Bleeding Darkness Read online

  “Tell me what you remember and I’ll ignore whatever is not germane to the case.”

  “Very well then. Tristan was away on trips off and on last year, travelling around the province for workshops and book signings. He even made a long publicity jaunt across the southern U.S. He was depressed about his royalties from the first book dwindling away and was trying to get his career back on track.”

  “I understand.”

  “Vivian had a gentleman caller sometimes when Tristan was gone. Not every time, but the reason I started watching was because of how quiet they were coming in and out, as if they didn’t want to be noticed.” Wendy looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

  “Did you know who he was or can you give me a description?”

  “No. I never saw him except for his back when he went into her condo a couple of times. He was taller than Vivian and always went in ahead of her. Wore a dark coat, I think navy. She’d stand in the hall and shut the door after them.”

  “How do you know that he was a regular visitor if you only saw his back a few times?”

  “I’d hear their voices through the door.”

  Kala paused before saying, “You’d leave your apartment and listen at their door, is that what you’re saying?”

  “It sounds so snoopy hearing you say it out loud, but yes, I’d cross the hall on my way to the garbage chute and listen at their door. I was worried for Tristan, you see. I knew how upset he’d be. I needed to be sure I wasn’t imagining the worst of Vivian without giving her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Perhaps they were simply friends.”

  “I’d like to have believed that.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I heard him leave very early one morning. I’m sure they thought I was asleep but I’m something of an insomniac.”

  “But you didn’t see him?”

  “No, by the time I got to my peephole, he was at the other end of the hall and Vivian was shutting the door. She was wearing a filmy red nightgown, I can tell you that.”

  “Do you know the dates that he visited?”

  “That’s asking a lot. I didn’t write them down or try to keep track but I can tell you that the visits stopped last summer — or was it later in the spring?” She tapped her forehead. “Retirement makes all the days slide into each other. Sorry, I’m so obtuse.”

  “Did you tell Tristan what was going on?”

  “No, dear. After thinking it over for a long while, I decided that telling him would do more harm than good. What happens between him and his wife is not my business. I only came to this conclusion after a lot of soul searching. Then Tristan seemed so much happier what with the news of the baby and I believed that their troubles were under the bridge.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think Tristan found out on his own?”

  “Not that we’ve uncovered.”

  “That’s a relief. He’s the kind of man needs protecting. Sensitive, with no protective shell. Maybe that’s what makes him such a good writer.”

  “Did he ever speak about the death of his high school girlfriend?”

  “Goodness, no.” Wendy clutched at the shirt fabric over her heart. “How did she die?”

  “She was stabbed in the yard behind his house. The killer was never charged.”

  “Why that’s tragic. No wonder Tristan was so fragile. I’m honestly shocked.”

  Kala studied the woman in front of her. She saw no guile on her face, nor any sign that she was acting to protect the man she thought of as her friend. “The question of Tristan’s guilt in these two deaths does not seem to have crossed your mind,” she said, keeping the skepticism out of her voice.

  “Tristan? A killer?” Wendy pursed her lips as she frowned and thought over the idea. “Of course, we’re all capable of murder, and we can never fully know a person, but if Tristan killed either of those poor girls, I’d say that I’ve completely misjudged him. The Tristan whom I came to know would more likely be the victim than the killer.”

  Gaudette drove Kala to one last stop before taking her to the airport for a direct morning flight to Toronto. It was still early morning in the East and with the two-hour time change, she’d be home by lunchtime. Rosedale Manor was an assisted-living facility across the street from Edmonton General Hospital. Vivian’s mother, Bea Peterson, was in her wheelchair, awaiting Kala in the downstairs living room near the gas fireplace. The room was bright and warmer than Kala liked, especially as fatigue was setting in. She’d be better off interviewing Bea outside in the fresh air but knew that would never happen.

  “Thank you for seeing me.” Kala sat on the leather couch across from her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Bea’s head wobbled on her long neck and one eye twitched behind thick lenses. “I never thought Vivian would go before me. When will she be coming home so we can bury her?”

  “I think soon but I’m not the one to decide. I can tell you that the length of time we keep the body is not unusual in cases such as Vivian’s.”

  “I’d like to have gone to Kingston but my doctor forbade the travel. Vivian’s father died ten months ago or I know wild horses wouldn’t have kept him away.” Her hands trembled and she laced her fingers and folded them in her lap. “Did she suffer?”

  “No. She died quickly and likely didn’t know what was happening.” Kala spoke with certainty even though she had no true way of knowing. What good would it have done now to distress this woman further?

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Can you tell me anything that could help us to find Vivian’s killer?”

  “Such as?”

  “How she and Tristan were getting along, other relationships she was involved in, her state of mind this past while, or whatever you can remember her telling you about her life.”

  “Vivian was happy about the baby, which I have to say came as something of a surprise.”

  “How so?”

  “Vivie never wanted kids. Liked being free and unfettered.”

  “Did she feel the same way about her marriage?”

