and a club soda. He lowered his bulk with a grunt in the seat next to Kala and slid her drink over to her.
Malik raised his glass in her direction. “To our new colleague who broke the case. You’re a credit to the Ottawa Police force and to mankind in general.”
“Here, here,” said Whelan.
They clinked glasses and drank.
“The paperwork and interviews made it almost not worth solving this thing,” said Kala. “You should have warned me.”
“You’d have been better off if Pauline Underwood hadn’t drowned while you were trying to apprehend her. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be under the scrutiny her death has subjected you to,” said Malik. “Has it been rough?”
“Rough enough. SIU has zero personality and they take themselves extremely seriously.”
She looked at Grayson. He was hunched over his beer as if the amber liquid was keeping him warm. He met her eyes and lifted his glass in her direction. “Good work, Stonechild.”
“Thanks.” He almost looked like he meant it. She glanced around the table. “Any word on how Pauline’s family is doing?”
“Yeah, not every day your mother murders your father and then gets killed trying to kill her best friend,” said Whelan. “Might make you question your genetic pool.”
“I know I’d think twice before having kids,” agreed Malik.
“Geraldine Oliver put her house on the market yesterday,” Whelan commented. “She and her baby have moved in with the brother.”
“Hunter?” asked Kala.
“Yeah. Apparently she’s giving up the high life.” Malik pointed at Grayson. “Tell Kala about the big business deal her father’s company was working on.”
“It fell through. While the murder investigation was going on, an American company offered the inventor Archambault a better deal and he went for it. From what I hear, J.P. Belliveau and company are in a great deal of financial trouble.”
“It just doesn’t get any better for that family, does it?” said Kala.
“Say, did anyone invite Rouleau?” asked Whelan, looking toward the door.
“He’s working on something back at the office,” said Grayson. “He couldn’t make it.”
“That’s a shame,” said Kala. She took a long drink from her glass, suddenly eager to get away. “I wanted to ask him something.”
An hour later, she knocked lightly on Rouleau’s office door and stepped inside. He was reading a typed page that he turned over before motioning her to take a seat.
“I thought you’d be celebrating,” he said with a smile. “It’s been a rough few days with SIU studying us from all angles.” His green eyes were tired, his face pasty in the fluorescent lighting. She wondered if he’d eaten. SIU had been harder on him than her, and she was drained, not sleeping well and forgetting to eat.
“Grayson said you were still here and I wanted to talk to you about Susan Halliday. Clinton is abusing her, I’m sure of it.”
“And what do you propose we do?”
“I know a woman has to make the decision to leave an abusive partner, but couldn’t I go visit her and let her know about the support that’s available?”
“It would be a tricky conversation.”
“I just don’t think I can ignore what I see in front of me.”
Rouleau considered her words. “As investigators, we enter into peoples’ lives and find out things about them that would never come to light otherwise. We have to learn tunnel vision. People are entitled to their privacy unless it has an impact on the case at hand. That said, I’m certain you’ll find a way to see her even if I say not to.” His eyes held hers. “It wouldn’t hurt to make her aware of her options, but tread carefully. Is she still in the hospital?”
“She went home yesterday.”
“Take Bennett. He can amuse the husband while you chat with her. Tell Clinton you’re there as follow up to the murder investigation.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You know, life and relationships are never the tidy packages we’d like them to be. Sometimes, they don’t end well no matter our best efforts. People can disappoint.”
“I know.” She paused not sure if he expected more from her. Her eyes lighted on a card with a picture of a French café at the edge of his desk. “Is this a postcard from Paris?” she asked. “May I?” He nodded and she picked it up. “I’ve always wanted to go overseas.” She kept the photo side up, careful not to turn it over to read the message.
“It’s from my ex, Frances. She and her husband are having a wonderful time. They’re heading to Italy at the end of the month.”
“What a great trip.” She raised her eyes and studied Rouleau. He’d shifted his chair so that he was looking out the window. Darkness had fallen between the time she’d left the pub and entered his office. A soft snow was feathering the pane. When he turned back toward her, the curve of his mouth had lightened. He leaned across the desk and took the postcard from her.
“I’m handing in my resignation tonight,” he said. “I’ve accepted a job in the homicide unit in Kingston. They have another opening, if you’re interested.”
She felt a jolt through her stomach. “Is it because of Pauline Underwood’s death? Because if it was …”
He interrupted her. “No. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. My father lives in Kingston, as you know, and I want to spend more time with him. I also want to get back into the field. That’s where I feel the most at home.”
“What will happen to this unit?”
“I’m recommending Grayson take it over. He has his faults, but he’s a good detective. He’s agreed that I put his name forward. I know he’d like you to stay on. We’ve discussed it.”
Kala slouched back in her chair. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“Well, think on it and let me know your decision.”
“I will.” She stood and looked down at him. “I understand your need to move on, but I think I might stay here a while longer.”
“I figured you might.” He smiled. “I’ll tell them to hold the Kingston position another few weeks just in case you change your mind.”
The lights were off on the second floor. Kala angled her wrist to catch the light from the street lamp through the window. Only eight o’clock. They shouldn’t be in bed yet.
She stepped out of the truck and dodged traffic crossing York Street. The sidewalk was shovelled but the walkway wasn’t and the snow hid patches of ice. One near fall and she slowed her steps. The front door was still unlocked and this time the smell of fried fish filled the hallway. It almost covered the smell of cigarette smoke, but not quite. She climbed the staircase slowly, ribbons of shadow darkening the walls. The only light came from a bulb dangling on an exposed wire from the ceiling at the bottom of the stairs. This was no place to raise a kid, but she’d lived in worse.
She knocked on Rose’s door, knowing in her gut that nobody would answer. A sense of loss was already filling her like an old friend returning from a short vacation. She shifted sideways. It was the sound of a lock turning and a chain sliding across metal that alerted her. The door to the next apartment creaked open. She took a step toward it.
A white-haired head poked out, black current eyes in a wizened face. His teeth were probably soaking in a glass. “They left two days ago, all three of ’em. Rent coming due, I guess.”
“No forwarding address?”
“They