Shallow End. Brenda Chapman

the waterfront.”

      He tried to see a reaction but could not. Her face remained a polite mask, no sign of disturbance on the smooth, clear surface. He might have given her a weather report for all the impact his words generated. Her silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds but he remained still and observant. At last a flicker of something crossed her face that looked like regret but could have been anger.

      “Are you telling me he’s dead?” Her voice was huskier, lower than before.

      “Yes. He was murdered last night and left on the shore of Lake Ontario at Murney Point.”

      She shook her head before dropping her chin to her chest and closing her eyes. The room was silent, the seconds ticking by. This time, Rouleau didn’t try to outwait her.

      “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you with this news.”

      “I have mixed emotions.” She opened her eyes and he couldn’t begin to guess what was going on inside. “He was a student in my class once upon a time. I felt responsible for his well-being.”

      The irony filled the space between them. She looked down at her hands still resting on the table.

      “Where were you yesterday evening?”

      “Nowhere near Lake Ontario.”

      “Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?”

      “I doubt it. I worked my shift and then went back to my apartment around six. I don’t speak to anyone as a rule, except when my sister Sandy and I talk on the phone. We might have last night.”

      “You don’t remember?”

      “All of our conversations are the same. She usually calls when I’m half-asleep so I can never remember which night we spoke.”

      Rouleau knew his team would be checking and didn’t press the issue. “Did you go out after you got home, say, to the grocery store?”

      Jane appeared to think deeply before shaking her head. “You’re going to have to take my word for it that I wasn’t at Murney Point last evening.” The Mona Lisa smile came and went. Her eyes were iridescent pools that a man … a twelve-year-old boy could drown in.

      Rouleau shut his notebook. “We’ll leave it there for now. We’ll need to ask you more questions as the investigation unfolds.”

      “Of course. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s answer questions from the police. I could give lessons if ever called upon to teach again. Can I go now?”

      “Yes, you’re free to go.”

      She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and stood. When she reached Gundersund, he opened the door and escorted her into the hall.

      “What do you think?” Rouleau turned to look at Stonechild. She’d started to rise from her chair but lowered herself back into the seat. Her dark eyes were thoughtful.

      “There’s a lot going on in her head but not on her face. I got the sense that she’s holding in anger, but I’m not sure if it’s directed at the system or the people who’ve deserted her.” Kala paused. “You couldn’t help but notice her eyes. They’re mesmerizing, and that voice … I got the sense she was downplaying her looks, but she couldn’t hide the fact she’s a magnet for men.”

      “I thought much the same. She’s going to be hard to figure out.” Rouleau checked his watch. “You’re going to have a busy day interviewing people tomorrow. Head home and get some supper and some sleep. Everything going okay?”

      “No complaints, sir. Thanks.”

      They stood at the same time. Rouleau was aware that she’d withdrawn from him and the rest of the team over the summer. He’d been half expecting her to announce her departure for some time, but had felt helpless to change the situation.

      They walked side by side down the hallway and he left her at the door to their office, continuing on toward Heath’s office for a command debrief so that Heath could face the media for the nine o’clock news. At this rate, Rouleau thought, I’ll be lucky to make it home for supper before Dad has himself tucked in for the night. As usual, the first hours of a murder investigation would fill every waking hour, but this was the time Rouleau liked best. The thrill of the hunt was fresh, the trail still warm, and the slow-going slog of following up on leads that led nowhere hadn’t started to grind the team down yet.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Gundersund looked across at Stonechild as he pulled on his seat belt. “Thanks for the lift. My car will be ready tomorrow afternoon.”

      “I can pick you up again in the morning. What time?”

      “Seven thirty works. We can head directly to the school to start interviews and I’ll grab a cab to get my car at some point before the shop closes.”

      “Okay.”

      She drove along the waterfront heading out of town, past the spot where Devon Eton’s body had been found. Shafts of sunlight blinded them as the sun had descended to a point just above the treetops. The morning wind had stilled and the waves rolled gently onto the beach.

      Gundersund wondered whether to tell Stonechild that he’d seen her niece the day before when he’d driven past Frontenac Secondary School. Kala hadn’t wanted to talk about Dawn after Child Services had taken her away, but he knew she was hurting. He decided to give it a shot. “I drove by Dawn’s school yesterday and saw her in the yard. She seemed well.” He looked out his side window so Stonechild wouldn’t think he was watching for her reaction.

      “Was she alone?”

      “She was with a couple of girls, probably from her class.”

      “That’s good.”

      They were silent for a moment. Gundersund asked as casually as he could, “Are you planning to see her?” This time, he turned his head to look at her. He could see the muscle working in her cheek. She lifted one hand from the steering wheel to push her sunglasses further up her nose.

      “I think she’s better off if I don’t interfere in her life. A clean break always works best.”

      “Do you honestly believe that?”

      “Yeah, I do. As a kid who moved homes at least every year, I know it’s easier if you don’t look back.”

      She’d never spoken about her childhood before. Gundersund knew it had been bad. He’d read the Marci Stokes article in the Whig about her years homeless and drunk on the Sudbury streets. “Perhaps it would have helped if someone had made an effort to keep in touch with you.”

      “But they didn’t.”

      “And that was a shame.”

      “Maybe … and maybe they did me a favour.”

      They passed the Kingston Penitentiary, closed for some time, the inmates moved to other locations where they were crammed in like sardines, if media could be believed. The road wound northwest past large older homes with glimpses of the river down the hill. Shadows filled the spaces as the sun continued its descent. Ten minutes later, they reached the turnoff to their side road.

      “I’ve got more experience with this kind of separation thing,” she said as if fifteen minutes hadn’t elapsed since his last comment. “And I turned out just fine.”

      “You did.” He hesitated. “But you are not without issues.”

      She laughed. “No, I’ve got my share, but then again, so do you and you had a normal two-parent upbringing.” She glanced over at him.

      He could see her point and smiled back. “Touché.”

      They reached his driveway and she pulled in, stopping halfway. He opened his door and set one foot on the ground, his elbow resting on his knee. “Thanks for the lift, Stonechild. See you tomorrow.”