Bleeding Darkness

by Brenda Chapman

  He said softly, “You were the best kisser I ever met, Lauren McKenna. I dreamed for years after you’d gone about those evenings when we walked over to Grosvenor Park and necked under the trees.”

  A pulse fluttered in her throat like a trapped butterfly. She laughed. “Those memories kept me warm on many a lonely Toronto night.”

  “Good to know I was there in spirit.”

  “I never stopped missing Zoe,” she said after taking a mouthful and setting her drink down. She twirled the glass in the beads of moisture on the bar’s wooden surface. “Because the police never charged anybody, I could never shut off what happened to her, wondering if I could have saved her. If I’d walked her home from school that day instead of staying late, would she be alive? Was I to blame in some cosmic trick of fate? Stupid, I know.”

  “You’re not saying anything I haven’t thought a million times. I can’t forgive myself for not being there for her when she needed me. Why did you stay late at school?”

  She turned and looked at him then. “I was waiting for you, but you must have already left.”

  “For me?”

  “You said to meet in the library the night before. I guess you forgot.”

  “I must have.”

  They finished their drinks quickly, not talking any further about that day, and he helped her on with her coat. He didn’t have to say anything because she knew that he would see her safely home. She handed him her car keys before they left the pub. He took her by the arm and helped her negotiate the icy sidewalk and settled her into the front passenger seat before getting into the driver’s side.

  Lauren huddled into her coat and Matt glanced over at her. “Your heater takes a while to get going.”

  “The cold air is helping me to sober up.”

  She was starting to find this entire encounter surreal. The two years after Zoe died, she’d had fantasies about Matt and her getting back together. The hope that he’d stop blaming her for Zoe’s murder — or stop blaming her family — had faded away to nothing by the time she finished high school. The question was, why now? Why was he being nice to her out of the blue as if the fourteen years of silence would be easily forgotten? By the time Matt pulled in front of her house, she’d made up her mind. She turned to look at him with one hand on the door handle.

  “Look, it’s been nice catching up, but we really live in different worlds now. I haven’t led the most exemplary life since Zoe was killed and I’m still struggling, if truth be told. I’ve had way too many men, too much alcohol and drugs, and too much self-loathing to pretend I’m the same innocent girl you once knew. I’m trying to get my shit together and some days are better than others. All I want to do now is make it back to my condo in Toronto, grieve for my father and Vivian, and lose myself in work.” She paused and gave a self-mocking grin. “Thanks for driving me home and sorry you have to walk a couple of blocks.” She shoved the door open, feeling the cold air rush into the car.

  “Wait.”

  She hesitated and turned her head to look at him.

  “How about a coffee before you go back to Toronto?”

  “Why?” She held up a hand. “Doesn’t matter why. I don’t think that would be a good idea, Matt.”

  “My turn to ask why.”

  “Because I can’t see the point.”

  He got out of the car and met her as she walked behind it to cross the street. He dropped the keys into her outstretched hand. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happened.”

  “Me too.”

  “Shake?”

  “Sure, why not?” She reached out her gloved hand and he grasped it and pulled her to him. Before she knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers in a kiss that felt nostalgic and sweet. She found herself responding but only for a moment. She stepped back.

  “What was that, Delgado?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He started walking away from her. “I’ll call you later and maybe you’ll change your mind about that cup of coffee,” he called over his shoulder. “Sleep tight.”

  She was still smiling when she let herself into the darkened hallway and tiptoed up to her room. Yet underneath the flicker of happiness was a nagging uneasiness that grew as she got ready for bed. Where had Matt Delgado been after school that day Zoe went missing and why was he being so friendly now? She wanted to trust in the boy she’d thought she’d known, but was she a fool to even go there? Before she drifted off to sleep, she decided that she should go for coffee with him if only to find out what he was up to. If the idea of seeing him again made her heart pump a little faster, so be it. She’d had the feeling often enough with enough men to know that it wouldn’t last.

  chapter twenty-three

  Marci Stokes woke up long before the sun Saturday morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. At 6:00 a.m. she threw back the covers and shuffled into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, which she drank while reading the news online in the small living room at the front of her limestone house. She’d finally moved out of the hotel to rent this half double on Earl Street near the downtown, slightly draughty but comfortable. She slept in the bedroom above the living room. The place had come furnished, the main reason she’d taken it — that and the black shutters, which she’d found charming against the grey stone.

  At seven, she opened the front door to check for the newspaper and the stray cat she’d been feeding for the past week appeared on the steps, meowing and looking at her with forlorn green eyes. She thought it shivered in the cold but this could have been a flight of fancy. Do cats even shiver? “I like your survival instinct,” she said. “I’ll get you some milk but you can’t come inside.”

  She turned and felt the brush of his fur as it scooted past her into the hallway. “Damn it, cat,” she said. She found it huddled next to the radiator in the kitchen at the back of the house. She squatted a few feet away. “I don’t need a pet. If I did, it wouldn’t be a mangy cat like you.” She reached out a hand and touched its fur for the first time. Its purr was loud in the silent room. She straightened. “First some milk and then a bath if you plan to stay inside for a bit.”

