A Striking Death Read online

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Hmmm.” The Superintendent was looking at the file again. “Before that he was at Prince Albert Senior Public. He’d been there for three years. And the school before that was Ditchburn Public School.” She looked up at him. “How far back do you want to go?”

  “All the way, I think.” He leaned forward in his chair. “When you don’t know what you’re seeking, you have to look everywhere and at everything.”

  “Alright, fine. This file doesn’t have the principals’ names at those schools at the time. But I can get them easily. Hold on a second.” Millbrook was writing down the names of the schools and the years, Drumm could see.

  The Superintendent went to the door, opened it and went over to another desk. Drumm could see her talking to a young woman and passing over the paper. She was back quickly.

  “It’ll just take a minute. We have that information filed separately.”

  Drumm stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time. I’ll get the names on my way out.” He gave her his card. “If you can think of anyone else that might know something about Arthur Billinger, please call me.”

  The printout that the young woman in the office passed over to him had the names of nine schools in all, the years Arthur Billinger had worked there and the names of the principals. Nine schools was a lot, he thought, but not all that unusual for a French teacher. It was one of the worst jobs to have in the elementary school system, and teachers often moved around a lot in search of a better working environment.

  The list also showed the status of the principals; two of the earlier ones were marked deceased, the rest were retired, all of them. It was interesting to see that the principals from the seventies and eighties were exclusively male, and then became predominantly female. That reflected the change that had swept through the school system.

  At one time, even though ninety-five percent of the staff of an elementary school was female, the administration was always male. Many of these men had no qualifications for the position other than their gender. In the schools, if there were male teachers, they would always be in seventh or eighth grade. The primary and junior divisions were the domain of the female teachers.

  All of this began to change in the late eighties and nineties as school districts across Ontario began instituting gender equality. It became difficult for men to get promoted.

  Out at his car, Drumm looked up at the sky which had turned slate grey. It had gotten very cold with a biting wind sending icy fingers down his shirt. He hurried to unlock the Miata and get behind the wheel.

  Nine schools, seven principals. There was nothing for it but to start with the most recent and work his way backwards. But first he would call Lori.

  She answered on the third ring.

  “Where are you?” He could hear noise in the background.

  “I’m having lunch at Danny’s. A bowl of chilli. It’s very tasty.”

  “Get anywhere?”

  Lori summarized her interview with Dean Barber. “How about you?”

  “I have a long list of principals to interview.” He told her about the results of his visit to the School District offices. “I’ll track down the last one on the list and work backwards. Have to start somewhere.”

  “You want me to help? I’m pretty much done here.”

  “Eventually, yes. But first, when you’re finished your lunch, go and see Cameron Garmand again. I want everything he knows about Billinger, who his friends are and were, what kind of teacher he was, what his reputation was in the school, did people know he was gay – everything.”

  “Okay. I’m just settling my bill here and then I’ll pay Garmand a visit.” There was a pause. “Nick? Make sure you eat something before you see that principal.”

  Drumm smiled. He could hear the concern in her voice. “I’ve been here before, Lori; I’m not made of glass. But I will eat, I promise you.” He craned his neck to look up at the sky. “It’s getting damned cold out. Maybe I’ll have some chilli too.”

  forty-one

  Lori was mentally chastising herself as she drove to Cameron Garmand’s address. She shouldn’t have told Drumm to eat something. It wasn’t her place to nag him, and she had certainly never done it before. She wasn’t his mother. Or his wife. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for reminding him he had diabetes. She resolved to do better.

  She found Cameron Garmand at his home in the suburbs. He lived in an older subdivision in an elegant two-storey house. Like many of the homes on the street, it was already decorated for Halloween, with a pair of pumpkins on the porch, and a scarecrow and bale of hay on the front lawn. A cornucopia and a collection of gourds and fall flowers completed the display. Garmand opened the door to her ring and led the way to the living room.

  “Something to drink?” he asked her.

  “I’ve just eaten, thank you. You have a nice home here, Mr. Garmand.”

  “Thank you. We’ve been here twenty-five years or so. Just the two of us now. Empty nesters – our three kids have all moved out.”

  “You retired when, Mr. Garmand?”

  “Same as Art – June, 2006. We went together.”

  “And what school were you at then?”

  “Addison Road Public School. I’d been in the intermediate division there for years. Art was my French teacher. I think I told you that before.”

  “You were friends?”

  “Colleagues would be a better way of describing it. Don’t get me wrong, we were friendly. But we didn’t see each much outside school when we were working.”

  “And after you both retired? You had coffee with him regularly, right? How about other things? Golf, maybe? Or travel?”

  Garmand was leaning back on the couch. He had his hands folded over his paunch. He looked completely relaxed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a man comfortable in his own skin. “No, nothing like that. Just the Tuesday morning get-togethers at Timmy’s. Usually I would pick him up because it was on my way.” He smiled. “I think I told you that too, didn’t I?”

  “Anybody else at these coffee sessions? Or was it always just you two?”

  “It would depend. There would almost always be others there. But sometimes it would just be Art and I.”

