A Striking Death Read online

  He didn’t mind his assignment for Staff Inspector Chappell. He would have preferred to have kept on investigating the two murders but helping catch a young stalker was an interesting challenge. And doing a favour for a superior officer was never a bad idea.

  The music had switched to the more lugubrious second part of Autumn, a piece he didn’t like so much. The third was better, but it was the first section that he enjoyed the most. He would sometimes play it over and over. Of the Four Seasons, Autumn was his favourite.

  McDonald had the idea that he was more of a bodyguard for Mrs. Chappell than an investigator. Still, he was happy to please the Staff Inspector. He hadn’t been much use so far, though. He’d tried showing Mrs. Chappell mug shots of known sexual offenders, and when that was no use, the complete range of criminals of all types. He had struck out; she hadn’t recognized anyone. To be fair, although she’d seen the guy three times, the first time his face had been partly covered by his hoodie, the second time he had been some distance way with a camera in front of his face, and the third time she had only caught a glimpse of him in the dark. And he might not be on file anywhere in any case.

  He’d tried looking for the dirty white van but there were simply too many white vans out there, and she had no clue what make it was. So he was pretty much out of ideas and stuck with the bodyguard duty.

  McDonald parked on the street several doors down from Mrs. Chappell’s house. He scanned the street for possible trouble, saw none and walked up to her front door.

  Mrs. Chappell opened the door and gave him a nervous smile. “Hello, Dick. Mark telephoned to say you were on your way again. I’m sorry to be such a pain. It’s good of you. Come in.”

  “It’s no trouble, Celeste. I’m pleased to help you. Especially such a beautiful damsel in distress.” McDonald gave her his best, charming grin.

  Celestine Chappell was a tall, thin woman with surprisingly smooth skin for a woman her age. McDonald knew she was fifty-nine but she appeared much younger, despite her white hair. It was partly the way she dressed too, and her obvious energy. She was wearing tight blue jeans this morning and a white, silk blouse, and she had her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. McDonald hadn’t seen too many women of her vintage look the way she did.

  “Dick, you’ll never change. Come and have some coffee.”

  McDonald had actually thought about seriously flirting with Celeste Chappell despite her age – he was only thirty-seven – but was wise enough to know that that path would lead to disaster. Attractive and separated she might be but she was still his boss’ wife. He was not about to derail his career over her. He took off his leather jacket and hung it up in her front closet and followed her into the kitchen.

  “Have you seen anything of Mr. Creepy, Celeste?”

  “Not since Wednesday, no. Thank goodness.” She handed him a mug of coffee.

  “Thanks. That’s good, then. What are your plans for today?”

  Celeste sat down at the table and crossed her legs. “I am having lunch with a friend. At Raymond’s. Do you know it? Over on Church Street.”

  McDonald nodded. “I’ll be there too, then. I’ll get another table. Keep an eye out for blue hoodies and white vans outside.”

  Celeste said, “Are you sure? It’s such an inconvenience for you. And surely it’s safe there?”

  “Oh, I don’t think he would try anything there. But if he shows up again watching you, then your husband wants me there to grab him. What about after the lunch date?”

  “Then I will be volunteering at the food bank. I help stock the shelves on Friday afternoons.”

  “I know where that is too. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You’ll leave here first when you’re ready to go out. I’ll follow a minute or so later. After your lunch date, I’ll be behind you on your way to the food bank. I’ll be watching for white vans. By the way, it’s important that you never acknowledge my presence today at all.”

  Celeste nodded. “I understand.”

  “Okay. I’ll be outside keeping the food bank under observation. If nothing happens, I’ll follow you home. You can order something in for dinner for us.” He raised his hand as he could see she was about to protest. “Staff Inspector’s orders. He also wants me to stay the night. He has a plan, which has a good chance of success, if Mr. Creepy shows up. Here’s what he wants to do.”

  McDonald outlined for her what Staff Inspector Chappell had suggested earlier in his office.

  When he was finished, Celeste nodded thoughtfully. “That might work,” she said.

  thirty-seven

  Lori Singh was sitting in her Prius in the station parking lot, thinking. Thinking about Drumm’s last comment about calling Emily. She had wanted to ask him what he intended to say but she bit her tongue and left his office quietly. She had said nothing, just raised her eyebrows and gone to her desk.

  She reflected on the events of the past twenty-four hours. Drumm had looked so vulnerable sitting beside his car, sweating and shaking. She had never imagined she would see him like that. And then when he had showed up so unexpectedly at her apartment this morning, she was first surprised and then pleased to see him. He was back to looking his normal self, despite getting hardly any sleep. Pleased? She smiled to herself. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. She had carefully hidden her feelings, though, and waited to find out why he was there. And then all that stuff about diabetes and Emily. Especially Emily. She had to admit that she was glad things weren’t working out between he and his girlfriend, even though she knew it made him unhappy.

  Lori came to herself with a start, suddenly realizing that she was sitting daydreaming in a parking lot behind the wheel of her car. Anyone seeing her would think that strange. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine came to life. Right now he was speaking to Emily. What were they saying to each other? Stop it! Get over to Danny’s and do your job.

  thirty-eight

  “I’m sorry, Nick. Emily isn’t here.” Janice, the receptionist at Emily Graham Real Estate, was polite. “You could try paging her.”

