Mitchell Eton was not a handsome man, but he commanded the room with his deep voice and piercing brown eyes. Unlike his wife, he had no trace of a British accent and exuded an aggressiveness that would serve him well in the business world. He gripped Rouleau’s hand before sitting next to him on the couch, legs spread wider than considered polite. Like Devon, he had broad shoulders, although his body was thicker without Devon’s height. He had the same shock of black hair, too, but silver threads glinted at the temples. Rouleau could see an angle to his nose where it had been broken and not set properly, giving him a thuggish air reinforced by the bullish way he held himself. Rouleau wouldn’t have placed him with aristocratic-looking Hilary, yet they’d married, raised a family, and lasted as a couple longer than most. Mitchell hadn’t made eye contact with his wife since he entered. Rouleau could see the strain they both were under. He hated having to add to it, but he had no choice. “Can you tell me anything about the day your son was killed, Mr. Eton?” he asked.
Mitchell took his time answering and spoke in a measured voice when he did. “It was a regular day. I saw him at breakfast early. I was heading to the office and he had a football practice before school started. Neither of us is a morning person so we didn’t have any prolonged conversation, something you can imagine I regret now. Devon turned down my offer of a ride and was heading to the washroom last I saw him. Sophie and Hilary were both moving around upstairs when I left. I had a dinner meeting after work and got home around eleven. I thought Devon was already in bed. Hilary mentioned the next morning that he hadn’t come home but was likely at Charlie’s and hadn’t called. She said she was going to track him down when I left for the airport.”
Hilary added, “I called around as soon as Mitchell left and nobody had seen him. That’s when I phoned the station to say he was missing. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I still don’t know how you could lose track of the kids.” Mitchell finally looked over at her. “It’s not like you had anything else pressing to take up your attention.”
“Fuck you, Mitchell.” Her voice was low and controlled, her words shocking in the silence of this tranquil room. They seemed out of character with her proper English bearing. “You have no idea what I do or don’t do in a day since you’re never here.” Her eyes swung over to Rouleau. “I apologize, Sergeant. My husband can be an ass when he feels people have not lived up to his expectations.”
“Hilary.” Mitchell’s voice was conciliatory but seemed to hold a warning. “Let’s not let the stress of this situation make us say things we’ll regret. We have to keep our eye on the ball and that’s helping put that woman back behind bars.”
“Mom?”
They all looked across the room to a girl standing in the doorway. She was tall and slender with long, white-blond hair hanging loose to her waist, and on the edge of the teen years. Her blue-grey eyes were identical to her mother’s. Hilary started to stand but Mitchell beat her to it. He rose and began walking toward his daughter, arms spread wide. “I’m here, Sophie.”
“I want to talk to Mom.” Tears began streaming from her eyes. She looked ready to keel over and Rouleau got to his feet.
“Coming darling.” Hilary rushed across the room and Mitchell stopped to let her by. He watched without making any effort to intervene. She put her arms around Sophie and looked over her head at him. “I’m going to take Sophie to her room. I’ll stay with her.”
“As you wish.” Mitchell turned and strode back to sit in the chair that Hilary had vacated. He looked at Rouleau. “This is a bloody nightmare. My family is falling apart around me and it’s all because of that Thompson woman.”
Rouleau had seen murder bring families together and he’d seen it rip them apart. The Eton family had been through more grief than most, and whatever fissures had been under the surface of this marriage looked to be splitting open. “I’m all done for now,” he said. “If you have any questions or remember anything you think might be important, please don’t hesitate to call me. Here’s my card with my email address and cellphone number. I’d like to talk to Sophie but will wait a few days until she’s up to it.”
Mitchell looked toward the door. “We just need a bit of time. Sophie is a strong kid, but this is going to take time to get over. That’s our focus now. I know it looks like Hilary and I aren’t getting along, but we have a solid marriage. We’re both reeling from Devon’s death.”
Rouleau asked, “Can you tell me if Devon had a girlfriend and the names of his friends?”
“Girlfriend?” Mitchell appeared to pull himself back from the dark place his mind had taken him. “Hilary would know better than I do but they never last long. His best friend is Charlie Hanson. They go back to grade school and have remained tight through … well, through everything. Devon hung out with some of the guys on his football team. His coach will know their names.”
Rouleau started toward the door. “We’ll be in touch. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. We’ll do everything we can to find out what happened to your son.”
“We already told you who murdered Devon.” Mitchell’s voice had returned to its booming self-
assuredness. “Now all you have to do is prove it.”
Woodhouse thanked the woman in the yellow bathrobe and she closed her front door. He could hear a chain being scraped into place as he started down the front steps. He was directly across the street from the Eton home on Beverley Street. The drapes were closed on all the Eton windows as if they stupidly believed they could keep the dirty world away. He’d give his left nut to interview that family. Get them to talk about what made their kid Devon tick. If he knew Rouleau, he’d have pussyfooted around them like he always did and gotten nothing to help move the case along. The man had gotten soft since his wife kicked the bucket.
Woodhouse loosened the collar on his coat as he walked toward Bennett waiting for him on the sidewalk. Damn cold weather had disappeared overnight and now he was overdressed. Kingston weather was as changeable as a woman’s mind. He reached Bennett and pointed to the house he’d just left. “Lady was as helpful as that tree stump over there. Did the next-door neighbour have anything enlightening to say?”
Bennett closed his iPad. “Cheryl Gladstone saw Devon leave for school the day he was killed when she was putting out the garbage. He said hello to her as he always did when they crossed paths. She didn’t see him return home but she was at work at the hospital on the evening shift. Says they’re a quiet family who keep to themselves for the most part.”
“Did she make any mention of seeing Jane Thompson hanging around since her release?”
“No. Said she hadn’t noticed anyone unusual on the street.”
Woodhouse let out a loud sigh. As if it wasn’t enough of a pisser that they had to go door to door and carry out interviews that any monkey could do, they hadn’t gotten one bit of useful information. Not to mention he was stuck again with a pretty boy partner who had the IQ of a lemming. And then there was Stonechild. The idea of her getting the plum lead assignment on this case instead of him made him want to hit somebody. His BlackBerry rang and he took it out. When he finished the call, he put his phone away and said to Bennett, “Rouleau is leaving the Etons’ and returning to the station. We’re to finish up here and go back to Murney Point where the kid’s body was found and interview the people in the apartment building across the street.”
“That could take a while.”
“You think … genius?” Woodhouse muttered the last word under his breath. He started toward their car, parked at the end of the block. Bennett appeared to be in no hurry to follow him but Woodhouse would let it ride. As long as it didn’t turn into insubordination. A few steps from the car and his BlackBerry rang a second time. He checked the number. Well, well, well.
“Yeah?” He was a little surprised to be hearing