charcoal grey hoodie and black sweatpants, her spiky blond hair made her look more like a teenager than ex-teacher and mother. Her head had been lowered when they walked in, as if she’d fallen asleep, and she only looked up after Rouleau sat down across from her and called her by name. Her face, bare of makeup, was milky white with purplish bruising under her eyes. He had trouble picturing her as the seductress that media had labelled her until her eyes met his. The startling blue of her gaze sent a physical jolt through him. She transformed from average to mesmerizing with one wide-eyed stare. He could well understand the effect her eyes would have had on her young male students. Rouleau was aware of Stonechild slipping into the seat next to him, and he glanced back at Gundersund leaning on the wall next to the door. Both had settled into stillness but he knew they were watching Jane Thompson’s every move, undoubtedly as transfixed by her eyes as he was.
“Thank you for coming to speak with us this afternoon, Mrs. Thompson. I know it’s late in the day. My name is Staff Sergeant Jacques Rouleau.”
“My pleasure.” Her voice was low and pleasant, husky and sensual at the same time. The slight lift to her mouth let him know that she meant the opposite.
“For the record, we’re recording this interview, Tuesday, October 4. Time is now 4:35 p.m. Detectives Kala Stonechild and Paul Gundersund are with me. You know why you’re here, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Not really. I haven’t broken parole so hope this isn’t about me.”
She smiled again, but Rouleau saw a guarded expression in her eyes this time. She’d be foolish not to be wary, he thought, and she looked far from a stupid woman. “You were released from prison not that long ago.”
“Just over a month.”
“Have you had any contact with your ex-husband and children since your release?”
“I’ve spoken with Adam on the phone. They were out of town when I first got out and we’ve had trouble arranging a date for me to see the kids. I’m hoping it’ll be within the next few days.”
“Have you been back to your old neighbourhood?”
Her eyes travelled across his face to Stonechild sitting next to him and back again. “Why did you bring me here, Sergeant? Surely not to talk about my relationship with my family. Unless …” She straightened and lifted a hand to cover her heart. “Something has happened to one of them. Has something…?”
Rouleau raised a hand. “No, no, your family is fine.” He looked down at his notebook, open on the desk in front of him, to give her a chance to regroup. He hadn’t meant to scare her and was not convinced that he had, because if she’d killed Devon, she’d know full well that they’d be interviewing her and would have prepared her reactions. He looked up. “You admitted to having had a sexual relationship with Devon Eton a year into your sentence and undertook counselling and rehabilitation courses in prison.”
“I did.” Her face had relaxed and she was leaning back in the chair, her hands folded on the table. “I learned many important things about myself. The reasons that my strict upbringing led me to become the monster I am, my sexual need to be with children arising from being raised by a cold mother, techniques for holding myself in check. I undertook rehabilitation with an open mind and am now fully aware of my predilections and how to restrain myself, but on guard. Always on guard, like a recovering alcoholic.”
Her direct gaze hadn’t wavered and he wondered at the self-mocking lilt to her words. The smile was back, as if she’d shared a dark, intimate secret with him. He paused and forced himself not to look away from the trap set in her incredibly blue eyes. “Devon Eton’s body was found this morning by a homeless man walking his dog along the waterfront.”
He tried to see a reaction but could not. Her face remained a polite mask, no sign of disturbance on the smooth, clear surface. He might have given her a weather report for all the impact his words generated. Her silence stretched into uncomfortable seconds but he remained still and observant. At last a flicker of something crossed her face that looked like regret but could have been anger.
“Are you telling me he’s dead?” Her voice was huskier, lower than before.
“Yes. He was murdered last night and left on the shore of Lake Ontario at Murney Point.”
She shook her head before dropping her chin to her chest and closing her eyes. The room was silent, the seconds ticking by. This time, Rouleau didn’t try to outwait her.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you with this news.”
“I have mixed emotions.” She opened her eyes and he couldn’t begin to guess what was going on inside. “He was a student in my class once upon a time. I felt responsible for his well-being.”
The irony filled the space between them. She looked down at her hands still resting on the table.
“Where were you yesterday evening?”
“Nowhere near Lake Ontario.”
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?”
“I doubt it. I worked my shift and then went back to my apartment around six. I don’t speak to anyone as a rule, except when my sister Sandy and I talk on the phone. We might have last night.”
“You don’t remember?”
“All of our conversations are the same. She usually calls when I’m half-asleep so I can never remember which night we spoke.”
Rouleau knew his team would be checking and didn’t press the issue. “Did you go out after you got home, say, to the grocery store?”
Jane appeared to think deeply before shaking her head. “You’re going to have to take my word for it that I wasn’t at Murney Point last evening.” The Mona Lisa smile came and went. Her eyes were iridescent pools that a man … a twelve-year-old boy could drown in.
Rouleau shut his notebook. “We’ll leave it there for now. We’ll need to ask you more questions as the investigation unfolds.”
“Of course. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s answer questions from the police. I could give lessons if ever called upon to teach again. Can I go now?”
“Yes, you’re free to go.”
She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and stood. When she reached Gundersund, he opened the door and escorted her into the hall.
“What do you think?” Rouleau turned to look at Stonechild. She’d started to rise from her chair but lowered herself back into the seat. Her dark eyes were thoughtful.
“There’s a lot going on in her head but not on her face. I got the sense that she’s holding in anger, but I’m not sure if it’s directed at the system or the people who’ve deserted her.” Kala paused. “You couldn’t help but notice her eyes. They’re mesmerizing, and that voice … I got the sense she was downplaying her looks, but she couldn’t hide the fact she’s a magnet for men.”
“I thought much the same. She’s going to be hard to figure out.” Rouleau checked his watch. “You’re going to have a busy day interviewing people tomorrow. Head home and get some supper and some sleep. Everything going okay?”
“No complaints, sir. Thanks.”
