Butterfly Kills. Brenda Chapman
nodded. “Yeah. Leah Sampson. I’ve got somebody checking for her next of kin. We should find out more about her within the hour.”
Kala looked around the stifling living room. She already knew a lot about Leah Sampson. She was a struggling student who lived alone, although she was close to her sister and parents. Their faces smiled at her from two framed photos on a table next to the couch. Horses were a passion, judging from the other photos. Leah read murder mysteries when she should be studying. The stack of paperbacks next to her unopened textbooks was a giveaway. What secrets had she kept that were worth dying over?
“I’m going to look in the bedroom,” Kala said abruptly.
“I’ll come with you,” Gundersund said.
Rouleau didn’t turn or look away from Leah’s body. “I’ll stay with her until she’s ready to be moved.”
“Okay boss,” Gundersund said.
He and Kala walked sideways down the narrow hallway, stepping on their toes past pools of congealed blood. Kala made a cursory check of the bathroom and galley kitchen off to the right. Neither room appeared to be part of the crime scene. The bedroom was another story. Three officers from forensics noted their entry and carried on with their work. Two were dusting for prints and the other was taking samples from the chair where Leah Sampson had been tied.
Kala lifted her eyes from the pink rosebud-patterned duvet in a heap next to the bed to the one-eyed stuffed teddy bear leaning against the mirror. Silver and gold costume jewellery lay in front of the bear, scattered in shiny heaps across the top of the dresser. A silky blue housecoat hung on a hook next to the closet door. The bed was rumpled, unmade. A spray of blood crossed the sheets as if from a garden hose. Nobody had mentioned sexual assault yet, but the coroner would be looking for signs. Gundersund broke into her thoughts.
“We can’t do anything here until forensics is finished. I’m going to talk to the person who found her. Maybe they heard something. Coming?”
“Sure.” Her eyes fixated on the bloody chair for a moment before she turned to follow him.
They retraced their steps down the hallway. Rouleau was still with the coroner and Leah Sampson’s body. They let him know they’d be upstairs starting interviews.
“Hell of a welcome to the team,” Gundersund said with his foot on the bottom step. “Rouleau speaks highly of you, by the way. He wasn’t sure you’d be coming to Kingston though. Glad you changed your mind.”
“I just dropped in for a visit,” said Kala. She gave Gundersund a quick sideways grin. “Guess I’ll be sticking around for a few days.”
Chapter Seven
Bobby Hamilton sat in a chair in front of a giant television, his face ashen in the pooled light from the table lamp. A Blue Jays game was playing on the screen with the sound off. Bobby sucked on the end of a cigarette while avoiding looking directly at Kala and Gundersund as they lowered themselves kitty corner to him on the stained green couch, the only other place to sit. Bobby had shot them a darting look when they entered the room, then fixed his unblinking eyes on the screen.
Kala sat on the edge of the couch and tried not to think about what had made it so filthy or what could be crawling underneath her. She forced down her revulsion and angled herself to get a clear view of Bobby. His shoulder-length blond hair was already giving way to baldness — the hairline had receded with a circle of thinning noticeable on top — and his eyes were pale blue in his bony face. His hollow cheeks and pointed jaw hinted at malnourishment. Someone who’d rather spend their money on drugs than food. A smell of pot hovered in the room, filming the walls and ceiling, giving silent confirmation of her assessment.
Gundersund coughed as if his throat was constricting. “So you found Leah’s body,” he said when he caught his breath. He coughed again and his face turned a deep red. He glared at Hamilton as the choking came to an end.
Bobby chanced a glance at him before nodding. He pulled on the cigarette like he was sucking on a straw.
“Do you mind putting that thing out?” Gundersund asked, pointing at the smoke rising from Bobby’s fingers.
“What, this?” Bobby shrugged and dropped the cigarette into a beer bottle on the table next to him. It hissed and sputtered, then went out. He spread his legs wider and sunk deeper into his chair.
“You found Leah Sampson’s body.” Gundersund had pulled out his notebook.
“So it was her.”
“Can you tell us what you saw?”
“I went downstairs to do some laundry after supper. Around eight o’clock. I smelled something stinkin’ and followed it over to her apartment. I knocked but the door was open a bit so I yelled to see if she was okay.”
“Did you go in?”
“No way.” Bobby shook his head and looked at them for the first time. “I just looked down the hall and saw blood and combined with the smell … I hightailed it back upstairs and called 911.”
“Did you hear anything coming from Leah Sampson’s apartment the last few days? Anything unusual that you can remember?”
“Like what?”
“Like noises or raised voices; anything at all unusual.”
“Nope.”
“Did you see anybody coming or going?”
“I’m not her bloody keeper.”
Interesting choice of adjective. “What do you do for a living, Bobby?” Kala interrupted.
“I work for the city. Garbage collection.”
“So you’re not home during the day.”
He looked in her direction, his eyes assessing her like a woman he’d just met standing on a street corner. “That’s right. I leave for work around five a.m. and get home mid-afternoon, unless I go to the bar when I’m done.”
Kala ignored the suggestion in his weasely eyes. “Did you do that last week, say on Friday after work?”
“Yup.”
“You said that without thinking about it,” said Gundersund.
“That’s cause I go to the bar every night after work. It takes a while to get the taste of garbage out of my throat.” He smiled, showing yellowish teeth. One of the bottom front ones was missing.
“We’ll need details and names of the people who might have seen you,” said Gundersund.
“Why? I didn’t have nuttin’ to do with what happened to her. I was the good corporate citizen that reported it, remember?”
“We know that,” said Kala, cutting off his sudden burst of anger. “We just need to find out where everybody was.”
“Yeah, right,” said Bobby. “I got an idea how this works.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed Gundersund a card with the phone number of his supervisor. “Wayne was at the bar with me Friday and tonight.” His eyes went back to the television screen.
“Did you know Leah at all?” asked Kala.
“Nope. I keep to myself.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Gunder-sund asked.
“Such as?”
“Who might have killed Leah.”
“I ain’t got absolutely no idea. A guy does his civic duty and all of a sudden you’re checking out his whereabouts and asking if he knew her killer. I think I’m all done talking.”
“Thanks for your time,” said Kala. “We appreciate your assistance.” She kept her voice flat, hiding any trace of sarcasm.
Out