Tumbled Graves (16 page)

G
ordon
met Rouleau and Stonechild outside the door to Frances's room. Rouleau extended his hand and Gordon shook it firmly. Rouleau wasn't surprised by the change in his ex-wife's new husband. He expected that he had much the same pale look of quiet desperation and grief. Rouleau introduced Stonechild to Gordon and they exchanged handshakes.

“Frances is in and out of consciousness now.” Gordon's voice trembled but his eyes didn't waver. “I was just going for coffee so would appreciate if you sat with her for a while. I might even take this opportunity to get some lunch.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

“Your father was by earlier. He should be back in an hour or so. Frances's sister and mom have gone for lunch.”

Rouleau looked at Stonechild. “You could go shopping and come back for me later if you like.”

“I might go for a walk.” Her eyes gave nothing away but he took strength from them nonetheless.

Gordon reached out and squeezed Rouleau's arm before he set off down the hall.

Rouleau entered the room alone. The air was warm and still, muted light from the window the only illumination. Bouquets of flowers filled every available surface, the smell not unpleasing. His eyes swept the room until they found Frances lying in the middle of a single hospital bed, her hands folded above the sheets. Her breathing was shallow and raspy, but she was breathing on her own. He was relieved not to see tubes and machines hooked up to her. She wouldn't have wanted that. He somehow crossed the floor and stood looking down at her face, so porcelain white that he was afraid to touch her. He sank into the chair at the head of the bed, never taking his eyes from her. His face was level with hers.

“I'm here, Franny.” He reached through the bar that was there to keep her from falling out of bed and rested his hand on top of both of hers. He willed her to wake up but her eyes stayed closed. “I wanted to come earlier, but you know how hard it is to … say goodbye to you, my love.” He sat for a while watching her breathe in and out. Her hair was cropped even shorter than the last time he'd seen her and had gone almost completely grey. He shifted in his seat and pulled out a thin paperback from the inside pocket of his jacket with his free hand. “I kept that T.S. Eliot book you liked so much and have been carrying it around … close to my heart. I don't read aloud as well as you but thought you might like to hear those poems you used to read to me after supper.”

He managed to get the book opened to “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” He held the book so that he could see her face as he read. He thought he saw her lips part but he couldn't be sure. “Let us go, then, you and I. When the evening is spread out against the sky.” He stopped and willed the moisture to leave his eyes. He continued on, surprised at how the words were imprinted in his memory. He could say them without reading. How many nights had he taken comfort from these poems after she'd left him? “For I have known them all already, known them all — Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons. I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”

He glanced at her face again. Her eyes were open and watching him, the smile on her lips for real now. He stood and leaned closer, kissing her forehead.

“I knew you'd come.” Her voice was papery thin.

“Always.”

He found the ice chips and held her head while she captured some in her mouth. “Read … more,” she said.

He settled in, finished the first poem, and flipped to her favourite. “April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire …” He stopped reading, lowered the book to his lap.

“I love you, Franny. Never stopped. I wanted you to know.”

She smiled up at him. Such love and kindness in her gaze, he felt the connection to her that he thought he'd lost when she'd told him it was over. What he'd felt for her had never been over.

“Stay with me,” she said. She reached out her hand to his. Her words were slow and laboured. “I'll know you're … here.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said. For he knew that she was at peace and would soon give in to the cancer that had destroyed her body. The reason he'd held back from coming might have been selfish but he'd wanted her on this earth just a few more days. He'd known that she wouldn't give in until she'd seen him one last time.

But now, it was time he let her go.

It was still early when Kala reached the Division turnoff into Kingston. She'd made the trip back alone after Rouleau said that he'd be spending the night with his father in Ottawa. Henri Rouleau had thanked her for her small role in bringing his son to the hospice. Kala knew that he would have faced the death of his ex wife in his own time. She hoped that this way would bring Rouleau closure, even if seeing her was the more difficult route.

She drove past the station and carried on toward Princess Street. The rain had tapered off just past Merrickville but was still spitting down, making the roads shiny and slick. If the rain didn't stop soon, they'd be into summer before they'd have a chance of finding Violet Delaney's small body. Cutting west through the university, she reached Dawn's school a few minutes before class ended for the day. She circled the block and found a parking spot a short distance from the main entrance. She got out and walked toward the front.

