the results, tracing her finger along the route. He was working his way east and she could see a pocket of high-rises not far from his last outing. She jotted down the addresses in her notebook. The neighbourhood was unfamiliar to her but she would swing by and scout out the street and pick up some supper. She’d have to work quickly if she was to have a chance of catching him.
Richmond Road was an assortment of shops, restaurants, and condominiums in the area called Westboro Village. Heading west, the apartment buildings got older and higher. She knew the Ottawa River was somewhere to the north, not many blocks away. There were stretches of parkland, a large field, and tree-lined bike paths. If she was going to stay in Ottawa, she might look for an apartment in this neighbourhood. She slowed as she neared the high-rises behind Lincoln Fields Shopping Centre, scouting the streets and peering into lobbies. It was a quiet evening, not many people about, the snow beginning to fall like confetti tossed out of a shaker. There was no sign of a man dressed in black or anyone acting suspiciously. She spotted a pizza take-out restaurant and pulled into the recently plowed lot. The kid behind the counter sold her two slices of deluxe that she ate as she continued her drive east on Byron and north on Churchill to the Queensway. It was the quickest route back downtown.
The ByWard Market was becoming familiar to her now. She made another sweep of the side streets, looking down alleyways and checking intersections, but it was a quiet night in the city’s downtown. A few people were walking, snow glistening from their coats in the street lights. She stared into the corners of buildings but couldn’t find any Aboriginal women or young girls who met the description of her cousin and niece. She checked the time on the radio. It was just past eleven and time to call it a night. She was tired and badly needed a few hours of sleep so she’d have a clear head when she began more Underwood interviews in the morning, starting with a visit to Hunter’s property.
Kala put in an appearance at the station before her trip to Hunter’s. Rouleau had been called to a meeting with Vermette and cancelled their morning brainstorming session. She poured herself a cup of coffee and asked Bennett if he’d seen Malik and Grayson. Bennett was busy reading through emails they’d confiscated from Underwood’s computer. He shook his head but said, “They’re bringing Belliveau in for questioning. I’ll be going through his correspondence with my fine-toothed comb next.”
“So are Underwood’s business dealings the focus?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Looks that way for now. Gage went with the others to start looking through files.”
“I’ll be on my own today.”
“I’d say so.”
“No problem.” She zipped up her parka. “I’m going to start at Hunter Underwood’s place and will be back in town before lunch. I can always be reached on my cell.”
Bennett nodded. “I’ll tell the others to call you if they need anything.”
“I’m sure they won’t, but thanks.”
She drove slowly out of the city toward Hunter’s. The temperature had dropped steadily overnight and a frosty haze hung suspended over the fields like white smoke. The sky above the mist was pastel blue and cloudless. She felt herself relaxing the further she got from the high-rises and shopping centres. Trees wrapped in ice and stretches of snowy flat land replaced the horizontal line of buildings on each side of the highway.
Hunter’s turn off arrived too soon for her liking and she slowed the truck even more as she left the highway. Her eyes swept the road ahead. There wasn’t much traffic this time of day heading east. Most cars were heading downtown. The schools were out and many had taken holidays between Christmas and New Year’s. Today was also a stat holiday since Christmas had fallen on a Sunday.
A few miles further on and she reached the junction that led her to Hunter’s road. It was a narrower country road, not as well plowed as the highway or secondary road. The truck tires gripped without problem. She carefully pulled closer to the side of the road as a delivery truck flew past coming the other way. “Idiot,” she said under her breath. She could see the turn off to Hunter’s driveway up ahead.
A black Mercedes was just pulling out from Hunter’s side road. As Kala watched, the car turned in a tight arc onto the road ahead of her, facing in her direction. She leaned forward to get a glimpse at the driver through the sun reflecting off the windshield. It wasn’t until the car was alongside that she recognized the tumbling red hair and slender profile of Laurel Underwood. She passed by without glancing in Kala’s direction.
The plot thickens. Kala craned her neck to follow the Mercedes until it was out of sight. It was curious how two people who said they had nothing to do with each other kept being caught in each other’s company.
Kala parked in the same spot as her first visit. She could see the tire tracks from Laurel’s Mercedes and her boot prints to and from the front door. Laurel couldn’t have been there overnight or the prints would have been filled from the snowfall that ended early morning. Kala followed her own frosty breath up the walkway.
Hunter opened the door almost immediately. “Did you forget…?” he began, but stopped when he saw Kala standing in front of him. “Oh, it’s you.” He recovered quickly and stepped aside. “Come in out of the cold.” He checked the parking area as he moved behind her to shut the door.
“Sorry to bother you so early,” she said. “I just have a few more questions.”
“Would you like coffee?” he asked.
She could smell coffee brewing and was suddenly thirsty for a cup. “Please,” she said slipping out of her boots. She undid her parka as she followed him into the kitchen.
“I’ll make a fresh pot. This one’s been stewing for a while.” He patted Fabio behind the ears on his way to the stove. The dog was lying near the hot air vent. He got up and stretched and made his way to Kala. She reached down scratched him behind the ears. Fabio thumped his tail against the table leg before retreating to the warmth of his corner.
She took a seat and watched Hunter pour water from a jug into a kettle. He measured coffee grounds into filter that fit into a clear coffee pot on the stove. Then he poured milk from a carton into a small pitcher and set it on the table with teaspoons and mugs. His fingers were long and his hands strong and tanned. When the water boiled, he poured it carefully through the filter. The coffee dripped steaming dark and rich into the waiting pot.
“You’re a coffee purist,” Kala said. “I make it the same way at home.”
“Anything worth having is worth extra care,” he said, with his piercing grey eyes that had turned a charcoal shade in the kitchen light.
She smiled. Surely he didn’t think she was that easily taken in by charm. She looked down and busied herself by taking out a notebook and pen while he poured the coffee into their mugs. She had to admit it smelled as good as she made at home. She set her notepad on her knee and added milk.
He watched her while she took a sip and smiled at her expression. “Good?”
“Wonderful.” She set the mug down and picked up her notepad. “I want to get a better understanding of your father and his relationships with family members and colleagues. It’s come to our attention that you were engaged to Laurel before she married your father.” She paused and waited.
Something changed in his eyes. It was a flash of pain that crystallized into something unreadable. “I wondered how long it would take you to dig that up. Did my mother tell you?”
“The
