Tumbled Graves (10 page)

They stopped talking as the waitress set down their drinks and cutlery. Kala looked across at one of the waitresses who'd been sending glances their way from the time they sat down. She looked older than the other girls, her eyes heavily made up in dark liner and aqua eye shadow. All the colour had been bleached from her hair until it was Caribbean sand-white.

“Don't look now,” Prevost said, drawing Kala back. “Etienne Manteau just walked in and is talking to Lebeau at the bar. He's in the black leather jacket — long hair and beard.”

Bennett was sitting in front of Kala, facing the bar. He looked past Kala's shoulder.

“And?” she asked him.

Bennett's eyes came back to hers. “He's got the macho look down. Women are probably lining up.”

Prevost nodded. “They pass their women around from what we hear. There doesn't appear to be any lack of them.”

Kala casually turned and let her eyes make a sweep of the room until they found Etienne. He was only about five eight but broad shouldered. “We should probably call him over for a chat.”

Prevost stood. “Let me do the honours.”

Bennett said to Kala, “Remind me not to apply for a transfer to this neighbourhood.”

“I don't know. Life would never be dull.”

Etienne Manteau was laughing at something Prevost said as he reached their table. They both sat down and Prevost made the introductions.

Etienne was still smiling when his gaze came to rest on Kala. He had searching brown eyes that appeared to miss nothing. His smile tightened. “I understand that you are here to find out about Adele. We are in shock with what has happened to her. Nobody deserves that.” His accent was more noticeable than Lebeau's but didn't interfere with meaning. Kala marvelled at the ability of people to slip from one language into another so effortlessly.

“No. Nobody deserves what happened to her. Can you tell us what you know about Adele from her time working here?”

“Never missed a shift, that one. She kept to herself, but we liked her.”

“I understand she danced as well as served tables?”

“
Mais oui
. Most of the girls try dancing. It brings in extra money in tips.”

“Was she seeing anybody in particular?”

“She dated, but I couldn't say. She liked a party. She had a friend by the name of Lana. Another waitress, but Lebeau must have told you that.”

“Yes, he did. Why did Adele leave?”

“No idea. She was at work one night and gone the next. No notice. She never comes back.
Et maintenant
 …” He spread his hands wide.

“Your brother's in Millhaven for murder.”

Etienne bowed his head in acknowledgement. “He is, but he is my brother always.”

“Have you visited Benoit in Millhaven?”

Etienne's eyes latched onto her face. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation. You implied that you are standing by him.”

“It's tougher to get there now. I was supposed to go a few weeks back but couldn't. I need to book a new time.”

“Was Adele working here when your brother was charged with murder?”

Etienne frowned. “Odd thing to ask. I think maybe, but I am not sure. She might have gone by then. I never thought about the two things together.”

“Well, here's my number if you think of anything else.” Kala slid a card across the table.

Etienne picked it up and stood just as the waitress appeared with three heaping plates of French fries topped with cheese and gravy. “I see you've ordered the house specialty. I'll leave you to enjoy.” He stood and tapped Prevost on the shoulder. “
À la prochaine
,
Prevost.”

“
À la prochaine
.”

“You two friends?” Bennett asked after Etienne had rejoined Lebeau at the bar.

“Let's say that our paths cross … often. We are like
un chat et une souris
. A cat and mouse. We play a game that so far he is winning. But I think the cat wins in the end. It is always this way.”

“As long as you are the cat and not the mouse,” Kala said. “Sometimes it can be hard to tell when you play with the likes of these people.”

“
Eh bien
. You have hit the nail.” Prevost picked up his fork. “They weren't lying about the poutine at least. Everything else these men say, take with a shaker of salt. Now,
bon appétit
.”

Kala visited the washroom before they left. She half-hoped that the waitress with the bleached hair would follow her in so that she could discretely ask her some questions, but this didn't happen. As a Hail Mary, Kala left her business card in each cubicle and a few by the sinks. If any of the waitresses was too shy to come forward, maybe they would reach out when they were away from the probing eyes at Chez Louis.