Dawn's bus driver was standing on the sidewalk talking to two other drivers. He recognized Kala and she let him know that she'd be driving Dawn home. She stepped back so as not to intrude on his last minutes of peace before the kids came pouring out of the school.

At exactly five after four, the front doors swung open and the grade seven and eight kids started pouring out. The noise level rose from zero to ten, shrieks and laughter punctuating the garble of voices. Kala watched closely for Dawn but she was one of the last, trailing behind a group of girls, head down, knapsack swung over one shoulder. Kala's heart caught at the sight of her aloneness in the crowd of boisterous adolescents. She called out.

“Dawn! Over here.”

Dawn's neck snapped up and her eyes brightened when she saw Kala standing next to the fence. She started running toward her, jacket flapping and rain glistening on her face.

“I thought you were in Ottawa.”

“I got back early. I was hoping you and I could run some errands on the way home. I've let the bus driver know you're with me.”

“What about Taiku and Minny?”

“They'll be fine for another hour or so.”

They walked past the bus and Kala noticed Dawn glance over at the group of girls standing just outside the door. The four girls had long hair, tight jeans, and striped shirts. The tallest one had blond hair and a pretty face. They stared at Dawn as she walked by before the tall one said something and laughter erupted.

“Are those the girls?”

“Girls?”

“The ones giving you trouble.”

“Nobody's giving me trouble, Kala.”

Kala looked at her but let the moment pass.

She drove back downtown and parked one street over from Princess. Dawn had shared little about her day but Kala hadn't pressed. When they were on the sidewalk, Dawn looked confused. She asked, “Are we getting groceries?”

“No. I need a new pair of jeans and thought you could use some too.”

Dawn walked silently beside her. They reached the entrance to the Gap. “I hear this store has a good selection.” Kala held the door open.

Dawn looked inside but hesitated. “Are you sure we can afford this?”

You're breaking my heart.
“We can afford this.”

They entered the store and Kala looked for a young salesperson to help them. She lucked out with a cheerful eighteen-year-old girl named Laura who took Dawn under her wing. Before long, Dawn had tried on several pairs of jeans and tops, her face shining as Kala and Laura wrapped her in compliments. Laura chatted to her like best friends and their laughter was like spring sunshine to Kala's ears.

When Dawn finally emerged from the dressing room in her own well-worn clothes, Kala was finalizing the sale. Dawn walked over to stand next to her.

“Aren't you trying on clothes too, Kala?”

“Not today.” Kala smiled at her and handed over two bags. “You looked so good in all the jeans that I bought a few pairs and the tops to go with them.”

“You didn't need to do that.”

“It was my pleasure.”

They walked back to the truck, taking their time and looking in the store windows. Dawn became more and more quiet as they walked. When they reached the truck, Kala unlocked Dawn's door first and slid the parcels inside on the floor. Dawn clambered in behind them and Kala walked around the back of the truck to the driver's side. She climbed in, put on her seatbelt, and put the truck into gear. As she made a right shoulder check and put on her turn signal to merge into traffic, Dawn turned her face toward the side window. She wasn't quick enough though for Kala to miss the tears on her cheeks. Kala reached over and touched Dawn's shoulder.

“Is everything okay? What is it?”

Dawn took a moment to answer. Her voice came out a strangled wail. “I don't know.” She rested her forehead against the glass, keeping her body turned away from Kala.

Kala waited a moment but when Dawn didn't make any move toward her, she took her hand away and did a final shoulder check before easing the truck out of the parking spot and into traffic. She'd give Dawn the space she needed and hoped patience would win out. She could think of no other way.

The ride home was a silent one. They were almost at the turnoff to Old Front Road when Dawn finally rolled her body back around and rested her head against the back of the seat. She looked straight ahead and said, “Thank you, Aunt Kala.”

Aunt.
Kala darted a glance at her. “You don't need to thank me. I just wish I knew how to make everything better.” She'd told Dawn when she took her in that she considered her family and Dawn had made it official with one word. The tightening in Kala's chest eased a little.

Dawn turned her face toward Kala. Her eyes were hard and dry. The small crack into her pain had been closed off with the finality of a door slamming. When she spoke, her voice was light and eager, completely at odds with what had just happened. “Do you think we should stop to get Minny on our way by? I'll bet she misses her walk with Taiku.” She stared at Kala as if nothing else was on her mind, her eyes daring Kala to contradict her.

