Rouleau nodded. “I’ll have an officer drive you home. Do you have other children, Mrs. Eton?”
“We have a daughter, Sophie. She’s thirteen, in grade eight. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her about Devon. She adored him.” She stopped and looked panic-stricken around the room. “My purse? I don’t remember where I dropped my purse. Did I leave it in the taxi? Oh my God.”
Kala spotted a black bag on Rouleau’s desk. “There it is,” she said and motioned that she was on her way to get it. The purse was Italian leather with a designer label and heavier than expected when she picked it up. The zipper was partly open and Kala caught sight of an iPad and two pill bottles before she crossed the distance to hand the purse to Hilary Eaton. Was she taking medication for an illness? The unnatural pallor to her skin could be from a medical condition.
Mrs. Eton accepted the bag with a large sigh and clutched it to her chest as she walked toward Rouleau standing by the office door. “What time is your husband’s flight?” he asked as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass in front of him.
“Eight o’clock. He’s got a car in overnight parking at the airport and will be driving straight home. I’m certain he’ll want to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“We’ll come by tonight. We’ll be keeping you both apprised every step of our investigation.”
“Thank you.” She stopped two steps into the hall and turned to look at Rouleau. “I thought abusing my son was the greatest evil, but now, I know it wasn’t even close. Letting that woman out of prison to seek revenge on my family was far, far worse.”
Rouleau walked with her to the outer office, telling Kala and Gundersund that he’d be back after he saw that she was delivered safely home. Gundersund trailed behind Kala to the coffee machine sitting on a filing cabinet at the far corner of the open concept office. He stood behind her while she poured two cups. She added cream and sugar to both and handed him one. Gundersund looked as if he was trying to get a read on her mood.
“Seems to be more cases of female teachers having affairs with underage students,” she said. “Makes you wonder what’s going on when a married woman finds a boy sexually attractive and risks everything — her marriage, her relationship with her children, her job.”
“I don’t get the attraction either, but we may as well get started on the leg work. Why don’t you read up on Jane Thompson while I track down her parole officer and find out where she’s living? We’ll be going over to pick Jane up once Rouleau gets back.” He took a sip from the mug.
“Works.” Kala started back to her desk. “I’ve got a burning question for you,” she said to Bennett on her way by. “Who was the British actress who played the lead on the TV series Prime Suspect?”
Bennett cocked his head and thought for a second. “Got me. Must have been before my time.”
“Helen Mirren,” Woodhouse said without taking his eyes from his computer screen, “played DCI Jane Tennison in the Prime Suspect series.”
“I knew Hilary Eton reminded me of someone. She could be Mirren’s well-heeled sister,” Gundersund said. “Well done figuring it out, Stonechild.”
Woodhouse added, “The series is a classic. You don’t know what you’re missing, Bennett.”
Kala dropped into her desk chair and adjusted the computer screen. She did a quick search and brought up an image of the actress. “They do look alike. It’s uncanny, really.” She closed the window and clicked back on the Google search.
Time to get down to business.
CHAPTER FOUR
Later that afternoon, Rouleau gathered the team in the area they’d set up behind a couple of dividers. They’d cordoned off this space to post photos of the crime scene and work out scenarios on a whiteboard. It had the feel of a secret clubhouse, not visible to anyone entering the office. Already he’d had photos mounted from the crime scene with Devon Eton’s body lying next to the beach wall. Devon’s black hair was matted with blood, and dirt covered one side of his face. He had been a healthy, athletic kid; muscular build but still not as filled out as a grown man. Much too young to die. Kala Stonechild had tracked down the whereabouts of Jane Thompson and Rouleau had sent officers to bring her in for questioning. They’d come to get him when she arrived.
“What have you found out about Devon Eton?” he threw out to nobody in particular.
Woodhouse looked up from his laptop. “Ed Chalmers was lead detective on the Eton sex case and I was off on training most of that summer so wasn’t involved. Officer Cathy Bryden replaced me before she transferred into the canine unit. Gundersund was working drugs, if I recall.”
“That’s right,” said Gundersund. “I followed what was going on but mainly because the arrest and trial created a lot of press. People were fascinated that a married female school teacher would seduce a boy in her class. The press loved her. She was attractive and as the trial went on, they painted her as one cool customer without remorse. Her nickname was the Seductress. Devon Eton was a good-looking kid and made a sympathetic victim. The entire case was disturbing but impossible not to watch unfold.”
Woodhouse clicked a few keys. “I made some notes. Devon Shawn Eton turned seventeen years old in January and was living with his parents, Mitchell and Hilary Eton, and thirteen-year-old sister, Sophie, at 5342 Beverley Street. I had a look on Google Earth. It’s at the north end and one of the bigger homes on the street. Fenced in, white pillars, black shutters, big front porch, and a two-car garage.”
“So further north and west from where his body was found but within walking distance.”
“Yup.” Woodhouse scrolled further down the page. “Mitchell Eton owns a computer company employing thirty staff that designs accounting software for small- to medium-size businesses. Hilary Eton lives off his avails.”
“I believe she’s called a stay-at-home mom,” Gundersund said.
Woodhouse looked up. “Give it whatever tarted- up name you want. She was freeloading. Never worked a day after they got married.”
“Anything else?” Rouleau asked. He wasn’t about to chase Woodhouse down this particular rat hole.
“Devon played defence on the high school football team and this was his graduation year. I thought about heading over to the school with Bennett to interview teachers and classmates tomorrow.”
Rouleau nodded. “Good plan but I’d like Stonechild and Gundersund to handle those interviews. You and Bennett can go door to door to speak with the neighbours. Can you refresh us on the Jane Thompson case, Gundersund?”
Gundersund’s eyes met his with silent approval. He’d long been encouraging Rouleau to do something about Woodhouse’s negative influence on the team. If only it was that easy, Rouleau thought. Woodhouse knew what lines not to cross and had the police union behind him. Rouleau had had a union rep in once for a hypothetical chat and come away dismayed with the little leeway he had to act. Woodhouse hadn’t done anything to warrant reprimand. At the moment, Woodhouse was glaring daggers at him but wisely keeping his thoughts to himself. He knew exactly how much he could get away with.
Gundersund pulled his notebook from his breast pocket. “Jane Thompson was a grade seven and eight English and history teacher at Winston Churchill Public School. Devon Eton and another boy named Charlie Hanson were in one of her grade seven classes. Devon had skipped a grade and was mature for his age, but then, he was a January baby. From all accounts, before it came out that Jane was having an affair with him, she was popular and considered one of the school’s all-star teachers, not uncommon for this kind of thing, apparently. I found a few articles on past cases where a female teacher was convicted of having sex with one of her students.