LITMIR.BIZ

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so they need their mother now more than ever especially since that tramp he’s dating isn’t much older than Ben. I imagine Adam will be using this kid’s death as another reason to keep them apart. I’m angry as hell about all this. The so called friends who just turned their backs. After all that Jane did for …”

      Kala was beginning to understand why Jane let her sister do all of the talking on the phone. Sandra was like a nonstop wind-up toy without an apparent need for air. Kala cut in. “What kind of childhood did the two of you have?”

      “What, me and Jane? Not great, but thanks for asking. Our mother was old school. She believed in beatings and God — not the usual combination, but we always got an earful of scripture after our punishment. Jane took the brunt of it being the oldest and the one who daydreamed when she should have been doing chores. Drove my mother half around the bend. You wouldn’t believe how wild my mother got when Jane discovered boys, or maybe it was the other way around. I mean, have you seen my sister? She had them lining up in grade school.” Sandra clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” she said through her fingers.

      “Did you visit your sister in prison?”

      “I tried to get there once a month. It’s hard with this daycare business I’m running. I take in kids most weekends too and a few of the parents work shifts.” Her head snapped toward the door. A child was screeching and shortly afterward a second child started screaming uncontrollably.

      Kala raised her voice. “Just a few more questions. Have you seen Jane since she got out of prison?”

      “I invited her for dinner a few times but she never came. As I said, she was depressed, hanging around her apartment after work, waiting for Adam to let her see her kids. Tragic how far she fell in life. Everything my mother said about Jane came true.”

      “What would that be?”

      “That she was living in a dream world. Getting above herself and heading for a fall. I’m just glad my mother’s in a home now with Alzheimer’s so she can’t yell ‘I told you so’ at Jane anymore. It was bad enough when Jane was found guilty of having sex with that kid.”

      The screaming had grown louder and moved just outside the door. Gundersund spoke for the first time, raising his voice above the child’s. “For the record, where were you Monday night, Sandra?”

      She thought for a second. “Why, right here. I didn’t have any kids staying over so I had a bath after I spoke with Jane and called it an early night.”

      “Can anyone vouch for you?”

      “No. I live alone. I only have a helper come to work when I have more than four kids so neither was here that day because most of the kids were off with the flu.”

      “How close are you to Jane?”

      “Are you asking if I’m close enough to kill on her behalf?” Sandra smiled and suddenly Kala saw her resemblance to Jane in their identical expressions that could have been taken as mischievous but came across as secretive. “My sister and I had to learn to band together when we were kids to survive in my mother’s house of spare the rod. I’d take a bullet for Jane but that doesn’t mean I’d commit murder for her.”

      Gundersund was writing down details of their visit in his notepad while Kala drove toward the school. The sky had brightened since their morning drive to Sandra’s house and Kala felt her spirit lift. At this time of year, a warm, sunny day was to be savoured. The warmth had to carry them into the winter months that were just around the corner.

      Gundersund clicked the pen with his thumb a couple of times and set the notepad on his knees. “What’s your take on Jane and Sandra?”

      “Their childhood would make an interesting study. They both chose to work with kids even with a lousy role model. I find that interesting.”

      “I hadn’t made that connection. You’d have to wonder how much impact their mother’s discipline and preaching had on them and on the way they interact with kids. Did the mother’s parenting come up at the trial, do you know?”

      “Not sure.”

      “Yeah. I’ll make a note to check. From what I’ve been reading in the file, Cathy Bryden kept meticulous notes. Sandra doesn’t have an alibi but she doesn’t seem high on the suspect list. For one, she could have killed Devon at any point over the past three years if she’d wanted to and wouldn’t have implicated Jane since she was in prison.”

      Kala pumped the breaks as she eased up to a stop sign. She looked over at Gundersund. “Unless she wanted Jane to be implicated. Who knows what’s really going on between the two of them? The fact Jane hasn’t been to see her a month after her release and appears to barely tolerate her phone calls makes me wonder how close they really are.”

      “Layers inside of layers.” Gundersund picked up the notepad. “Never trust anyone.”

      “That’s right. Jane Thompson may very well have killed this kid, but it’s also possible that somebody was waiting for her to get out of prison so they could pin this on her. That leaves the field wide open.”

      “But why? The only ones I can see who would want revenge would be family and friends of Devon. They’d hardly kill him to get back at Jane Thompson. Makes no sense.”

      “Well, there’s Jane’s sister Sandra as we just discussed and an ex-husband, for starters. Sounds like Adam Thompson is keeping Jane from their kids. Maybe he wants her back inside so he never has to deal with her again. He kills the boy she was having an affair with and vents some pent-up anger from their affair that must have made him look less than manly. What was the name of the street the school’s on?”

      “Kingston Collegiate. Make a left here on Frontenac. It’s that three-storey red brick building at the end of the block.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      The Eton home was furnished with an eclectic mix of modern and antique — darkly stained oak and walnut tables with elaborately carved designs contrasted with the sleek lines of minimalist sofas and chairs upholstered in expensive silk fabrics. The art on the walls ran to hunting scenes and landscapes in the Turner tradition, a reflection of Hilary’s British heritage. She’d led Rouleau into the spacious living room when he arrived at 9:00 a.m. and invited him to sit on a plaid-covered couch in front of a bay window that looked out over the backyard. Oak trees lined the back of the property, their leaves a slash of scarlet against the blue backdrop of sky. The room smelled of smoke from a recent fire in the brick-lined hearth. Charred logs still rested in the grate.

      “Mitchell will be right down. He’s with our daughter, Sophie. As you can imagine, she’s having great difficulty accepting Devon’s death.” Hilary positioned herself in the wingback chair across from them. The sombreness of her long black skirt and black sweater was softened by the glint of a wide sterling silver bracelet wrapped around one wrist and a heavy silver chain with a heart locket resting between her breasts. Dark eyeliner rimmed the redness in her eyes that came from crying or lack of sleep. Probably both, Rouleau thought.

      He sat forward, trying to bridge the distance between them. “I know how difficult this is for you and your family and I’ll try to intrude as little as possible, but we want to find whoever harmed your son and hold them responsible. The sooner we learn all we can about Devon’s movements last week, the more quickly we can make an arrest.”

      “I’ve already told you who murdered Devon. I can’t understand why that bloody Thompson woman isn’t already in custody.” Hilary crossed her arms across her chest and sat rigidly in the seat. Her eyes looked over Rouleau’s head and out the window.

      He didn’t contradict her. Nothing would be gained by challenging the accusation. He said, “My team has been collecting evidence and is even now interviewing everyone who knew Devon. Once we have proof for a conviction, we’ll arrest whoever is responsible.”

      “It shouldn’t take long.” Mitchell Eton’s voice boomed across the space

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