not involved with Laurel. If you start thinking that he was murdered because we wanted to get rid of him so we could be together, you are going entirely in the wrong direction.”
Kala zipped up her jacket and opened the door. She turned to him before she stepped outside. “Perhaps you weren’t involved, but I’ve only known you a little while and I have the impression that something is going on between you two. I wonder how many others thought the same, even if it’s not true as you allege.”
Rouleau looked across the table at J.P. Belliveau. His face was a purplish-red in the glaring fluorescent light of the interview room. He’d refused coffee or water and at the moment was glaring at Grayson, who was tinkering with the recording device in preparation for the interview. Rouleau leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. This was Grayson’s show.
“Let’s begin,” said Grayson. He leaned into the microphone and named the people in the room, date, and time. Malik sat next to him ready to play good cop if needed. “How long were you and Tom Underwood business partners?”
“Going on twenty-five years. We built the business together. If I’d wanted to off him, I wouldn’t have waited so long.”
“For the record, we’re not suggesting you killed him at this time.”
“Good to know.” J.P.’s eyes let them know he didn’t believe it.
“What was Underwood working on when he died?”
“He was setting up a contract with an engineer in Montreal to test a design with an eye to manufacturing a vehicle that could withstand land mines. He was getting the contract ready to send the day he died.”
“Who takes over the file?”
J.P.’s eyes narrowed. “Max Oliver. He’s leaving for Montreal as I speak to reassure the client and work on getting the contract signed. You can’t seriously think Max or I had anything to do with this. We needed Tom. He was our closer.”
“So you keep saying, but it looks like you’ve managed to carry on without him.” Grayson paused and looked down at his notes. “Did you know that Tom Underwood was planning on getting out of the business?”
“Who told you that?” J.P. looked at Grayson, but when he didn’t respond, J.P. shrugged. “Tom mentioned a few times over the past year that he was tired and considering a career change. The problem was he had an expensive young wife and kid to worry about and a certain lifestyle to maintain. I don’t know where else he’d make the kind of money he was making in our firm. He wasn’t serious.”
“What would have happened if he was?” Rouleau interjected.
J.P. took his time answering. “From what I know about Laurel, she might have taken the kid and left him. She’d fight him for a big chunk of change. He couldn’t afford that drop in fortune.”
“That doesn’t say much for his marriage,” said Rouleau.
J.P. let out a harsh laugh. “Anybody with eyes could see that she was just sticking around for the money. He had a lawyer come by to discuss a separation. His concern was having the kid half-time.”
“You know this for a fact?” Grayson asked.
“Yeah. I was there a few weeks ago when this woman in a fancy suit showed up asking for Mr. Underwood. I told her that he got called away and asked if I could help. She asked that he call her to set up another time later in the afternoon because she had to be in court. She left her card. It said ‘Sandra Woosley, divorce lawyer,’ plain as day. I asked Tom about it when I passed on the message and he said he was investigating his options.”
“You never mentioned this before.”
“You never accused me of killing my partner before.”
“For the record, we have not accused you of killing anyone. So that would fit in with Tom deciding to leave the business,” said Grayson. “Ditch his wife and make a lifestyle change.”
“You might think so,” agreed J.P., “except that after Tom spoke to the lawyer, we went out for a beer and he told me that he’d decided to get a few things in order before he made a move. He told me the best thing he could do was hire a hit man and be done with her. He said it all jokey like, but with everything that’s happened, I wonder if she got to the hit man first.”
21
Tuesday, December 27, 11:30 a.m.
Kala took Rouleau’s phone call on her way back into the city. She was to interview Geraldine in Kanata before coming into the station. She pulled over and took down the address and directions.
“I know it’s a stat holiday so take the rest of the afternoon off,” Rouleau said before hanging up. “Fill in your reports tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered into the dial tone.
She merged onto the Queensway and continued past downtown taking the split toward Kanata. She took the March Road exit and turned left on Campeau Drive and right on Knudson, past the Kanata Golf and Country Club to Goulding Crescent — a road that circled around eight large detached houses with tiny front yards and garages sticking out toward the street like eyesores.
She found the house number and pulled into the empty driveway. It looked like nobody was home, but she rang the bell a few times anyway before returning to her truck. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and thought about her next move. It was a long way to head back downtown and return. Better to grab some lunch and try again in an hour or so.
She backtracked to Campeau Drive and followed it south until it crossed another major road. It didn’t take her long to find a commercial area and a diner that was open on the holiday. She was one of five customers.
She took a table near the window and ordered coffee and the full breakfast special. While she waited for her food to arrive, she pulled out a file she’d been keeping on the investigation. She jotted down notes about her encounter with Hunter. The fried eggs, hash browns, sausage, and toast arrived before she’d gotten through the first paragraph. She loaded the food with ketchup and ate quickly, cleaning her plate with the last of the toast. The waitress returned to clear her plate and Kala asked for a coffee refill. There was lots of time to finish her notes and to reread Hunter’s previous interview before she set out to try his sister again. She’d give Geraldine an hour at least to return home from wherever she’d gone. In all likelihood, there was a family gathering somewhere and she’d have to wait until the next day to see Geraldine, but she’d give it one last try.
When she returned to Goulding Crescent, a van was parked in Geraldine’s driveway. Kala left her truck on the street and walked toward the house. She peeled off a glove and felt the hood of the van. It was still warm from its trip home.
Geraldine took a while to answer the door, but Kala could see that Geraldine recognized her.
“Sorry to bother you on a holiday, but I wonder if you have a few minutes to talk?” She took a step back as Geraldine swung the door open further. “I guess you know by now that I’m with the police.”
“Sure, why not? Come on in.”
“Is your husband at home?” Kala asked before stooping to pull off her boots.
“No, Max is working.”
They sat in the family room off the kitchen. Geraldine offered tea but Kala declined. She’d drunk enough coffee at the diner to keep her buzzing the rest of the day.
“This is a nice room,” said Kala, looking around. The mid-afternoon sun warmed the wood panelling around the fireplace and gave the Persian carpet a golden hue. They sat on a leather couch with aqua satin cushions.
Geraldine’s eyes swept around the room and back to Kala. “This is where I do all my thinking. I’d light a fire, but the wood is in the basement and it would take a while.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said