“Any indication of who was killed?” Gundersund was already on his feet, scooping napkins and tossing cutlery onto a tray.
“No idea,” Rouleau said. “A homeless guy found the body. Check in when you have something to tell me.”
Without a major crime to solve, the team had been lethargic and adrift for months. Already Rouleau could sense an excitement in their faces as they organized to leave. They were hungry to get going, never a bad quality in a detective. Too bad it took someone else’s misfortune to give focus to their days, but this was the reality of their work. When it came right down to it, murder was the jam on their bread and butter.
Kala tried to breathe deeply and centre herself before getting out of the car. Gundersund turned left off King Street and showed his ID to the officer guarding the entrance to Murney Point. He was waved through and drove slowly around the bend into the parking lot facing Lake Ontario. A number of squad cars filled one end of the lot and Kala could see police scouring the shoreline. She glanced back at Murney Tower, a round, grey limestone fortress with a red band of windows rimming the border under a conical roof. She’d been meaning to take a tour of one of the two Martello towers open for summer visitors that guarded the Kingston shoreline since she arrived in Kingston the year before, but never got around to it. She was too late again this year as both museums closed their doors for the season in August.
Gundersund pulled into a spot some distance from the ambulance and turned off the engine. Wind off the lake buffeted the car and waves rolled in gusty swells against the shore. The day had the depressing feel of late fall as nature hunkered down for the first snowfall. Kala took a deep breath before stepping outside. The air had turned cool overnight and a wispy fog coated the landscape. She inhaled the dampness and cold and zipped her leather jacket as she joined Gundersund. A triangle of geese honked their way south overhead and she looked up. She could barely make them out against the grey sky.
Gundersund squinted and pointed toward the shoreline. “I see the top of someone’s head. The body must be just over there. It’s not a very steep drop to the water.”
They started toward the lake and passed a man with a scraggly grey beard and crochet cap sitting on a park bench with a small dog on his lap. An officer was standing in front of him with her notepad out.
A cop named Bedouin walked from the top of the cliff toward them. “Hell of a day for a murder.”
“Not one I would have picked.” Gundersund tipped his head toward the lake. “What’ve we got?”
Bedouin pointed toward the grassy section of land that sloped toward the rocky shoreline. “A kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen years old. Male. The homeless guy’s dog made a bit of a mess running around the body, which blended into the break wall at the base of the hill and was tucked into some bushes. I guess we’re lucky the mutt led his owner there in the first place. Might have taken a while to find the body otherwise. His name’s Bert by the way.”
“The dog?”
“No. The homeless guy. He’s a regular in the liquor store parking lot on Princess. I didn’t catch the dog’s name.” Bedouin smiled, revealing oversized front teeth that had earned him the nickname Gopher.
Kala asked, “How long’s the body been there?”
“Overnight. Probably not much longer.” He looked back at Gundersund. “Your wife should be able to tell us more. She’s been down inspecting him for a good fifteen minutes.”
Gundersund stared out across the lake. He said without looking at Kala, “Why don’t you head over and have a chat with Fiona while I double back and talk to Bert?”
“Don’t you want to see the body before he gets moved?”
“I won’t be long.”
She watched Gundersund head over to the park bench and sit down next to the homeless man. Her six-foot-three partner made an imposing figure next to Bert, who obviously hadn’t been surviving on a healthy diet. Bert laughed at something Gundersund said and Kala turned toward the hill.
She walked to the crest of the cliff and looked down into the gully, which was thick with white mist. A bell was clanging somewhere off to her left and the rushing sound of the wind was steady in her ears. Her home was further along this same shoreline on the western outskirts of the city. She stepped carefully toward Fiona on the slippery rocks and stopped a short distance away. Fiona’s long blond hair was tucked under a plastic cap and she was wearing the white suit and boots of the forensics team. A young man dressed in the same white suit stood next to her, typing notes into an electronic device. Every so often, he fought to stay upright as a blast of wind attempted to push him onto the rocks. His eyes travelled across the space toward Kala and he bent to tell Fiona. She looked up and stared for a second in Kala’s direction before lowering her head and resuming inspection of the body.
