Shallow End Read online

  To my niece Laura Russell

  The shallow consider liberty a release from all law, from every constraint.

  —Walt Whitman

  Evil is unspectacular and always human

  And shares our bed and eats at our own table.

  W.H. Auden, Herman Melville

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  IN THE SAME SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sunday, September 4

  Jane Thompson lifted a hand to the window and widened two slats of the metal blind so that she could see the street below. The sun struck her full in the eyes, and for one disorienting moment, blinded her. She tilted her head and squinted through the dazzling light toward the sidewalk across the street. The homeless man who’d taken up residence was gone. The media camped outside for the past week also appeared to have given up their daily vigil. By the angle of the sun, darkness would have completely descended in another hour. The reporter and photographer would be off having supper, likely complaining about their thankless assignment. Hopefully, they’d tire of waiting for her by morning.

  She wasn’t counting on it.

  She let the slats fall back into place and turned to look around her new living quarters on Regent Street. She’d deliberately picked this cramped second floor apartment in a three-unit rental outside of the downtown. The building was a converted house with two units on the main floor and hers taking up the second. One of the downstairs units was empty, the young couple with a baby slipping off in the night the week before, owing two months’ rent. The landlord was having trouble renting it again since most of the university students already had places for the upcoming school term. Not helping his cause were the three university boys who shared the larger unit below her. They played their music loud through most of the day and enjoyed entertaining their buddies at odd hours. Jane couldn’t afford much but she had enough to make the first and last month’s rent and felt lucky to have found this one-bedroom apartment even with the annoyances. Where she lived hadn’t mattered so long as she remained in Kingston.

  The confined space made her feel safe.

  The bedroom and living room came furnished with somebody’s castoffs. The bed, visible from where she stood, consisted of a saggy mattress on a frame — not even a headboard to make up for the discomfort. An old dresser with a mirror filled one wall, the mirror warped with age so that her reflection came back slightly distorted. The closet was small with room for a few pairs of shoes. A crooked pole at eye level was empty except for the green fall jacket she’d been given.

  She made the three steps to the couch and slowly lowered herself onto the cushions. The slanted roofline had meant pulling the couch out from the wall so that she didn’t bang her head. The window that she’d been looking out toward the street was behind the couch, wide and narrow, halfway up the wall. The couch faced an old, cumbersome television sitting on a wood veneer stand — and that was it for furniture. Not even a carpet to soften the space. The first evening, she’d gotten down on her hands and knees and crawled across the hardwood floor, counting twenty-three cigarette burns on its pitted face in the living room alone. A scarred space. Like her.

  Jane stared at the blank television screen. She hadn’t turned it on yet, not wanting to let the outside world into her private space. Not yet.

  Should she chance a walk to the grocery store for milk and bread? It was several blocks from her apartment in a high traffic part of the city. The idea of going there scared the hell out of her in daylight when she could be recognized. Her trips outside had all been done under the cover of darkness up until now. But she needed an early night. Maybe, if she settled in earlier, she’d be able to sleep. She closed her eyes. Tomorrow morning, she had to go out, regardless. Eight thirty she was to be at the Sally Ann on Division Street to begin her job sorting clothes. The store was open from ten to five thirty, six days a week, but she’d be in the back and had to get there before opening time. She’d leave the apartment extra early to avoid the reporter in case he was sent another day.

  The higher you go, the harder the fall. Her God-fearing mother had been right about that. Wrong about a whole lot of other stuff, but bang on with the dire predictions.

  Jane stood and crossed the narrow space to the bedroom. She opened the closet door and for a moment stood staring into the empty space. Adam had promised to come by with her clothes but hadn’t returned her calls. She knew that he was away. She’d walked the back streets to her old home on Silver Street her first night out and three evenings after that, each outing filled with disappointment.

  She took her jacket off the hanger and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her head. Adam knew her release date was Monday. He’d deliberately taken Olivia and Ben out of town to send her a message. He wanted her out of their lives. He’d let her see them when he was ready, on his terms. She felt resolve course through her. She had nothing left to lose except her relationship with her children. Adam may have divorced her a year in, but she was still their mother. Adam couldn’t make that go away, much as he’d threatened to sever their ties with her.

  She paused for a moment in front of the mirror. A diet of prison food had made her lose weight. So much so that she barely recognized the jutting cheeks and narrow jaw of the woman before her, even considering the wavy effect of the glass. Her last haircut, two days before her release, had shorn the length into a cap — long bangs and cropped short above her ears. A pixie cut, the girl had called it, before Jane’s locks of blond hair fell to the floor.

  Jane had called it a fresh start.

  She grabbed her keys from the top of the dresser and headed for the door. She’d sneak out the back way just in case someone was lingering out front. The fence behind the detached garage had a gap that she could easily slip through. It led into an alley with the brick wall of a house lining the other side of the path. The opening allowed her to come and go unobserved — an escape route already coming in handy as she began her new life in the shadows.

