Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman

that might just be because I never liked her. Although I have to say, that for Laurel, killing Dad might have been easier than divorcing him.”

      Her first guilty thought had actually been Laurel and Hunter, but she pushed that idea as deep into her subconscious as she could. The Hunter she knew would not be capable. It was lunacy to even think it.

      She paused, “My other fear is that it was someone Dad dealt with in his business. He told me once that he didn’t like a lot of the people he negotiated with, and he’d become evasive lately. He was making deals with the military and an inventor in Montreal. I got the feeling this latest deal wasn’t sitting easily with him.”

      “Did you tell this to the police?”

      “They haven’t asked me yet. I’m just not sure what was bothering him. Maybe it had nothing to do with work at all. What if I implicate somebody and they’re innocent?”

      “I think it’s somebody from his business dealings. I can’t truly believe any one of his family or friends capable of such a cold-blooded act.”

      Geraldine nodded. “Any of us except Laurel … well, and maybe J.P. The man is slime. Oh yes, there’s also Benny. The way he looks at me sometimes when he’s visiting Max gives me the creeps.”

      Susan shuddered. “I never liked J.P. either. I have no real opinion about Benny one way or the other. I don’t think he and I have ever had a full-length conversation.” She paused. “I think your father was getting ready to leave the partnership. I’m not sure who else he told.”

      Geraldine looked away. Had Max known? He’d been acting strangely of late. She’d put it down to the baby, but maybe he’d been plotting to move up in the firm. If it was anything more than that, if he’d actually taken steps to hurt her father, she didn’t know how she would do it, but if it took the rest of her life, she’d make Max pay.

      18

      Monday, December 26, 8:30 a.m.

      Kala had found it difficult to fall asleep. Her legs were aching and it was hard to get comfortable on the narrow bed. She remembered looking at the clock at three a.m. but must have fallen asleep soon afterwards because the next time she opened her eyes the room had lightened. She lay for a moment, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. Noise in the hall must have woken her because she heard something thumping against the wall and a man’s voice. She sighed and rolled over to face the clock. Eight thirty. No!

      She leapt out of bed and grabbed her towel and soap on her way to the communal showers. Luckily there was nobody in sight, and she showered in five minutes flat. She raced back to her room where she braided her hair and scrambled into clean black slacks and a wrinkled white blouse. She gave up trying to smooth out the creases by covering the blouse with a black pullover. There was no time to eat. She took the stairs to the lobby and jogged east the few blocks to the police station to pick up her truck. First, she’d check in with Rouleau.

      One glance around the empty office and she cursed under her breath. She could hear the rise and fall of male voices and saw the team through the partially closed door of Rouleau’s office. She shrugged out of her jacket, grabbed her notebook and a pen, and tried to slip in unnoticed. An unlikely feat. Malik looked up at her and smiled. Grayson was reading aloud from his notes while Rouleau was half-turned in his chair, looking out the window. Gage and Bennett, both in navy uniform, stood next to each other leaning against filing cabinets. They’d left a chair vacant for her and she nodded at them as she sat down.

      Grayson lowered his notebook. “So we’re done going through his office. Whoever he was meeting the morning he died wasn’t recorded anywhere we can find.”

      “Phone records?” asked Rouleau.

      “He called his wife Laurel around three the day before he went missing and she called him back on his cell. There was a call to his daughter Geraldine two days before. The other calls that week were work-related. He was dealing with an engineer named Pierre Archambault in Montreal. There were four calls, two in and two out, with Archambault. We followed up and he was in Montreal at the time of the murder. He was expecting Underwood to fax a contract the afternoon he went missing. It didn’t arrive, obviously.”

      “What did you find out about that?”

      “J.P. and Underwood own two munitions factories under the name Integrated Industries, one outside Ottawa and one in New Brunswick. They build heavy artillery and sell to the Americans and our armed forces. The deal in the works with Archambault was for the design of a vehicle that could withstand running over a land mine.”

      “Why were they contracting out research? Don’t they have their own engineers on staff?” Rouleau asked.

      Grayson nodded. “I thought of that too. Archambault designed a prototype but doesn’t have the capital or resources to test and mass produce. He approached Belliveau initially. The deal was for financial backing and production if the prototype turned out to be as good as Archambault claimed. Underwood and Belliveau were gambling but they had to move fast. If the prototype turned out a dud, they still owed Archambault half a million just for sewing up exclusive rights. A company in the U.S. was interested, so they had to convince Archambault not to go looking further afield for a better deal.”

      “Where was Belliveau in all this?”

      “He set everything up. Word around the office was that Underwood wasn’t thrilled with the deal because they could lose half a million and he wasn’t convinced Archambault had invented anything extraordinary. Underwood wanted more time to test the product, but the Americans were willing to invest based on the specs. Since Underwood was the company’s closer, he had to carry the ball and get the contract signed.”

      “Was Underwood right to be cautious?”

      Grayson shrugged. “J.P. admitted that Underwood thought they should stick to research and design in-house and not gamble on an unknown. J.P. also said Underwood had changed lately. He didn’t have the drive he once had. Said it worried him. I set up an appointment with Archambault at noon at his Montreal office.”

      Rouleau looked at Kala. “Malik will be checking out a lead on the missing homeless woman Annie Littlewolf. How’s your French?”

      “Je parle,” she answered. “I spent a few years fully immersed.”

      “Good. You can go with Grayson.”

      “I can handle this alone. No need for two of us to go all that way.” Grayson said.

      Rouleau fixed his eyes on Grayson. “Stonechild has had the most dealing with the family. It’s time she branched into the business end of his life so she can help us put the pieces together.”

      Kala listened uncomfortably to the exchange. What Rouleau said made sense but he wasn’t making her any friends. Malik shifted in his chair and caught her glance. He seemed to be sending her a warning.

      Rouleau looked around. “So what’s everyone waiting for? You know what you have to do.”

      “Right, Sir,” said Kala. She stood with the others and walked out of the room ahead of Malik. Grayson stayed behind.

      Malik caught up to her as she was putting on her coat. “Rouleau asked me to give you this information on Archambault.” He handed over a thick file. “I wrote a one-pager on top with the highlights.”

      “Thanks.”

      Grayson passed them with his head down, heading in a straight line to his desk. He dropped into his chair and picked up the phone, punched in a number, and swivelled the chair so his back was to the room. Malik followed the direction of Kala’s gaze.

      “He’s a good detective but doesn’t share well. Don’t let him get to you.”

      She turned toward Malik to respond but he was already on the way back to his desk. “Great,” she said to herself before she sat down and opened up the file.

      She willed Grayson to get off the phone soon so they could get