Tumbled Graves (17 page)

“You didn't think this worth mentioning when we last met?”

Manteau shrugged. “What good would it have done since we knew nothing before the two of them were murdered by her husband. It's too late for Cécile and Benoit to have their daughter back.”

“You're certain that Cécile didn't know Adele had her daughter for the past three, almost four years?”

Lebeau answered, “Yeah. She would have said.”

Kala unfolded her arms and leaned on the table. “Do you not find it odd, Etienne, that your brother would father a child and then not care about what happened to her?”

Etienne's eyes swung over to her. He gave a half-smile. “My brother is hardly in a place to care. He never met the kid and so had no feelings for her one way or the other.”

“And he wouldn't have wanted to make Adele pay for taking his child?”

“Maybe if he'd known, but he didn't know. None of us knew.” Etienne's stare slid back to Li Li at the bar.

“So you keep saying.” Kala sat back and tried to still the pain now pulsing behind her eyes. “You and your brother don't have any other children?”

“No.”

“Have you ever wanted children?”

Etienne and Lebeau both laughed at the same time. Etienne's face reddened above his beard. “I have a couple of kids with different girlfriends. I pay them money to keep the brats out of my hair.”

Lebeau shrugged. “Maybe, but I can live without them.”

He and Etienne laughed again. Kala wanted to take her fist to both their faces. She knew that she had to disengage or this would become personal.

Gundersund held up a hand and said, “I hear you grew up together in Gatineau. You appear close.”

“My parents had a house and Philippe would come over to hang out,” Etienne said, “especially in the summer because of our in-ground pool.” He punched Lebeau on the arm. “He was like a stray dog that we got used to having around.”

“Yeah, while my mother entertained.” Lebeau exchanged a glance with Etienne.

Prevost asked more questions but Manteau and Lebeau gave nothing else away. Kala finally signalled to Prevost that they'd had enough. Gundersund said that he was going to the washroom before they hit the road. Traffic would be light and they'd be back in Kingston mid-afternoon. Prevost pulled out his cellphone while Etienne and Lebeau discussed the beer order.

Kala walked over to where Li Li was sitting on a bar stool, one long leg crossed over the other. She wanted to find out if Li Li gave off the same nasty vibe as Cécile Simon.

“Do you work here regularly?”

Li Li shook her head so that her silky hair swayed back and forth, giving off a coconut scent as she moved. Her eyes were perfectly almond-shaped and her lips upturned. Glossed in red, they formed a pouty rosebud. “I spell off Philippe behind the bar on his days off and lunchtimes now and then, depending on his shift. I also work in my father's office.” Her accent was Chinese, maybe Mandarin, but Kala couldn't be certain. “Philippe and Etienne will be having the afternoon off now that the beer order has been sorted out. They like having someone they can trust in charge of the till.”

“How'd you meet Etienne?”

“Through a dinner meeting with my father.” She smiled with small white teeth. Her black eyes invited shared confidences. “Being in charge suits Etienne. Benoit was a prick in many ways.”

Kala began to ask what Li Li meant, but Etienne was suddenly next to her and slung his arm across her shoulders. Kala thought about getting rid of him but Gundersund was waiting by the front door, and if they left now she'd have the afternoon to herself until Dawn got home from school. Her head was making her nauseous and she needed to get out of this place before she couldn't function.

“Here's my card, if you think of anything else.” She handed it to Etienne but realized even as she did so that the gesture was futile. No way would anyone in the Manteau inner circle be telling tales. She was quite certain they hadn't said anything truthful since the police walked in the door. Lying was second nature for the whole lot of them. Etienne took the card and tucked it into his pocket. He saluted her and walked toward the front entrance with his arm around Li Li's waist.

“They make a pretty couple, don't they?” Lebeau said as he walked behind the bar to get his jacket. He stepped back from behind the counter and over to where Kala was sitting. “Have you ever thought about dancing on stage?” he asked, his eyes running up and down her body in a look both suggestive and slimy. “You have a nice body … for a cop. You move pretty good too. Nice hip motion.”

Kala laughed. “Yeah, thanks. I'll keep it in mind in case if I ever take complete leave of my senses.”

F
red
Taylor punched through a call to Woodhouse just before seven o'clock. When Woodhouse put down the receiver he scratched his belly and called over to Bennett, who was researching something on his computer. They were staying late because they'd taken the morning off to sleep in and get some personal stuff done. Rouleau encouraged flexible hours when working a case or when they needed them. Woodhouse couldn't argue with his management style.

