Rouleau glanced over at his father. His blue eyes had recovered some of their brilliance. “You’re looking better, Dad.”
“I’ve had good company today,” his father responded. “I hope you’re about to pour us each a little of the Glenfiddich before dinner.”
“Of course.” Rouleau stood. “Ginger ale, Kala?” he asked. He knew she didn’t touch alcohol. She nodded and he walked into the kitchen. When he returned with the drinks, Kala and his father were deep in conversation, as if they’d known each other a long time instead of a few hours.
Rouleau sat down and took a sip of the single malt. It burned pleasantly all the way down. He looked at Kala and waited for her to tell him why she was sitting in his father’s apartment. She raised her eyes to his and smiled as if fully aware of his impatience for her to commit to his job offer. She took her time, letting his father finish talking about his research at the university before responding.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be staying in Kingston. I’ve come to check out the town on my way to Ottawa. Grayson is waiting for me to join the unit again.” She shrugged. “I thought I’d resign in person.”
“Where would you go if not here?”
“Not sure. My old job in Red Rock is still open.”
“Is that where you really want to be?”
“One place is as good as another.” Again the slight lifting of her shoulders. The defiant tilt of her jaw he’d seen before. “I’m not ruling out your offer. I’m just saying that I don’t know what I want to do yet.”
“How did you find my father’s apartment?”
“I’m a detective, remember?” she said. “You left a trail of bread crumbs as wide as Highway 417.”
“I’d like you to come work for me.”
“I gathered that from your phone messages.”
“You’ll like Kingston. It’s a welcoming kind of town.”
“I don’t know yet if this town is for me. Honestly, I feel more at home in the North.”
“The Criminal Investigations team is small, and you’d be working with another inspector named Paul Gundersund. He’s good. We also have a solid in-house forensics team and cold case unit in our division. Think about it. That’s all I ask.”
She nodded, but her eyes were evasive. Rouleau had the uneasy feeling he’d oversold the job.
“Will you stay for supper?” his dad asked her. “Jacques will be cooking some steak with baked potatoes. We’d be delighted to have you.”
“Thank you, but I really have to be going. Taiku needs a walk and I have to check in with my friend.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Just west of the city but this side of Bath. My friend owns a house on the water. She’s expecting me sometime today.”
“At least finish your drink before you go,” his father said. “It’s been a long time since I had a young woman come to call.”
Kala’s eyes swept the room and Rouleau’s eyes followed behind. It was the lair of a long-time bachelor with few feminine touches. The parquet floor was typical of the apartment buildings built in the eighties, now in vogue again. The oak furniture was solid, functional, but not pretty. His dad kept piles of documents and textbooks on the floor and scattered across the dining room table where he worked on his computer in front of the balcony window. An anemic vine had taken over one wall, surviving god only knew how on sporadic watering and inattention. His dad’s ten-speed bicycle leaned against the wall behind the couch, put out to pasture until the cast came off his foot.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked him, lifting her glass.
“I moved into an apartment near the university campus after Jacques took his first job in Ottawa. What was that, son, twenty years ago now? I moved into this condo when it was built a few years ago.”
Rouleau’s phone rang in his pocket. He reached for it, saying, “One minute, Dad. I should get this.”
It took a few seconds to assimilate the facts from the dispatcher. A young woman had been called in dead in an apartment just off campus. He was needed on site as soon as he could get there. It was certainly murder. Gundersund would meet him there. She rhymed off the address and repeated it to be sure.
Rouleau slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at Kala and his father. Both sets of eyes watched him expectantly, one set liquid black and the other a crystal blue. They’d overheard his side of the conversation. There was no point hiding his destination.
He stood. “A murder just off campus. I have to go.”
“Should I come along, sir?” Kala asked. She’d already pushed herself to her feet. “It might help me decide to come on board.”
Rouleau thought about it for a nanosecond before he nodded. Perhaps all wasn’t lost with Stonechild after all. This case could very well tilt her decision in his favour.
Chapter Six
Kala followed closely behind Rouleau in her truck. Taiku sat in the passenger seat, his nose through the open window. She reached across the console and ruffled the fur on his back.
“So what do you think, boy? Is this a town you’d like to spend time in or should we keep moving?”
Taiku pulled his nose from the window and turned his head toward her, his pink tongue lolling to the side of his mouth. He stared at her as if considering her question.
Kala laughed before turning back to the road. Sometimes she thought Taiku was a human disguised as a dog. He was smarter than most people she knew and was considerably more dependable.
They were heading east, but only for a short distance before Rouleau turned north on Gore. The grey limestone houses dated back to Sir John A. Macdonald’s time. It was a pretty city with mature oak trees and wide streets flanked to the south by Lake Ontario. This felt like a town you could breathe in. She was surprised to find herself looking forward to a few days at her friend’s place.
Rouleau pulled left onto Sydenham and she followed a few car lengths behind. A busy scene greeted them a few blocks in. Police cars and an ambulance with red lights flashing filled the street. The target house was toward the far end of the street and they had to park and walk a short distance. Kala left Taiku locked in the truck parked under a shady oak with the window open and an order to stay. He immediately lay down on the seat, his shaggy head resting against the passenger door, his black eyes watching her walk away.
Rouleau stood waiting for her on the sidewalk next to his car. He looked tired, his eyes sadder than she remembered. The connection she felt to him was odd. Uncomfortable and uncharacteristic. She’d felt it in Ottawa the short time they worked together. It was the reason she’d detoured on a last-minute whim off the 417 to find him. She’d been surprised that he’d sought her out for this job. She hadn’t decided yet whether to trust him.
Rouleau filled her in as they walked. The house was divided into apartments and rented as student housing. The woman’s body was found in the basement by the upstairs tenant. Apparently there was a lot of blood. They passed a couple of beat cops in navy uniforms on their way inside the limestone house. The officers appeared to know Rouleau and let her inside only because she was with him. One cop directed them to the basement.
Rouleau introduced Paul Gundersund, who met them at the bottom of the stairs. She felt dwarfed by the size of the man. He was over six foot, close to two hundred pounds, and appeared slightly out of shape. A scar marked the left side of his face, giving him the look of a