Tumbled Graves (5 page)

W
alter
Knight reached for the can of Red Bull and took a long swallow. He glanced over at Jed, his head bobbing up and down to whatever new wave, crazy rap music it was the kid listened to through ear buds hooked up to his iPad. Jed. His oldest and only son: skater boy with frizzy blond hair and skinny as a whip — seventeen with nothing deeper on his mind than what he wanted to eat for supper.

When he'd agreed to take Jed along for the Maritime run, he'd hoped they'd get a father-son bond going. He'd imagined forging one often enough, especially those times when the loneliness of his job got to him. He spent many nights a thousand miles from Windsor, and his family became the star he pinned his dreams on. Never mind that after a few weeks at home he couldn't wait to get back out on the road. So far on this trip, the longest conversation he'd managed to have with Jed had been about whether to order the apple or the lemon meringue pie. Not exactly the deep connection he'd envisioned.

He checked his watch before looking back at the road. Kingston was another twenty minutes on the 401. They'd made decent time and should hit Montreal just after five a.m., usually the best time of day to cut through that city. After making it to the other side, he'd keep going and pull into Rivi
è
re-du-Loup to catch a few hours sleep. Not that Jed would care. The kid was pretty much sleeping his way across Ontario as it was.

Walter checked his side mirror. Some asshole in a dark-coloured truck had been riding his ass since Trenton. The number of idiot drivers was on the rise. Time was, he might have had some fun with the driver on his tail, but now he just wanted to get through his run without a hassle. He slowed down to let the guy pass. The Ford pickup pulled alongside when the driver put his foot into it and sped off. Walter had just had time to glimpse a good old boy wearing a ball cap behind the wheel. No accounting for the games drivers played to ease the boredom. He'd seen the gambit from annoying to downright dangerous.

The rain started the other side of Napanee; a hard slanting rain that drummed down on the roof of the cab like going through a car wash. The noise was loud enough to wake Jed from a sound sleep. He pulled the ear buds out and yawned.

“When did the rain start, Dad?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Sounds like bullets on the roof.”

“It's one nasty storm. Looks to be coming off the lake.”

“Where are we, anyway?” Jed leaned forward and squinted through the front windshield. The wipers were on high, snapping across the glass like they were on steroids.

“We'll be in Kingston in about fifteen minutes. That would be Lake Ontario off to our right. If this keeps up, I'll find a place to pull over so we can get a coffee and have a break.”

“I could eat something.”

Walter drained the last of the Red Bull and turned his full concentration on the road. The 401 was a four-lane highway — two lanes in each direction — and straight for the most part. He was glad that he wasn't on one of the smaller highways with visibility down to almost nothing. The load of produce in the trailer was heavy enough to keep the wind from battering the truck around too much. The darkness combined with the rain was unnerving. Every so often, red brake lights flashed ahead of him, giving him an idea of curves in the road.

Even Jed appeared to sense that this was a dangerous situation. He put away his iPad and kept his eyes on the road. A bell sounded in his pocket and he reached for his phone.

“Mom just sent a text. She's asking if we're caught in the storm.” Jed grinned at his dad. “She watches the weather channel when she can't sleep.”

“I know. It's not the first time she's called me in the middle of the night.”

“What should I tell her?”

“That we're fine and pulling into the next rest stop to wait this out.”

Thunder rumbled overhead as Jed's thumbs worked away on the screen. A jagged streak of lightning cracked the sky. A few seconds after Jed finished typing, the bell rang again. Jed looked down and then up. “She says to let her know when we get there.”

“Tell her ten-four.”

They passed the first of the off ramps into Kingston. Walter was reluctant to get off the highway. He wanted to be through Montreal before morning and any long delay would be a problem. He passed the second exit.

Walter chanced a quick glance at his son. Jed's face was pale and worried in the glow from the dashboard.

“Dad, this is really bad. Where are we going to stop?”

“Nothing's open this time of night except the rest stops on the highway. I was thinking we could make the one at Mallorytown. I'll even treat you to a hamburger and fries.”

“How far?”

“An hour, maybe.”

“You're okay to drive that far in this storm?”