  Bea smiled. “She always was a hard one to pin down. Her dad spoiled her something rotten, you see, and made her into his princess. Bothered me now and then but they were two of a kind, really. My role was to be their cheerleader, which I accepted and grew okay with over time because I never liked the limelight. They were a pair of peacocks, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do.” Kala reached over and rested a hand on Bea’s hands. They felt bony and frail and were shaking uncontrollably under her touch. “I hate to have to ask you this, but was your daughter having an affair last year?”

  Bea’s right leg began jumping involuntarily but she met Kala’s eyes without acknowledging her body’s betrayal. “If she was, she never told me. However, it wouldn’t surprise me. She was a lot like her daddy, as I already said.”

  “What did you think about Tristan and how he treated Vivian? Were they good together?”

  “Tristan?” Her smile returned. “Such a thoughtful man. He calls me every day from Kingston, you know. He would have made such a good father.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Vivian didn’t know what a decent man she had and gave him a bit of a hard time before she got pregnant. She thought he was a failure because he wasn’t bringing in much money, but he had a new book idea that he told me would put him back on the bestseller list. His agent was excited too. Vivian would have settled down once everything fell into place.”

  “Were Tristan and Vivian fighting?”

  “Well now, if they were, it was behind them. Vivian had a sharp tongue and never hesitated to tell Tristan that he had to get his act together, but he never let on that it bothered him. At least not in front of me. As for arguments behind closed doors, I never pried.”

  “And you’re certain you didn’t know if Vivian was having an affair?”

  Bea pursed her lips and rubbed a hand jerkily across her eyes. “I can’t say anything for sure about what Vivian was up to after she left home. I on
ly knew what she wanted me to know. The closest she might have come to telling me her plans was on our last visit when she said that she was waiting for the right time. It was like she was thinking out loud, but when I asked her what she meant by that, she clammed up. Then she laughed like she did when she was working to wrap me around her little finger and said, ‘But you’ll never judge me, right, Mommy?’ and she laid her head on my arm like she did when she was little and I patted her hair. That’s one of my last memories of her. It’s how I’m going to remember her.”

  Kala met Officer Gaudette in front of the nursing home and they compared notes as she sped across town to the airport, letting Kala out in the drop-off zone. Before Kala stepped out of the car, Gaudette promised to send everything they gleaned from the computers, including a search for the name of the man with whom Vivian had allegedly been having an affair the year before.

  “You’ve been a great help,” said Kala, shaking Gaudette’s hand. “I’ll be waiting to see what else you uncover.”

  “I should have something to you by the end of the week. If McKenna killed his wife, we’ll do all we can to get the prosecution.”

  Kala had to run down the corridor before the door to the WestJet plane closed and only just made it. She sank into her seat, legs aching, out of breath, but happy to be going home. The flight would give her lots of time to read through Vivian’s Day-timer and search for signs of the mystery man. She’d also type up a report with what little she’d learned so far. All in all, the trip had given some new insight into Vivian and her marriage that Kala was eager to share with Gundersund and the team.

  chapter thirty-two

  Lauren thought that she and Tristan made a fine pair when they finally went outside at 2:00 to shovel the snow, which had stopped falling an hour before. She was still feeling the effects of the hangover and Tristan had the vacant, dishevelled look of a man barely hanging on. He’d slept through breakfast and had only gotten out of bed when Evelyn banged on his door.

  Adam’s car was nearest to the road and he went out before them to clear it off and warm up the interior. Mona, with Evelyn on her arm, tromped through the snow ten minutes later and the three of them drove off for groceries and a liquor store run.

  Your bad knee didn’t stop you from an outing to the shops, Lauren thought.

  “Don’t expect us back until late in the afternoon,” Adam said as he helped Evelyn into the front passenger seat. “We’ll stop somewhere for lunch first.”

  Tristan leaned on his shovel and watched them go. “The terrible trio departs while the dastardly duo is left to clear out the laneway. You’ve heard that Mother is moving to Vancouver to be close to them?”

  “She told me this morning. Saint Mona’s doing, if I had to bet.”

  “Adam’s not as enthused.”

  “I imagine you’ll be getting many visits, too.”

  “I might need to move east.” He pulled a half-smoked joint out of his jacket pocket and turned out of the wind to light up.

  “A little hair of the dog?” he asked Lauren, offering her the joint after he’d taken a long toke.

  “No, thanks. Keeping a clear head.” She hadn’t even smoked a cigarette in a week, but didn’t want to jinx herself by admitting she was trying to quit.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Between them, they cleared the driveway and the walkway in under an hour because the snow was light and easily removed. The snowplow hadn’t been by so the end of the laneway wasn’t filled in yet, making their lives easier. The plow operators were probably waiting to do the crescents and side streets until after the second storm dropped its load later in the day and overnight.

  Lauren had begun to feel better. Surprisingly, the bracing air and exertion were becoming her hangover tonic. The cloud cover was blocking out the sun and the dull light was keeping the throbbing behind her eyes at an acceptable level. She called Tristan over to her at the end of the drive. “Are you okay to start on the Orlovs’ driveway now?”

  “I thought you wanted to get into their house?”

  “I do, but if we shovel their driveway Boris might let you in to look at his birdhouses.”

