Turning Secrets Page 9

  “That would be good. I don’t like to think of you alone here all day.”

  Dawn smiled. “I like being alone, Aunt Kala. I’m your clone.”

  “Goodness, not something to aim for.” Kala grimaced, but she was secretly relieved that Dawn was so self-sufficient. At the same time, she worried that Dawn was turning into a loner. At least she had friends who invited her to movies. That had to be something positive. “I’m hoping we’ll get far enough along in the investigation today that I can take tomorrow afternoon off.”

  “Don’t worry if you can’t.”

  Twenty minutes later Kala stepped outside, juggling a mug of coffee, her handbag, and the truck keys. She stood for a moment on the top step and surveyed the sparkling spring morning. Breathed in the sweetness. Wispy white clouds hung far away on the horizon — not enough to threaten rain — and the sky reflected icy blue on the rippling waters of Lake Ontario. The grass was greening up nicely, nourished by days of rain and today warmed by the sun.

  In October she and Dawn had dug up a large rectangle of lawn to the right of the deck and hauled in half a truckload of black earth and compost. A few weeks ago Dawn had planted carrot and radish seeds, and already sprouts were showing through the thick loam. They planned to grow lettuce, tomatoes, and beans when the weather warmed enough to plant a summer harvest. They were both new to gardening but Dawn was becoming an encyclopedia of information, spending hours reading up on the internet about best growing practices. Kala saw this new pastime as them putting down roots — both physically and metaphorically.

  Gundersund was in his driveway when she drove by. He spotted her and waved before opening the door to his Mustang. She slowed and he soon caught up in her rear-view mirror. He followed her along the waterfront and north to Division, which took them to headquarters. The parking lot was half-empty and they found spaces side by side.

  “Thanks for the police escort,” she said when she joined him behind their vehicles.

  “Just making sure you arrive safely. Don’t want you slipping off and having a good time when the rest of us are stuck working.” His blond hair was combed straight back from his forehead, wet from a recent shower. He hadn’t shaved the beard and moustache that he’d grown on his time off. Not for the first time, Kala imagined him wearing Viking armour and brandishing a sword instead of the coffee thermos dangling from his hand.

  “Isn’t working considered a good time?” she asked, falling into step with him.

  “Only if you’re in the circus. And a monkey riding a bicycle at that.” He shot her a sideways glance with his intense blue eyes. “I thought I’d take you up on that meal offer, if it’s still open.”

  She tried not to act surprised. “When we get an early night, I can pick up some steaks. Dawn will be happy to see you. Do you think … would Fiona like to join us?”

  “She might if I ask her but I’d rather it be just the three of us. Like it used to be.”

  She was curious about his response but relieved not to have to entertain Fiona for an evening. Making small talk with her would have been more awkwardness than she was prepared to handle.

  Bennett called to them from where he stood waiting with the main door open. “Looks like we’re all making it in under the wire,” he said when they reached him. He lifted a box of doughnuts from where he’d been holding it at his side. “I brought breakfast.”

  “I didn’t have time to eat so I owe you one,” said Gundersund. “Don’t all champions start the day with a maple-glazed?”

  “Only the plump ones,” said Kala.

  Rouleau was already in the office, and he called them into the meeting space as soon as they hung up their coats. Bennett slid in next to Kala, Morrison on her other side. Woodhouse and Bedouin were directly behind them. Gundersund joined Rouleau standing at the front.

  “The gang’s all here,” said Bedouin. “Ready for another day in the trenches.”

  “For which I thank each one of you,” said Rouleau. “Let’s get started so we can be home with our loved ones at a decent hour. Woodhouse, you’re up first. Anything come out of the door-to-door?”

  “The super, Jeff Simmons, has a cot in the furnace room that I checked out just because it seemed creepy. Nothing there but turns out he’s a bit light in the front-end loader, if you get my drift. I’d put his name on the suspect list until we know more about him. His brother Murray Simmons owns the building. He should be checked out too.”

  Gundersund wrote their names on the white-board.

  Morrison said, “I spoke to one of the first-floor tenants, who said that the owner usually visits the building for an hour, two nights a week. She figures he’s checking on his brother.” She looked at her notebook. “She thought he was there Monday, not sure about Friday because he also comes during the day sometimes. The tenant’s name is Hilda Schwartz.”

  “Sounds like one of those nosy old women sitting at her living room window with a telescope aimed at the neighbours,” said Woodhouse. “Let me guess. She was wearing curlers and a housecoat.”

  “Not too hard to guess she’s a bit down and out, living in that building,” said Morrison. “But no curlers or housecoat anywhere in sight.”

  “Give her time.”

  “Anything else on point, Woodhouse?” asked Rouleau.

  “We canvassed the neighbourhood and nobody remembers seeing the vic that night.”

  “Surely someone saw her getting into a car or walking to the bus.”

  “Not that we found.”

  “Do a second door-to-door today. People will be home from work or school. Did you go to the local bars and stores?”

  “We did. Nobody has any recollection of seeing her.”

  “A second go-around might pick up those who were off shift yesterday.”

