Shallow End. Brenda Chapman
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homeless drunk on the Sudbury streets. Stonechild had no right to be on the force when she’d demonstrated such weakness of character. No matter how much people said they’d changed, they never really did. He believed that with every atom of his being.
Her voice was sharp, all business. “Have you got anything for me on the Eton murder?”
He waited a few beats, letting her hang. He kept his voice nonchalant. “Maybe. That is, if you have something for me.”
“I’m quite sure the ledger is in your favour at the moment.”
Woodhouse smiled. “I’m assuming you’re asking me to help you for a reason.”
“Your HQ isn’t saying much.” A pause. “Is this related to Jane Thompson and her release?”
“You seem overly eager to get a jump on this story. What’s the rush?” He saw Bennett approaching out of the corner of his eye. He dropped his voice. “Listen, why don’t we meet, say, seven tonight at the usual spot?”
She exhaled in his ear and Woodhouse could picture the battle going on inside her head. Get the story even if it meant dealing with him or let it slip away. He wasn’t surprised to hear her say, “Fine. I’ll be there.”
The phone went dead and Woodhouse looked at Bennett, trying to figure out if he’d overheard anything. He couldn’t be sure by the sulky look on Bennett’s face. He tucked the phone into his breast pocket and patted his crotch. “Setting up a date for tonight. Nice to have a hot lady in my life.”
Bennett opened his car door and leaned on it. He glared across at Woodhouse. “I’m happy for you Woodhouse, but I really don’t need to know about your personal life. Really don’t need to know.” He got inside the car and slammed the door.
Woodhouse ducked his head and smiled. Baiting the kid was too easy. It didn’t compensate for their demotion to a supporting role in this case, but would keep the job from getting dull. Maybe if he pushed Bennett hard enough, he’d pack up and take Stonechild back to Ottawa. Rouleau might even come to his senses and start giving the murder cases to the best investigator on the force, which was none other than himself. All he needed was the chance to prove it.
Kala and Gundersund were shown into an empty classroom at Frontenac Secondary. They rearranged two desks, putting them side by side. Gundersund set a chair directly in front while Kala put two chairs behind the desks. She invited their first interviewee, Rhonda Peters, to sit in the single chair facing them. Rhonda was a portly woman, her belly jutting out further than her breasts under a shapeless blue dress. She’d been Devon Eton’s homeroom and math teacher.
“Yes, Devon was in class Monday and no, he didn’t act as if he had anything weighing on him. I handed back a calculus test, which he’d aced as usual. He planned to go into the sciences next year. He’d applied to Queen’s and U of T, but I believe Queen’s was his first choice.”
“So he was a good student?” Gundersund asked.
“Devon was brilliant at math and science. Not as gifted in the arts, but that’s to be expected. It’s unusual for someone to be equally as adept in all fields of study.”
“And what was he like as a person?” Kala still had no real feel for him.
Rhonda’s crisp replies faltered as she appeared to be searching for words. Kala and Gundersund waited her out. “Well,” she began, “he was polite. I suppose you’re aware that he was involved with his grade seven teacher at his elementary school. We were all wary of getting too close to him, as you can imagine.”
Kala forced a smile from reaching her lips. Rhonda Peters likely didn’t need to fear the attentions of the teenage boy population. “Did Devon have a girlfriend?”
“Well, he was friends with Charlie Hanson. I never heard that Devon was dating anyone in particular but I chaperoned a few dances and he was always out there with one girl or another. He was a good-looking boy and part of the football team, the reason he came to this high school, I believe. The fact he’d been involved with his teacher gave him a certain status with the girls. As you know, this generation has received nothing but sexual marketing from the time they could click on a computer key.”
Gundersund leaned forward. “Did you meet Devon’s parents?”
“Of course. Devon was in my math class for the past two years so his parents came to the parent-teacher interviews. I had the sense that they expected a lot from him. The father is very successful through his own hard work. He’s also philanthropic and made quite the name for himself in the community. Do you know that an entire wing in Kingston General is named after him?”
Kala glanced at Gundersund. Mrs. Peters was acting a little star-struck. Time to get the interview back on track. “Have you any stories about Devon that might give us insight into his personality?” she asked.
“Let me see.” They waited while Rhonda again dug into her memory bank. “He got a B+ on a math test when I taught him in grade nine and he stayed after the other students had gone. He was upset and tried to get me to change the mark. He was practically crying when I said no. After that, he stopped answering questions in class, but he was back to getting A and A+ on his work. That’s really all that stands out.” She stood. “I need to get to my next class.” She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to imply that Devon was a crybaby because it was only the one time. In fact, I’d say he was the opposite.”
“How so?” Kala asked.
“Oh, he seemed tough skinned to me. Not a bully, but you’d never call him a victim.” She laughed. “I don’t know what I mean. Just disregard all that. I really am late.” She hurried from the room, banging her hip on the door as she swung it open.
Kala turned to Gundersund when they were alone. “So what we have on Devon is that he was brilliant and driven to succeed, maybe more than was good for him. Girls liked him but he didn’t have a girlfriend. He was polite and quiet for the most part and toughened up after his first semester in high school. Have I left anything out?”
“Not that I can tell. So far, there’s no reason for anybody to have killed him.”
“Except Jane Thompson if we believe his parents. Let’s see if his classmates prove more enlightening than his teachers.”
For the rest of the morning and late into the afternoon, each one of Devon’s classmates and football teammates took turns funnelling into the classroom to give their version of his life and last day at school. One after the other, they provided the same critique: Devon had been brilliant, standoffish, best friends with Charlie Hanson. Asked to describe Charlie, they’d fallen silent before revealing they hadn’t liked him much, not certain why.
One girl in their biology class said that Charlie was Devon’s shadow. “Devon was the one we all tried to date. I guess that teacher he had the affair with put him off long-term relationships. We all wanted to give him true love and save him.” She giggled. “None of us could figure out what Devon saw in Charlie, but they were always together.”
When the last of the football teammates picked up his knapsack and hiked out of the room without looking back, Kala flung her pen onto the table and pushed back her chair so that its front legs were up in the air.
“We learned practically nothing about why Devon got himself murdered, but if anyone knows, it’ll be this fellow Charlie.”
Gundersund stood. “I’ll go see where he is. He should have been here by now.”
Gundersund was gone ten minutes and on his return stood at the entrance to the classroom. “Charlie Hanson left after first period. We need to get over to the Hansons’ now. I got his address from the office secretary.”
Kala gathered up her notebook, pen, and cellphone and shoved them into her bag. “Great. The one person we really need to speak with and he’s quit the premises.” She’d have preferred to speak with Charlie at the school on neutral turf and wasn’t happy to have to track him down. She could tell by the expression