It felt like time had fallen away and Kala was looking in a mirror.

You've taken on the role of keeping the peace. You've learned how to pretend that everything is okay when your world is falling to pieces around you.
You've learned to hide your fear.

She tried to keep the sadness from her voice, tried to match Dawn's lightness. “Only if Gundersund's car isn't in the driveway.”

“Okay.”

Kala glanced once more at her niece before turning onto the side road. She was thankful in a way that Dawn had pulled back because she was more comfortable with silence. Defences and walls kept a lot of nasty things at bay, including pity, something she hated more than life itself. She'd never put any stock in talking through feelings or blaming her childhood for current problems. Rehashing what happened from every pathetic angle seemed like a big wallowing waste of time. But now she had someone other than herself to consider. For the first time, she could admit that stoic denial might not be working. Her aversion to introspection was going to have to change if she and Dawn stood a chance.

She was finally ready to subject herself to Dr. Lyman if it meant getting them through this together.

T
hey
met Michel Prevost in the lobby of the tiered red-brick office building on René-Lévesque Boulevard a few minutes after ten the next morning. It was just over three hours from Kingston to Montreal so it had meant a six-thirty start. The twelve-storey office complex was south and west of Chinatown and a few blocks from the Old Port of Montreal. The lower level contained businesses and a daycare, and hooked onto the Hyatt hotel. A fountain in the centre of the busy lobby featured a circle of spouting water under a high ceiling of purple and yellow glass blocks.

When Prevost shook hands with Gundersund, Kala saw that they were practically the same height, but there the physical resemblance ended. Prevost carried more weight than Gundersund, and while Gundersund had shaggy blond hair and blue eyes, Prevost's black curls and dark features spoke to Kala of a Mediterranean heritage. Both men had watchful eyes and relaxed body language that Kala knew could be deceptive for those who equated extroverted behaviour with competence. She'd take either man backing her up in a dicey situation anytime over flashier numbers.

Prevost spoke first. “Cécile Simon's parole officer works on the troisième, that is the third étage. She's expecting Cécile at eleven thirty and wants to speak with her before calling us in.”

“Where should we wait?” Kala asked.

Prevost pointed to a coffee shop visible beyond a supporting column. “I will be getting a text when it is time for us to join them. Let us get some coffees.”

They walked over and Prevost ordered in French. He paid before Gundersund and Kala could stop him. They each took a cup and added cream at the counter and then sat at a table near the entrance.

“Have you dug up anything further on Cécile?” Kala asked, sipping from the cup. As coffee went, this was bitter and strong. The cream hadn't diffused the muddy blackness by much.

Prevost nodded. He took a drink from his cup and grimaced. “Merde that's terrible. Must have been sitting all morning.”

“Tastes okay to me.” Gundersund shrugged.

“Gundersund always drains the pot at the station long after its best before.” Kala grinned at him.

Prevost's eyes swung between the two of them. He seemed to confirm something to himself because he gave Gundersund a small smile before addressing Kala's question. “It is like this. Cécile Simon is a woman with violence never far from the surface. She can be charming one minute but ferocious the next if someone crosses her. She had a corner of the drug trade in an east end neighbourhood before she was busted. The Manteau brothers were tight with her. We hear that one of them is father of her missing child. Word on the street is that it is Benoit, the one in prison.”

Kala said, “So she's as tough a customer as the Manteaus.”

“It would appear that way. In this case, two like-minded people were attracted to each other.”

Gundersund set down his empty coffee cup and looked at Prevost. “Was Cécile's sentence linked to Benoit's in any way?”

“Not that we know. Cécile was busted for trafficking and assaulting a teen for not paying up. She got four years but was released last winter after serving half her sentence. The kid recovered and was scared to press charges, but we had witnesses to his beating. Benoit is in for murder. He ordered a hit on a rival gang member again over drug distribution. We found no evidence that the crimes are linked. Excuse me.” Prevost pulled his phone out of his inside jacket pocket. He read the text message. “Bon, she is ready for us.” He glared one more time into his coffee cup before pushing it away. “Another thing. Cécile grew up with an English father and speaks English if you want to take the lead in the questions.”

“Great. We will.” Kala stood. Gundersund and Prevost followed her out of the restaurant and they headed together to the elevators. People looked at them as they walked by, and Kala could imagine why. Gundersund and Prevost were big men and she walked between them as if they were her body guards.

