As Levesque drove, Green studied his notes. Bit by bit, he was chipping away at the mystery of the past. After a little more probing, Norah had finally admitted that she’d known Jules back in Montreal. The tall, handsome eligible young constable with the impeccable manners had been the talk of the typing pool, and they all vied for the chance to do his reports. “Not me, of course,” Norah had added with a hasty glance at Reg. He was always the perfect gentleman, always said a personal thankyou, and none of the girls received special treatment. But one day she’d just returned from yet another disappointing doctor’s appointment, and she was upset when Jules came in. He brought her a cup of tea and listened.
“What a sweetheart! He never talked much, but you knew he listened. Afterwards, he never mentioned it again, but a couple of months later he asked if Reg and I would like to meet a friend of his.”
Green was surprised by the story. He’d never known Adam Jules to have a tender side. He’d cared about his officers and done a lot to protect and nurture their careers behind the scenes, but rarely was a word spoken about it. Green remembered the touch of fingertips between Amélie and him. Something had changed in the man over the years.
The Good Shepherd’s Mission was in Montreal’s northeast district, not far from the simple bachelor quarters where Adam Jules lived. He told Norah that he’d been volunteering at the mission every Sunday since he’d moved to the city, running the soup kitchen. Occasionally his work brought him in contact with frightened, desperate young women. He never knew where the babies ended up, just that Father Fréchette was very careful with his adoption choices.
Norah didn’t know when and why Jules left Montreal, since he’d never been in touch with them since the adoption. Both Kennedys hotly denied having spoken to him in the past week. Curiously they seemed more relaxed and talkative once they’d confessed. Was it the relief of letting go of the secret they’d kept dammed up all these years? Or relief that Green appeared to accept the story? Norah wept unabashedly. Even Reg’s eyes brimmed with tears as he talked about how the news would have destroyed Meredith. Terrified that she would somehow find out, they had sworn their family to absolute secrecy. Except for Norah’s mom, Reg said. That was the one person they could no longer trust, now that her mind was going. They were so scared she’d blurt it out during one of her rants.
“Touching story,” Levesque muttered as she steered the car up towards the Queensway. “We did it all for Meredith.”
Green thought of his own colossal mistakes with Hannah. “Even with the best intentions, parents make mistakes and find themselves in corners which they can’t get out of.”
She shot him a skeptical glance. “You believe them?”
“I’m keeping an open mind. Their emotion seemed pretty real.” He didn’t mention the role played by Adam Jules. Their story did not exonerate Jules from shady dealings, but it was far easier to think his mentor was facilitating private adoptions than running a baby peddling racket.
“They’ve had years to rehearse it,” was all she said before turning her attention to the road. Green knew she was right. He had not even had to push that hard before their sad, self-serving tale came pouring out.
Elena Longstreet would be a different story. She was next on the interview list, and as Levesque accelerated east towards Rockcliffe, he reviewed the questions he wanted to ask her. He knew he was going up against one of the foremost cross-examination tacticians on the Ottawa Bar, and he had to have every angle covered. Elena was not going to be bullied, outmanoeuvred or driven to tears.
He’d phoned her as they were leaving the Kennedys to let her know he was coming. He considered the advantages of a surprise attack but decided the risk of her wrath outweighed the good. If he wanted any chance of cooperation, an honest, straightforward approach was best. She had been impeccably polite but non-committal on the phone when she informed him she could spare him half an hour. “I’m due in court,” she’d said as if to remind him how important she was.
A sleek, champagne-coloured Town Car was parked at the curb in front of Elena’s house, the silhouette of its driver visible through the tinted glass. Idling chauffeur-driven luxury cars were such a common sight in Rockcliffe that Green gave it no thought. Elena greeted them at the door dressed in what he assumed was her court attire—a simple black dress to be worn under her gown and a string of white pearls at her neck. She gave Levesque only the faintest nod before turning to lead the way to the living room. She didn’t offer to take their coats, as if she didn’t intend them to stay long. Ignoring the subtext, Green hung his coat on the coat rack on his way past. Jules’s cashmere scarf, he noted, was gone.
To his surprise, the wing chair by the bay window was occupied by an old man who seemed to be all head above a tiny, wraithlike body. He peered at Green through hostile eyes but made no move to greet him.
Green stepped across the room with his hand extended. “Mr. Cyril Longstreet, I assume? I’m Inspector Michael Green of Ottawa CID, and this is my associate Sergeant Levesque.”
The man’s hand felt like dry twigs in his, but even so he emanated strength. Perhaps it was his unblinking stare or the pugnacious set of his jaw, so different from Green’s own father. Despite his frailty, Cyril wanted him to know who was still the boss.
