Bleeding Darkness

by Brenda Chapman

  “I’m probably not the best one to ask.”

  “That’s okay. I’m staying put anyhow. Kingston has grown on me.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  “I’m surprised you would say that, considering how I’m often a thorn in the Kingston Police’s backside.”

  “The role of keeping police and politicians honest can’t be underestimated.” He would have added that he respected her quick intelligence and enjoyed their conversations but his phone rang before he had the chance. He glanced at the number. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Take your time.”

  He felt her eyes on him as he turned sideways and listened even though she continued eating. The call ended without him giving anything away. He knew he could leave without telling her about the tragic turn of events, but this seemed short-sighted given that she’d know soon enough and likely take back the neutral ground they’d forged over lunch. He raised a hand toward the waitress and signalled for the bill. “A woman’s body has been found on the Rideau Trail and I’m heading there now if you want to follow. I expect the Whig will have a reporter there soon in any case.”

  Marci was already hitting speed dial on her cell. “Is it the missing woman?” she asked as she held the phone up to her ear.

  “Too early to confirm.”

  She spoke in clipped sentences, holding the phone tucked between her ear and chin while standing to shrug into her coat at the same time. Rouleau was at the cash paying for their meals when she pulled her bill from his hand. “Thanks, but I’ll pay for my own. Best not to owe. I’m to follow you out to the scene and a cameraman will meet me there.” Her face was flushed and she looked almost radiant in her rush to get the story that would rock the city in a matter of hours, sooner if it was leaked on social media.

  “I hope you have boots in your car,” he said, looking down at her running shoes. Her fall trench coat wouldn’t do either on this frigid afternoon.

  “I can’t get used to your northern weather, but I have clothing reinforcements in my back seat for these last-minute occasions.” She patted his arm as he stepped aside so that she could use the machine to pay. “Thanks for this, Rouleau. Believe me, I won’t soon forget.”

  The day reminded Lauren of that time fourteen long years ago when they’d been waiting for news of Zoe. The same frantic feeling in her stomach. The same sickening sense of foreboding that hovered in the house like a dark sorrow, waiting to swoop down and fill every crack and crevice. She’d been relieved when mid-morning Evelyn had announced that she was going to the hospital. Ever eager to please, Saint Mona had gone along to keep her company on death watch. She was the daughter Evelyn no doubt wished she’d had.

  Lauren stared across the room at Adam, once again typing on his laptop. He looked exhausted, dark stubble on his cheeks, posture slouched back on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and knees bent, resting the computer on his legs. Tristan was on the phone to his publicist in the kitchen, explaining why he was going to miss an author event they’d booked for him at the end of the week in Calgary. His voice was wheedling, then fake jolly, asking the publicist to line him up anything she could later in the month. For the first time, Lauren wondered how badly her brother needed the money from these speaking engagements. His only truly successful book had been five years ago and she knew that sales had dropped significantly the year before. A reprint had been put on hold.

  With the police now looking for Vivian, they’d stopped making their desperate drives down city streets with stops at every bar, restaurant, and store. Each time, Adam would circle the block while she and Tristan entered the businesses and approached the staff. Tristan would talk to the owner or clerk while she checked washrooms and change rooms on the remote chance that Vivian was passed out somewhere. Absurd, but she’d played along to keep Tristan from falling apart. Mona had come for the first run but begged off on the second. Lauren would have liked to do the same.

  She heard Tristan end his call and a moment later, he plopped down on the couch next to Adam.

  “How’d that go?” Adam asked, fingers resting on the keyboard.

  “I might have lost the best interview of the year but I’ll get over it.” He looked across the room at Lauren. “This is killing me.”

  She knew he wasn’t talking about his writing career. “I know it’s hard, but we’ll get through it.” Like last time. “I’m taking Clemmie for a walk around the neighbourhood. Would you like to come?”

  “Yeah, why not.”

