Bleeding Darkness. Brenda Chapman

lot of time in the woods as a kid. We might have to walk a bit, but I think we’re close.”

      They set off farther into the woods. The snow was deeper, not as packed down, and their pace slowed. Kala inhaled the pine scent of the forest and listened to the swooshing of the wind through the boughs overhead. Periodically, sharp shafts of sunlight broke through the dark canopy of branches. The woods weren’t so thick that they couldn’t wind their way past trees and through bushes and undergrowth with relative ease, that is, except for wading through untrampled snow. It looked like nobody had been this way since the last snowfall and when they reached the tall grasses and reeds of the marshes Kala didn’t see any signs of activity. They tromped south through the stalks, the trees and bushes on their left.

      “Should be close now,” Morrison said, her breath exhaling in smoky puffs of vapour that blew away in the wind. They’d been exposed to the wind’s sharp bite since leaving the cover of the trees. They’d battled their way through the worst of it when Morrison pointed to a scrubby spot near a giant pine. “This looks like the location.”

      Kala walked alone to the place where Zoe Delgado had been found and knelt in the snow to study the terrain closely. The wind buffeted her more gently in her squatting position and the sun felt stronger near the earth. She bowed her head and said a silent prayer for Zoe’s spirit before inspecting the ground and raising her head to take in the full expanse of the landscape. “How close are we to the McKenna house?”

      “It’s not far from here. Maybe ten minutes once we get back onto the Rideau Trail and then cut over to where it runs behind Grenville Crescent.”

      “Let’s walk in that direction and then we can take the streets back to my truck.”

      “If you like.”

      They began making their way in single file down the narrow path with Morrison in the lead. It was easier going back since they could step in their own footprints, where they’d packed down the snow on their way in. Kala tried to imagine the woods that autumn fourteen years ago. Today, the branches were frosted with snow and the path was a narrow ribbon winding through the shelter of trees and bush. The smaller path branched into the wider Rideau Trail and the sunlight strengthened. They turned right and started south toward Grenville.

      “The police found Zoe Delgado’s body seven days after she went missing,” said Kala. “Were you living in Kingston then?”

      “Yes, I remember that time clearly because the city was on edge before and after she was found. At first, we thought a rapist was on the loose but then the news focused in on her ex-boyfriend as having killed her. After that, the story died away and the fear lessened. We went back to our regular routines.”

      “Was she killed where her body was found?”

      “I believe that was the conclusion, but it rained solid for two of the days and it was hotter than normal for that time of year. Looking back on it now, I’d think much of the physical evidence would have been lost.”

      “Was she raped?”

      “Initially, we thought so because the news reports said that some of her clothes were missing, and we were scared about a rapist, but I believe that was later refuted. The information should be in the files. Are you thinking of picking up the cold case?”

      “While interesting, if Vivian McKenna turns up alive and well, I can’t see that I’ll be pursuing it.”

      They reached a curve in the trail and Morrison shouted over her shoulder, “We should be getting close to Grenville Crescent.” She looked back at Kala and stopped walking, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She held up her other arm and pointed into the bushes. “I see something in that gap between the trees. That bit of blue. Do you see it there?”

      Kala hurried toward her and squinted through the snow-laden branches. The blue was a sapphire shade and stood out starkly against the snow. “I’ll check it out.”

      She waded through the thick snow and knelt next to the alder trees. The bit of blue was fabric and she carefully began brushing away snow. She knew that Vivian McKenna was supposed to be wearing a blue coat and pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped several pictures before she looked back at Morrison.

      From her position near the ground, she could see markings from a branch that had been used to smooth out the snow between her and the path and her heart quickened. She’d been on the lookout for Vivian McKenna the entire time they were in the woods, hoping she was wrong about the possibility of finding her body near Zoe’s murder scene. “I’m going to dig a bit with my hands.”

      Morrison also had her phone out. “I’ve got that bad feeling again.”

      “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

      She’d accepted the worst before she cleared enough snow to see her. The woman was lying on her side, back toward the trail, hunched in on herself in a fetal position. Her long black hair was crusted with frost and snow that had blown around her body like a protective sheet. One arm lay extended in front of her, fingers rigid in a red leather glove. This was without a doubt Vivian McKenna … and her unborn child. Kala straightened and looked back at Morrison’s anxious face, reddened by the wind and a startling contrast to the bloodless face lying on the ground in front of her.

      Morrison’s arm was raised, the hand holding her cellphone resting on her shoulder. “What have we got?”

      “It’s not good news,” Kala said. “You can let Gundersund know that we’ve found Vivian McKenna. We’re going to need Forensics and Woodhouse will have to be informed.”

      “Shit,” said Morrison. “Shit.” She shook her head and lowered the phone to call in.

      Kala took a last look at the still form and said a silent prayer for her too before backing her way toward Morrison, being careful to use the same footprints that she’d made on the way in. They’d stay until the team arrived and wait for further instruction. Once back on the Rideau Trail, she pulled out her cellphone and texted Dawn to not keep supper waiting. Their lives were going to be put on the back burner for the foreseeable future.

      chapter nine

      “What kind of sandwich would you like today?” Vera asked as she slipped one arm into her coat. She stood in the doorway to Rouleau’s office and he looked up from his laptop.

      “No sandwich today, thanks. I’m going out for a break.”

      Vera looked skeptical. “You’ve never taken a lunchtime break before.”

      “I’m turning over a new leaf.”

      “Well, that’s good. You’ve been working much too hard.”

      He put on his coat after she’d left and picked up a copy of the Globe and Mail on his way to his car. He’d find a quiet place to have lunch downtown and then walk along the waterfront. With a craving for haddock and chips, he found a parking spot near the Pilot House and entered to discover the tables full with only standing room left near the bar. He squeezed in beside two men discussing hockey in animated voices and ordered a pint of local beer, surveying the room as he drank. His gaze halted on reporter Marci Stokes, who raised her head from her laptop to return his stare from a corner table. Her face broke into a smile and she waved him over.

      “Please join me for lunch,” she said.

      “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

      “No problem.” She closed her laptop and took a sip from her glass, which he knew to be her usual gin and tonic. “I could use the company and you’ll force me to actually take a break for once. I have a few hours to deadline and I’m on the edits now.”

      “Then how can I refuse?”

      He sat and Marci motioned for the waitress to come over. They both ordered the fish and chips. Marci waited for the waitress to leave before she leaned across the table.

      “That was a short press briefing this morning. I was expecting