Cold Mourning. Brenda Chapman
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dog padded silently across the floor and flopped down at Kala’s feet. She felt its head rest against her leg and shifted so that there was more room for the dog between her foot and the chair leg. She imagined Taiku’s weight pressed against her and felt an overwhelming longing for home. The cabin resembled her own small place not far from Lake Superior.
She moved her head to study Hunter as he poured them each a cup. He hadn’t shaved and was dressed in faded jeans and a checked shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked to be five eleven, a hundred and sixty pounds, with wide shoulders, lean physique, and curly brown hair that brushed his collar. After he set the coffee cups and the milk container on the table, he leaned up against the counter and sipped from his cup. He didn’t appear disturbed by their presence. She wondered if his calmness was an act.
Whelan cleared his throat. “You know who we are I gather?”
“Since I heard my father is missing, I figure you’ve come to find out if I know anything.”
“And do you?”
“No.”
“Have you seen your father recently?”
“He came by a week ago.”
Whelan looked down at his notes. “We were informed that you and your father are estranged.”
“We are, more or less.”
“Then why the visit?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing. He said it was time to mend fences.”
Kala said, “I imagine you found that odd after ten years of not being on speaking terms.”
Hunter looked at her and then at his dog lying with its jaw on her boot. “You’ve made friends with Fabio. Not many do.”
Kala looked down and smiled. She reached a hand to pet the dog’s massive head before looking up at Hunter. He was still watching her, his grey eyes observant, taking in more than she would have liked.
Whelan cleared his throat again. “So how’d the visit with your father go?”
“Okay. He came into my shop and we talked while I worked on a painting. He seemed at ease. I got the feeling he just wanted to get away from his life for an hour.”
“Was something making him unhappy or depressed?”
“We didn’t talk long enough for me to find out anything personal. He asked if he could visit me again soon. I told him to do as he liked. If I had to say my impression of his state of mind, I’d say regretful.”
“He didn’t give any indication why?” Whelan asked.
Hunter grinned as if Whelan had said something funny. “He had lots to regret, let’s just put it that way.”
“Do you know of anybody who would want to harm your father?”
“I’m really not part of his world so I couldn’t say. Did you ask my brother-in-law Max Oliver? He’d know more about Dad’s life than I do since they work together.”
“We’ll be sure to raise it with him.” Whelan jotted in his notebook.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where he could have gone,” said Kala.
“Not a clue.”
Whelan took his time pulling a card out of his pocket. “If you hear from your dad …”
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” finished Hunter.
They stood to leave. The dog followed them out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Kala stopped near the front door and turned toward Hunter. “You said you were painting. Is that your profession?”
“I paint portraits on commission, but my main line of work is sculpting.”
“You must get your art gene from your mother. We were just admiring her paintings.”
“She taught me when I was young and she still works with inner city kids in the after-school programs. My studio’s out back if you’d like a tour.”
“We’re due back at the station.”
“Well, another time.”
She didn’t respond. There was something about Hunter and the piercing way he looked at her that put her off-balance. His eyes made her want to keep looking back. A family with all that money, and he chose to live like a hermit. His home wasn’t much different than hers, although their lives were separated by culture and financial gaps so wide it was unthinkable that they would have anything in common.
Kala and Whelan walked back to their car and got in. Whelan turned the key in the ignition and looked over at her.
“I’m beginning to think Tom Underwood just left to get his head straight. He might have come to see his son because he was planning to leave and wanted to make amends for whatever went on in the past.”
Kala thought it over. “Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“He asked if he could come visit again. That doesn’t sound like a man getting ready to leave town.”
“You could be right.” Whelan backed the car into an opening where he could turn around. “It’s late to go to Underwood’s office now. We wasted a lot of time looking for this guy. We have to fill in our reports on the two interviews and still have a half hour drive to get back to Ottawa.”
“We could do the reports tomorrow.”
Whelan shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. Reports have to be filed the same day. Vermette’s rules. We’ll be at the office half the night if we make another stop. I’m going to head back to the station and we’ll get the paperwork done. We can visit Underwood’s workplace tomorrow. We also have the party tonight and Meghan has that hair appointment.”
“Okay,” said Kala. She didn’t see the rush to fill in paperwork, but no crime had been committed yet, so they weren’t exactly racing against time.
7
Thursday, December 22, 5:10 p.m.
Rouleau set down his pen and stretched. It had been a day spent in meetings and filling in paperwork. He was ready to go home and watch the Senators hockey game on TV. The Maple Leafs were in town and there was always good rivalry. Then he remembered the Christmas party. It would be impossible to skip it even if he was so inclined. Could Christmas Eve really be just two days away? The years sure spun around the calendar with increasing speed. Christmas morning, he’d travel to Kingston to visit his father and take him to lunch as he did every year. He still hadn’t picked out his father’s gift and the clock was ticking. It would have been a good night to poke around the eclectic shops in the Glebe, if not for the staff party.
He picked up his pen as Whelan poked his head around the corner while tapping on the door. Whelan was wearing his winter jacket unbuttoned. “We’re about done typing our notes and set to leave unless there’s anything else.”
“You bringing Stonechild to the party?”
“I’m going to be a bit late so she said she’d make it on her own.”
“See you when you get there.”
Rouleau shut off his computer. He’d go home and have a shower before the evening’s festivities. He rubbed a hand across his chin. A shave was in order too.
It took him a few minutes to lock up his files and put on his coat. By the time he entered the main office, Stonechild and Whelan were gone. Malik and Grayson had knocked off earlier. He stood motionless in the center of the room and looked at the six desks — only four were occupied. It was all the manpower Vermette would agree to on this special project.
They were to have been