  “I’m going to stay and man the fort,” said Adam. “Trist, I’ll call your cell if there’s any news.”

  They bundled into parkas and winter boots and set out with Clemmie tugging on his lead. Lauren liked the bracing cold and felt the sluggishness from one too many Scotches the night before begin to lift. At least it wasn’t snowing but only because it was too damn cold to snow. She took a flask from her jacket pocket and handed it to Tristan. “Have a drink. It’ll take the chill off.”

  “Thanks.” He took a long pull and handed the flask back to her. She did the same and closed her eyes as the golden bite hit the back of her mouth and the burn travelled down her throat. Tristan pulled a joint out of his pocket and shielded it from the wind with his gloved hand as the flame from his lighter bobbed in the wind. He took a drag before offering it to her but she waved him off. “One addiction at a time.”

  They started walking east on Philips Street without conscious thought. Philips crossed Portsmouth and they kept going until they reached the intersection at Hillendale. It would be natural to veer left toward the Delgados’ as they had so many times before Zoe died. Lauren glanced at Tristan but he didn’t appear to notice how far they’d walked. She took another swig from the flask.

  “Were you and Vivian getting along?”

  “Yeah, more or less. We’d had a bit of trouble last year when I thought she was going to leave me but she’s happy about the baby. We both are.”

  “She’s not an easy woman to live with.”

  “No. She can be a right bitch sometimes, but I can’t imagine my life without her. She keeps me going and pulls me out of my depressions. I know she can seem self-centred, but she has a great sense of humour and honestly doesn’t take herself as seriously as it appears. I will admit though that she has this pathological need to be front and centre.” He turned his face toward her and grinned. “I half think she’s disappeared for attention. We’ve all been preoccupied with Dad and she isn’t a woman who can stand being out of the spotlight for long.”

  “I hope that’s what’s going on.” Lauren bit her bottom lip while she pondered how to broach the subject of Zoe. Had enough time gone by for him to open up about what had happened to her? Did she even want to know?”

  Lauren turned south, away from the Delgado house, and for the first time Tristan appeared to realize where they were. He looked back toward the Delgado side of the street. Lauren looked too, disappointed not to see any sign of Matt, not that she’d expected to. He and his dad would be at work.

  “The Delgados still hate me.” Tristan hunched into his jacket and sucked on the spliff.

  “Maybe not. They have no reason to … right?” This was as close as she could come to asking him if he’d killed Zoe. She’d never asked, not when Zoe’s body had been found, nor in the fourteen years since.

  He stopped walking and squinted down at her, exhaling the weed in a slow stream of smoke. “Et tu, Brute?” he said softly.

  Lauren stared back until she couldn’t take it any longer. She raised her middle finger and started walking. “Fuck off, Tristan. You know I’m on your side.”

  He kept a few steps behind her. “Forget it, Laur. I know we’re tight. It’s just … what if something bad happened to Viv? How am I going to explain it?”

  “Are you asking me to cover for you?”

  “We could cover for each other. Say we were together that afternoon.”

  Lauren knew he was just scared of reliving th
e Zoe witch hunt when he was in the police’s sights. She was too. She tried to make her voice sound confident. “You’re jumping the gun. Vivian is probably sitting pretty somewhere, laughing at the lot of us and biding her time before she makes a grand entrance and asks what all the fuss is about.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “For sure maybe.”

  They turned right on Elmwood, heading in the direction of home.

  “Fuck, it’s cold,” he said.

  At Portsmouth, a police car sped by and they stopped walking to watch it turn left onto Phillips. Tristan threw away the second roach he’d pulled from his pocket and tucked away his lighter. Lauren had a flash of the future and knew that they’d look back at this moment as the crossroads between waiting and knowing.

  “Christ, I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Tristan said.

  “It could be good news.” Lauren put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him hard.