“It's letting up.”

A crack of thunder made a liar of him. The last exit into Kingston slid past on their right. Now they were committed to keep going until at least Gananoque, another thirty minutes with the storm. He could pull off the road there if the rain was still coming down in torrents. The Mallorytown rest stop was going to be more than an hour the speed they were forced to travel.

“Mom's not going to like this.”

“She'll never know. I just don't want to stop in the middle of nowhere. We have to make Montreal before daybreak.” He took Jed's silence for agreement, knowing it wasn't. “Send her a text and tell her we're hunkering down.”

“But that's a lie.”

“Not really. We will hunker down. Just not yet. No need to have her worry.”

Jed's thumbs got busy again. After he sent the message, he crossed his arms and slumped deeper into the seat. He turned sideways and looked out the passenger window.

Walter didn't have the energy or time to deal with his son's disapproval. He'd smooth things over when they took the break in Mallorytown. The lights of two vehicles were ahead of him, both in the left lane. He could barely make out their tail lights through the darkness and rain. Still, it was comforting to know they weren't the only fools on the road. Thunder split the sound barrier directly overhead and seconds later fork lightning lit up the sky like fireworks.

“Dad!” Jed's voice came out a high pitched shriek, nearly making Walter swerve into the other lane. “Dad! Pull over! Somebody's lying on the road.” Jared lifted an arm and punched his finger on the glass. “On the side of the road.” He turned horrified eyes toward his father. “They're just laying there, Dad. They could be dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know what I saw. You have to pull over now, Dad.”

“Maybe it was just some garbage or road kill.”

“It was a person!” Jed's voice had risen to frantic.

Walter had been doing forty so it didn't take much to gear down, especially since they were on an incline. He eased the rig onto the shoulder as far over as he could get. He set the air brakes and turned to face his son.

“You're sure about this, Jed?”

“I know what I saw.”

He put on the four ways. “Okay, but you stay here. There's no use in two of us getting drenched.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Stay here. Have your phone ready to call 911.”

Walter reached around behind him until he found his raincoat. He put it on, pulling the hood over his head.

“Give me the flashlight in the dash.”

Jed opened the glove compartment and reached around inside. He handed over the flashlight, his face grim in the dashboard light.

Walter turned it on, keeping the beam pointed at the ground. He double checked for oncoming headlights before opening his door and jumping out of the cab. His face and jeans were soaked before he hit the ground.

He checked again that no traffic was coming before racing to the back of the trailer and moving as far onto the shoulder as he could. The rain and wind pummelled against him but he had a wrestler's body and was a match for even these elements. He plowed forward, head bowed and chin tucked, keeping his balance as he ran down the incline toward the place where Jed had yelled for him to stop. Even at that, he nearly stumbled over the woman. The feel of his boot jamming into her made him curse and jump back. He stood for a second, breathing heavily, arcing the flashlight along the road and over the grassy slope as far as it would cut into the blackness of the woods. Anybody could be out there.

He pointed the beam to his feet and crouched down beside her, careful to keep one eye watching down the road for approaching headlights, straining to hear over the wind. She was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, rolled on her side, one arm straight out, the fingers spread wide. Her feet were bare, her legs twisted at unnatural angles. He pushed back her long tangled hair to find the back of her neck. Her hair was a soggy mass and cool to his touch. He couldn't find a pulse. When he pulled his hand away the flashlight beam lit up crimson blood on his fingers.

He squatted on his haunches for a moment more, the rain pouring down his face, trying to make sense of it. Then he took out the oil rag that he kept in his pocket and wiped his hand before slowly pushing himself to his feet. He backed away, careful not to disturb the scene any more than he already had. Shock was setting in and made him feel outside his body. He'd like nothing more than to get back in his truck and tell Jed that it was just a deer on the road. Carry on to the Mallorytown rest stop and have burgers and maybe get Jed to talk about where he planned to go to school in the fall. The talk was long overdue. The woman was dead. She wouldn't know the difference.

He started back up the road, the wind pushing him along this time toward the flashing lights of his transport. The door to the cab fought him as a strong gust of wind blew it wide open. He climbed into the cab and wrestled the door shut behind him. Then he sat for a moment, collecting himself, hands on the steering wheel.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it anything?”

