LITMIR.BIZ

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      Rouleau turned the words over in his mind. It was bad timing that Whelan had to take leave just when they were thrust into this case. It was hard on the team and hard on Stonechild. Whelan would be back in a few days and Stonechild would settle back into a secondary role. He liked her and didn’t want to set her up to fail. Her inexperience in homicide had been his one worry and he wasn’t surprised Grayson had picked up on it. They’d just have to get by as things were for now.

      20

      Monday, December 26, 6:10 p.m.

      Rouleau left for home before Kala finished typing her report. He told her just to file the report electronically in the records system and he’d read it after supper. Grayson and Malik soon followed, leaving her alone.

      She looked up as they were getting their coats on and assured them that she wouldn’t be far behind. She tucked her head back down so they wouldn’t read her lie. She had no intention of leaving until she’d finished the work she’d laid out for herself. She’d already resumed typing before the door shut behind them and she didn’t look up until she’d gotten through transcribing her notes. She kept the report factual, not forming conclusions as Grayson would have her do. Her name would be on the report, not his, and she wouldn’t put her name to a theory she didn’t believe … yet. She was deliberately ignoring Grayson’s instruction to point the investigation in one direction. Hell, let him write his own report, she thought.

      Once done, she saved the file, then poured a cup of coffee one step removed from sludge. After a few sips she accessed the system and opened the folder of reports submitted by Malik and Grayson over the course of the week. She was looking for inconsistencies in statements, timelines, and alibis. She occasionally jotted a note for follow-up on her notepad. Nothing jumped out except a feeling of unease at Laurel’s disappearance just before Christmas. The tingling grew as she remembered Hunter arriving at Laurel’s house just after she came home, his Jeep parked a good distance away. Tom Underwood had stolen Laurel from Hunter, but now Tom and Laurel slept in separate bedrooms. Their betrayal could be nothing. It could be everything.

      Kala closed the folder and stretched. It was close to nine o’clock and her stomach was rumbling with hunger, but she wasn’t done yet. She liked the silence of the office. Being alone was when she felt most comfortable. It was sad that Whelan’s kid was sick, but she was just as happy not to have a partner. She’d always worked alone up North. Her favourite time was the night shift, driving the back roads with the moon and stars the only light in the ink black sky. She could deal with wolves and bears but this city might be another matter. The wild life here wore pants and drove fancy cars. The rabid ones weren’t as easy to spot.

      She searched through the records system until she found the file on the man who was groping women in apartment lobbies. She shared Rouleau’s concern that this guy was escalating. They’d been pulled off the case, but somebody had to follow up. It might as well be her. She didn’t have any family waiting for her to come home from work. This would keep her mind busy. It would also be a nice Christmas present for Rouleau if she broke the case.

      She leaned in to read through every incident report and made notes as she went. She paid careful attention to the pattern of buildings where each attack took place He’d only ventured out of the Lincoln Fields area once and that had been the first time when he’d picked a high-rise tower near the Ottawa River. It must have been out of his comfort zone because ever since, he’d targeted women in high-rises along the Richmond Road corridor behind Lincoln Fields Shopping Centre. She was certain he lived between the two sectors, probably closer to the river where he’d made his first strike. He picked middle-aged women alone, grabbing them from behind. One woman said he’d wrenched her breast hard and left bruising. Two said that he’d called them a bitch and two said he muttered the word cunt in their ear before shoving them into the wall. For the latest victim Glenda Martin, he’d figured out how to grope and strangle at the same time. She was the only one he’d attacked early afternoon. The rest had been closer to suppertime. Everything that she read confirmed that Rouleau was right to be worried.

      She closed the file. If the groper’s pattern was predictable, he’d be grabbing another woman soon, maybe by the weekend, probably late in the day when the sun was beginning to set. She bit her lip and thought over what she should do. The perp was getting bolder and more violent. The next woman he grabbed might not be as lucky as the others.

      She did a Google search and clicked on a map of Ottawa’s west end on the computer screen and enlarged the area where the attacks had taken place. Then she hit print and crossed the room to pick up the copy to take back to her desk. She numbered each location with a red felt-tipped pen in the order they occurred and studied 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

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