  “I’ve done that. She’s not answering.”

  Janice sounded distant. “She’s probably busy in a showing.”

  Drumm hung up, after leaving a request for Emily to call him. Busy in a showing? He doubted that.

  His mind went back to the events of the past twenty-four hours. Had he done the right thing by going over to Lori Singh’s apartment? He wasn’t sure. He was embarrassed about fainting and losing control like that. He’d just wanted to apologize. But then he’d opened his mouth and talked on and on about Emily. At first he’d felt good about his chat with Lori but now he wasn’t so sure. What must she think of him?

  His cellphone rang. He was surprised to see that it was Emily. He thought she had been avoiding him.

  “Hello, Em.” Which would she be? Teary and apologetic? Or chilly and critical?

  “Hi, Nicky! What are you doing?”

  “I’m at work. Getting ready to go out.” It was neither. This was normal Emily.

  “Any chance of lunch? I’m busy for another hour or so but then I can get away.”

  It was like nothing had happened between them, the harsh words of the day before forgotten. “No chance at all, Em, I’m afraid. I’ll be eating on the run today. Two unsolved murders.”

  “Alright, I understand.” Emily sounded disappointed but not upset.

  She had behaved like this before, of course, extremely disturbed one day and acting like nothing had happened the next. It was always disconcerting when it happened, though, and especially now, given the circumstances.

  “I’ll see you after work then.” And she hung up, leaving Drumm shaking his head.

  He just never knew with her. How much more of this could he take? Shit! Why did everything have to be so complicated!

  He grabbed his jacket, still distracted, and headed out to his car.

  thirty-nine

  It was before the lunch hour rush so Lori was able to slide the Prius i
nto a parking spot close to Danny’s. She hadn’t been here before but she liked Fifth Street with its row of mature maples. It reminded her of one of Paris’ boulevards. Most of the leaves were down and swirling around in a blustery wind. She pulled her coat tight around her and hurried into the bistro.

  It was dark inside and she had trouble seeing anything after the glare outside. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw a row of empty stools in front of a gleaming bar, and a dining section off to the left with a couple of tables occupied. She didn’t see any staff around so she slipped onto one of the stools and put her coat beside her.

  A man in his twenties dressed in a white shirt and a maroon-coloured vest materialized behind the bar. “Morning, miss. Help you?”

  Lori showed her badge. “I surely hope so. Detective Lori Singh, Violent Crimes Unit, YPS. You’re not Guido, are you?”

  The bartender looked carefully at her. “I am not. I’m Dean. What can I do for you?”

  Lori carefully placed two photographs on the bar. “We’re investigating two murders, Arthur Billinger and Daniel Levine. Both these men came to Danny’s occasionally. Do you recognize them?”

  Dean picked up the photos and scrutinized them, then put them back down. “I’ve seen them before. When they were together, they’d sit at one of the tables. Sometimes this guy would sit here by himself.” Dean indicated the photo of Arthur Billinger.

  “How often did they come here, would you say?”

  Dean smiled, showing even white teeth. “They were what I would call the infrequent regulars. Men who would eat here every month or two. The regulars would be here a lot more often than that.”

  Lori was studying him. He almost looked like a college kid, with his boyish looks and intelligent face. “What’s your last name, Dean?”

  “It’s Barber. But I decided to be a bartender instead.” He smiled again.

  The kid was cute, thought Lori. “You look like a student. How long have you worked here?”

  “I was a student. In psychology. I graduated last year and couldn’t get a job. Guido took me on full time. But I’ve worked part-time here for four years, so I know most of the customers. Not by name, of course, just their faces mostly.”

  Lori said, “Can I get a club soda, please? I would imagine being a psych major would come in handy in this job.”

  Dean put her drink in front of her. “I have lots of opportunity to study people, for sure. It’s an interesting place to work.”

  Lori took a sip. “Are you gay, Dean?”

  He grinned again. Lori could see that it was something he did frequently. “It’s not a condition of employment. No, I’m not. I have a girlfriend. Had. We just broke up.”

  “You knew these two men were gay?”

  Dean said, “Oh, yes. I could tell. I mean, they weren’t obvious about it but I knew.”

  Lori thought about this. “How?”

  “Aside from eating in a gay bistro, do you mean?” He laughed. “It’s the little things, like the way they walk, what they do with their hands, that sort of thing.” Dean was polishing an already shiny bar top. “Some of our customers are open about their relationship, but these two weren’t so much.”

  “Do you think everybody would have known they were gay? Or was it just because you’d worked here so long that you could tell?”

  Dean grinned again. “No special insight for me, just experience. Anybody would know after a bit, I guess.”

  Lori took another sip of her club soda. “The reason I’m asking, it’s possible somebody sat here, maybe right here at this bar, or maybe at another table, and studied these men.” She pointed at the two photos. “Stalked them. Somebody who didn’t like gay men. If so, that’s who we’re trying to find.”