  Flashes of light pierced the night as the car sped through the darkness on Highway 401 toward Kingston. The interior of the car was warm — too warm — and Naomi could feel her eyes getting heavier. She blinked and repositioned herself in the passenger seat, stealing a glance at Adam’s rigid profile behind the wheel. He’d stopped talking after their pit stop in Bowmanville. The kids had bought burgers and drinks at McDonald’s but she and Adam decided to wait until they got home. “I’ll whip up some omelettes,” she’d said. Her promise had seemed easier two hours earlier when she wasn’t so tired.

>   She looked into the back seat. Olivia’s blond head was bouncing in time to the music flowing into her ears from her iPod. Ben was reading a book while also listening to music on his device. They both had their mother’s direct blue eyes and fair colouring. She wondered if Adam found these constant reminders of Jane painful, but she wouldn’t ask. He’d made it clear early on that the topic of his ex was off-limits.

  “We’re almost home.” He turned his head from the road for a moment and looked at her. His eyes caressed her face from a distance. Warmth spread up her belly and into her throat. The longing she felt for him was growing in strength, not abating with time.

  “It’ll be good to sleep in our own bed.” She smiled and let the statement hang suggestively between them.

  He smiled back. “No kids in the next room to stifle creativity.”

  “Or enthusiastic noises.”

  “Or that.” He grinned and she saw a glimpse of the boy he’d once been. He winked before looking back at the road.

  She turned to stare out the side window. They were nearing the first off-ramp into Kingston. She knew that if Adam could have prolonged their time away, he would have. He’d been more and more on edge as their two weeks at the rental cottage outside Sudbury drew to a close. No matter how Naomi tried to make him relax, he’d fall back into a gloomy space that had no room for her. Long walks or fishing trips in the boat with his kids kept him away from the cottage while she lay around reading or concocting intricate meals to feed them upon return. She may as well have fed them hamburgers and Kraft Dinner for all the appreciation she’d received.

  “Do they know Jane’s getting out of prison next week?” she’d asked Adam while washing dishes from a fettuccine alfredo meal that the kids had barely touched. The recipe was one of her best and she’d been hurt by their rejection.

  “They know.”

  He’d closed off the opening she’d offered to talk about Jane’s return. It was as if he was shouldering some horrible burden alone as penance for his ex-wife’s sins.

  Naomi had met Jane once, a few months before the sky caved in on her. Before her arrest and trial. Naomi had kept the encounter from Adam, knowing instinctively that he would not have been pleased. He’d kissed her by then, full on the mouth as he passed by her on his way to his desk, but nothing more than that. He’d admitted later that it had been spur of the moment and he’d immediately felt guilt for the impropriety of his impulse. No promise of anything further no matter all the erotic fantasies floating around her imagination.

  It had been a grey November Saturday morning when Naomi had followed Jane’s car from her house to the grocery store. She’d caught up with Jane in the fruit aisle. Bent over, reaching for McIntosh apples, Jane had been inspecting each one before dropping it into a plastic bag. She’d been wearing a red wool coat and high black boots, her white-blond hair gathered into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She’d turned when Naomi bumped her cart with her own. The look in her startling blue eyes had gone from somewhere far away to focus in on Naomi.

  “So sorry,” Jane had said. “Was I in the way?” When she smiled, her face had glowed as if a lamp was backlighting her skin and Naomi had felt the bottom fall out of her dreams. Adam would never leave this woman for her. She knew that even her youth couldn’t compete with Jane’s smile that wrapped around a person like warm honey and the warmth in her dreamy blue eyes that was as intriguing as sex, for Naomi was experienced in this department, having lost her virginity when she was fourteen to her sixteen-year-old cousin. She’d been the one doing the pursuing, although she knew that all the bleeding hearts would twist her into a victim if they’d known. Never mind that she found sex enjoyable from the get-go. It didn’t hurt that getting a guy to drop his pants gave her a sense of power over him that she’d become an expert at exploiting.

  Naomi studied the distracted way Jane tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear with long, graceful fingers. Her fingertips then slid down her cheek and across her full lips before landing on the silk scarf tied around her neck. The movement was sensual as hell and Naomi found herself staring. If Jane was aware of the vibe she gave off, she gave no sign. “No, I was the one who bumped into you.” Naomi started backing up, eager to get away.

  “Say, aren’t you one of the students from teacher’s college doing a work term in my husband’s class at Rideau Public? Adam Thompson?”

  “Yes, that would be me.” There was nothing for it. She held out a hand. “Naomi Van Kemp. Nice to meet you.”