  She left the cat with a full belly and a wet fur coat sleeping next to the radiator with a warning that it would be back outside as soon as she returned home, and set off to her office at the Whig on Cataraqui Street. It was a short drive, staying on Wellington and cutting across Princess, past Molly Brant Point, and right toward the river on Cataraqui. She entered the three-storey red-brick building and climbed the stairs to her desk on the second floor. She didn’t need to be here today, but she had little else to occupy her time except for laundry and grocery shopping. She’d much rather spend the morning staying on top of the Vivian McKenna murder.

  She’d settled in nicely with another cup of coffee and the McKenna file open on her computer when Rick stopped by her desk with his parka on. He was a Chinese man who wore silk pastel cravats and a brown felt fedora and covered the entertainment beat. She counted him as one of her few friends on staff. “How’s it going?” he asked

  “Quiet. Looks like you’ve got something on. Where’re you headed?”

  “Covering the opening of a new ballet at the Grand Theatre. Did Scottie come talk to you about the anonymous tip that came in concerning your police beat?”

  “No, but I just got in. What’s it about?”

  “The acting chief Rouleau has an internal complaint lodged against him for creative hiring. Might become a human rights issue, according to the source.”

  She stared at Rick, taking a second to find the words to respond. “Not sure we can put much stock in an anonymous bit of slander. How did it arrive?”

  “Email, but an untraceable IP address.”

  “What does that tell you?” She tried to make the muscles in her face relax, realizing that he was giving her a curious look.

  “We’ve gotten good tips before from anonymous sources,” he said.

  “You’re right but more often than not someone’s got an axe to gr
ind and trying to stir up trouble.”

  “Well, see what Scottie wants to do about it.”

  “I will. Thanks for the heads up.”

  “No problem.”

  After he’d gone, she walked the length of the building to Scottie’s office. He motioned her in when he looked up and saw her in the doorway. “I was about to come see you,” he said leaning back in his chair. “Although I wasn’t sure you’d be at work today.”

  Scottie had promoted her to assistant editor and she knew he hadn’t agreed with her decision to step back into the reporter job. He’d said at the time, “This is a struggling industry Marci, and you should take the promotion and bank the money. You might need it sooner than you think.”

  She hadn’t argued but wasn’t ready to give up investigative reporting and the writing that she loved. If the paper died, something digital would have to replace it and good reporting would be needed more than ever to counter all the misinformation spewed out by wannabe journalists and spin doctors, not to mention the fake news stories circulating on social media. She asked, “What’s this about an anonymous tip and Sergeant Rouleau?”

  Scottie bent forward and picked up a paper that he handed to her. He was a small, bullish man, late forties and single, and she was still trying to figure him out. He reminded her of a chameleon that changed with whatever leaf it landed on. She didn’t know how much support he’d give if she got into a dicey situation. He said while she read the printout of the email, “I want you to check if there’s anything to it.”

  She attempted to appear neutral and not let on that her sympathies were with Rouleau until she knew the validity of the allegations. “I’ll take a run over to the station and see what I can uncover. I want to find out if they have anything new on the McKenna murder anyhow.”

  “Good enough.”

  All the way to the station she pondered how to approach Rouleau and what she would do if the anonymous tip was true. She didn’t like to think that he would compromise himself this way because she’d grown to like him. However, she was a reporter first and would remain objective.

  As luck would have it, Rouleau was not at police headquarters and wasn’t expected in that day. Most of the Major Crimes team was busy and Marci made no headway trying to get the desk sergeant to ring upstairs for anyone, telling her to return Monday when more staff were around. Not for the first time, Marci found the differences between the ways of New York City and Kingston frustrating and fascinating. Did these people think the news took two days off?

  She left the building and started toward the parking lot, scrolling through her phone for Woodhouse’s number. He wasn’t her first choice for getting the information, but he’d have to do. She needed to bring Scottie something and Woodhouse usually delivered even if she left their encounters feeling the need for a scalding shower.

  Kala rose early and Dawn was still sound asleep with Taiku at the foot of her bed when she got into her truck at 6:00 a.m. Bennett’s car was already in the gym parking lot when she arrived and she went straight to the change room before going to the indoor track to run laps. She caught up with Bennett in the weight room half an hour later. She thought he seemed preoccupied but left off conversation until they finished their workouts, showered and changed, and met up again in the lobby.

  “Felt good to get in some exercise,” she said by way of an opening. They started walking toward the entrance. “You look as if you have something on your mind. Everything okay?”

  He held the door for her. “Not sure. I think Woodhouse is up to something.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s been on the phone a lot and not about the case. I overheard him telling someone that he’s prepared to push things as far as they need to go.”

  “He could have been referring to anything.”

  “I don’t know. He’s got that self-righteous thing going on and he made a few comments about Rouleau.”