Kala surveyed the bobbing line of flotsam along the shoreline and the rolling grey waves with the white haze blotting out the horizon. The whistling wind and crashing waves muffled all other sound so that her ears felt stuffed with cotton batting. She planted her feet and scanned the band of rocks and bushes at the base of the break wall, finally coming to rest on the dead boy whom Fiona was crouched over. He was on his stomach, legs splayed and face turned away from her. She could make out short black hair and broad shoulders but not much else because of the angle of her view and the mist. While she waited for Fiona to finish up, she replayed her last encounter with her partner’s wife. Fiona had walked into their office looking for Gundersund but he’d left for a dental appointment. They were alone and Fiona walked over to stand in front of Kala’s desk.
“I suppose Paul’s told you that he’s asked for a divorce.”
“No, we don’t discuss …”
Fiona spoke over her. “We’ve been to see a mediator and she wants us to see a marriage counsellor. Paul doesn’t want to, but I’d like it if you could encourage him. He … he respects your opinion.”
Kala experienced dismay at being drawn into her partner’s marriage and, for the first time, pity for Fiona. From what little Kala had gleaned from water cooler chatter, Fiona had brought this upon herself by leaving Gundersund for a year to move in with a doctor. The affair had already ended when Kala arrived in Kingston the year before, and Fiona had taken every opportunity since then to wrangle her way back into her husband’s life. He appeared reluctant, but Fiona was attractive and persistent. The office pool gave convincing odds for his capitulation by Christmas. The desperate look in Fiona’s eyes had been a first and Kala had had to force herself not to react to it. “Your husband and I don’t discuss our private lives,” she’d said, “and I’m not getting involved. Sorry.”
Fiona had stared at her with a half-smile on her lips, the desperate look hardening into something tough and calculating. Her voice dropped. “If you think I’m leaving my husband for you to trap like a sneaky bitch, you can think again. You might fool the men with your big doe eyes and quiet suffering, but I’ve got your number. You’re as conniving as they come but you have no idea who you’re messing with. Consider yourself warned.”
She’d stormed off before Kala could respond to the stunning attack, disturbed not only by the threat but also the twisted version of her friendship with her partner. Kala had promised herself that she’d steer clear of Fiona and keep Gundersund at arm’s length outside of work hours. So far, she’d managed both. She hadn’t been surprised when Gundersund had started leaving work on his lunch hours twice a week to go for counselling because she’d known that Fiona wasn’t going to let him go easily. After each session, he’d returned to the office stone-faced and uncommunicative and Kala hadn’t encouraged him to talk about it.
Fiona straightened from a crouched position and said something to her assistant. Then she climbed the rocks until she stood a few feet from Kala. Even from the short distance away, she had to speak loudly above the noise of the wind and waves battering the shore.
“No
ID on his body. He was dragged down the hill but he was already dead.”
“How did he die?”
“Blunt force trauma. The back of his head is a mess. Whoever hit him wasn’t holding back. He took a couple of good blows. I’d say somebody was extremely angry.” Fiona glanced at her before looking away and the words hung an unspoken challenge between them. Kala was tiring of this silent game but felt helpless to end it.
Fiona started climbing and passed as close to Kala as she could without brushing against her. “I’m cold and want to get out the wind. I’ll have my report later this afternoon.”
Kala waited a few moments before turning to follow her. She looked up and saw two paramedics who were carrying a stretcher appear at the top of the incline with Gundersund following behind. He met Fiona and stopped to speak with her before continuing on down the hill toward Kala. His mouth was set in a grim line.