  “Leaving you free to sneak upstairs and root around.”

  “The best plans are simple ones.”

  “Can’t argue.”

  They worked alongside each other, heaving snow onto the already substantial banks lining the Orlovs’ driveway. Partway up the drive, Lauren lifted her head and spotted Boris in the living-room window, watching them work, but he didn’t return her wave before he disappeared deeper into the room. By the time she and Tristan reached the house, they were both sweating under their toques and down jackets, Lauren’s having been borrowed from Evelyn’s closet.

  “I vote we go home and forget about the Orlovs,” Tristan said. “I could do with a shower.”

  “You promised you’d help me with this.”

  “With what, exactly? If by some bizarre twist in the universe, Boris Orlov killed Zoe and now Vivian, which stretches incredibility to the breaking point, and oh yeah, his wife is really his sister and they’ve been KGB spies living next door for thirty years with a ham radio in the attic transmitting the goings-on of the neighbours to Mother Russia, then what are we waiting for? You and I are fully equipped to bring the two pinko spies in from the cold and turn them in to law enforcement.”

  “I know you think I’m being paranoid, but I’m worried. Something isn’t right.”

  “Good Christ Almighty, Lauren.” He scowled at her and dropped his shovel before stomping his way over to the Orlovs’ side door and pounding on it with his fist. “Hello, anybody home?” he yelled.

  She had no choice but to follow and hope that he didn’t say something stupid. Nobody answered his knocks and Tristan half-turned to look back at her with a grin on his face. “Maybe they’re up in the attic plotting the downfall of the West.” Before he could take a step toward her, the door swung open and Boris was filling the entrance staring at them. He hadn’t shaved and grey stubble marked his cheeks and chin. His eyes were steady, unblinking like a snake.

  The bravado drooped out of Tristan’s shoulders. “Hey Boris,” he said. “How’s it going, man?”

  “Good.”

  Lauren stepped forward and nudged Tristan aside. “We got the last layer of snow off your drive and we’ll be back to clear it again after the next storm ends. We were wondering how Antonia’s doing. Does she need to go to the grocery store or anything?”

  “No. We have lots of food.”

  “Is she up and about yet? Mother’s been asking when she’s coming over to visit.”

  “She’s in the kitchen drinking tea. Would you like to say hello?”

  Lauren blinked. “Why yes, we would.”

  She felt Tristan poke her in the side through her jacket but ignored him and followed Boris into the house. Tristan came too and they took off their boots and entered the kitchen where Antonia was sitting at the table with a pot of tea and a half-full cup in front of her. She was wearing a salmon-pink housecoat with black slippers on her swollen feet and her hair was hidden under a silk scarf tied at the nape of her neck. She nodded and smiled at them, her eyes darting between them and Boris like a little mouse on high alert.

  “So good to see you up,” said Lauren, moving closer to the table. “How’re you feeling, Antonia?”

  “Goot. I’m goot.” Antonia stretched her neck to see past Lauren to Boris, who was leaning against the counter.

  Lauren made another effort to draw her out. “Mother wonders when you’ll be over for tea.”

  “Storm coming,” said Antonia. “Will be bad one.”

  Lauren turned and looked at Tristan. He was standing in the doorway with his toque in his hands looking uncomfortable. He caught her eyes and coughed. “I’d love to see your birdhouses, Boris.”

  Boris scratched his head. “They’re not put together yet. I have to go out later to get supplies at the hardware store. Come back another time.”


  “Sure. I could do that.”

  Lauren made a face at Tristan but he didn’t take the hint and push the issue. Neither Boris nor Antonia made any move to ask them to sit down or to have tea and she felt her opportunity to speak alone with Antonia slip away.

  Tristan shoved his toque onto his head. “I’ll tell Evelyn that you’ll be over after the storm,” he said. “Coming, sis?”

  Boris followed them to the door. “Antonia’s had the flu but is getting back on her feet. Let your mother know we’ll come by to help her out when you’ve all gone home.”

  Lauren and Tristan didn’t speak again until they’d crossed the yard and were back in their own driveway.

  “She doesn’t seem in distress,” offered Tristan, using his I-told-you-so voice.

  “I’m not so sure. Boris wouldn’t leave us alone with her, did you notice?”

  “I didn’t take it that way.”

  “I haven’t got an explanation yet for the photo of her with two children and another man, or the photo of her with another kid who looks a lot like Boris, whom she said was her brother.”

  “She was hallucinating. You told me yourself that she appeared drugged.”

  “I’d still like to get her alone.” Lauren walked ahead of him up the steps. “I just have to work out how.”

  Boris watched David’s kids walk across the snowy lawn to their driveway where they stopped to talk. The girl, Lauren, who never seemed comfortable inside her own skin, had a sour expression on her face and glanced toward his house a couple of times as she said something to her brother. Boris stepped closer to the window, trying to read her lips but without success. He watched as the brother crossed back to the driveway and picked up the shovels from where they’d left them on the ground. He walked past his sister and leaned the shovels against the garage before following her inside the front door. Boris waited until he was certain the McKenna kids weren’t coming outside again before he returned to the kitchen.