“We need to head over to the Delaneys.”

Bennett looked up. “Something going on?”

“Not sure, but Ivo Delaney just called in that somebody broke into his house while he was out.” Woodhouse reached for his jacket that he'd flung on the desk when he'd returned from lunch. “Sounds unlikely, but we should go have a look. Might be another opportunity to get him to confess.”

Bennett made a few clicks on whatever it was he'd been working on while he grabbed his jacket with his free hand from the back of the chair. “I thought Rouleau had a uniform watching the Delaney house.”

“He did up until yesterday.”

“Maybe somebody was waiting for an opportunity to break in.”

Woodhouse wanted to believe that Bennett was more than just a pretty
GQ
face but he was becoming less convinced the more time they spent together. He spoke slowly as if Bennett wouldn't grasp what he was saying otherwise. “Ivo Delaney is doing everything he can to divert us from the fact that he killed his family. Having us believe he got broken into is just a ploy. Any idiot can see that.” Woodhouse wasn't thrilled with the look Bennett gave him, but the guy was going to have to learn to accept criticism. Either that or keep his mouth shut so the stupid ideas didn't escape.

Bennett took the wheel without asking, as he did now whenever they went out on a call. Woodhouse had driven Ed Chalmers around when he was the junior partner, so it was only fitting that Bennett did the same for him. He'd made it clear to Bennett from the get go that his role was the secondary one. Being chauffeured around also gave Woodhouse time to look at websites and check his email. He opened up the latest
Whig-Standard
online and looked for Marci Stokes's article on Stonechild, but nothing yet. What the hell was the hold up? He'd practically handed her the text and all she had to do was give it the right outraged spin.

He looked out the side window. The rain had stopped for the moment but water glistened off the grass and had pooled in lower-lying areas. The
country
side had turned into a bog. Flooding was affecting half the county. Brown, cold, and soggy. Man, he hated this time of year.

Bennett finally broke his silence when he pulled into the Delaney driveway. “I think we should go easy, maybe not push Delaney too hard.”

Woodhouse slapped the dashboard with the palm of his hand as if he'd just heard a whopper. “Next you'll be telling me not to ask any questions about the murders in case I hurt his
wittle feewings
.” He shook his head. “You really have to grow a set, Bennett. We're detectives, not bloody social workers.”

“I'm just saying, the guy doesn't look like he can take much more.”

“Not our problem. Where's your compassion for his dead wife and three-year-old kid?”

“It's there. I think we should wait to see what Stonechild and Gundersund come up with before we go at Delaney again.”

“Yeah, I'll keep
that
in mind.”

They climbed the driveway, Bennett holding back a few steps. Woodhouse rapped on the door and moved back. After half a minute and no sound of anyone moving around inside, he pounded on the door again. He tried the door handle just to be sure, but the door was locked.

“I'll check around the back,” said Bennett.

Woodhouse nodded and tried to peer in the square of glass covered by a curtain. Bennett was at the corner when Ivo finally opened the door. The sight of Delaney's sunken eyes and white face almost gave Woodhouse pause, but then he remembered his dead wife and child. Who would speak for them if not the police? This guy didn't deserve his sympathy.

“We're here about a break in. Can we come inside?”

Delaney stepped back, leaving the door open.

Woodhouse waved his arm at Bennett to hurry up before following him inside. Delaney was already disappearing into his office by the time Woodhouse started down the hallway after him with Bennett close on his heels. They crowded inside the office and Bennett let out a low whistle. Papers and books were tossed about, the desk and bookshelves overturned and laying on their sides on the floor. The desk drawers had been emptied of contents and tossed against the wall.

Delaney stood just inside the doorway with his shoulders hunched and hands hanging at his sides while they surveyed the damage. He was everything Woodhouse despised in a man — weak, snivelling, and soft to the point of effeminate. Top that with his murdered family and Woodhouse had no compunction about bringing him to breaking point if that's what it took to make him own up to what he'd done.

“Anything taken?” asked Bennett. He took his camera out and started snapping photos.

“It's hard to tell. My bedroom's been gone through too.”

Woodhouse pointed to the door. “Well, let's go have a look.”

They trooped upstairs and met with the same mess in his bedroom and bathroom. The sweet smell of talcum powder filled Woodhouse's nose and he saw that a container of it had been dumped on the tile next to the tub. Bennett moved around the debris, taking more photos while Woodhouse asked questions and took notes.

“Where were you when this alleged robbery was taking place?”