“The station received a call that a seventeen-year-
old boy named Devon Eton is missing. He didn’t come home last night but his parents thought he was at his friend’s place. They often played video games late and Devon would sleep over. This morning his mother found out he wasn’t there and hasn’t been able to find him any of the other places she thinks he might have gone.”
“Do you have a description?”
“From what Fiona just told me, he matches the kid down on the rocks.” Gundersund looked toward the body. His blond hair was beaten straight back by the wind. He raised his voice to be heard above the breaking waves. “The mother was upset about something but didn’t want to get into it on the phone. She’s going to be even more upset when she finds out her kid is dead. Ready for a closer look?”
Kala pushed back a strand of hair from her eyes and nodded. “After you,” she said.
They’d have a few minutes with the boy before he was carted up the hill into the waiting ambulance. She tried to hang on to the inner calm she’d found in the car as she followed her partner across the slippery rocks.
CHAPTER THREE
Rouleau met them in the hallway of the station at one o’clock. “Hilary Eton identified her son. She says that she knows who killed him.”
They were quiet for a moment. Kala knew that convicting someone was never as simple as this. Knowing and proving were different animals entirely. She looked at Gundersund when he said, deadpan, “Well, that makes our job way easier.” He gave her a crooked smile before asking Rouleau, “Is she alone?”
“Yes, her husband left this morning for business in Calgary. She’s reached him at the Calgary airport and he’s on his way back.”
“Where’s Mrs. Eton now?” Kala asked. She looked from Gundersund to Rouleau and thought he looked tired. She’d been worried about him since his ex-wife, Frances, died in the summer. He’d stopped gathering the team unless he had to and never went with them for a drink after work as he had before Frances’s death.
“I brought her into my office and am giving her a bit of space to make some phone calls. She should be about done.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out who it is that she suspects.”
She and Gundersund followed Rouleau into the main office. Woodhouse was on the phone and Bennett was pouring a cup of coffee by the window. Kala smiled at Bennett on her way by. She’d been hoping for some time to sit with him and catch up, but there’d be no break while this case got underway. She’d been surprised by how much she’d missed Bennett while he was in Ottawa recuperating at his parents’. One quick trip to Ottawa at the beginning of his convalescence had been more to reassure herself that he was going to recover than anything else, a way to ease some of the guilt she felt at getting him shot. She hadn’t been oblivious to his interest in her and knew he placed more importance in her visit than she’d intended, but he’d get over his crush, for that was how she saw it. She was thirty to his twenty-five and the age difference felt like a lot.
Mrs. Eton was framed in the window when they entered, arms folded across her stomach and looking out. Her hair from behind was golden-brown cut into a short bob. Wealth and style were evidenced by her well-cut wool coat and high leather boots. When she finally turned and acknowledged their presence, her grey-blue eyes swept over them without focusing. Watery black mascara had tracked down her cheeks, which were as pale as ivory. The lack of colour in her face was disconcerting, and Kala feared that she might pass out.
Rouleau must have had the same thought because he immediately crossed the room and guided her by the elbow to a chair directly behind her. “Can I get you some tea?” he asked, bending so that he was in her line of vision.
Her shoulders rose and her back straightened, and Kala blinked at the transformation on her face. Mask firmly in place, this woman would not be letting them see inside. Though still pale, her eyes were reso-
lute. “No, thank you.” She looked at Gundersund and Kala as they took seats on the couch. Her chin lifted. “Will this take long?”
To Kala, the woman’s upper-crust British accent spoke of a moneyed upbringing and private schools, much like the upper class characters in PBS crime dramas. Mrs. Eton could have been a faded version of the actress who played the lead detective in Prime Suspect. Kala wracked her brain to remember the actress’s name. She came up empty.
Rouleau took the seat next to Hilary Eton and she turned slightly to face him. “Just a few questions. We know how difficult this is for you but we want to find whoever killed your son as soon as we can.”
“Of course. I’m not sure where she’s living now, but you should be able to track her down without difficulty. She’ll be answering to somebody, I imagine.”