  “We’ll get on it. I know for a fact the woman living across the hall from Nadia was home, but not answering. We’ll be more insistent this time.” Woodhouse rested his gaze briefly on each member of the team, asserting his control.

  Kala saw Rouleau intercept the look before he said, “You can have Bennett and Bedouin. I’d like Stonechild and Morrison to return to Ottawa to follow up with Nadia’s parents and attempt to track down this fellow Danny and his friends. Find out what school Nadia attended when she actually went, where she hung out. I’ve cleared this with the Ottawa force and they’ll offer assistance as required.”

  Kala met Morrison’s eyes. Morrison looked back at Rouleau and said, “Sir, I believe I can make this reconnaissance trip alone today. Stonechild might be better placed to look into the Simmons brothers and get their stories. If I need any backup, I can recruit an Ottawa cop.”

  “I’d also like another run out to the construction site,” said Kala. She turned toward Rouleau. “That is, if you agree.” She didn’t know what was written on her face that Morrison had picked up on but she hadn’t relished the idea of a trip to Ottawa that would have her getting home late again to Dawn. Rose’s panic about Fisher might be unfounded, but it was enough to make Kala cautious.

  “Works.” Rouleau nodded.

  “What would you like me to focus on today?” asked Gundersund.

  “Check out the restaurant where Nadia worked part-time and interview her co-workers. At this point, we’re trying to find out her patterns and the people she interacted with, even occasionally. I’ve got the tech team taking apart her laptop and phone to get more leads. However, she only bought the laptop a few months ago so there’s not much on it yet. But the phone is an older model that she’s used for a few years.” Rouleau pointed at the whiteboard. “We have very few leads or suspects. We need to fill in the gaps and find out who Nadia Armstrong was and what brought her to the construction site.”

  After the team had dispersed to get on with things, Rouleau returned to his office. He checked his messages. Ellington had lined up Vera to organize a press briefing for 2:00 p.m. A text from Vera followed: a request for Rouleau to call her at home as soon as he had a chance. He sat down at
his desk and dialled her number. She answered so quickly he thought she might have been in the process of making another call.

  “Happy Saturday morning, Vera. What’s going on?”

  “His highness wants you to send him the latest information about the Armstrong case by noon. He’s decided to make a plea on television for public assistance in tracking down her killer.”

  “And why didn’t Ellington tell me this himself?”

  “My sense is that he was told from above to get in front of the story. He’s going to meet us at City Hall at quarter to twelve.”

  “He’s calling you in?”

  “I have the command in writing.”

  They were both silent while Rouleau considered what Ellington was up to. Vera was an executive admin assistant and never attended news briefings.

  He knew her enough to read the outrage in her clipped explanation. “I’m to wear a tight-fitting navy suit and full makeup. Paint my lips a cherry red. He said something about branding the department.”

  “I’m sorry, Vera. Are you going to HR?”

  “I’m keeping records and biding my time.”

  “I’d be happy to set him straight.”

  “What, and save a damsel in distress? No thanks, Rouleau. I’m a big girl and can fight my own battles.”

  “It’s hardly a fair fight, with him being your boss.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need your help. I’d appreciate you staying out of this.”

  Her voice had a steely quality that was meant to shut down the conversation but he added anyway, “Just know that I’m prepared to unleash whatever is necessary whenever you give the word.”

  “I don’t expect it will come to that. Look, I need to go. I’m still calling news outlets, among other things.”

  “And I have a report to get ready.”

  She said a terse goodbye and ended the call.

  Rouleau sat for a moment staring out the window, imagining himself stretched out in a lawn chair with the sun warming his face instead of stuck inside typing another report. At least he was back in Major Crimes and closer to the action. Closer to his team. Vera was the only casualty in his decision to turn down acting chief and she weighed heavily on his conscience. He was going to have to think of a way to help without her knowing. The trick would be not to make things worse for her when he confronted Ellington.

  “Do you have a moment, sir?”

  He swivelled his chair around. Stonechild was standing in the doorway, her hand raised to knock. “Of course. Come in and take a seat.” He shoved the report to one side.

  “Thank you. I’m on my way to the construction site but wanted to run something by you first.”

  She crossed the space and sat, letting her breath out in a long sigh as she settled on the edge of the seat. She looked as if she was having trouble broaching whatever it was she wanted to say. He was surprised to see her so hesitant. “Does this concern the case?” he asked.

  “Yes and no.” She seemed to reach a decision. “I don’t normally get involved in office politics,” she began.

  “I think we can safely agree on that.” He smiled but she didn’t smile back.

  Her brow furrowed. “Certain evidence has come forward to suggest that we might have a lead on the person in the force who’s been leaking information to the media.”

  “Oh?”

  “The proof is slim but compelling, and I wanted to warn you so that you can take steps to … protect yourself if it ever comes to light. What most concerns me is that if one person knows …”

  “Word will get around.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I’d like to know for certain before saying. However, the reporter with whom this officer was seen sharing information — that is, potentially sharing information since even this is unproven — was Marci Stokes.”

  “I see.”

