LITMIR.BIZ

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psychologist was brought in, Devon spilled that he’d been having sex with Mrs. Thompson. She’d been tutoring him after school to help him maintain his high English grade and that was when a physical relationship developed. She had opportunity and never denied that. Forensics found various text messages between the two, setting up meetings that she swore later were all innocent. Some naked photos of Devon were found on her home computer along with some other child porn, supporting what he told his mother. Charlie Hanson also had seen them together in a couple of compromising positions a few months earlier and said that Devon had confided in him that Mrs. Thompson had started coming on to him and they’d been having sex.”

      “So did she ever admit to it?”

      “Not before or during the trial. Her defence was that she’d been set up. However, the clincher was her DNA all over the lace undies in Devon’s gym bag. So after initially saying the boys were lying, about a year into her sentence, she confessed.”

      “So she was convicted.”

      “Yeah. The circumstantial evidence combined with the two boys’ testimony convinced a jury. Plus, one of her co-workers said he’d seen them alone together one Saturday afternoon in her classroom, so that was damning combined with everything else. The judge sentenced her to three years but she got out last month after serving two-thirds of her sentence.” Gundersund checked his notes. “Her husband Adam Thompson divorced her the beginning of the second year of her sentence and got sole custody of their two kids.”

      Rouleau was surprised. “Three years. Isn’t that unusually harsh for this kind of crime?”

      Gundersund nodded. “Usually women get off lighter than men. Two years is about the longest sentence for a woman teacher in Canada. The States gives slightly longer sentences, but not by much. The judge said in this case that because Jane Thompson wouldn’t admit to what she’d done, he was upping her time. No remorse and possible she’d reoffend without treatment.”

      “How did she refute the prosecution’s evidence?” Kala was leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She’d been listening intently to everything Gundersund said. He looked across the room at her.

      “She said that she was meeting with Devon to tutor him in English because he’d missed out on the grammar rules when he skipped grade six and his writing was suffering. Nothing major and the prosecution argued that the tutoring was a smokescreen for their affair. According to Mrs. Thompson, Devon told her that he was worried his father would make him quit football if his average dropped at all. She said they met at different times when they could both fit it in, but that was all. No touching. No sex.”

      “What about the photos on her computer?”

      “She said she had no idea how they got there.”

      Rouleau asked, “Anything else?”

      “She’d confided in her sister that she was thinking of leaving her husband before this blew up. The sister” — he looked at his notes — “named Sandra Salvo said that Jane suspected he’d been unfaithful but had no proof. Under cross-examination, Adam Thompson admitted they’d had a bit of trouble but said it was because he’d been working long hours and had nothing to do with having an affair. He lost his temper on the stand and said that Jane was grasping at reasons for her unforgiveable behaviour.”

      “That was a nail in her coffin,” Bennett said. “Pretty damning when you add it all up.”

      Gundersund nodded. “That’s how the jury saw it, too.”

      Rouleau looked between the dividers. Jim Nichols was standing by the entrance to the office. “We’re over here,” Rouleau called, and Nichols crossed the floor to join them. He looked around the space, then back at Rouleau.

      “Quite the clubhouse you’ve got here, Mouseketeers. They’ve brought in Jane Thompson and she’s waiting in the meeting room downstairs.”

      Rouleau stood. “Stonechild can you take the interview with me? I’d like a female present. Gundersund, you can stand inside the door. We go carefully on this one.”

      “What are you worried about?” Gundersund asked.

      Rouleau tried to put his reservations about the path this case was taking into words. “I don’t want to rush to any conclusions. Jane Thompson was guilty of sexual misconduct but that’s not in the same ballpark as murder. We have to make absolutely certain of the facts before we arrest her because a lot of people would like to see her hang for this whether or not she’s guilty.”

      The woman sitting across from Rouleau was not the person he’d been expecting. Dressed in a 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

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