  Afterwards, she’d remember the defeated look on his face and the certainty in his eyes that the police were bringing the worst possible news. She’d wonder later, when sleep eluded her, why she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known Vivian would turn up dead.

  chapter ten

  An unmarked police car was in the driveway. The aboriginal cop and a new, older one were standing with Adam in the front hall when Lauren and Tristan entered the house ten minutes later. Lauren recognized Officer Stonechild from her previous visit. The older, bald cop introduced himself as Staff Sergeant Rouleau. His eyes were the unusual colour of green sea glass and she looked away quickly so that he wouldn’t read anything into her stare. She kicked off her boots and crossed the hallway to stand in front of Adam, whose face was looking as white as freshly fallen snow. She felt her own heart start to speed up in fear. “What is it?” she asked, but she already knew what these two police officers on their doorstep meant.

  Tristan was rooted in place near the door and her question propelled him to move past the cops to join her and Adam. All three turned to face the two police officers who were standing close together wearing grim, watchful expressions.

  The cop named Rouleau spoke. “We’ve found a woman’s body on the Rideau Trail not far from here. I regret to say that we believe it is the family member whom you reported missing, Vivian McKenna. We’ll need someone to come with us to make a conclusive identification. I’m very sorry to bring you this news.”

  “Vivian?” Tristan screeched the single pain-laden word and stood swaying as if he’d topple over. Lauren gripped him from one side and Adam grabbed him from the other. “She was pregnant. My wife was pregnant. We were having a baby.” His voice cracked. “We were having a baby.”

  “How did she die?” Adam’s voice was harsh. “Did she fall in the woods and couldn’t make it back?”

  “We’re investigating her cause of death now. This will take time, but we’ll keep you informed as soon as we have information.” Staff Sergeant Rouleau’s voice was not unkind and Lauren sensed him to be a compassionate man even through the whirl of emotions that were filling her like poisonous gas.

  “If we’d gone up the Rideau Trail the day she went missing, could we have saved her?” Lauren asked, and then wished she hadn’t. The shock of this news was making her lose her filter.

  “No,” said Rouleau, his eyes now squarely on her. “You could not have saved her.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Adam. By the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, Lauren could tell that he was angry she’d asked the question. Insensitive bitch. She could see what he was thinking because the same words crossed her mind as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  She felt somewhat vindicated when Tristan said, “I’m glad you asked because it would have eaten me up not knowing if she was waiting for us to help her, all alone in the cold and dark.”

  “Tubular Bells” blared from somebody’s pocket, the ringtone replacing one awkward moment with another.

  “Mine,” said Adam, pulling his phone from his shirt pocket. He glanced down and back up at Rouleau. “It’s my wife. Should I answer?”

  “Of course.”

  “We should tell them in person,” said Tristan, his voice close to panic. “I don’t want Mother to find out second-hand.”

  Adam nodded at him as he said into the phone, “What is it, Mona?”

  He listened for a bit. “Okay, I’ll let the others know. Someone will be over as soon as possible. I know we should all … I’ll try to get them organized.” He tucked his phone away. “Dad’s slipped into a coma. Doctor thinks this is it.”

  The two police officers looked at each other and it seemed to Lauren that they read each other’s thoughts. Officer Stonechild said, “We only need one of you to identify the body.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Tristan. “I need to see her.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.” Lauren thought that their father wouldn’t know if she was there or not. She’d rather visit the morgue than spend a stifling, guilt-laden afternoon with her mother. She was tiring of the lot of them, if she was honest.

  “That leaves me to pick up the reins at the hospital,” said Adam. He added under his breath. “As usual.”