  And he did see. Marci was a reporter first and foremost and would do anything to get a story. Of course she’d line up an informant if it meant getting the inside scoop before anyone else. It was how she was wired. He’d long suspected she was being fed info but he knew she’d never reveal her source.

  Stonechild’s eyes were black pools of regret. “I’m concerned that your relationship with her will be blamed for any future leaks.”

  “Any suggestions as to how to stop that from happening?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have an answer, sir.”

  He ran a hand across his shaved head and let it rest on the nape of his neck. “Let me think on it.”

  “When I get concrete evidence, I’ll bring it to you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Thank you for coming forward Kala. I know this wasn’t an easy conversation.”

  “No problem.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be keeping an eye out. Hopefully, I’m worrying for no reason.”

  “That would be the best outcome.”

  He watched her leave. Stonechild wouldn’t have approached him without solid evidence, although it must not be ironclad if she wouldn’t name the informant … yet. He’d suspected Woodhouse but given the man’s previous HR complaint against him, he had to tread carefully. If Stonechild could get the evidence, they could finally remove the thorn from the team.

  Rouleau wished things were as straightforward when it came to his relationship with Marci. Did her methods for getting a story matter? Should they even be an issue, or were they a sign of trouble between them down the road? He took one long last look out the window and forced himself to set aside these worries for now. He had a report to write, and the clock was ticking.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kala parked under a pine at the opening to the construction site and brought up Google Earth on her phone, zooming in on the site and the surrounding area. The new hotel location was immediately south of the 401 in a wooded parcel of land that stretched northwest of the juncture of Gardiners and Creekford Roads. East of Gardiners was a commercial area with a couple of fast-food chain restaurants and motels. Warehouses and sports facilities spanned southward at the same latitude as a new subdivision and a large animal hospital. The St. Louis Bar and Grill was the closest pub on the map. Could Nadia have met her killer there?

  Kala got out of her truck and looked down the road toward the sound of heavy equipment and men yelling over the hum of machinery. In her immediate sightline, directly in front of the half-built hotel, she recognized the site foreman, Bill Lapointe. He was talking to two men — one in a black overcoat, the other in a blue suit, both wearing white hard hats — standing next to a Mortimer Construction truck. They’d spread out what looked like architectural drawings over the hood of the truck. Kala realized as she approached that they hadn’t noticed her arrival. She stopped walking and listened to their raised voices.

  “Bottom line, you have to scale it back.” The blue-suited man, who was the tallest and youngest of the three, was tapping his index finger on the plans. “This will never get through council.”

  Lapointe glanced up and said something to the others. His two companions lifted their heads and turned to look in her direction. Lapointe rounded the truck and began walking toward her. The man in the black overcoat removed his hard hat, revealing a balding head. He folded up the drawings and waited along with the other man.

  “Can I help you, officer?” asked Lapointe. “I thought you were done here.”

  “I came to have another look. Who are those two men you’re talking with?”

  Lapointe glanced back at them, then directly at her. “The man in the black coat is the owner, Harold Mortimer. The other one is a city planner.”

  “His name?”

  “Mark Richardson.”

  “Looks like you’re having a debate about the site.”

  Lapointe shrugged. “Construction. Goes on all the time.”

  Kala made a beeline toward the two men, even though she got the feeling Lapointe was angling to block her way. He finally fell into step and then hurri
ed past her to reach the others first.

  “This is Officer Stonechild,” said Lapointe. He introduced Harold Mortimer but ignored Mark Richardson.

  “The girl’s death was a tragedy,” said Mortimer. “Have you really ruled out suicide?”

  “At this point, we believe someone staged it to look like suicide. Did you know her?”

  “No. I have no idea why she’d be at this site.” Mortimer’s stare showed measured intelligence. His mouth settled naturally into a hard line, and Kala sensed he’d be a tough boss, used to getting what he wanted. Early fifties and fit — he’d be attractive to those who were turned on by a man’s man.

  Kala looked at Richardson and said, “I understand you’re the city planner. Is there a problem with the building?”

  “Not at all. I was simply going over a few proposed changes.” Sweat beaded on Richardson’s forehead and his eyes slid past hers. His discomfort made her curious. She couldn’t probe deeper, however, since the site plans had nothing to do with the case. He had to be taller than Gundersund, maybe six four, and his blue suit hung loosely on his skinny frame. Tight brown curls covered his pate like so many haphazard corkscrews. A nerd in school, she’d bet.

  She turned back to Mortimer. “Do you visit the site often?”

  “Whenever necessary. We’re behind now since you shut us down for three days.”

  She ignored the resentment in his tone. “Did you know Nadia Armstrong?” she asked Richardson.

  A look passed between Richardson and Mortimer. Kala might have missed it if she hadn’t been studying Richardson closely. “No,” he said. “I never met her.”

  The three men were closing ranks against her. She could see the stubborn solidarity on their faces. What are you hiding? she thought, but she kept her face deliberately blank. The best way to lull someone into sharing a confidence was to make them feel that they were above suspicion. Make them think they were smarter than the police.

  “Do you have many projects on the go, Mr. Mortimer?” she asked.