  “Well I know that Woodhouse is no fan of mine but I’m surprised if he’s found fault with Rouleau. I’ll try to find out what’s going on.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out too from Woodhouse, but he plays his cards close to his chest.” They reached their vehicles. Bennett asked, “Are you going into HQ or would you like to grab some breakfast?”

  She checked her watch. “It’s getting late and I want to get over to the McKennas to speak with whichever one of them I can corner. I’d also like to talk to Antonia Orlov. She’s been sick but should be up for a visit now.”

  Bennett’s eyes seemed worried. “Are you keeping Woodhouse up to date on your interviews? He told Gundersund that you’ve been interfering in his investigation by running an unnecessary parallel one of your own.”

  “Oh? What did Gundersund say?”

  “He backed you up. Said you and Woodhouse were each focusing on one of the murders and he was working from the premise that the investigations complemented each other. He told Woodhouse that he’d been assigned the higher-profile one. I think Gundersund said that to keep his ego buttered up.”

  “Woodhouse must feel that he has some leverage if he’s complaining to Gundersund. Rouleau isn’t in the office today but I’ll track him down. You’re right. Something is going on.”

  She sat in her truck staring at the sky and thinking about what to do until the heater began blowing warm air. Every part of her balked at the idea of answering to Woodhouse, but she needed to find out if her investigation was harming Gundersund or Rouleau. She’d never paid attention to the politics inherent in any police force, not interested in climbing the ladder. Yet she knew Woodhouse had allies and he could do damage to the unit.

  She pulled out of the lot and turned south on Division toward the harbour. If she was lucky, she’d catch Rouleau before he left his father’s condo and get him to share what was going on. At the very least, she could warn him that trouble was afoot.

  Delgado Garage was open on Saturdays. Even before Kala arrived at the gym for her workout that morning, Matt and Franco had already gotten the coffee going and repaired the brakes on a Chevy Malibu and given a grease and oil to a Lincoln Continental. At quarter past seven, they took a coffee break in the cramped office.

  “You made the coffee extra strong this morning,” said Franco, grimacing and lowering his mug, “and I noticed you got in late last night. Hungover, son?”

  “Nah, but I didn’t sleep all that well.” Matt avoided meeting his father’s eyes. He could tell that Franco was fishing for information, but trying to appear unconcerned by the casual tone of his next question.

  “Anything to do with what’s been going on?”

  He could lie, but if his father found out, he’d read more into it than would be good for either of them. “I talked to Lauren McKenna last night at the Duke. She was sitting alone at the bar when my hockey team went in for a pint.”

  His dad nodded his head and rubbed a hand across his chin as he did whenever he was mulling something over. “Doesn’t hurt to get close to them to find out what’s going on. What’s that expression? Hold your friends close and your enemies closer? Did she let anything slip about Zoe or this latest murder of her sister-in-law?”

  “No, Dad.”

  “Well, you can always try again to get close to her. From what I hear, she likes a drink and that usually leads to loose lips.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  His father picked up on the sarcasm. “Don’t be flip, son. Giving them the cold shoulder for going on fifteen years hasn’t helped get Tristan put away for Zoe’s murder. We have to change tactics.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Matt pictured Lauren’s face when he’d leaned in to kiss her. “I’ll see about corralling Lauren for coffee later.”

  “As long as it’s an Irish coffee. If she’s anything like her old man, she won’t be able to stop at one drink and you’ll have a chance to wrangle the truth out of her. I always believed Lauren McKenna knew what happened to your sister. You only have to re-establish
the connection you had with her back in high school and get her confessing what she knows.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  The phone rang and his father reached for the receiver. “I have faith in you, boy. Zoe and I are counting on you.”

  Matt took his coffee into the shop away from his father’s probing eyes. He had his own reasons for wanting to get closer to Lauren McKenna that he’d kept from his father for fourteen years. Franco would never believe the truth and now was not the time to shake up his world.

  chapter twenty-four

  Lauren joined her brothers and Mona in the dining room after pouring herself a cup of coffee. For the first morning in a long while, her head didn’t need painkillers to stop from pounding. She’d slept like a baby: deep, dreamless sleep that had eluded her for years. So this is what it feels like, she thought.

  “We’re taking a drive to Brighton for lunch,” said Mona. Today, she wore a soft mauve turtleneck and long silver earrings in the shape of doves. “Would you like to come with us?”

  “Are we able to leave town?” asked Lauren.

  “We’re not prisoners,” said Adam. “Tristan phoned in and the police aren’t interviewing him today. He can be back in an hour or so if things change. They’re keeping Vivian’s body for another few days at least.” He reached a hand over to grasp his brother’s shoulder and Tristan nodded with his head down.

  “We need a break,” said Mona. “Why don’t you come?”

  “I think I’ll pass.” Lauren looked across the table at Tristan and almost relented. She’d seen the light on under his bedroom door and smelled the ganja when she’d walked by on her way to bed and knew he wasn’t doing well. His face was starkly pale, emphasized by the contrasting dark circles under his eyes. A plate of congealing eggs and toast lay untouched in front of him.