  “And these other people…”

  “Oh, other retired teachers from Addison Road. The regulars are Norma Williams, Annette Gilroy and Diane Pelletier. There are a couple of other ladies who show up occasionally.”

  Lori was surprised. “You two were the only men?”

  Garmand grinned. “Yes. Those women I just named? They’re tough old broads – their words, not mine – they scared all the other guys away.”

  “But not Arthur Billinger, I gather. What kind of man was he?”

  “He was quiet. He listened a lot and then chipped in with his thoughts. That’s one of the reasons I liked him.” Garmand smiled, thinking. “That came in handy with the Tuesday morning group. He would sit there and listen to all the gossip and chatter and when the time was right, he would lay a zinger of a comment on us. He would crack everybody up.”

  An overweight woman with short grey hair came into the room. She was wearing bright pink track pants and a baggy white sweatshirt.

  Garmand said, “My wife, Cynthia. Cindy, this is Detective Lori Singh.”

  Cynthia sat beside her husband and inspected Lori curiously, the light glinting off her eyeglasses.

  “You knew Mr. Billinger also, Mrs. Garmand?”

  “I knew Art a little, yes. Not well, though.” Cynthia Garmand had a high squeaky voice; it sounded odd in such a large woman.

  “Did you both know he was gay?”

  The two Garmands looked briefly at each other. Cameron said, “We were aware, yes. Cindy hardly knew him but she and I had discussed it. Art didn’t advertise it but I knew he was gay for a long time. Years.”

  Lori asked, “When he was teaching, did everyone at the school know?” She put down her notebook and pen and removed her jacket.

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sp; Garmand said, “Depends on what you mean by everyone. Most of the staff knew, I’m sure. Maybe some of the newer ones didn’t, but all the old hands, yes, definitely.”

  Cynthia Garmand pushed herself off the couch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do. I’ll leave you two to talk school.”

  “A moment, Mrs. Garmand. I need to ask, were you two both home Monday evening?”

  Cynthia Garmand looked at Lori, then her husband. “Of course. Where else would we be?”

  Cameron said, “She means, Cindy, can you vouch for me? Somebody killed Art Monday night, and she wants to make sure it wasn’t me.” He looked at the detective and smiled briefly. “Right?”

  Lori smiled also. “Yes. But it’s just routine.”

  Cynthia Garmand was looking shocked. “Cameron? Of course he didn’t! We were here all night. We watched TV and went to bed at our usual time. 11:30, that is.” She was staring at Lori. “Cam wouldn’t do something like that. How can you think it?”

  Lori said, emphatically, “I don’t think it at all. It’s just routine elimination of the people who knew him. If we thought your husband was a suspect, we would have been here days ago.”

  Cynthia gave her a doubtful look, glanced at her husband and left the room.

  Lori said, “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset her.” She paused. “You met Daniel Levine, I understand. You know he was killed Wednesday night?” At Garmand’s nod, she went on. “Did you know he and Mr. Billinger were lovers?”

  Garmand answered, calmly, “I was pretty sure, yes.” Before Lori could ask, he went on, “Art and I never talked about it. We never discussed his sex life or partners or anything remotely like that. Not when he was teaching, or when he was retired. We talked about school and politics and lots of other stuff but not that. But I knew he and Daniel were together. He talked about him and the store quite a bit. I put two and two together, shall we say?”

  “When he was teaching, you said most of the staff knew he was gay. How about the kids?”

  Garmand sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. “That’s a tough one. It’s hard to know with young people. I’d be pretty confident saying the vast majority of them would have no idea. Maybe a few would have known. But it would take an astute thirteen-year old to recognize him as gay. He was careful at school, professional, very…controlled. I think that’s a good word to use.”

  Lori was getting tired. A picture of Arthur Billinger was beginning to emerge but it was slow going. She persisted. “What kind of teacher was he?”

  “Tough. Old school. A disciplinarian. But fair. He had rules and he enforced them; the kids always knew what to expect with him.”

  “Did they like him?” Lori leaned forward, intent.

  “That’s hard to say also. As much as they liked any FSL teacher, I guess. That’s a tough job. Most of the older kids hate French and they often take it out on the teacher. But Art earned their respect. Most of them, anyway. And that’s all a teacher can ever do: reach most of them.”

  “What about the ones who didn’t respect him?”

  Garmand paused and contemplated her. “Are you asking me if I can name a student who would want to kill his French teacher? The answer is ‘no’, by the way. But it’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?”

  Lori said, “Perhaps. But he was gay and Daniel Levine was his lover and they were both murdered. That happened. If it wasn’t a student, have you any idea who would want him dead? And not just dead, but hit over and over again. Anyone at all you can think of? Any of the teachers at your school, or the principal or any of the other staff? Any parents that were mad at him?”

  Garmand was looking at her strangely. “God, I would hate to be a cop. Having to look at all kinds of innocent people as suspects.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone at all. I’ve gone over this for days and I simply have no idea. He was just a French teacher, doing his job in the same boring old way as the rest of us. There’s no reason that I can think of why somebody would want to kill him.”

  Lori had run out of questions and she had developed a tremendous headache. She stood up abruptly. She badly needed some fresh air. “Thank you, Mr. Garmand,” she said. “I appreciate your assistance.” She picked up her coat and said, “If you think of anything….”

