Bleeding Darkness Page 11

  “No idea. What’s their story, anyway?”

  “They emigrated from Romania in 1990 and moved to the house they’re living in now. Up until their retirement, Boris worked for the provincial government as a clerk and Antonia cleaned office buildings in the evenings.”

  “No kids of their own?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. It’s a good idea to have a chat with them. I’m expecting the autopsy report on Vivian McKenna to be sent over soon. Maybe it will reveal something linking the two murders.”

  “They were both young women having relationships with Tristan McKenna and both killed on the Rideau Trail near his childhood home. On the other hand, Zoe’s throat was slit and Vivian was strangled — a glaring difference.”

  Gundersund agreed. “It’s unusual for a serial killer not to use the same method. However, the same killer could have seen an opportunity and improvised. Might be a stranger.”

  “So the killer happened to meet Zoe Delgado fourteen years ago in the woods and killed her on a whim. Then fourteen years pass by without another killing until a chance meeting with Vivian alone on the same Rideau Trail. The murderous urge takes over him again and he strangles her? Sounds far-fetched.”

  “But possible.”

  “The unexplainable coincidence is their relationships with Tristan.”

  “Bringing us back to him or someone in his circle.”

  Kala thought for a moment. “Another possibility is that Tristan killed Zoe and one of the Delgados killed Vivian out of revenge, banking on Tristan being found guilty of both.”

  “You interviewed Zoe’s father and brother. Did they say anything that makes you suspicious of them?”

  “Not really. I’m only brainstorming theories at this point. I’m not married to any of them.”

  “Good enough.” He stretched his arms over his head and looked at his computer screen.

  Kala took the hint and stood up. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you hear from your contact about Fisher Dumont.”

  “I’ll follow up if they don’t call me back by lunchtime.”

  She returned to her desk unsettled by the feeling of going around in circles. She sat staring at her dark computer screen.

  Tanya Morrison was working at Gundersund’s desk. She looked over. “You appear deep in thought, Officer Stonechild. Planning your next move?”

  “Feel like coming with me to interview the McKenna neighbours? We could grab some lunch afterwards.” Kala surprised herself by the offer. She usually preferred being alone.

  Morrison threw down her pen. “I’m in.”

  The sky was leaden grey and snow had started sometime earlier after a brief respite in the morning. Kala’s truck was covered in a heavy, wet layer and they both cleaned it off before leaving the parking lot and heading south on Division. Kala found herself relaxing in Morrison’s easygoing company. Her friendly freckled face and wide smile didn’t appear to be concealing a hidden agenda. Morrison was reading her cellphone while Kala drove. She lifted her head and looked at Kala. “You said the Orlovs emigrated from Romania in 1990. That was the year after the dictator and his wife were executed by firing squad at Christmastime.”

  “Communist regime I’m guessing.”

  “Yup. Names of Elena and Nicolae Ceauşescu. He was a nasty piece of work.”

  “Oh yeah. How exactly?”

  Morrison looked at her. “Some of this is familiar from history class. You never learned about it in school?”

  “Nope. I wasn’t all that keen on high school. I might have missed a few classes here and there.”

  Morrison’s mouth lifted in a half grin. “You would have been too young at that time but I was a teenager during his dictatorship so I remember bits and pieces. It’s entirely likely that the Orlovs emigrated because of the nastiness going on in their country. I don’t recall anything in their file, though.”

  “It wouldn’t have been considered relevant to Zoe’s murder, I guess.”

  “No, I suppose not. It would have even less relevance to Vivian McKenna’s death.”

  The truck in front of them was making a sudden left turn without signalling, coming to a sudden stop and pulling partway into the oncoming lane. Kala braked and her rear tires fishtailed on the icy road. She tapped the horn as she managed to swerve around the car, narrowly missing its back bumper.

  “Idiot,” said Morrison. “Some people shouldn’t be on the road.”

  “Gets the heart pounding.”

  They arrived at the McKenna house without further incident. Kala got out of the truck at the same time as Lauren McKenna stepped out her front door.

  “She looks ragged,” said Morrison.

  “I’d love to talk to her but expect she’s on her way to join her mother.”

  “Don’t look now but she’s seen us and is coming our way.”

  As Lauren got closer, Kala could see her red, puffy eyes and pale skin. She looked gutted. Kala touched her on the arm. “I’m sorry about your dad. This has been a tough week for you and your family.”

  “We’ve had better.” A quick smile. “My brother Tristan. Have you arrested him?”

  “Not as far as I know. He’s only being ques-tioned.”

  “This is insane. He and Vivian were getting along and he was so happy about the baby and becoming a father.”

  “We’re only working to get at the truth.”

  Lauren looked at Morrison and back at Kala. “My father told me a confidence last summer that I think I should share now that he’s gone.”

  “Is it relevant to the case?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Would you like to come into the station to make a statement?”

  Lauren looked back at the house and down the street. A car drove slowly past the driveway but didn’t stop. “What I’d like is to sit somewhere warm away from here with a cup of coffee and tell you off the record first. Is that possible?”

  Kala considered the request. Lauren looked on the verge of falling apart and they might not get this chance again. She said, “All things are possible. Tell us where you want to go.”