Rouleau’s face remained sympathetic, no sign of impatience to be found. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Eton, but I don’t know what woman you’re speaking about. Perhaps you could tell us her name and why you suspect her.”
Kala watched Mrs. Eton carefully to see if the shock of her son’s death had affected her mind. She was aware of Rouleau and Gundersund silently waiting with her to see where this would lead. Shock and grief could make even the most rational person lose their grasp on reality for a time. Mrs. Eton’s back arched higher into the chair. “You don’t remember my son’s case? It was a few years back, but still …”
Kala could see the gears turning in Rouleau’s head. He glanced over at Gundersund, who looked perplexed before comprehension dawned in his eyes. “Your son was one of the schoolboys assaulted by the teacher, what was it, five years ago?”
“Four. Four years ago. Sexually assaulted. We were notified that Jane Thompson was out on parole five weeks ago, a day I’d been dreading since she was sentenced. I’ve been jumping at shadows since I heard, but then …” She shrugged her shoulders. “One has to carry on, doesn’t one? I didn’t want to live in fear and my hope was that she’d leave Kingston to go somewhere that nobody knew her. From what I’ve heard, her husband divorced her and wants nothing to do with her. Could anyone blame him? Besides, Devon is that much older. He was only twelve years old when it happened.” For the first time, her voice broke. “I thought … I thought he could handle what she’d done to him.”
Rouleau leaned closer to her and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to have to ask you questions at this terrible time.”
Her voice got louder, her British accent more pronounced. “No, I want to help. I need to help. Devon deserves retribution. We, that is, Mitchell and I, have felt that she ruined our son’s life when she corrupted him. She was convicted of that, you know. Corruption of a minor, gross indecency, and sexual assault. She was in a position of trust and the judge said that was the greatest evil of all when he sentenced her.” She got to her feet in one abrupt motion. “I have to go, Sergeant. I need some time. Could we resume this when my husband is back this evening?”
Rouleau nodded. “I’ll have an officer drive you home. Do you have other children, Mrs. Eton?”
“We have a daughter, Sophie. She’s thi
rteen, in grade eight. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her about Devon. She adored him.” She stopped and looked panic-stricken around the room. “My purse? I don’t remember where I dropped my purse. Did I leave it in the taxi? Oh my God.”
Kala spotted a black bag on Rouleau’s desk. “There it is,” she said and motioned that she was on her way to get it. The purse was Italian leather with a designer label and heavier than expected when she picked it up. The zipper was partly open and Kala caught sight of an iPad and two pill bottles before she crossed the distance to hand the purse to Hilary Eaton. Was she taking medication for an illness? The unnatural pallor to her skin could be from a medical condition.
Mrs. Eton accepted the bag with a large sigh and clutched it to her chest as she walked toward Rouleau standing by the office door. “What time is your husband’s flight?” he asked as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass in front of him.
“Eight o’clock. He’s got a car in overnight parking at the airport and will be driving straight home. I’m certain he’ll want to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“We’ll come by tonight. We’ll be keeping you both apprised every step of our investigation.”
“Thank you.” She stopped two steps into the hall and turned to look at Rouleau. “I thought abusing my son was the greatest evil, but now, I know it wasn’t even close. Letting that woman out of prison to seek revenge on my family was far, far worse.”
Rouleau walked with her to the outer office, telling Kala and Gundersund that he’d be back after he saw that she was delivered safely home. Gundersund trailed behind Kala to the coffee machine sitting on a filing cabinet at the far corner of the open concept office. He stood behind her while she poured two cups. She added cream and sugar to both and handed him one. Gundersund looked as if he was trying to get a read on her mood.
“Seems to be more cases of female teachers having affairs with underage students,” she said. “Makes you wonder what’s going on when a married woman finds a boy sexually attractive and risks everything — her marriage, her relationship with her children, her job.”
Shallow End Page 2
