Shallow End. Brenda ChapmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kala drove to Macdonnell Street where Charlie resided with his mother, Roslyn Hanson, and two sisters. They lived a few streets west of the Etons and further north, facing the back side of Winston Churchill Public School. The Hanson house was modest in comparison to the Etons’ — a two-storey with white siding and windows that could have used an update. An overgrown cedar hedge took up most of the front yard.
Kala parked her truck on the street and wondered why she had a bad feeling. She forced herself to shake it off. An untended yard and rundown home didn’t equal an evil spirit. Gundersund sat silently while she scanned the other side of the street. She finally turned to face him, smiling to keep the uneasy thoughts from showing in her eyes. “That last talkative girl we interviewed said Charlie’s father, Wally Hanson, died a few years ago. Guess he was the handyman around this place because it looks like the yard could use some work.”
Gundersund was watching her. “What is it?” he asked, ignoring her attempt at levity. His blue eyes questioned hers. “You seem put off by something.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I get a feeling … probably nothing. Let’s go check this kid out. I think he might respond better to you than me.” She opened her door and stepped out quickly. She didn’t know which was more unsettling: the feeling that had risen up her spine or the fact that Gundersund was starting to read her.
Charlie’s mother answered the door. She was older than Kala expected, with kinky grey hair to her shoulders and a lined face. “I don’t have money for charity this month,” she said, and started to close the door.
“Roslyn Hanson? We’re from the Kingston police, Homicide Division.” Gundersund raised his badge to eye level through the gap. She stopped and pulled the door wider, moving a step closer to read their names.
“Who is it, Mom?” A girl in her early twenties entered the hallway. She was wearing a pink nursing uniform and shrugging into a jacket while holding her purse in one hand. She looked at Gundersund and Kala and stopped. “You’re here to question Charlie.”
“You carry on to work and we’ll be fine.” Roslyn stepped back and helped her with the sleeve of her jacket. She looked at Gundersund. “This is Ashley, my oldest. She lives in student housing on campus and is a fourth-year nursing student. My pride and joy.”
“Oh, Mom.” Ashley gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast because you’ll be in bed when I get home. I’ll be staying over one more night and then back to my dorm.” She gave Gundersund a chest-high wave as she walked past him. “Go easy on my brother. He’s taking Devon’s death hard.”
“Well, come in then.” Roslyn started down the hallway. “Don’t mind the mess.”
They followed her into a small living room filled with furniture — a blue couch too big for the room was pushed against the window, blocking half of the view. Two recliners angled in from each wall facing a giant-screen television set on a stand. A rectangular oak veneer coffee table, home to a stack of fashion magazines, empty coffee cups, and an overflowing ashtray, took up most of the remaining space. Overpowering air freshener competed with stale cigarette smoke, making Kala’s eyes water. She felt a cough tickle the back of her throat. Gundersund made a clearing noise in his as they took spots next to each other on the couch.
Roslyn stood in the doorway. “I’ll just go get him, shall I?” She was gone before they could respond and they listened to her heavily climb the stairs while calling Charlie’s name.
Gundersund swiped at his eyes. “Something in this room is giving me a full-on allergy attack. What is that smell anyway? Gardenia?”
“Chemical flowers in a spray can.” Kala spotted a family photo on the wall above one of the recliners. “My guess is roses.”
The picture had to be a few years old. Charlie’s dad stood next to him, both with the same prominent nose and wavy brown hair, although the father’s was peppered with grey. In the photo, Roslyn had less grey in her hair than now but the same pinched look on her face. Ashley had pulled her wavy hair into a ponytail at the top of her head and wore a tight T-shirt that showed off her fleshy arms and healthy chest. She was the only one smiling. The younger girl looked to be eleven or twelve. Someone had cut off her hair in an unattractive style. Her looks weren’t helped by round glasses and a sour expression on her face that spelled a whole lot of woe for somebody.
“Is that the dad?” Gundersund got to his feet and squeezed between the couch and the La-Z-Boy. “Charlie must be fifteen in this photo, so two or three years ago. Family’s not exactly best in show, are they?” He plunked back down on the couch and Kala bounced as he landed.
“I wonder if he had a heart attack.” Kala looked toward the door to make sure Charlie hadn’t entered unnoticed.
“I think his classmate said that Charlie’s dad died unexpectedly. Might have been his heart or one of those quick-moving cancers. Although an aneurysm can get you pretty quick, or a stroke. Man, I’m starting to scare myself.”
They stopped talking as shoes clunked down the stairs and toward them along the hallway.
“You’re up, tough guy,” Kala said.
A slightly older version of the boy in the photo entered the room with his mother close behind him. They crossed the short space and each swung a recliner around to face Stonechild and Gundersund.
“He’s eighteen,” Roslyn said as she sat down. “But guess it won’t do no harm for me to listen in.”
“You’re welcome to be here for our interview.” Gundersund smiled at her and then repositioned himself on the couch.
Kala could feel every movement her partner made as the cushions shifted under his weight. She glanced over. Gundersund was a bear of a man and he angled himself to fill Charlie’s sightline. She looked back at the kid. He was watching Gundersund with alert eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses but had a relaxed expression on his face, arms folded across his black T-shirt, which was emblazoned with a large Google logo. His face had filled in, but his hair was the same unruly mess of waves as in the photo on the wall.
“First let me say how sorry I am that you lost your friend. I understand you were close.”
Charlie nodded. He looked down at his hands. “Thanks.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Monday at school.”
“Not after school?”
Charlie looked at his mother and back at Gundersund. “Usually we got together but he said that he had something to do.”
“Any idea what?”
“Nope. He was secretive about it. In fact, he’d been secretive a lot the past month or so. I thought he might be seeing someone and didn’t want to tell me yet.”
“A girl?”
“I guess.”
“You were his friend when Jane Thompson was accused of sexual interference and you saw them together, is this correct?”
“You seem to already know what happened.”
Kala lifted her head from taking notes. For the first time, she heard an edge to his voice verging on insolent.
“I’d like to hear it from you.” Gundersund’s voice was firm and Kala knew he’d also caught Charlie’s attitude.
Charlie slumped deeper into the chair. “Yeah. Devon told me that he and Mrs. Thompson were having sex. I saw them together a few times after he told me. Once, she kissed him. I never saw them getting it on though.” His mouth twisted sideways. Kala couldn’t tell if it was a smirk or a grimace of distaste.
Roslyn moved in her chair but didn’t say anything.
“How did Devon feel about her getting