  “Do you know the Tim Hortons on Princess?”

  “Sure,” said Morrison.

  “I’ll meet you there. It should be quiet this time of day.”

  Back in the truck. Morrison looked over at the Orlov house. “Guess they’ll still be here later,” she said.

  “If this doesn’t take too long, we can come back afterward. If not, there’s always tomorrow.”

  Kala turned the heater on high, switched on the windshield wipers, and pulled slowly away from the curb. She squirted washer fluid on the glass at regular intervals as she tried to clear enough ice from the windshield to see the road ahead. Each swipe of the wipers left smears of ice crystals in frosted patterns, making visibility difficult. Luckily, traffic had slowed to a crawl. Morrison kept an eagle eye on the road from the passenger seat, straining to see past the ice and scanning the street and walkways for pedestrians. “Bloody horrible weather,” she said.

  They passed a car facing the wrong way, spun out in the ditch. The driver was waving his arms talking to a tow-truck operator parked on the shoulder of the road. By the time Kala pulled safely into the coffee shop’s parking lot, Mother Nature had blanketed the earlier layer of fresh snow on the roads and trees with a topcoat of hail that continued to pour down from the swollen clouds in icy sheets.

  Lauren considered skipping the rendezvous with the two female cops and heading straight to the bar, but thought better of it in the end. She reminded herself that the only reason she was sticking around was to help Tristan and this was an opportunity to change the story. At least she’d chosen a coffee shop on her route to the Iron Duke.

  The two cops were already seated with cups of coffee when she arrived. They’d paid for hers and the kid behind the counter handed her a full mug upon entry. She took the vacant seat next to the older woman in uniform, across from the intense-looking aboriginal
one. They waited until she had her coat off.

  “You had something to tell us,” Officer Stonechild said.

  Wasting no time. Lauren took a deep breath. “Dad told me that he thought Tristan might have killed Zoe Delgado at first but he knew later that he didn’t. He told me that he knew for sure that Tristan didn’t kill her.” She could see skepticism in Stonechild’s eyes, but the officer kept it out of her voice.

  “Did your father say that he knew who killed Zoe?”

  “Well, that’s what I understood. Why else would he say that he knew for a fact the killer wasn’t Tristan?”

  “Did he say how he knew or whom he suspected?”

  “Not specifically, but he said that because of what he’d done, he couldn’t come forward. He had no proof and he’d be blamed. His exact words were that it would do nobody any good if he came forward.”

  The two officers looked at each other. They seemed to be silently coming to an agreement on whether or not her story was credible. Lauren kept her eyes steady on the aboriginal cop and willed her to believe. Their eyes met.

  “The thing is,” Officer Stonechild began, “this doesn’t change anything. You’ve only given us what amounts to hearsay and sadly we can’t confirm anything with your dad now.”

  “I was afraid of that but I was hoping you wouldn’t just focus on Tristan for these murders; that this would have you looking at others who could have killed Zoe, and now Vivian.”

  Stonechild appeared to be thinking. She drank half of her cup of coffee before setting it down and resting her arms on the table. “Do you have any idea what your father did that would have him blamed for Zoe’s murder?”

  It was Lauren’s turn to hesitate. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to give up this detail but knew she’d opened the can of worms and couldn’t go back. As it stood, her mother and Adam would never forgive her. Once she broke family loyalty, she’d be more of a pariah than she was already. She sipped her coffee and looked toward the door. She could leave now with her father’s secret and they’d never find out.

  “We won’t tell anybody if it’s not relevant.” Officer Stonechild’s gaze was direct. Her unwavering black eyes invited trust.

  Lauren swallowed all the reasons she should remain silent. “All right.” She breathed in and released. “Dad found Zoe dead behind our house next to the garage in the early evening, before anyone knew she was missing. He said that he was in shock but knew he had to protect Tristan because his first thought was that my brother had killed her. He told me that he was running on adrenaline and acted without thinking anything through. He told me that it was only later that he came to know that Tristan was innocent. When he found her, Dad hid Zoe’s body in the woods behind our house and moved her farther down the Rideau Trail when it got dark. He washed away the blood and said the rain started in the night and helped even more. Also, the police never had a good look in our backyard because of where she was found on the trail.”

  “Why would he have done that?”

  “I told you. He thought Tristan had killed her and was trying to protect him. It was later that Dad found out Tristan hadn’t done it and by then it was too late to admit what he’d done. He told me that he always felt terrible about moving her, especially when everyone was searching for her. She was like a daughter to him.”

  “He could have come forward when he knew Tristan was innocent, if he really believed that. Did he say anything about finding a knife?”

  “No.”

  Stonechild shifted in her seat but continued staring at her. “You only have your father’s word that any of this happened as he told you.”

  “I know my father and he would never have hurt Zoe. Never. She wasn’t raped, I know that. The police told us and we were all relieved that she hadn’t had to spend her last minutes dealing with that horror.”

  Morrison said, “She was found fully clothed.”