He turned his head sideways and looked at his son's face, so young and untested in all the things that could beat a man down. Now was the time to put the truck into gear and get back on the road. Walter inhaled a long draught of warm air from the truck cab into his lungs. He let it out slowly and nodded in Jed's direction.

“Hit 911, Son, then hand me your phone.”

Jed's eyes widened before he looked down at his phone. Walter swallowed the lump in his throat at the sight of his boy's bowed head, blond hair sticking up like duck down above the nape of his neck. He'd missed the better part of his kids' lives, telling himself that he was making a good living for his family by being on the road. Telling himself they were better off with him gone most of the time. Sometimes he'd even convinced himself. Jed and his sister had gotten used to his comings and goings, never questioning why he wouldn't find a job in town. His wife had covered for him. She'd kept him tied to them with some invisible, endless string even during those long stretches when he'd taken extra runs, trying to ease something in himself that wouldn't be eased. Lying to Jed now would cross some dangerous line that Walter knew he'd never be able to uncross. It would break the string that held him fast. The kid had seen what he'd seen. The body on the side of the road would haunt his dreams even if Walter made him believe for this moment that he'd been mistaken.

He took the phone from Jed and spoke to an officer on the desk. They'd have to wait around and talk to police when they arrived. He'd have to fight his way through the rain and wind again and light some flares.

So much for making Montreal before sunrise.

Walter reached over and rested his hand on the back of his son's neck. “Text your mother and tell her we'll be spending the night at a motel in Kingston. I got a feeling we're going to be a while.”

R
ouleau
stood from his crouched position near the dead woman. They'd closed off the highway and erected a tent and hooked up lanterns with enough light for photos and a thorough first inspection. Rain pattered on the plastic material like a kind of hypnotizing background music. He signalled to Fiona Gundersund to take over and ducked outside the protective awning, stepping around a puddle and over to where Paul Gundersund stood talking on his cellphone. After a few seconds, Gundersund tucked the phone into his pocket and pulled his hood down over his forehead.

Gundersund spoke first. “The driver who called it in doesn't know anything. It's definitely Adele Delaney on the side of the highway. The question is how she ended up here.”

“Fiona says that she was killed somewhere else. Are you okay breaking it to the husband?”

“I wouldn't mind waiting for Stonechild. She seemed to get along with him better than the rest of us. I found him a bit odd, to tell you the truth.”

“You can't wait for her to get here. As it is, she's not going to be thrilled that I didn't call her, but no point three of us standing in the rain.” Rouleau squinted through the slanting downpour at a woman walking toward them. The darkness had thinned somewhat as dawn neared. If only the rain would let up. Rouleau recognized the woman as she got closer. He'd seen her from a distance at a news conference in city hall the week before. He turned so she wouldn't see what he was saying. “A reporter's here already. You've got to tell Delaney before this gets out.”

Gundersund stared over Rouleau's shoulder. “That's Marci Stokes from the
Whig
. Word is she was a foreign correspondent in the Middle East for an American news outlet until a month ago.”

“Kingston isn't exactly a hotbed of excitement. I wonder why she took a job at the paper.”

“To make our lives miserable?”

“She can join the line. Take one of the uniforms with you to Delaney's. What time are they resuming the search for their daughter?”

“At first light, so in about an hour, I'd say.”

“Check in.”

Gundersund nodded at Marci Stokes before he headed over to the parked police cars lining the highway. She stopped just outside the crime scene in front of Rouleau and extended her hand. Her fingers were cool and damp from the rain. He noticed her grey eyes looking him over before she tilted her head to look past his shoulder toward the tent. Her view of the body was blocked for the most part. Again, he wondered what she was doing in Kingston.

“I'm Marci Stokes from the
Whig-Standard
,” she said. “Do you have an ID on the body?”

“No. Her next of kin would have to be notified first at any rate. But I'm sure you knew that.”

Marci's mouth curved in the smallest of smiles as she pulled a notepad out of her pocket. “So, it's a woman. How old?”

“Hard to judge.”

