Tumbled Graves (11 page)

F
rom
where he sat in the main office, Zack Woodhouse watched Rouleau reading a report at his desk. Rouleau had left his office door open but was unaware that Woodhouse had returned from the useless search at the Delaney property. Woodhouse took a drink from the can of Coke he'd picked up on the way in before opening the antique cars website. He liked to check out the cars for sale at least once a day. He needed parts for his Austen Healy but would consider trading it in if a model in better condition showed up. He clicked on a few links and read car descriptions without taking any of it in. His mind was chewing over the best way to reveal what he'd found to Rouleau.

Kala Stonechild needed to be brought down a few pegs, that was one thing he knew for sure. Waltzing into the station like she was God's gift to policing. He didn't consider himself a bigot, so the Native part didn't bother him. Live and let live he always said. No, he wasn't anywhere close to being narrow-minded. What bugged him was the fact she hadn't paid her dues and had Rouleau and Gundersund fawning all over her like a couple of lap dogs. As for Bennett, the guy was thinking with his dick.

It wasn't right. She had them eating out of her hand, getting the best assignments while he was stuck doing the crap grunt jobs. You wouldn't catch Stonechild tramping around the bush looking for a drowned kid, not when she could spend the day in Montreal on a useless wild goose chase that they all knew Rouleau agreed to just to humour her. Shit. Somebody had to save the rest of the team from themselves.

Woodhouse enlarged a file he'd minimized on the bottom of his screen. The face of a much younger Kala Stonechild filled the monitor. Her eyes were staring straight into the camera as if daring it to take her on. Her hair fell in two braids to her shoulders and she was sitting on a curb in front of an underpass. She wore ripped jeans and a stained buckskin jacket. Her feet were bare and dirty. An older man with grey hair to his shoulders and a beard that went halfway down his chest was standing next to her. His clothes weren't much better. He held a sign that read
Hungry. Please spare some change
. Woodhouse scrolled up to the headline: “Homeless Problem Growing on Sudbury Streets.” He scanned the article even though he'd read it through several times. The two heroes of the piece were homeless, both Native, both alcoholics. Somehow, the reporter had thought it a good idea to name them. Kala Stonechild and Charlie Two Feathers. Shit. If he hadn't named them, Woodhouse would never have found the article. It was dated ten years earlier.

“So how'd it go at the Delaneys?”

Woodhouse jumped and clicked off the screen with one jerk of his hand. Rouleau had snuck up on him like a stealth bomber. Woodhouse belched and felt the Coke fizzing in his nose. He tried to keep the guilt he felt out of his voice.

“Yeah. They called it off until the water levels have a chance to go down. They figure a few more weeks and they'll give it another try unless the kid's body washes up somewhere and a local spots her. I was about to file my report in the system.”

Rouleau frowned. “This will just prolong the heartache. Well, good work, Woodhouse. You can file the report tomorrow if you want. It's been a long day.”

“Thank you, sir. I might just do that. Say, any word from Stonechild and Bennett?”

“Nothing yet.”

“I guess I'll call it a day then.”

Woodhouse thought over his next move. Should he hit Rouleau with Stonechild's sketchy past now or wait for a better moment? Would there ever be a better time? The problem would be explaining how he'd found the article. Rouleau was no dummy. He'd figure out pretty quickly that Woodhouse had been on a search. While Woodhouse hesitated, he caught sight of trusty Vera trotting into the office in her tight purple skirt and high heels, hips swaying like a pendulum. Everyone knew how she got
her
job. The only thing Woodhouse found offensive was that Heath was dating Vera's cousin too. The three of them must get up to quite the weekends. Both women were real lookers. Too good for Heath. Vera's eyes flicked over him before she stopped in front of Rouleau.

“A call just came in from Kingston General Hospital. Ivo Delany is doing better and they say you can see him if you keep the visit short.”

“Terrific.” Rouleau's face brightened. “Hopefully he'll have some answers for us.” He took a step towards his office but stopped and looked back. “You want to come with me, Woodhouse?”