As the two men appraised each other, Green quickly rethought his approach. With Cyril at her side, Elena was twice the adversary. She had not yet invited him to sit down, but before she could choose a place for him, he selected a seat on the sofa with a view of them both. He was again pleased to see Levesque take a chair without prompting on the opposite side of the room. She extracted her notebook.
Green leaned in. “Mrs. Longstreet, since we haven’t much time, we’ll skip the preliminaries. We all know why we’re here; to find out what information you can give us regarding the disappearance of Meredith Kennedy and the death of Lise Gravelle. After a week of intensive investigation, we’ve uncovered considerable evidence linking Lise to Meredith and to you—both of you, in fact—but to save us some time, perhaps you can tell us what you know.”
From the second wing chair, Elena eyed him, deadpan. After a long moment, she shrugged. “Nothing more than I read in the papers, I’m afraid.”
“All right, here’s what we know.” Green held up his hand to begin ticking off points. “For the past thirty years, Lise Gravelle has been keeping tabs on you. She saved clippings of your husband’s death, of your departure for Toronto, your court trials, and three weeks ago, an internet story about your son’s engagement to Meredith. Two weeks ago, she also began placing calls to Meredith’s cell phone, six in all, and last Monday, Meredith paid her a visit in Montreal. Lise caught the bus up here immediately after the visit, placed a call to Meredith during which Meredith became hysterical and accused her of wanting to ruin everything. A few hours later, she was killed, on her way over here to see you.”
Elena looked about to object but seemed to think better of it. Green knew the facts alone did not begin to support any wrongdoing on her part, but perhaps she was hoping to give him enough rope to hang himself.
“Since then,” he continued, “the Kennedys have admitted that Meredith was in fact adopted and that a young police officer who volunteered at a Catholic mission arranged it with the priest. Until last Monday, Meredith never knew.”
Now Elena did react, her lips parting in shock. She breathed a single “no.”
Green tried to interpret her shock. Was she reacting to the news that Meredith was adopted or that she’d never been told? He decided to press further.
“So we go back thirty years now, to your husband’s death. I’ve looked at the Montreal police file and crime scene photos, talked to a newspaper reporter, and this much I do know. Lise Gravelle was a second-year law student of your husband’s—young, pretty and straight off the farm. Your husband was not alone when he died, but his apartment was cleaned up to erase all trace of his lover. The young police officer who helped the Kennedys adopt Meredith was also the investigating officer who looked the other way.” Green paused, debating whether to mention Adam Jules’s name. In the end he chose to hold back. For now. “Five months later, Lise Gravelle gave birth to a baby girl who has since vanished into thin air. These are some of the facts. I’m sure you can see how I’m connecting the dots.”
Still shaken, Elena had flushed more deeply at the mention of her husband’s lover. She sat very still as she considered her next move. Before she could speak, Cyril cut in. “I’m sure you can connect the dots in all kinds of imaginative, entirely unsubstantiated ways, but what is it you actually want from us today?”
Green kept his eyes on Elena. “The answers to some questions that would help me move the investigation forward. Firstly, were you aware that Lise Gravelle was your husband’s lover?”
She looked across at him. If looks could kill, he thought. “At what point?” she asked.
“At any point. Either before he died, or in the weeks that followed.”
“Not before. But afterwards, yes.”
“How did you find out?”
“The police told me.”
Adam Jules. Had that been the beginning of their connection?
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
She glanced at Cyril, not for guidance it seemed, but in reproach.
“Yes, I did. The officer told me that too.”
“What arrangement was made?”
“What do you mean?”
Green gave a gesture of incredulity. “A hapless young student was having your husband’s baby, and all of a sudden the whole investigation is buried and none of the witnesses remember a damn thing. Was Lise hung out to dry?”
“No,” Cyril interrupted, his voice like a shot. “And cut the ‘fresh off the farm’ crap. She played the oldest trick in the book, and if he hadn’t died, she’d have taken him to the cleaners. She was failing law school, not cut out for the rigours of the profession, and she was facing an ignoble retreat back to the farm. As it was, she got an apartment, child support, payment for photography courses and equipment, and all she had to do was keep quiet. She accepted the deal before the ink was dry.”
People like her don’t have much choice, Green thought. “Who brokered the deal?
Cyril eyed him. “You don’t want to know.”
Green’s heart sank. He took a few seconds before refocusing on Elena, who looked unnaturally pale. “In the past three weeks, did Lise Gravelle try to make contact with you?”
Elena shook her head.
“She managed to locate Meredith’s cell phone number and her parents’ home line, and she obviously knew where you lived. You’re telling me she never phoned you?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“You’re aware I can check phone records.”