“Because she's in such bad shape?”

“Not necessarily. How did you hear about this anyway? It's the middle of the night.”

Marci smiled wider this time. Deep lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth before the smile disappeared. “Was she murdered or hit trying to cross the highway?”

“Too early to say.”

She lifted her eyes and studied his face. “How about this? I won't print anything until you give the okay. I know these deaths can be … delicate.” She pushed back a strand of wet hair that had fallen into her eyes with the back of her hand. “It could be mutually beneficial if we work together on these cases. I'm good at cooperating with investigators as long as I get the story in the end.”

“You're pretty much the only game in town yet you talk as if the competition is beating down my door to get the story. You must have figured out by now that Kingston news doesn't normally make the national stage.”

“All small cities have their stories. It's a matter of digging them out.”

“That sounds a lot like digging dirt. Has the
Whig
changed its focus from real news to the sensational?”

“On the contrary.” She pointed toward the tented area. “Is this incident related to the woman and her daughter who went missing yesterday? Adele and Violet Delaney?” She waited, grey eyes unblinking.

Rouleau managed a poker face while he ran the implications of what she'd said through his head. No doubt now that someone was feeding her information. Heath was not going to be happy. He'd have to be brought in to handle the leak. Rouleau kept his tone guarded. “Then you know that we haven't anything to release yet about them at this point.”

“Listen, Detective Rouleau. We both know that the Kingston Police Force is remiss when it comes to sharing information with the public. I'm here to change that. I want to work with you, but it's a two-way street.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here's my cellphone number. Call me day or night if you decide that you have something to share. I won't wait forever though, before I go with what I have.”

Rouleau reached inside the white jumpsuit and tucked the card into his shirt pocket while he watched her stride back toward her photographer. He was leaning on the hood of their vehicle parked on the shoulder just past the police barrier. Stokes lifted an arm and pointed toward the tent. Her partner started snapping pictures in quick succession using a telephoto lens.

Fiona Gundersund appeared at Rouleau's elbow. “We're ready to transport the body back to my office. I'll get the autopsy underway right after I have some breakfast. I see you're getting to know our new crime reporter.”

“Not by choice. I'll get Stonechild in to watch you work.” He checked his watch. “Should we aim for eight?”

“Works for me.” Fiona tilted her head toward Marci Stokes. “I hear she's doing penance here in the backwoods until a political story she broke blows over. She offended some mighty powerful American politicians. She could be cooling her heels here a while.”

“Just what we need. Someone trying to find a story where there isn't one.”

Fiona smiled. “We all have to make a living somehow, Jacques. Personally, I'd rather cut up dead bodies than write about the terrible acts performed by the living.”

The forensics team was still hard at work scouring the area around the highway when Rouleau got into his car. He turned the heater to high trying to shake the chill that had seeped into his bones. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but it promised to be a miserable morning — especially for the team searching for Violet Delaney's tiny body in the river.

Some days he didn't like his job much. This was turning out to be one of them.

Officer Halliwell jumped into the front seat next to Gundersund and slammed the door. Rain dripped from his coat and his face was slick with water under his police cap. He looked from the radio to Gundersund. “So, should I call it in?”

Gundersund ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and over his teeth while he thought over what significance to attach to the fact that Delaney's car was gone from his driveway at almost six a.m. The outside light and a lamp in the living room window were both shining brightly, but Delaney wasn't answering the door. He let his eyes wander across the yard to the dark line of trees at the back of the property. The shapes looked like hovering giants in the morning shadows. The child, Violet, had been forced through the woods to the river and thrown into the fast-flowing water, and not by her mother … or that was how things looked now. Adele Delaney had been taken somewhere else and held for a time before being murdered. The scenario was incomprehensible. Horrific.

The sound of a vehicle slowing on the main road caught his attention and brought him back from his reverie. A set of headlights swung their beams up the driveway as a car turned in.

“Don't call the station just yet.” Gundersund pulled up the zipper on his coat and pulled the hood up over his head. “Will this damn rain never end?” He swung the door open and squinted at the car through the sheet of rain as it pulled in next to them. Ivo Delaney was at the wheel. Gundersund turned back toward Halliwell. “Let's find out where Delaney's been before I tell him about his wife. Then we can decide whether or not to bring him into the station.

