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the Ottawa force.
    Rouleau watched Vera cross the room in her tight pencil skirt and six-inch heels with Kala’s paperwork in hand and thanked whatever deity had brought her to the chief’s door. She’d performed bureaucratic miracles all before eight-thirty in the morning. Her head tilted toward him and she winked just before stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind her. Rouleau noticed that Kala had witnessed the exchange but her face remained impassive. Rouleau was happy to be a man who didn’t blush easily. He looked directly at Kala. “Right. Chalmers and Woodhouse have been brought up to speed about Leah Sampson’s murder. What you don’t know is that we’re also working on a spousal rape case, so we’re spread thin this week.”
    “Where would you like me?” asked Kala.
    “You’ll be teamed with Gundersund and leading on the Sampson murder. However, Chalmers and Woodhouse might need you to help on the rape case, so be prepared to go between the two, if necessary.” He broadened his gaze to include the others. “Everyone is going to have to be flexible, so keep up-to-date on both files. We’ll have debriefs every morning at seven-thirty. I’ll be coordinating both and dealing with media, needless to say, with Heath’s assistance.”
    “His forte,” said Woodhouse. The others smiled at some inside joke. Kala guessed that the unmet chief must fancy himself a media star. The knowledge might come in handy down the road.
    “Calls have been coming in. The Whig and the CBC are probing the murder story. We’ve even had calls from the Globe and Post .”
    What Rouleau couldn’t say was that he had little faith in Ed Chalmers, who was close to retirement and dogging it. Woodhouse was in his early forties but had shown little initiative. The two men even looked alike — both balding with middle age paunches. Woodhouse was taller and wore glasses, but aside from that they could have been brothers. Around the station they were known as Lazy and Lazier.
    “So, Chalmers and Woodhouse, start interviewing neighbours and co-workers — anyone who knew Brian and Della Munroe. We need evidence to back up Della’s story if it’s true.”
    “We’re on it,” said Chalmers.
    Rouleau wished he could find faith in Chalmers’s words, but failed. “Gundersund, can you sit in on the Sampson autopsy this morning?”
    Gundersund nodded.
    “We’ve located her parents in Montreal and they’re on their way, and the autopsy is scheduled for right after they see her. Stonechild, I want you to check out the staff where Leah worked. Her murder could be tied into her personal life or the help line. The killer might have been a stranger, but if so, why torture her? See what you can find out and bring along Officer Marquette. He’s waiting at his desk for you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Check in as you go and I’ll let you know next assignments.”
    Everyone stood and started for the door. Gundersund fell into step with Kala.
    “Do you have the help line address on campus?”
    “No, but it shouldn’t be hard to track down.”
    “I’ll call you when the autopsy’s done to find out where you are. Can I have your cell number?”
    She recited the number and he jotted it down in his notebook.
    Gail Pankhurst lurched forward a step and dropped into the empty chair facing Jucinda and Nate sitting on the couch. Jucinda’s melodramatic announcement that Leah had been murdered kept repeating in her brain like a news bulletin stuck on replay.
    “I can’t fucking believe it,” Nate said. “No fucking way.” His face was the colour of whipped meringue. He slumped back and held onto his chest as if he’d been shot.
    “Well believe it,” said Jucinda. “The cop in there talking to Mark and Professor Tadesco is 100 percent certain. Plus, Leah missed her shift yesterday and again today, so that would appear to clinch it.”
    “Where’s Wolf?” asked Gail, her head swivelling around the office. “Does he