The parole officer, Odette Landreville, met them outside the elevator. She shook hands with each of them before leading them through the security door and into a meeting room. Cécile Simon was standing next to one of the chairs, arms folded across her stomach. She looked at each of them as they walked in, her gaze lazily hovering over each of the men, but coming to rest on Kala. Her eyes were a light shade of blue, much like a washed out sky, and hard as marbles in a narrow, fox-like face. Kala had pictured a more imposing figure than the slender woman in front of her. Yet, she'd known helpless looking women who'd terrorized their children and spouses. Cécile's eyes were calculating, without kindness, and no doubt windows to her soul. Kala's sixth sense kicked in and a shiver started between her shoulder blades and rippled down her back.

“Let us all sit down.” Odette extended a hand toward the table.

They arranged themselves so that Kala was directly across from Cécile with Gundersund and Prevost on either side of her. Odette took the seat closest to Cécile and sat back looking over the three officers, assessing them with experienced eyes. Her middle-aged face and grey hair told Kala that she'd been around this business a long time and was likely not far off retirement.

Kala spoke directly to Cécile. “Thank you for meeting us. As Mme. Landreville has told you, we're here about your daughter, and let me say that we are very sorry about the circumstances.” She was going to say death but held back since they hadn't located the body.

Cécile looked at her, hands folded in her lap. She played with a silver ring on her middle finger as she spoke. “I only had her a few months before they put her in that home. When she was abducted, there was nothing I could do from inside.” Her voice hardened. “Fucking
Adele Dufour. My kid's name was Pauline, by the way, before Adele turned her into a fucking Violet.”

“Did you know that Adele had taken your daughter?”

“How could I fucking know?”

Odette put a hand lightly on her wrist. “Cécile,” she said calmly. “We know that you are angry, but these officers are trying to find out what happened to Pauline. Please show them courtesy.”

Cécile stared defiantly at Kala before dropping her eyes. “Yeah,” she said but her voice was sullen.

Kala continued. “We understand that you spoke of knowing who had your daughter and that you intended to get her back. Is this true?”

“I suspected everyone while I was in jail, but no, I didn't know for sure. I said that I was going to find out who had my daughter and get her back. I certainly didn't know where Adele had disappeared to four years ago or that she'd taken my daughter with her. She never talked about where she came from. Cagey, wasn't she just? We danced together in a strip bar and sometimes the girls went out afterwards for drinks or something to eat. We weren't bosom buddies or anything.”

“Did Adele know you when you were pregnant?”

“Yeah. Adele was around when the kid popped. She even covered a few of my shifts when I had to go to court. Adele had already quit by the time I was locked up. I thought she'd left town before Pauline was taken and didn't even think of Adele as a possible suspect for a long time. I mean, why would I? How could I possibly know that she'd hung around after quitting Chez Louis and stolen my two-month-old baby?”

Kala asked, “Who is your daughter's father?”

Cécile tilted her head to look sideways at Odette before answering. “Benoit Manteau. He didn't know where she'd been taken either.” She swung her face back toward Kala. “Not that he could have done much to get Pauline back from his prison cell.”

“How did Benoit feel about being a father?”

“He didn't get to meet her because he didn't make bail. His trial was going on at the same time as mine, oddly enough. I guess now we'll never have a chance to find out if he would have been a good father.”
Cécile pulled the silver ring off her finger and bounced it up and down in the palm of her hand.
“What Adele did to me is unforgivable. She stole my baby, for Chrissakes. If I had killed her, and I'm not saying that I did because I didn't, it would have been with good reason. In a way, you could say that her husband gave her what the lying, two-faced bitch deserved.”

“Have you been to Kingston since you were released from prison?”

Cécile darted a look toward Odette then back at Kala. “No.”

“Do you keep in contact with Benoit or Etienne Manteau, or their cousin Philippe Lebeau?”

“I talk to Benoit by phone, maybe once a week. I check in with Etienne now and then to see if he's found out anything about who took my kid, but so far nothing. He'd been trying to find out since she disappeared. Philippe has tried to help but he heard nothing. The provincial police, the Sûreté, were fucking useless. I don't even think they gave a crap if they found my kid or not.”

Odette interrupted the flow of questions. “Cécile is working to make a clean break from her old life. I'm encouraging her to avoid Chez Louis and the other bars where she worked, as well as the toxic people from that time. She has a job in a restaurant chain and our goal is for her to work up to assistant manager.”