  Delight radiated from Jane’s face like a child suddenly handed a wonderful surprise. She reached out and clasped on to Naomi’s hand. “Jane Thompson. So nice to meet you. I saw your photo on Facebook, you see. Adam was talking about what a natural you are in the classroom and he showed me your profile. Are you planning to work in elementary when you graduate?” At last she released Naomi’s hand.

  “I’m hoping to get a grade four class.”

  “Like Adam.” Jane laughed, a husky playfulness in her voice. “He tried the grade seven and eight level but likes teaching the younger ones. I, on the other hand, love working with the intermediates. I’m at Winston Churchill Public.”

  Believe me, I know that. “Are you baking a pie?”

  “Pie?” Jane looked down at the bag filled with apples. “Goodness, I got carried away thinking about something else. No, I’m afraid these are for lunch bags. I’m really not much of a cook.”

  At least Naomi had something on her. Her parents had owned a bakery, and she’d cut her teeth on recipes and putting concoctions into the oven. Still, her skill in the kitchen felt like an inferior triumph. “Sorry again to have bumped into your cart. I have to get a move on.”

  “Lovely to have met you. Keep up your good work.”

  Again, her beatific smile, and Naomi had slunk away, certain then that Adam was as far out of her reach as the moon. She’d finished her student teaching placement without further incident. It was serendipity that she received a call to supply teach in the classroom next to his the week after his wife was arrested.

  And as Jane’s fortunes had plummeted, Naomi’s had grown to fill the gap.

  She looked across at Adam again and thought about the night ahead when they would be alone in his king-size bed. Cooking wasn’t the only talent she had to make Adam happy to leave his life with Jane behind. She’d put on the silk teddy and thong that she had picked up before they went away and remind him of all the benefits of living with a twenty-six-year-old.

  Just in case he needed reminding.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tuesday, October 4

  Jacques Rouleau paid for his coffee and slipped between tables until he reached his team at the far end of the cafeteria. Gundersund moved into the chair on the other side of Woodhouse and Rouleau took his vacated seat at the head of the table. Kala Stonechild sat alone on Rouleau’s right. She looked up at him from her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

  “Anything exciting to report, sir?”

  “No. Still quiet on the major crimes front. That turned out to be the quietest September on record.”

  Gundersund nodded. “Following up on a quiet summer.” He speared a sausage on his plate. “I can’t say that I’ve minded though.”

  Rouleau caught the look that Woodhouse gave Stonechild. Something was going on between the two of them. Woodhouse hadn’t wanted her on the team — it wasn’t difficult to figure that out — but so far, the team was holding together. He could count on Gundersund to let him know if anything was getting out of hand. In any case, Stonechild would not appreciate his interference, of this he was certain.

  “Look, Bennett’s back.” Gundersund pointed toward the entrance and Rouleau turned in his chair. Gundersund raised a hand to wave Bennett over. “He’s looking fit.”

  “The young heal fast,” said Rouleau. Hard to believe Bennett had been in intensive care for two weeks from a gu
nshot wound five months earlier. He’d come as close to death as a person could without actually checking out.

  Bennett sat in the empty seat next to Stonechild after he grabbed a cup of coffee. He took a drink and said, “Coffee hasn’t gotten any better since I was off, but it’s good to be back otherwise. What’ve I missed?”

  “Nothing much.” Woodhouse bit into a cinnamon bun. “Your absence was barely noticed.” He smiled, a glob of icing hanging from his top lip.

  “Well, I missed you.” Kala tilted her head sideways and smiled at Bennett.

  Bennett’s dimples appeared. “Then it was worth taking a bullet.”

  Woodhouse tapped his temple. “Getting shot has turned you into a soppy wuss. Good thing you’ve returned to work so I can toughen you up before it becomes permanent.”

  Gundersund cleared his throat. “Welcome back, Bennett. You look completely recovered.”

  Bennett swung his eyes over to Gundersund. “I am. My mother’s relentless cooking helped. I never thought I’d say it, but I’m actually glad to be away from all the homemade pasta and casseroles. By the way, thanks for all the phone calls and text messages, everyone. Especially you, Woodhouse, but no need to keep sending me those dirty jokes and videos.” He paused a few beats. “Really, no need.”

  Woodhouse swiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Kept your spirits up, did I?”

  “Sure, if you say so.”

  Woodhouse tossed the last of the bun into his mouth and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt. “Laughter is the best medicine. Especially if it includes a dwarf, a goat, and a bar.”

  “Right,” Rouleau cut in, looking up from his cellphone. His glance landed on Woodhouse for a moment. “Our quiet fall has officially ended. A body’s been found at Murney Point. Cause of death does not appear to have been natural. Gundersund and Stonechild, you take this one. Woodhouse and Bennett can tag along and will be at your disposal. Officers are on site and Fiona and the forensics team are on their way.”