  Lauren nodded. “That’s what we were told. Dad must have been in torment, keeping silent. He was still wracked with guilt when he told me. I was home for his last birthday and he confessed this to me. He’d found out a few months earlier that he had cancer.” Lauren didn’t like how the two cops were staring at her. “I was the only one Dad told and he swore me to secrecy. Was I wrong to tell you?”

  “You’re never wrong to tell the truth no matter how much time has passed. Lauren, I need to ask. Was your father’s mind sharp when you saw him last?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Could he have imagined what he told you? Could his mind have played tricks on him as he neared the end of his life? He might have been taking drugs for the cancer.”

  “I never saw signs of dementia if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Officer Stonechild sat still for a moment before she stood up. She looked down at Lauren. “I know this wasn’t easy but you’ve done the right thing. Do you have anything more to tell us?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll be in touch soon once we sort out what this could mean. If I could ask one thing of you, Lauren: Please don’t share this information with anyone else.”

  “Believe me, Officer, that’s the last thing I’ll be doing.”

  “And if you remember any more details from what your father told you, even ones that seem inconsequential, please get in touch with us.”

  “Of course.”

  Lauren watched their truck skid out of the parking lot through the frost-streaked window and finished drinking her lukewarm coffee. Had she done the right thing? She had no way of knowing. They might doubt what she told them, but she knew she’d given them something new to chew on. Information they couldn’t ignore.

  They might skip the part about her dad saying he found out Tristan hadn’t killed Zoe and use the fact she’d been moved from their backyard as more proof that he had. If she’d told them that her father had found the knife and thrown it in the river, she knew for sure they would have blamed him or maybe even gone after her father. He’d believed the killer had got the knife from his unlocked workshop. He knew how it would look to the police.

  No, she’d been right to keep silent about the knife.

  She checked her watch. Two thirty already. By the time she got to the bar, it would be close to three and a respectable hour to have that drink. A reward for sacrificing her sanity to spend another day in this town. And if one drink stretched into four or five or six, a night of oblivion wouldn’t hurt anybody.

  God knows she’d earned a night off.

  chapter sixteen

  Rouleau’s late-morning meeting with Sally Rackham from Human Resources and the union rep Larry Thibault took place in Heath’s office at a round table in front of frosty windows with a view of steadily falling snow. Rouleau positioned himself to face the window and he watched the storm battering against the glass while he waited for Sally to start the meeting. Woodhouse was not present but Thibault would represent him in this opening jockeying for position.

  Sally, pregnant with her third child, was sipping a carton of milk and eating a bran muffin while shuffling through papers she’d pulled out of a manila file folder. Larry tapped the table with a pen as if the staccato jabs would hurry her along. She wasn’t to be rushed.

  “Ah, here it is. The Woodhouse grievance, which I’ll summarize, although you both should have received a copy. Jacques, he complains that you did not hold a competition for the acting position now held by Officer Paul Gundersund. He also claims that you’ve given preferential treatment to Officer Kala Stonechild, whom he says is on loan to the force and has been routinely given the lead investigator role on homicide cases spanning the last sixteen months. He accuses her of taking credit for his work and gives the Della Munroe case as an example.” She rubbed the underside of her belly as she talked.

  Rouleau was half expecting her to ask him how he wanted to plead. He cleared his throat. “Paul Gundersund and Kala Stonechild are both productive, capable team players. Whatever tasks they’ve taken on are merit-based. I might add th
at Paul Gundersund’s recent acting position while I am acting for Captain Heath was expected to be for a short duration. Woodhouse’s claims against Stonechild are baseless.”

  “Officer Zach Woodhouse has been on the force longer than either of them. He’s gotten an excellent review from his previous partner, Officer Ed Chalmers, who had a thirty-five-year exemplary career with the Kingston force, as well as from three other distinguished members of the force.” Thibault sat back in his chair after he spoke and crossed his arms across his chest. He looked every inch an ex-cop gone to seed: the buttons on his white shirt stretched to popping over an out-of-shape belly, paunches of fatty skin saggy under his eyes. He’d slicked back his black hair with gel that glistened in the fluorescent lighting. Vera had prepped Rouleau by telling him that Thibault had been an average cop who took the union job early on in his career. He was a lot of bluster but had the union’s power behind him. She’d warned that he was quite capable of making Rouleau’s life difficult if he chose.

  “They were partners, yes, but I would say that Officer Chalmers eased out of his position some time before his actual retirement date.”

  “Are you saying that he wasn’t performing up to his capacity?” Sally asked.

  Rouleau paused. “His performance reports will show a lack of initiative, particularly in the latter stage of his career. I would also say that up until this point, Officer Woodhouse has not demonstrated leadership skills or above-average policing ability. However, he is taking a lead role in our latest homicide investigation. This will give him experience as well as the opportunity to demonstrate his overall competence.”

  Sally smiled. “Very good. I’m also now clear to share with you both that Captain Heath is taking a year’s sabbatical and we will be running an acting competition for his position. You will be encouraged to apply, Sergeant Rouleau.”

  “I was hoping Captain Heath would be back soon.” Rouleau kept his face impassive but inside he was in turmoil. An entire year.

  “We’ll insist on a second competition for whomever is replacing Sergeant Rouleau if he should take Heath’s spot for the year,” said Thibault.