K
ala
and Bennett were crossing the street to her truck when Prevost called to them. Kala turned around and saw Prevost waving his cellphone in the air. She waited for a car to zip by before crossing back to his side of the street.

Prevost met her on the sidewalk. “My team's tracked down Lana Morris. She's living ten minutes from here in a first floor apartment on Sherbrooke. We can head there now if you've time.”

Kala's spirits jumped a notch. “I'll follow you over.”

Prevost pointed. “My car's just over there.”

Once on Sherbrooke, the drive became a series of stops and starts as they hit red light after red light. They passed stores and restaurants and entered a residential area lined in low-rise apartments. By the time they reached the three-storey apartment building where Morris lived, Kala's jaw was sore from clenching. Not for the first time since they entered Montreal, she was happy to be living in a smaller city with fewer traffic headaches. She turned left at the next set of lights and started slowly down the side street looking for a parking spot. Cars were wedged in like sardines. Sun reflected off their windshields.

“Where do they expect visitors to park in these neighbourhoods?” She craned her neck to read the signs that limited parking to people with passes.

Bennett pointed to a space between two cars. “Just park there. If you get a ticket, Rouleau can pay out of his budget.”

“We haven't much choice.” It took her a few tries to manoeuvre her truck into the tight space, but she managed.

Bennett whistled. “You're one impressive woman. I can't name many who could wheel in like you.”

“Thanks … I think.”

Prevost waited for her and Bennett on the sidewalk in front of a yellow brick apartment building with wrought-iron balconies. Even though the building faced a busy street, it was well maintained and Kala imagined the rent wasn't cheap.

Kala turned to Prevost. “That was quick work, finding Lana.”

“The surprise is that Lebeau and Manteau didn't know where she's living. They have a network.” He shrugged. “Maybe they just didn't care enough to find out.”

They started up the walkway together. Bennett brought up the rear. “I'll let you do the talking,” Prevost said. “My source tells me that her first language is English.” Responding to Kala's stare, he added, “We've checked into her documentation.”

“Ah. Did you call ahead to let her know we're coming?”

“
Mais non
. I thought surprise might be the best way to get her to talk.”

They entered the hallway and Kala knocked on unit number two. She could hear music thumping from behind the door. She knocked again, louder this time. She was rewarded by the music being turned down and footsteps. The woman who opened the door resembled the other waitresses from Chez Louis — tall, well endowed, and long, blond hair — although her features were sharper and older than the girls in the bar. Life appeared to have taken its toll in the papery lines around her eyes and mouth and the brittle dryness of her overly bleached hair. She was still attractive though and in good physical shape. She tilted her head and regarded Kala over the chain lock that she'd left in place.

“Yes?”

“Lana Morris?”

“Yes?”

Kala held up her police identification. “I'm trying to find out information about Adele Dufour. I understand that you were friends with her when she worked at Chez Louis. Philippe Lebeau sent us to speak with you.”

The chain scraped out of the lock and the door opened wide. Lana stepped aside to let them in. “Has something happened to Adele?” she asked as Kala moved past her.

Kala stopped and turned. “I'm sorry to tell you that she's been murdered. We found her body on the highway just outside of Kingston.”

Lana frowned. “My God.” She pointed down the hallway. “That way to the kitchen.”

Kala glimpsed the back of a man's head slumped against the back of the couch on their way by. Cigarette smoke drifted in a plume above his head.

The kitchen had a large dining area with an island separating the stainless-steel appliances and granite countertop from the glass-topped table where they all took seats. Kala took a moment to study Lana's face while they settled in. The lack of emotion gave her pause. If Lana had been a friend of Adele's, Kala would have expected something more than one feeble exclamation at hearing the news of her murder. Lana's eyes, rimmed in dark eyeliner, weren't meeting anyone else's. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Lana glanced at Kala and then lowered her eyes again.