“I went into work in the afternoon to take my mind off Adele and Violet. I might as well have stayed home because I couldn't concentrate. When I got back after six-thirty, this is what I found.”

“How'd they get in?”

“I'd left the back door unlocked. Whoever came in left it wide open.”

“Now why would you go out and leave your door unlocked?”

“We never lock it during the day. I never thought of it.”

Convenient.
“What did you think when you first saw that you'd been broken into?”

“That someone from the media was in here looking for something.”

A slippery thought nagged at the back of Woodhouse's brain. He let his mind go back over their visit. The ah ha moment wasn't long in coming. “Your front door was locked just now. Why would you have locked it and not the back door?”

“I didn't want anybody else to get in. I locked both doors after I saw this mess.”

Woodhouse let the silence lengthen, long enough for Delaney to start looking uncomfortable. He kept his voice on the accusatory side. “Have you remembered anything else about the day your family went missing?”
Like the fact you killed them?

Delaney looked confused for a moment, then his eyes focused on Woodhouse's. “I have nothing more to tell.”

“A guilty conscience is a tough thing to live with,” Woodhouse said softly. “You might want to rethink your earlier statement and take responsibility for your part in their deaths.”

Comprehension crept across Delaney's face. He dropped his eyes from Woodhouse and looked down at the floor, his big shoulders drooping like a sail made slack from retreating wind.

Bennett picked that moment to straighten from where he'd been crouching near the bed taking
photos.
“I think I'm done here.” He motioned toward Delaney. “Perhaps you can call someone to help clean up this mess.”

“I can manage.”

“We'll be close by if you decide to ease your conscience.” Woodhouse snapped his notepad shut. He put his mouth near Delaney's ear. “Adele and Violet deserve that the truth come out. Their spirits'll never rest easy until you tell us what really happened.”

They left Delaney standing by the door to the bedroom. As they clattered down the stairs, Woodhouse in the lead, Bennett stopped partway and said, “Do you think we should call the neighbour woman to come over and give him a hand? He seems … I don't know. Unwell.”

Woodhouse stopped too and looked up at Bennett.
Are you friggin kidding me?
He turned back around and kept going down the stairs. He said over his shoulder, “Nah. He'll figure it out. He's a big boy.”

G
undersund
gathered the team in Rouleau's office at eight the next morning. He'd brought doughnuts and Bennett had been the first in and made a pot of coffee. They stood around Rouleau's desk taking a few minutes to ingest sugar and caffeine before recapping the previous day's activities.

“So we're up to speed,” said Gundersund after Woodhouse finished his report on their trip to the Delaney house in the early evening, for what he called a wild goose chase. Gundersund looked at Bennett who was studying Woodhouse with thinly disguised dislike. “Anything to add, Bennett?”

“No.”

“Rouleau is staying in Ottawa for another day. I'm keeping him informed as much as he needs to be. At this point, we haven't much new to trouble him with. What are your plans for this morning, Stonechild?” He didn't ask her what was on her mind even though he wanted to. She'd been quiet since she came into the office. Distracted, he'd say.

“I'm going to see about getting us an interview with Benoit Manteau in Millhaven. I put in a call last night and am waiting to speak with somebody.”

“It's prudent to close that loop,” said Gundersund, more for Woodhouse's benefit than Stonechild's. He knew that Woodhouse wasn't a fan of Stonechild's investigative style. Woodhouse believed the obvious was always the answer and the rest deserved only a cursory look — his biggest failing as far as Gundersund could see. He added, “And I'll be updating Heath this morning. I can come with you to interview Benoit Manteau if you're able to set something up for this afternoon, Stonechild.”

She nodded. “I have a personal appointment at four but am hoping Millhaven can accommodate us closer to lunchtime. If not, we'll have to try for tomorrow.”

He looked at Woodhouse. “What have you got on today?”

“We'll be finishing up interviews with Delaney's coworkers while we wait for the final forensics to come in.”

“Great. We're promised the report on his vehicle and Adele's by end of day. The team continues to go through the computers and laptops, so hopefully we'll get something from them today too.”

Woodhouse nodded. “If it plays out like it should, we'll be waiting for your call to bring in Delaney. Is that it?”

Gundersund thought for a second. “I got nothing else. Just keep in touch if you find out anything the rest of us should know.”

Woodhouse signalled to Bennett to follow him out.

Gundersund watched Stonechild smile at Bennett as if telling him to keep the faith. Bennett smiled back before trailing out after Woodhouse. Gundersund felt his stomach tighten at this exchange.

