels in the city core not too far from the station. They’d start adding up if she stayed in one very long. Maybe he should offer her a spare room. It would save her some money until she got to know the city and found a permanent place. He’d ask her next time she was in.
Geraldine was angry. Angrier than she could remember being in her entire life. The car seemed an extension of the rage coursing through her body, barrelling down Highway 417 toward Ottawa like a bullet.
Hunter had wanted her to stay overnight. He’d kept studying her with that worried look on his face he reserved for lost animals until she wanted to push him away and scream like a mad woman. She’d eaten his homemade soup and drunk the sugary steeped tea, not shedding even one tear after he told her that their father was dead. She’d known all along how her father’s disappearance would turn out. Hunter had just confirmed what she’d been expecting.
He’d tried to drive her into town but she’d told him not to be so ridiculous. She could drive herself. Their father had died. The world hadn’t collapsed and neither would she. Still, Hunter had hovered, watching her with concerned eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was a relief to finally back her car out of his driveway and be alone with her thoughts — thoughts that kept her from looking her brother in the eyes because she didn’t want him to see the suspicion in hers, and she sure didn’t want to see the evasion in his.
She wouldn’t blame him. Their father had set this into motion many years before when he’d put his self-interest before the good of his family. Hunter had been a victim and maybe now, he’d gotten revenge. He thought he’d escaped the ugliness by hiding out in this cabin for the past ten years, but he couldn’t hide forever. It all started and ended with Laurel. She was to blame. She was the one who would have to pay.
Geraldine passed the St. Laurent exit in the passing lane. Slower traffic ahead forced her to brake and get a grip on her emotions. It wouldn’t do to be in an accident now and hurt the baby growing in her stomach. The baby for whom she’d given up alcohol and barely formed thoughts of leaving Max. The growing fetus had become her excuse for inaction. It had seemed like a second chance.
She was coming up on the Bronson exit. Decision time. Would she take the off ramp and head to her father’s home to confront Laurel with what she knew? Would it hurt her brother or help him? She gripped the wheel and changed into the middle lane. She
put her turn signal on in preparation for pulling into the inside lane to take the exit. One last shoulder check showed her the green Toyota riding in her blind spot. The sight of it made her gasp. She straightened the wheel as he pulled alongside, cutting off her chance to pull into the lane in time to make the off ramp. She realized how close she’d come to hitting the other car, and her heart beat hard inside her chest. If she hadn’t done that last shoulder check, she’d have driven right into him.
She kept driving. Her anger had ebbed and a feeling of weariness was replacing it. Her arms felt heavy and her head was throbbing. All she wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a dozen hours. Maybe the green Toyota had been a sign from above. She’d come too close to disaster to tempt fate now. She’d bide her time and confront Laurel when she felt stronger. Whatever it took, she’d bring Laurel down. She’d protect Hunter from himself.
By the time she reached the March Road exit in Kanata, the first of her tears were seeping out of the corners of her eyes. She’d begun shaking and was having trouble driving in a straight line. She slowed the car to below the speed limit and cruised down the ramp, turning left and left again before pulling over in a no parking zone in front of an elementary school.
The children were out for recess, chasing each other around the yard, their snowsuits and toques patches of brightness against the white snow and grey sky. She could hear their loud carefree voices through the windows of her car and their innocence made her weep. She watched them for a while until the tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t see more than watery shapes in the distance. The salty tears dripped down her cheeks and onto her hands lying across the steering wheel. She slowly lowered her head until it rested on her hands.
Her life had been unravelling for months. Alcohol had been her salvation. Now she couldn’t even turn to that for fear of hurting her child. The only one who’d come close to understanding was her father, and now he was dead. Her one safe harbour and she’d never see him again. She started to cry in earnest then, her shoulders shaking and sobs ripping up her throat until her pain and rage filled the car’s confined space.
Cold Mourning Page 9
