Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

her eyes and started reading. The typed report outlined what had been taken from Underwood’s office and home. The last sheet updated the interviews. Underwood’s partner and co-workers had given preliminary statements. There was a notation to follow up with J.P. Belliveau and Max Oliver the following day. When she finished reading, she clicked on her computer and checked her email. Her eyes scanned the list: a couple of messages from administration, one from Vermette wishing everyone happy holidays, and somebody named Connie Henderson in HR, telling her they were scheduling media training and she was on a waiting list — January spots were already gone. She sighed and looked toward Grayson. He’d stood up and was putting on his coat. She wondered how long he’d been watching her.

      “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

      She resisted the urge to look behind her. She started to say no, but reconsidered. She had nothing to lose and finding out what he was after could be worth knowing. “Okay. I have someplace to go afterwards so I’ll take my truck and follow you.”

      She chose a table near the window and waited while Grayson got their drinks from the bar. It was a typical pub with wood panelling and nooks and crannies for private chats. Ottawa seemed to be full of them. The bar ran the length of one wall with glistening brass bar taps at its centre. A couple of men sat alone on stools facing the giant TV screen above the bar. She read the draft selection written on a chalkboard hanging above the beer taps. The names brought back memories of too many bars and the lost years before she signed up to be a cop.

      Grayson set a soda and lime in front of her and slid a tall glass of beer across the table. He sat down and took a long drink before taking off his jacket. He looked around the room and back at her.

      “Small crowd. This place is usually hopping.”

      “I imagine last minute Christmas shopping and parties are keeping people away.” She took a sip of soda.

      He pointed to her glass. “You don’t drink alcohol?”

      “No.”

      “Never?”

      “Does it matter?”

      “I guess not. You could be the only cop in Ottawa who never has a slug of booze after work.”

      “I can live with that. So what brought you to Rouleau’s team?” she asked. The real question was why somebody with his ambition tied himself to a screwed unit.

      “I came from the drug squad working undercover. I was getting burned out the same time as this was pitched as a new project that could change the way we operate. It was disappointing to find out we were set up to fail before we began.”

      “Vermette.”

      “Yeah, Vermette. He’s as sneaky as they come and as nasty. If he doesn’t want this project to succeed, it won’t.” His hand tightened around his glass as if he’d like to squeeze it until it shattered.

      “He must have somebody protecting him.”

      Grayson smiled. “Well, he mixes in the right circles. His wife comes from a political family.”

      “Rouleau seems decent enough.”

      “He is, but it’s a losing game and he knows it. I think he stayed on because he feels some responsibility to the team, but I don’t think it will keep him much longer. It’s been a waste of talent as far as I can see.” He looked hard at her. “So what really brought you to Ottawa?”

      She shrugged. “I wanted a break from small-town policing. This position came up and I figured it would give me experience and a chance to see if working in a city is something I want to pursue.”

      “I’d say you’ve wasted a trip if it hadn’t been for the Underwood case coming along. Vermette will probably take it away after Christmas, but most of Major Crimes are taking the week off and he hates to get on their bad side, which he would if he called them in.”

      “Rouleau doesn’t strike me as someone who would put up with this.”

      “It’s hard to fathom, all right. He used to be a workaholic when he was married. He was a damned smart cop with a brilliant career ahead. Then his wife up and left and he lost his drive.”

      She looked at Grayson and wondered why he was telling her this. He caught her gaze and shrugged. “I’m just saying that you might want to head back north while the getting is good. This isn’t a job you want to hang your career on. Rouleau would understand if you had second thoughts.”

      “That’s good of you to think of my welfare.”

      “Not at all. Somebody has to give you enough information so you look out for yourself.”

      “Well, maybe I will head home. As you say, there’s not much here for me.” She watched his handsome face relax before he took another drink of beer. “So why do you stay on?” she asked as casually as she could. “I mean, you can’t be satisfied with this job as you described it.”

      “Yeah, I know it doesn’t add up that somebody with my qualifications would stay in a dead-end job, but I won’t much longer.”

      She kept her face impassive. He leaned closer. “Rouleau has an offer coming and I’ll be moving with him.”

      “Does Rouleau know, I mean, about the offer?”

      “No, not yet, and I’d appreciate you not saying anything. I’m speaking out of school here.” For the first time, he looked anxious.

      She thought about stringing him along but knew he wouldn’t take it well. “Whatever you and Rouleau have in the cooker is none of my concern.” She took a long drink from her glass. “I’m curious though. How do you know about this offer when Rouleau doesn’t?”

      He smiled. “I’ve fostered a few political friends myself.”

      She set her glass down and reached for her jacket. “Well, thanks for the drink and conversation but I have to get to my appointment.”

      “Sure. I’m glad we had this chat.” He leaned back in his chair. “Do you have Christmas plans? Family in Ottawa?”

      “I have plans, thanks.”

      “That’s good. You’ll probably get the day off but will be on call. See you tomorrow then.”

      He picked up his glass and followed her as she threaded her way through the tables. She kept going toward the entrance after he turned toward the bar. He was just sliding onto a stool with a view of the sports channel when she pulled open the door to step outside.

      The apartment building’s door was still unlocked, giving Kala easy entry to the lobby. An out of order sign in shaky red lettering was taped onto the elevator door, but she’d planned to take the stairs anyhow. The same stale beer and cigarette smells rose up to greet her. The only change from her previous visit was the size of the dustballs on the steps.

      On the third floor she pushed open the heavy door and hesitated. The hallway was darker than she remembered and her tingly sense went on high alert. It took her but a second to notice that the overhead light near apartment 305 had burnt out. She took a careful look around before shutting the door to the stairwell and crossing to the apartment. It was a full minute after she knocked before she heard footsteps.

      “I’m not buying anything,” a woman’s reedy voice called through the door.

      “And I’m not selling. I’m a friend of the woman who used to live across the hall. I’m wondering if you know where she went.” Kala moved sideways so that she’d be clearly visible through the peephole.

      The door opened but jumped back as the chain caught. A white-haired woman wearing thick glasses peered at her through the gap. A cat meowed at her feet. “Rosie left a few months ago. Couldn’t pay the rent.”

      “You spoke with her?”

      “We weren’t friends if that’s what you’re asking. The landlord told her she had to leave.”