Stonechild held back after the others left. It took her a few seconds to start talking. “I have to go into Dawn's school again.”

“Has something else happened?”

“I'm not sure, but the social worker wasn't as friendly as last time she called.”

“How was Dawn when you got home yesterday?”

“Fine. She'd made supper and then went upstairs to do homework. A typical evening.”

Gundersund wondered how typical it was for a thirteen-year-old to spend every evening in her room doing homework, but he kept silent.

Stonechild seemed to sense something in his mood because she added, “I'll be calling her counsellor to set up an appointment for later in the week now that our case appears to be settling down. I'm trying, Gundersund. I just don't know if I'm who she needs to get through this.”

“Don't sell yourself short. I think you're just what she needs.”

She smiled at him but the smile didn't linger. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I really hope your faith in me isn't misplaced.”

Gundersund would later remember how close together the two calls came. Two devastating calls, one expected and the other a complete shock. The first came through on his cell — Rouleau telling him that Frances had passed away that morning and he'd be staying in Ottawa a few more days until after the funeral. Gundersund had never met Rouleau's ex-wife but he knew by the odd comment that Rouleau had let drop that he was still in love with her. Her death would be hard for him to get over.

Gundersund looked over at Stonechild. She was eating an apple while reading something on her computer screen. He was going to have to let her know, let the entire team know. He always felt like time hung suspended at these moments just before breaking bad news, knowing that the person he had to tell would never be quite the same. The desk phone rang before he could get up from his chair. He picked up the receiver, planning to make quick work of the call, knowing that Rouleau had called Vera before him and word would spread quickly through the station.

In response to his abrupt hello, the caller didn't say anything, but Gundersund could hear raspy breathing and a strangled sound that made him lean forward and cover his free ear in an effort to hear better.

“Are you in trouble? Can you tell me where you are?” Why hadn't this person called 911? From the corner of his eye, he saw Stonechild stand and start toward him, a look of concern on her face.

“Are you there?” he asked again, louder this time.

At last a woman's voice made a discernible sound that sounded like a high-pitched shriek. “I found him.
Hanging.
You people did this. You drove him to it.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. Can you tell me who you are?” He was vaguely aware of Stonechild next to him, bent over so that she could hear. He pulled the receiver from his ear and held it between them.

“He's dead.” The woman's voice was lower now, in vicious control as she enunciated every syllable. “Ivo Delaney is dead. He hanged himself from the beam in their bedroom. Sammy and I found him when we came by to make lunch.” She began sobbing then and Gundersund let Stonechild take the phone while he took out his cell. He listened to Stonechild's calm voice assuring Catherine Lockhart that they were on their way, while he placed a call to the front desk to mobilize a squad car and the ambulance. He and Stonechild wouldn't be far behind.

Stonechild finished speaking with Catherine at almost the same time as he completed his call. She stood motionless for a moment, the look on her face broken but quickly hardening into anger. She glared at him.

“How could we have let this happen?”

“Woodhouse and Bennett were with him yesterday because of the break in. They would have reported if he seemed suicidal.”

“Bennett maybe. I'm not so sure about Woodhouse.”

“You can't know that. This is an awful shock, but we have to work together. You have to step back.”

Her eyes bore through him and it took an effort not to look away. He'd never seen this anger and pain from her before and he wondered for the first time what she was capable of doing when provoked. She had depths that he was only now glimpsing.

She was the first to look away. “I'll just get my jacket,” she said, her voice even, revealing none of the emotion he'd just seen in her eyes. She ducked her head and said as she turned, “I'll take my own truck and meet you there.”

“I'll just stop by Heath's office and will be right behind you.”

He was in the parking lot before he remembered that he hadn't told her about Frances. He looked at the taillights of her truck pulling onto Division Street. “Dammit,” he said out loud. He'd have to find a moment to tell her as soon as he got to the Delaney house because if Stonechild heard about Frances from somebody else, his lapse wouldn't be easily forgiven.

He reached his car and unlocked the door. How had the day gone from contained to disaster in the space of ten minutes? He slid inside and started the engine. For the first time, he thought about what Delaney's suicide could mean. If they were lucky and he'd left a note confessing to his family's murders, his death might be a blessing in disguise. Gundersund had almost convinced himself that this was how it would play out by the time he reached the outskirts of Kingston. Only the anger he'd seen in Stonechild's eyes kept him from fully believing in the possibility of a tidy ending to this whole ugly mess.