“Hold up a minute, Delaney!” Gundersund called as he stepped out of the car. Delaney had already jumped out of his and was sprinting for the front door. He wasn't wearing a jacket and rain plastered his hair to his head and soaked his shirt so that it was nearly transparent. He pointed toward the house without slowing and Gundersund gave chase. Halliwell's door slammed and he joined in the run for the front door. They crowded into the front entranceway, dripping water onto the hardwood floor from their coats. Delaney backed up so that he was leaning against the staircase. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shook from the chill he'd gotten in the cool morning rain. Gundersund had never seen skin so pale, the man's cheeks hollowed out in a face becoming more cadaver-like with every passing day. His eyes were wild and bright in the harsh light from the overhead lamp. There was no doubt that Delaney was a man in torment. The question now was whether or not it came from killing his family.

“It's early to be out and about. Where were you?” Gundersund stepped closer to Delaney so that he could catch every bit of emotion crossing his face.

“Couldn't sleep. I thought driving around searching for my family was better than lying in bed going out of my mind.” Delaney's teeth chattered behind blue lips. “I can't believe they're in the creek. I keep hoping to find them wandering …”

“Can you tell us where you drove exactly?”

“Why?” Delaney's eyes flashed the first hint of defiance. They held Gundersund's for one brief moment before his shoulders slumped and the fight appeared to fizzle as quickly as it had come. “I drove into Kingston and took Highway 2 to Highway 33 into Bath. I drove back through Kingston and took Highway 2 home. I didn't stop anywhere if you're looking for witnesses.”

His story was going to be hard to disprove unless a witness could put him elsewhere. Gundersund would leave his travel tale unchallenged for now. He motioned toward the living room. “You might want to sit down and wrap yourself in a blanket. I have some news that is going to be difficult.” He hated this part of the job. Delaney might have killed his wife and daughter, but if not he was going to be devastated by Gundersund's next words.

Delaney shut his eyes and his body swayed as if he was going to fall down. Gundersund reached out an arm to steady him.

“Tell me now.” Delaney's voice was low and wretched. “Just tell me.”

“The body of a woman was found a few hours ago on the side of the 401 just outside Kingston on the way to Gananoque. We believe it to be Adele.”

Delaney's body jolted as if a fire had been lit under him. His eyes widened, a crazed expression making his features grotesque. “My wife? Dead on the 401? How can that be? You told me that she'd drowned Violet and then herself. Now you tell me that she was killed on the highway? I could have been out looking for her all this time instead of answering your damn questions?
You
could have been out there doing your job.” Delaney pushed himself away from the staircase and began pacing, his arms rising and falling like a bird trying to take flight. A guttural growl came from deep in his throat.

Gundersund and Halliwell stepped forward in unison and somehow got their arms around him. He fought them for a moment before slumping against Gundersund. Between them they walked him into the living room and angled him onto the couch, his body limp, all resistance gone. Gundersund reached for the blanket lying across the back of the couch and wrapped it around Delaney's shoulders while Halliwell kept a firm grip. Gundersund spoke to Halliwell as they worked Delaney into a reclining position. “We'd better get the paramedics out here. Call them and then see if there's some brandy in one of the cupboards. He's going into shock.”

“I'm on it.” Halliwell let go after Delaney sunk into the cushions and closed his eyes. He crossed the floor to the hallway already speaking into his cellphone.

Not for the first time since they stepped through the front door, Gundersund wished for Kala Stonechild's silent presence next to him. He knew for a fact that she would have handled his botched interaction with Delaney with greater skill and compassion. Delaney had instinctively trusted her on their first visit. He wasn't the first person in trouble who'd reacted to something they saw in her eyes. Black eyes as layered and mysterious as the Canadian Shield. For all her prickly toughness, a humanity could be seen shining from their depths. Gundersund knew this as a certainty because for a short time he'd been allowed into her world. Now he was left on the outside looking in with the feeling that he'd utterly failed her. The problem was, he had no idea why.