Woodhouse's first thought was did he have a choice? His second thought was that this was the kind of opportunity he'd been waiting for. His evening in front of the tube with a couple of beers and a pizza could wait. Stonechild's past could sit on the back burner a while longer. “Sure thing.”

Rouleau nodded and kept walking. “I'll just get my coat. We should probably take our own vehicles so you can head home when we're done.”

Ivo Delaney had checked himself out but had agreed to wait to speak with Rouleau before going home. He sat alone in the waiting room under the glow of the television set anchored near the ceiling. His wide shoulders slumped forward and his chin appeared to be resting on his chest. He was as defeated a man as Rouleau had ever seen.

“I'm glad you're feeling well enough to go home,” Rouleau said as he sat down next to him. Woodhouse took a seat across the aisle, a little to one side so that he was out of Delaney's line of vision. Rouleau nodded at Woodhouse to take out his notepad before turning his body to face Delaney. “I know this is a terrible ordeal that you're going through.”

Ivo slowly raised his head. “I just don't know what to do anymore.” His large hands were clasped together between his knees. “My life may as well be over.” His head bobbed once. “But I know I have to keep going … for Adele and Violet.”

“Can you tell me what the doctor has been treating you for?” Rouleau knew that Ivo would have to give this information freely. He wouldn't be able to get it easily otherwise.

Ivo didn't speak for a while. When he did, his voice was resigned. “I suffer from depression. Since my teens. It's chemical. If I stay on the medicine, I do all right.”

“And have you been taking your medication?”

“Faithfully. I was fine until this.” He took a gulping breath. “Losing your entire family could depress anyone.”

“I understand. Were you depressed about anything before Adele and Violet went missing?”

“No.”

“How were you and Adele getting along the day she went missing?”

Ivo flinched as if struck. This time, the pause was longer. Rouleau exchanged looks with Woodhouse. Ivo sighed deeply and said, “We were getting along as we always did. She seemed distracted the last week or so, but she told me that it was nothing serious. Just spring fever. She was planning to visit her sister for a few days in Gananoque. Violet was excited to go.”

“Distracted how?”

“I don't know. I'd find her staring out the window. She seemed to have lost her appetite and was roaming the house during the night. I think she just needed a change of scene. I encouraged her to get out of the house for a while. She could be a recluse if left alone.”

A nurse in pink scrubs entered the waiting room and walked over to them. “The doctor said just a few minutes so Mr. Delaney isn't tired out.” Her voice softened. “We've got a volunteer here to take you home, Mr. Delaney.”

Rouleau answered for him. “We won't be much longer.”

“I'll be back in two minutes to get him.” She glanced again at Ivo as if assessing his condition before she left them. The squeaking of her
rubber-
soled shoes disappeared down the hallway.

Rouleau tried a new tack. Time was getting short if he was going to get to the bottom of the Delaney family relationships. “When you met Adele, did she already have Violet?”

“Violet is my daughter. Maybe not biological, but she's my child in every other way.”

“I don't question that. Your wife's autopsy has shown that Violet was not your wife's biological child either. Did you know that?”

Delaney dropped his chin to his chest again and closed his eyes. His large body swayed back and forth in the seat. Rouleau placed a hand on Delaney's arm “Should I call for the nurse?” He looked over at Woodhouse and signalled for him to get her. Woodhouse began to rise.

Delaney's body shuddered and then was still. He was still sitting upright. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, turning until he faced Rouleau. He looked a bit like a bird, his neck elongated, his eyes pinkish around the edges and bulging out of their sockets. “I don't need the nurse. I just need my own bed.”

Rouleau was vaguely aware of Woodhouse hovering at the end of the row of chairs and then sitting down again. He kept his eyes locked on Delaney's. Some struggle was going on within their blue depths that needed time to resolve. Rouleau was aware of rubber shoes squeaking in the hallway and getting louder. He'd almost given up hope of getting anything more from Delaney that evening when Delaney began to speak in a voice so low that Rouleau had to strain forward to hear.