  Lauren looked to see if he was kidding, but no, he seriously was acting the put-upon eldest child. She supposed they had their roles from childhood with little chance of them changing the few times they got together. Adam was the high achiever, the serious, dependable one who always stepped up to the plate and shouldered what others could not. He needed these attributes to be a star pilot and to be Simon’s father. She was the middle child, the rebellious only daughter who wasn’t expected to amount to much. Her father’s favourite and her mother’s cross to bear. She’d been closest to her baby brother Tristan — younger by a year, but her responsibility when their mother was doing her volunteer work at the church. Tristan was forgiven everything and given whatever he wanted. Toys, sports memberships, cellphone, new clothes, extra dessert. They’d been close, but she’d learned not to cross him or he’d run tattling to their mother and she’d end up on the losing end. She’d forgiven him every slight and betrayal and was still doing it. The three of them continued dancing the dance.

  “We’ll come as soon as we can,” she said to placate him. The effort of saying it made her weary. She wondered how long she’d have to do this family time before she could slip out to the bar and forget about them and death for a few hours. God, maybe she really was a bitch, or at least she was one when she came here. In Toronto, she had friends and lovers. She got along with people and quietly went about her business. She didn’t let anyone walk all over her. Only in Kingston, in the bosom of her family, was she reduced to the person she wouldn’t want to sit next to on a bus. Only here could she imagine killing one of them without suffering a moment of regret. Vivian would have been her second choice, however. Next in line behind Evelyn.

  God, I could use a drink.

  She drove Tristan to police headquarters in her car. They went into a cold room where they were storing Vivian, now a lumpy form on a gurney, concealed from them under a white sheet. Lauren had a grip on Tristan’s arm more for her own comfort than his. He identified Vivian matter-of-factly, no sign of his earlier grief on display. Lauren turned her head to look at him, unsure what this new behaviour could mean. He was staring straight down at Vivian, his features sad but controlled. Lauren shifted her eyes downward as well. She hadn’t liked Vivian much, but the sight of her waxen face and the gold heart earrings still in her ear lobes made her want to weep. The idea that Vivian had put these gold studs in her ears the morning of her death without a clue of what lay ahead was heartbreaking. She thought it strange how the mind could take a death and accept it until one detail such as a pair of earrings could break the façade of control. The technician had only pulled the sheet back to below Vivian’s chin and she wondered if this was the standard way to identify someone or if he was concealing some injury.

  “I’d like some time alo
ne with my wife and baby.” Tristan’s words were loud and defiant in the quiet room.

  All eyes turned to look at him.

  Officer Stonechild stood on his other side. Her voice was low and calm. “I’ll take Lauren with me, but Clarence needs to stay. He’ll give you space to have a quiet moment with Vivian. Take all the time you need.” She nodded at the coroner and he nodded back. She touched Tristan lightly on the arm before escorting Lauren into the hall.

  “Would you like to go for coffee in the cafeteria or sit in the hall to wait?” Officer Stonechild asked.

  “I don’t want to be too far away in case Tristan needs me.”

  “Let’s take seats over here then.”

  They sat without speaking for the first few minutes, although Lauren felt herself relaxing in the still presence of the officer. The tightness in her chest eased and the tears cleared from her eyes. Officer Stonechild’s arm rested warm and comforting against her own.

  “How close were you to Vivian?”

  “Not very. I live in Toronto and they met and married in Edmonton. I visited them a few times on business trips and last summer I spent a week with them on vacation in Hawaii. Mona and Adam were there as well.”

  “Can you give me your impressions of her?”

  “Impressions?”

  “It helps me to have a feel for the person. For instance, was she outgoing or introverted?”

  “Vivian was an extrovert, no question. She loved parties and social events.” Lauren again felt the full force of her brother’s loss. She swallowed hard. “This baby was going to be a complete change of life for her, for them.”

  “She was looking forward to the baby?”

  “Seemed to be. Tristan was over the moon.”

  “A pregnancy can be hard on a marriage.”

  The officer’s mildly uttered statement hung in the air like a warning signal but Lauren couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I have no doubt a real live child would be hard on Vivian since she always had to be the centre of attention, but the pregnancy was giving her that. Let’s say that she was not averse to milking the pregnant card. To be honest, I was surprised that she let herself even get pregnant, but Tristan badly wanted a child.”