“I’m well aware of that. With a warrant.”
“What were you doing last Monday evening, between six p.m. and midnight?”
“Oh my. I need an alibi.” Her lips twitched as she fought a smile. Green found it interesting that the discussion of her husband’s lover had distressed her more than suspicion of murder. “I arrived home at about eight o’clock. The storm was dreadful, so I cut short a Christmas dinner with friends and came home to read by the fire. Brandon was on night shift so I had the house to myself. I went to bed around eleven. And no, I did not hear or see anything unusual.”
“Was Brandon at the hospital all night?”
“Presumably, but I don’t keep tabs on my thirty-two year old son. He’s asleep upstairs if you want to ask him.”
“Where is Adam Jules?” He dropped the name as quietly and unexpectedly as he could, but she showed no surprise. She’s been waiting for this, he thought.
She arched her eyebrows. “He’s here in Ottawa. You should know, he’s your boss.”
“I mean, where is he right now?”
The eyebrows arched further. “I have no idea. His office, I assume.”
“Adam Jules hasn’t been seen or heard from in four days.” She blinked, and a spasm of bewilderment crossed her face. Green swung on Cyril. “Correction, sir. I saw him myself on Saturday when he almost ran me over up on Summit Circle as he was leaving your place.”
Cyril smiled. “If you’re looking for a conspiracy, son, you’re missing the mark. Neither Elena nor I kept up any contact with Jules, although we watched his career success with some satisfaction. He’d been smart when smart was called for, and he’d always kept his word with us.”
“He kept in touch with Lise and the baby.”
Cyril nodded. “Well, he would. He was an honourable man. We didn’t want to have any further contact with her, but we did ask him to keep an eye on her. For the child’s sake.”
Green felt the interview slipping from his control. He was venturing into emotional territory that didn’t seem to faze the old man one bit. Surreptitiously he tightened his fists to fortify himself. “Why did he visit you on Saturday?”
“It’s simple. He wanted to ask me what I knew about Lise Gravelle’s death. He knew who she was and he knew she’d died only a couple of blocks—”
“Murdered.”
“Murdered. Ah.” Here at last Cyril paused and took out a linen handkerchief to wipe some spittle from his mouth. Green thought his hand shook more than earlier. As the silence echoed through the house, Green heard a floorboard creak overhead. Finally Cyril resumed. “I hadn’t realized. Elena told me she’d been hit by a snowplow.”
“No,” Green said, looking from one to the other, noting the hidden tension in their faces. “She was killed by a blow to the back of the head from something blunt and hard.”
Cyril recovered first. “Well, then that explains why Jules was so upset when he visited me. He wanted to know whether Lise Gravelle had been in touch with me, whether she’d told me anything about the baby, and whether I’d told—” He broke off as if he’d only just seen the implications of the question. He pressed his handkerchief to his mouth again.
“Whether you’d told Elena?” Green prompted. “What? About Lise’s search for her baby?”
“Well, Lise hadn’t been in touch with me, so it’s all moot. We hadn’t heard from her in years, and neither Elena nor I had the least idea she was searching for the child.”
“Her name was Amélie. What happened to her?”
“We have no idea. Jules told us later she’d been adopted—”
“Sh-h.” Elena held up her hand. She looked alarmed, and Green realized how quiet the house had become.
When she resumed, her tone was hushed. “We knew nothing about the baby by choice. I know that sounds cruel, and in retrospect, it’s a decision I’ve come to regret, but at the time I was a young mother myself, trying to deal with some dreadful blows. I’ve thought about her often and wondered what became of the baby. Brandon’s sister, after all.”
“But never enough to contact Lise to find out how she was doing?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze. “We left all that to Adam.”
Green leaned forward, forcing her to look up at him. “When did you yourself connect the dots and realize that Meredith and Amélie were the same person? That your son was about to marry his half-sister and that Meredith herself had uncovered the truth.”
“I didn’t. Not until just now, when you told us Meredith was adopted. It had never quite made sense to me before, but there was something about the girl that made me uncomfortable—” Elena’s answer was cut off by the rush of footsteps on the stairs. Brandon appeared in the doorway, pale with horror and rage.
Elena leaped to her feet. “Darling!”
“What the hell have you done!” he shouted before whirling around, snatching his jacket, and slamming out the door.
Green was on her heels as she raced to the front door and flung it open just in time to see Brandon disappear into the garage. Pushing past Elena, Green rushed out towards the drive, his stocking feet sinking deep into the snow. Just as he reached the garage, a silver Prius shot past him backwards down the drive and slewed into the street. Seconds later it was out of sight.