  “Give you a call. I know. You can count on it.” Garmand saw her to the door.

  forty-two

  Drumm had the chilli at the School District’s cafeteria. Very good it was, too. He was able to sit at a quiet table out in the atrium and relax. Surrounded by potted plants and bathed in soft light from the glass ceiling overhead, he’d enjoyed his meal while people watching and thinking about Lori Singh. He was amused by Lori’s concern. It was understandable, given what had happened, but he knew how to look after himself. His amusement faded as he thought about Emily and the conversation he would have with her later. He pushed those thoughts away.

  And now he was arriving at the residence of one William Donnelly, retired principal. Donnelly lived in a seniors’ retirement community located on the outskirts of York. It was one of those condominium developments where the owners had to agree to strict conditions. No trucks on the driveway, no signs and you couldn’t even plant a bush without approval. In return the residents had their snow removed, grass cut and they had the use of an attached golf course and recreation centre. For this they had to pay a large monthly maintenance fee. It wouldn’t have been worth it to him but it was a popular place to live with retirees, that was for sure.

  Donnelly turned out to be a man in with thin grey hair and a white neatly-trimmed beard. He was tanned and fit-looking and was dressed in black slacks and a grey sweater over a purple dress shirt. He looked poised and professional.

  “I remember Arthur well, Detective Sergeant. I was shocked to hear he was killed.” The two men were sitting in Donnelly’s living room. “How’s the investigation going?”

  Drumm said, “I can’t say, sir.” And I don’t think you’d be too impressed if I said we’re nowhere at the moment. “Right now we’re looking into his background, talking to as many people as we can.”

  “I’ll be glad to help. What do you want to know?”

  “You were principal of Addison Road when Billinger taught there, right?”

  “Yes, I was. He and I arrived at Addison the same year but he retired one year earlier than I did.”

  Drumm looked at his piece of paper. “So you and he transferred there in 2002, is that right?”

  “September, 2002, yes. I got to know him fairly well. We’re the same age, roughly.”

  Drumm leaned back in his chair. “What kind of man was he?”

  “He was quiet. He came and went and did his job and a lot of people wouldn’t ever notice him. I never had any trouble with Art.”

  “A competent teacher, then?”

  “Oh, very competent. Professional. Art was an FSL teacher and good at it. That’s rare, at least it was then. Good FSL teachers were hard to find. I put him in intermediate because he could handle the older kids. I had very few discipline problems to deal with from Art’s classes.”

  Drumm leaned forward. “You knew he was gay?”

  “Sure I did.”

  “Did you ever talk to him about it?”

  “About being gay?” Donnelly was surprised. “Of course not. First of all, I just wouldn’t. His sexual orientation was none of my business. Second, he could have filed a human rights complaint if I had.”

  “Did you like him?”

  “Yes, I did. I didn’t know him well, you understand. Not to go out with, or anything like that. But we’d chat in the halls and at staff parties sometimes. He was a good guy, and smart, and being almost the same age, we had a number of things in common.”

  “How about the rest of the staff? How did they feel about him?”

  Donnelly raised his eyebrows. “About his being gay? I have no idea. About Mr. Billinger, the teacher? I imagine they thought as I did, that he was good at his job.”<
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  Drumm asked, “Who knew him the best, do you remember?”

  Donnelly thought for a few seconds. “That would be Cameron, I think, Cameron Garmand. He was an intermediate teacher. Art did his French. They got along pretty well. He’s the one I would talk to.”

  “We already have. He’s the one who found the body. Anyone else?”

  “Poor Cameron.” Donnelly thought some more. “No one else comes to mind.”

  Drumm pursed his lips. He wasn’t getting anywhere and he was becoming frustrated. “Did any of your staff dislike him? Argue with him? Any of the teachers? Or the janitor? Any parents ever come to you complaining about him?”

  Donnelly said, “I can’t remember anything like that.” He put a finger up. “But it was many years ago. I’ll think about it tonight and let you know if I come up with anything.”

  “Fair enough. What about the students? How did he get along with them?”

  Donnelly said, “Same thing. He had remarkably few run-ins with students. He ran a tight ship in his classroom. He was fair but strict. As far as I remember, the kids at least respected him. They might not have liked him, but they at least paid attention to him.”

  “And you had no complaints from teachers or students about him? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  Donnelly shook his head. “I had no complaints about Cameron either. You have to understand, Detective Sergeant, these older teachers knew how to survive. They’d been at it for decades, knew how to keep the parents happy, how to keep the kids happy, how to keep the principal happy.” He smiled. “That’s the recipe for success.”

  Drumm knew that this was true, even though he hadn’t been able to do it himself. “It doesn’t sound like we’ll find anyone from Addison Road who hated him enough to kill him. You’ve been helpful. Thanks for your time, sir.”

  Perhaps Donnelly could sense Drumm’s discouragement because he said, “If there was anyone I could think of who held a grudge against Art, I would let you know, Detective Sergeant. But I’ll keep considering it. Maybe I’ll remember something. It was a long time ago.”