“She kept the secret all of our married life. I think she would have kept it forever if but for the school registration. They need a birth certificate, you see. Violet doesn't have one. Adele needed my help to figure out how to come up with the paperwork to get Violet into kindergarten. That was why my wife was distracted this week.”

“Did she tell you who Violet's biological parents were?”

“No. She refused to say anything about her birth. I didn't like to push.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Maybe I should have been more supportive. I was just so angry. She lied to me for three years and I was scared we'd lose Violet if the truth came out. I should never have gotten mad at her because now I've lost them both.”

The nurse stepped around Rouleau and spoke to Ivo quietly, helping him to his feet. She said, “We'll just be getting Mr. Delaney home and settled. You can save any more questions for tomorrow.”

Ivo staggered back a step and Rouleau steadied him. The nurse smiled grimly at Rouleau and wrapped an arm as far as she could around Ivo's waist. They started down the hallway, Delaney towering over the nurse. She let go of his waist but kept a firm grip on his arm. The volunteer who held onto Delaney's other arm was an older man with a pleasant face. Rouleau watched them get on the elevator without comment.

Woodhouse pushed himself to his feet. He scratched his protruding belly. “That sounded like a confession to me. He got angry and killed his wife and kid when he found out she'd been lying to him.”

Rouleau gave the idea serious consideration. Woodhouse was quick to make a judgment, but in this case he had good reason. “Might have gone down that way. Trouble is we're going to need some evidence. A good defence lawyer would have that vague confession in shreds within seconds.”

Woodhouse scowled. “I know what you mean. The courts have justice all arse backwards. The guy's smart enough to play the nutbar card. He's setting us up in case we get some evidence to nail him.”

They followed in Delaney's footsteps toward the elevator. “No message from Stonechild while we were interviewing Delaney?” Woodhouse asked.

Rouleau glanced at him. Woodhouse's face was expressionless, suspiciously so. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled the messages. “Not yet.”

Woodhouse appeared to be searching for words. “She's a bit of a wild card, isn't she?” he said finally.

“How do you mean?”

Woodhouse shrugged. “I don't know. Just that she doesn't strike me as all that dependable.” He hit the down button and the elevator door slid open. “What do you know? First time I haven't had to wait half an hour.”

They rode to the lobby in silence. Rouleau filed away Woodhouse's comments about Stonechild but let them rest for now. He knew that officers like Woodhouse had difficulty accepting women officers as their equal. Kala Stonechild's singular modus operandi and taciturn personality would make her a bigger target for the old boys' club. He doubted she would care, but others might. Heath for one. He wanted a team that showed well in public.

They left the hospital through the main doors and walked toward the parking lot. The sun was going down, casting long fingers across the pavement and reflecting off car windshields. Rouleau caught a movement in a red car at the end of the first row. He squinted and took a step forward to see past the sun's glare. Marci Stokes lifted a hand.

“I'll leave you here,” he said to Woodhouse. “See you in the morning.”

“Sure thing.” Woodhouse looking over at Marci's car. He mock saluted her before walking past.

Marci lowered her window at Rouleau's approach. “Got time for a drink?” she asked. Her copper hair was tied back with an elastic but still managed to spill around her face. Her eyes shone in a stream of sunlight. “I might have something of interest to share.”

“How about the Merchant?”

“I'll meet you there in ten.” She smiled up at him and turned on her car. He stepped back as she pulled away.

She'd picked a table that looked out over the sidewalk in the smaller room to the right of the entrance. A waitress was delivering a beer as Rouleau arrived. He waited for her to depart and sat down across from Marci. She lifted her glass of vodka and soda into the air at eye level and said cheers before taking a long drink.

“So what have you got?” Rouleau picked up the beer and tilted the glass in her direction as a way of saying thanks.

“You do understand that this is a fair exchange deal.”

“I'm coming to that conclusion. I haven't anything earth-shattering to share with you, but when I do you will be my go-to journalist.”

She appeared satisfied. “I've done a bit of digging. Ivo Delaney used to have a sister named Olive. She was a year younger than him.”