“A day with Woodhouse searching the side streets, woods, and pathways. Perhaps I can bump him off in some secluded spot along the way.”
Kala grinned. “I doubt very much he’ll leave the warmth of his car except to issue orders, but it’s always good to dream big.”
chapter eight
Gundersund walked Kala back to her desk after her debrief with Rouleau in Heath’s office. He seemed less remote than he had lately, prompting her to ask, “Have you heard from Fiona? When does she finish teaching the university term?”
“She decided to stay on for the winter semester so she won’t be home until spring.”
“Sounds like she’s doing a great job, although must be tough to live away from home so long.”
“She’s managing.”
There was the same grim set to his jaw that he got every time he talked about his wife. Kala had no idea the state of his marriage but she knew that Fiona was determined to make it work. She’d made that crystal clear the last time they were alone together and in the two emails she’d sent from Calgary before Christmas.
They walked as far as Kala’s desk without speaking. She sat down and booted up her laptop. Gundersund stood watching her until she began to feel uncomfortable with the silence. He appeared to have something on his mind that he was having trouble broaching. She asked, “Would you like to come by for supper tonight? Dawn would love to see you.”
He hesitated and then said, “Let’s play it by ear. This could turn into a busy day with the missing woman case.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” She put her head down and waited for him to go into his office, but still he lingered. He was looking at her when she finally raised her eyes to his.
“You know that Fiona and I are separated,” he said. He rubbed a hand across the scar on his cheek. “When I told you that our marriage was over a few months ago, I meant it. We’ll be getting divorced when she comes back from her stint at the university.”
“Sure.” She could see that her one-word response wasn’t what he was expecting and wasn’t certain what emotion she saw on his face.
He put his hands into his pockets. “I’m not spreading the news yet, but wanted you to know.” He turned without waiting for her to answer.
She watched him walk back into his office while she pondered their unspoken relationship. They both had reasons for keeping their interactions professional. Even if he was free of his marriage and they acted on their mutual attraction, once their affair ended — as she knew it would — working together would get awkward. She looked down at her computer and opened the Google search screen. No point even thinking about starting up with Gundersund. Fiona would never be out of his life anyway no matter what he believed now. Kala had the feeling that Fiona was biding her time out west and planning the best way to ensnare Gundersund once again. Their tempestuous relationship was common knowledge around the office and nobody seriously thought he stood a chance if Fiona wanted him back.
Kala searched out numerous reports in the Whig archives about the search for Zoe Delgado during the crucial first days when she went missing fourteen years earlier. After seven days of searching, her fully clothed body was found in the marshland a kilometre or so off the main Rideau Trail north of her neighbourhood. The paper had printed Zoe’s high school photo and Kala studied it closely, trying to get a sense of the girl. She had a wide, happy smile, pert nose, and large brown eyes that reminded Kala of a baby doe. Her hair had been long, dark brown, and straight. She was small of frame, according to the paper: five foot three, 110 pounds. The paper had printed shots of the marshy location next to the woods and river where the police search had found her body and daily updates tracked the search for her killer, including pleas for anyone with information to come forward. Tristan McKenna’s name was mentioned in every article as the ex-boyfriend and the main suspect. An arrest was expected but never came. The stories gradually petered out with the final headline six months later: Who Killed Zoe Delgado? A photographer had captured Tristan ducking from the camera, looking angry and guilty as hell. Several anonymous sources were quoted as saying they had no doubt he’d gotten away with murder. Zoe’s father Franco Delgado said that justice had not been done in his daughter’s case and they all knew who killed her. He stopped short of naming Tristan, but the implication was there in the articles.
Kala stopped reading and looked up as she heard someone enter the office. She smiled to see Tanya Morrison walking toward her carrying a stack of files.
“I’ve been recruited to give you a hand.” Morrison returned her smile and set the files on Kala’s desk and pulled over the visitor chair. “These are the files on the Zoe Delgado case that you requested from Records. Do you believe this cold case is linked to the missing woman?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Kala rifled through the stack of papers until she found the picture of the woods and path where the police had found Zoe’s body. “Does this location look familiar?” She waited while Morrison read the article. Morrison thumbed through the first pages of the police file until she found a description of the location with more photos of the area.
“I know approximately where this is although it might be harder to find the exact spot in the winter. These photos were taken early fall, by the state of the trees.”
“How about we take a drive over there to have a look?”
Morrison checked her watch. “Sure, it’s almost lunchtime and I could use some fresh air.”
“Let me call Woodhouse to make sure we aren’t stepping on his toes.” Kala picked up her phone and then set it back down. “It’s not like Zoe Delgado and the woman missing now are connected. At least not yet. I think we can safely visit the site without letting Woodhouse know.”
“No need to poke the ugly grizzly with a stick.”
Kala laughed. “Exactly. You haven’t been working in Major Crimes long but you have Woodhouse pegged.”
“Believe me, everyone in the Kingston Police Force knows about Officer Woodhouse. I think his picture is in the training manual under assholes to avoid.”
Kala parked on Sherwood Drive where it dead-ended next to an entrance to the Rideau Trail. From here, it would be a twenty-minute walk to the McKenna house on Grenville Crescent but a less-than-five-minute drive. The sun was blazing in a cloudless sky although the air was cold and a brisk wind was blowing from the northwest. “It’ll be protected in the woods and not this bitter,” she said, pulling the hood of her parka over her head before tucking her hands inside her pockets. She was wearing gloves, but they were thin leather and not nearly warm enough for a day like today. Luckily, she’d put on her warmer boots before leaving the house.
“January is my least favourite month,” said Morrison. “Spring always feels a long way off when it’s minus twenty with a wind chill.”
“I like the winter months when they stay cold. I can’t get used to the freeze-thaw cycles in southern Ontario. Kingston winters are brutal that way. It’s as if the weather can’t make up its mind and commit.”
“Sounds like my husband.” She gave a sideways grin and Kala decided to let the flip comment go. She didn’t know Morrison well enough to probe.
They turned left on the trail, passing a house and property at its entrance with thick woods closing off their sightline to other homes. The last layer of snow had been packed down by dog walkers and cross-country skiers, making walking easy and not unpleasant now that they were out of the wind. They were about ten minutes in when Morrison stopped and looked around. “We need to get off the trail and follow the blue route to the marshland. See the markers on the trees. Based on the written report and the photos, Zoe’s body was found a kilometre or so into the brush at the end of this path.”
“Are