“When did this happen? Who would want to murder Adele?” Lana's questions were oddly out of sync with the flatness in her voice.

Kala studied her expression. She couldn't detect any grief or even surprise. She said, “That's what we are trying to find out. How well did you know Adele?”

“Very well at the time, but we didn't keep in touch after she quit Chez Louis. She told me she wanted to move somewhere smaller.”

“Was she dating anyone?”

“Nobody in particular. She dated but not exclusively. She didn't hang out with the other girls, just me. She liked to workout, party, and sleep.”

“You both danced at Chez Louis. Did you dance at other clubs?”

“A few times, but mainly at the Louis. And before you ask, we weren't hooking. Bikers hung out there, but not so much after Benoit get locked up. Etienne changed course. He wanted to run a clean operation.”

Interesting.
Kala still couldn't get Lana to meet her eyes. “Do you know if Adele was ever pregnant?”

“Adele? No. She told me that she didn't want kids.”

“And you?”

Lana gave a short sharp laugh. “No thanks. I hate kids.”

“Is there anything more you can tell me about Adele? What kind of person was she?”

“She liked to party hard and work hard. She got tired of it though. Last time we spoke, she said that she missed the small-town life.” Lana paused and appeared to be searching for something more to say. “I was sorry when she moved away.”

“Did you find it odd that she never made contact again?”

“Not really. We were good friends but I understood. She wanted a new life and the best way to do that is to cut off the old one. I wished her happiness even if I wasn't in it.”

Kala tried one more time. “So you didn't know that she married and had a daughter?”

“Are you kidding me? I never would have guessed she'd end up saddled with a family in a million years. When I knew her, that wasn't in our game plans.”

Prevost stood apart from them speaking into his cellphone in rapid French. Bennett looked back up at the apartment building and appeared to be searching the windows for Lana Morris. They were outside on the sidewalk and Kala was getting fidgety. It was time to get back to Ottawa. Dawn would be arriving home from school soon. She was about to suggest to Bennett that they get moving when Prevost slipped his phone back into his pocket and sauntered over to them. He smiled at Kala as he stopped next to Bennett.

“I find her story that Chez Louis is a changed bar interesting. She might think this is so, but our sources say something is going on. We will not stop our watching of them. You Anglos have that saying about a leopard and its spots,
n'est-ce pas
? But this is our concern, not yours. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Only if you find out something that involves Adele Delaney and helps to explain her murder.”

“My ears will be on the alert, you can be certain of that.”

“Do you believe them when they say that the girls weren't hooking?”

The side of Prevost's mouth rose in what passed as a smile. “I think these people stretch the truth to hide what they are really up to. If they weren't being paid, they were still making the rounds with the bikers. My guess is that money changed hands. It is often this way with the strippers. The Manteau brothers were no angels.”

Kala nodded. “I thought as much.” She looked across the street at an old man on a scooter. He was zipping down the side of the road, a small white dog on his lap. She kept watching him as she mused, “We believe that Adele Delaney's daughter Violet was not her biological child, although Adele let everyone, even her husband, think that she was. I can't get past this feeling that whatever happened is about the child.”

Prevost's black eyes studied her. “I have found that the thing that sticks in your mind often is for a reason. You should follow your gut. Rouleau would tell you this also.”

She smiled and extended her hand to shake his warm one in a final farewell. “You and I are on the same page it seems, Prevost, because I can't seem to make myself do anything else but. Even when I know I should be going down the easy path, I have to take the hard one. I have to know the truth.”

Prevost held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “If ever Rouleau retires, I will get you a job in my unit. It wouldn't be long for you to love Montreal.”

She looked over at Bennett who was starting across the street toward her truck. “Thank you, again,” she said. “I'll keep your offer in mind, but for now I'm calling Kingston home.”