Cécile kept talking as if Odette hadn't spoken. “Even if I had known that Adele took Pauline and where they were living, why would I have killed my own daughter after waiting so long to find her? I'm the victim here. You can't turn it on me.”

“The thought of Cécile Simon as a mother chills the blood.” Gundersund swivelled on the bar stool to take another look around Chez Louis. He reminded Kala of a bird surveying the landscape for predators. Almost automatically, her eyes travelled around the room, following the same arc as his.

The lunchtime crowd hadn't arrived yet and the waitresses were gathered by the kitchen talking.
É
milie didn't appear to be working today. An Asian woman in a skin-tight dress and stiletto heels with straight black hair to her waist was leaning on the other end of the bar, talking to Philippe Lebeau, who was serving drinks. He was watching them over the top of her head but so far hadn't approached. He and the woman laughed about something and she put her hand on his arm. Prevost had gone to the washroom so Kala was content to wait for his return before she called Lebeau over. ZZ Top was singing about a sharp-dressed man from the loudspeakers in the ceiling at a level just below painful.

“This bar is a throwback to my college days,” said Gundersund. “Although the clientele in the Kingston bars that I frequented might have been a cut above this place.”

“Well, unless the clientele was strippers, bikers, and drug dealers, you spent time in bars of a higher calibre than Chez Louis.”

“Yeah, our fun was definitely more innocent.” Gundersund moved in closer so that he didn't have to speak so loudly to be heard over the music. “How about you? Did you spend any time in bars when you were younger, Stonechild?”

His tone was playful, but Kala wasn't sure where he was coming from. “I might have visited a few,” she said. “I learned that alcohol and me don't mix very well.”

Gundersund nodded as if understanding, but how could he? He had no idea how low an addiction could bring you. He'd never woken up sick and desperate, the day's only goal to get enough money together to buy another bottle before the shakes got too bad.

He looked over his shoulder and asked, “So, do you know who the girl is talking to Lebeau?”

As Kala adjusted her position to have another look at Lebeau, Prevost manoeuvred into the space behind their bar stools. “That's Etienne Manteau's chum Li Li. They've been living together almost two years. The word on the street is that she's tamed him, but their relationship could have something to do with her father Wang Tao's construction business and his nasty reputation. We've been keeping an eye on Tao for some time but he's not a man easy to nail down.”

Gundersund looked at Prevost. “This just keeps getting better.”

Prevost smiled widely. “I can confirm that we're never bored.”

Kala was watching Lebeau and Li Li when Etienne Manteau entered through the main door. He stopped and took in the scene before walking over to them. He slid an arm around Li Li's waist and kissed her on the mouth. Lebeau stepped back and got busy wiping down the counter.

“Time to have our little chat.” Prevost left them and made his way over to Lebeau and Manteau. He gestured to a table close to the bar and Kala and Gundersund got off their stools to join them. Li Li, who took Lebeau's place behind the bar, bent down and lowered the music volume, for which Kala was thankful. She felt the beginnings of a headache throb in her left temple.

Lebeau and Manteau took seats next to each other, with Prevost facing them and Kala and Gundersund on either flank. Prevost led the questioning this time.

“We've come to learn that Adele Dufour made off with Cécile Simon's daughter while she was in prison and that the child was Benoit's. We believe this was the same child who drowned behind Adele's house outside Kingston. What do you have to tell us about this kidnapped baby, which you conveniently didn't mention on our last visit?”

Lebeau cracked the knuckles on his right hand, the tattoos on his biceps flexing. “Perhaps you should ask Cécile. It was her kid.”

Prevost regarded Etienne. “Was your brother upset about his child going missing?”

Manteau ran a hand up and down across his beard as his brown eyes looked past Prevost to Li Li at the bar. He pulled his gaze back to Prevost before answering. “I doubt it. He never met the kid. I never met the kid.”

Prevost kept speaking to Manteau. “So nobody knew that Adele had taken Violet — or Pauline, as Cécile named her?”

“We didn't have a clue until we heard about Adele's death and her missing kid. Let's say that puzzle pieces started slotting into place when we saw Adele's photo in the news and heard she had a daughter the same age as Pauline would be. It's not like Adele was pregnant when she conveniently disappeared at the same time as the kid went missing.”