Tumbled Graves. Brenda Chapman
bone-chilling winter. He needed something warm to chase away the bleak lethargy that was keeping him in front of the television night after night like an old man in his undershirt.
A few minutes later Stonechild sauntered toward him, wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses, looking more like a biker than a cop. She pointed toward her truck. “I’ll follow you. I have to get home right after this.”
He wanted to tell her how ridiculous it was to take two vehicles when they lived so close to each other. He could drive her home and pick her up in the morning, and her truck would be safe in the police parking lot overnight. Instead, he nodded and asked, “Do you know where we’re going in case we get separated?”
“It’s not like we’re driving through New York City. Don’t worry, I won’t lose you.”
He shrugged and got into his car. He waited until Stonechild had started her engine before easing out of his parking spot. When he reached the Princess Street intersection, she was still right behind him. They headed down the one-way through the downtown toward the harbour. He waited at the lights and turned left, straight past the armed forces base and across the bridge out of town. The water level was up with spring runoff. It sparkled in the sunshine, giving an unexpected jolt of pleasure. Highway 2 followed Lake Ontario and ten minutes out he turned north on a side road. The houses were spread out on large wooded lots. He slowed, checking house numbers until a few minutes later he spotted the Delaneys’, a two-storey house with grey siding. Two cars were lined up in the drive but there was room for a couple more. He pulled in and Stonechild swung in behind him. They walked up the drive together.
“How’s Dawn doing?” Gundersund asked. He looked sideways at her. She kept her eyes straight ahead, the angular lines of her face looking as if they’d been chiselled into a block of granite. Her long black hair lifted back from her face in a sudden gust of wind.
“Not great. Having your parents in prison and living with a stranger can be hard on a thirteen-year-old.” She finally turned to look at him. Her cheek muscle twitched. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m up for this. Then I remember that I’m all she has.”
“You’ll be fine. Just give it some time.”
“Well, we’ve got nothing but. Her parents aren’t going anywhere for a good number of years anyway.”
Gundersund leaped up the steps and rang the bell. A plump woman in her thirties with a pleasant face answered the door. Her eyes flashed relief when they said they were from the Kingston police. “I’m Adele’s friend, Catherine Lockhart,” she said. “Ivo, Adele’s husband, is in the living room. He seems … at a loss.” She held the door open until they were inside, then turned and started down the hall.
Gundersund shot Stonechild a worried look that she returned. They both knew this could turn odd very quickly. They followed Catherine into the living room. Ivo Delaney sat hunched into himself on the couch. Gundersund took a second to realize that he was reading something on his phone. A boy who looked to be four or five was building something out of Lego on the floor. He had the same reddish hair and freckled pug face as Catherine. The child who had been reported missing was a girl, so this had to be Catherine’s son — if the resemblance hadn’t already confirmed it.
“Ivo,” she said louder than she need to. “The police are here.”
“I gathered that.” Ivo set the phone down beside him and pushed himself to his feet. Gundersund could see that Ivo Delaney was a man ill at ease in his own body. Being a big man himself, he knew the feeling of always being on display with nowhere to hide. He instinctively reached out and shook Ivo’s hand. It was soft and sweaty, no pressure returned.
“I can’t imagine where Adele and Violet have gotten to,” Ivo said, releasing his hand and sinking back onto the couch. He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching both sides of his head before letting his hands fall between his knees. Catherine seemed unsure what to do. She glanced worriedly between them before walking over to sit on the edge of the couch next to Ivo.
Gundersund and Stonechild pulled the only two chairs in the room closer and angled them in front of Ivo. Gundersund nodded at Stonechild to take the lead.
“Mr. Delaney, when did you last have contact with your wife?” Stonechild asked. She kept her eyes focused on his face until he finally looked at her.
“She was in bed when I left for work at the bank. It’s the CIBC on Princess. That would have been around six-thirty. I’m an accountant and this is a very busy time of year. I hadn’t had a chance to call her all day, but tried before four o’clock, after Catherine phoned me to say that my wife had missed an appointment. I rushed right home.”
“Has your wife ever done this before? Left for the day without telling you?”
“No. At least, not that I know of. She’s always home when I get back or she tells me where she is.”
“Your daughter …”
“Violet, yes, she’s missing along with Adele. My daughter is three years old. She’ll be starting kindergarten in the fall.”
“Was Adele upset about anything?”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Had you been fighting about anything? Was something bothering her about living out in the country?”
Ivo’s cheeks reddened. “No, nothing unusual. She talked yesterday about us going on a trip to celebrate our wedding anniversary. She liked living in the country.”
“Have you checked with your friends and family to see if they’ve heard from Adele?”
Ivo raised his head and hope crossed his features. “I hadn’t thought of that! She has a sister. They’re not close, but maybe that’s where she’s gone.” He grabbed his phone and flipped through a couple of screens until he pressed her number.
“What’s the sister’s name?” Gundersund asked while they waited.
“Leanne Scott. She lives in Gananoque.”
Stonechild sent Gundersund a questioning look. “About half an hour from here,” he said. She nodded. He could tell by her eyes that she also thought Ivo was a man grasping at straws.
Ivo spoke a few words into the phone before he dropped it back onto the couch. His shoulders rolled in further. “She hasn’t heard from Adele today.”
Gundersund almost felt sorry for the guy. Sorry until he reminded himself that the husband was always the first suspect when a wife went missing. “I’ll take her phone number and address and your wife’s cellphone number.” He jotted them down in his notepad before asking, “Do you mind if we have a quick look around? I understand she left food out in the kitchen.”
Catherine jumped up. “I could take them, Ivo.”
“It’s okay. You stay here with Sam.” He stood and led Stonechild and Gundersund into the hall. He stopped and turned to look at them when they entered the kitchen. The ruddy colour was back in his cheeks. The hand he lifted to his forehead had a slight tremor. “I’ve already checked the basement. I found Violet’s knapsack and stuffed rabbit on the floor and the television left on. She never goes anywhere without her rabbit. Puts up a big fuss if we forget to pack it. I didn’t want to say this in front of Catherine and the boy, but I have a very bad feeling about this, officers. A very bad feeling.”
Chapter Three
Kala Stonechild looked at the food on the kitchen counter and the meals left uneaten on the table. Adele and her daughter had been interrupted while they were getting ready to sit down to their meal, no question. They’d left on an emergency or somebody had forced them out of the house. As the afternoon slid into evening, the second option was becoming a dangerously real possibility. If it had been an emergency, Adele would certainly have called her husband by now. She wouldn’t have turned off her phone. But who would take them, and why?
“Do