  Dean’s smile was gone and he was looking concerned. “I see. You want to know if I noticed anybody giving them the evil eye?”

  “Maybe, or just studying them, paying more attention to them than what would be normal. Did you ever see that?”

  “We get our share of cruisers but I don’t remember anyone paying attention to these two.”

  Lori persisted. “Specifically, we are interested in a businessman-type, dressed in a suit and tie, in his forties with cropped grey hair and a diamond stud in his right ear. Ring any bells?”

  Dean was doubtful. “We get a lot of businessmen, lots of earrings. I can’t recall anybody like that.” He looked disappointed. “Sorry, I’m not much help.”

  Danny’s was starting to fill up as the lunch crowd entered. One of the servers came over with a drink order now and Dean was busy for a few minutes. Lori could see how efficient he was at his job, and also that he would be increasingly difficult to talk to. She was nearly finished anyway.

  She waited until he had a minute again and said, “You don’t work seven nights a week, surely?”

  Dean grinned. “Guido’s not that much of a slave driver. There’s another guy, Craig; he comes in two days a week.”

  Lori slid her card over to him. “Do me a favour, Dean. Ask him if he noticed anyone paying close attention to these two, would you? Today, please, if you can.” She tapped the two photographs. “I’ll leave these here. And call and tell me what he says.”

  Dean nodded. “Sure,” he said.

  “One last thing, Dean. I’m hungry – what do you recommend?”

  forty

  It did look like the Taj Mahal, Drumm thought, not for the first time. He was standing in front of the York District School Board building, holding his jacket closed with his hair blowing in the gusty wind. It was getting cold and the fallen leaves were crispy underfoot. The impression a visitor got when seeing the edifice in front of him for the first time was glass and towers. The architects were looking to create light and open space and clearly they had succeeded. Nestled into a remote wooded area of the city, the building was an impressive structure.

  More than one cynical teacher had dubbed the building the Taj Mahal, a reference to the money spent to create an opulent environment for bureaucrats. Drumm had been one of these, questioning why so much money was spent on such a building at the expense of students.

  He hadn’t been up this way for some time, although once he had been a frequent visitor. He put aside the thoughts of those unpleasant days when he had been an elementary teacher and entered through the heavy glass doors that were part of the main entrance. He strode confidently past the receptionist as if he knew where he was going, as indeed he did, and paused in the main lobby to look around him.

  He’d once had a principal who said of the place, “Can you imagine working here? You couldn’t even pick your nose in private.” Drumm grinned slightly at the crudity of it, but the man was right. Most of the offices were right in front of him and they were like goldfish bowls. There were five or six floors and a couple of these were sunken so you could look down on the employees in their cubicles. Over the years, the people who worked in the place had done their best to create some privacy by using plants and shelves but he could still see lots of employees going about their business.

  Drumm climbed the stairs to the third floor where Human Resources was located. This part of the building was a little more private. He showed his card to the receptionist and asked to see the Superintendent of HR. He had called ahead to let this woman know he was coming, and he was only kept waiting a short time.

  A stout, middle-aged woman came out to meet him. “Janet Millbrook. Pleased to meet you, Detective Sergeant. Come this way.”

  She led Drumm back to an office in the rear. It had a pleasant view of an evergreen wood out the window, and he was pleased to see the rest of the walls were solid. No one would be watching his every move. She waved him to one of the two comfortable-looking chairs and seated herself behind her desk.

  “This is what you were looking for,” she said. She handed him a blue folder. “The personnel file on Arthur Billinger. It’s shocking what happened to him. Is there any other way I can help?”

  “Did you know him
personally?”

  She shook her head. “Before my time. And, to be honest, I would know very few of the teachers who work with the Board right now. My job doesn’t allow me to get out into the schools.”

  Drumm had expected this. “I’ll go through this carefully, of course. But he retired five years ago, correct?”

  “He did, yes. He certainly could have taught longer but he chose to go as soon as he could.” Millbrook smiled. “Most teachers do.”

  “I know,” said Drumm. “And what kind of record did he have?”

  The superintendent leaned back in her chair. “You understand, I’ve just read through this file, like you are about to. He appears to have been an exemplary teacher. Good teaching reports from his principals, no black marks against him, and several letters of commendation. I couldn’t see anything unusual about him at all.” She shrugged helplessly. “Sorry.”

  Drumm smiled. “Don’t be. I’m just clutching at straws at this point.” He leaned forward. “But I do need to talk to anyone who knew him well. It’s been a long time, I know, but whom would you suggest I contact?”

  Janet Millbrook thought for a minute. “His principals, I suppose.” She leaned forward and extended her hand. “May I?”

  Drumm handed back the employment folder.

  Millbrook leafed through it until she found the page she was looking for. “Okay, he retired in June, 2006. At that point he was at Addison Road Public School; he’d been there for four years. Teaching FSL.” She looked up at Drumm. “That’s French as a Second Language.”

  “I know what it is. I was a teacher myself. In this district.”

  The Superintendent was surprised. Most people were when Drumm told them. “Really? How interesting. I guess you never came across Arthur Billinger?”