A Striking Death Read online

Emily turned around quietly and went into the kitchen.

  “What! Where?” He listened to the Staff Inspector’s voice, speaking urgently. “I’ll be right there.”

  Drumm moved quickly. He found Emily in the bedroom, sitting with her head down, still clutching a tissue. “Emily, I have to go. Dick’s been stabbed.”

  “Do what you have to do,” she said dully.

  He stared at her. “Emily, did you hear what I said?” When there was no reaction, he raised his voice and said, “A cop is down! One of my detectives! I have to go.” He turned around without waiting for a response from her and tripped over Will, who was right behind him.

  “Geez, Will, get out of the way!” Drumm hurried to the front closet, grabbed his jacket and yelled back at Emily, “Let’s talk about this later.”

  forty-seven

  Celeste Chappell’s street was alive with activity; emergency personnel and their vehicles were everywhere. The pulsating lights with their weird revolving patterns always reminded Drumm of a science fiction movie – War of the Worlds usually came to mind. As he watched, barricades were being set up at one end of the road. Dozens of bystanders in various stages of dress were standing on the sidewalk and driveways on the other side of the street, watched over by a couple of patrol officers. Behind the yellow crime scene tape, another uniformed officer was talking to an older couple who had jackets on over bathrobes.

  Drumm ducked under the tape after showing his badge to the officer on guard duty. He hurried through the open front door of the house and saw Celeste Chappell sitting on a kitchen chair. Her face and hair and clothes were smeared with blood - blouse, shirt, shoes – everything was covered. She was sobbing quietly while a paramedic attended to what looked like a nasty bump on her head. A female police officer was kneeling beside her and trying unsuccessfully to comfort her. Shocked, Drumm raised an eyebrow in question and the officer, whom he recognized slightly, pointed out through an open doorway.

  Drumm made his way out to the backyard where he stopped abruptly. The wind had died and everything was still. In the illumination from the outdoor light, he could see a cluster of people standing and conversing, looking down. Even from the back in poor light, he recognized Lori Singh and Mark Chappell. He moved forward, more slowly now. It looked like the time for haste had passed.

  They were staring at the ground, at a large dark patch on the lawn, and some unidentifiable piece of clothing. There was a single shell casing gleaming in the grass.

  Chappell saw him coming. “He’s at YDH. He was still alive when they took him away. I’m heading over there now.”

  Drumm found his voice. “What happened?” He looked at Lori but it was Chappell who answered.

  “He was stabbed in the upper thigh. The knife got his femoral artery. Poor bastard probably didn’t see it coming.”

  Drumm asked. “But why? What was he doing out here? By himself?” He realized his voice was rising but he seemed powerless to stop it. He caught Lori’s eye but looked away when she shook her head.

  Chappell spoke quietly. “We’d set it up so that he would wait out here and try to catch our stalker in the act.” He shook his head. “I guess he did. Looks like the bastard surprised him and put a hole in him, then turned and fled.” He pointed to some shadows over to their left. “That way. There’s a gate there. Dick got off one round. Celeste heard the shot – she was in her bedroom. Her immediate reaction was to roll off the bed and lie down on the floor.”

  Drumm nodded. Of course she would.

  Chappell went on, “But she’s a cop’s wife. She got up quickly and went to the window and saw Dick on all fours on the grass. She said she knew he was hit. She thought he was shot. She ran into the kitchen, called 9-1-1, and then tried to get out here as fast as she could.”

  “Smart, brave woman,” murmured Drumm.

  Chappell didn’t hear him. “But she tripped on the step and hit her head. She says she was only stunned and out for a few seconds, but who knows how long it actually was? Anyway, she got out here and found him face down. She rolled him over, and that would have taken some doing. She’s not a big woman at all. She could see the blood everywhere and tried to stop the flow with her sweater. Then she got a piece of rope.” He paused wearily. “We don’t know yet if she was in time.”

  Lori said, “When the paramedics got here, and thank God they were here fast, he was barely alive. He’d lost so much blood…” Her voice tailed off.

  Two technicians had finished setting up some portable lamps and the backyard was suddenly flooded with light. Everything stood out all too clearly in the harsh glare.

  Chappell headed back into the house. “I want to check on Celeste first. And then I’ll get over to the hospital.”

  Drumm watched as Lori Singh came over to stand quietly beside him.

  “Fuck! What a screw-up! He deserved better than this.” Drumm was angry. “And fuck Chappell too for getting him into this!”

  “Come and take a look at this, Nick.” Lori took his arm and tugged gently. She led the way to the shed. With the doors open and the new lighting, he could clearly see the empty beer bottle sitting on the table. “Looks like he was sitting in here waiting and he had at least one Guinness to keep him company.” She looked at him. “Staff hasn’t seen this yet. But I assume the beer wasn’t part of the arrangement. It was a good plan, though. It should have worked.” She waited calmly for him to react.

  Drumm looked at the beer bottle, then out to the yard, then back to Lori. “It might have slowed his reactions, just a little. Just enough. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  She nodded. “There’s more.” She led the way over to the gate and the little alleyway that led out to the street; there were two members of the FIS team at work, down on their knees on the bricks. “This is likely how the intruder got in. It’s certainly how he left.” She looked at Drumm. “The good news is that Dick hit him. Those are drops of blood they’re looking at. There are more of them leading out to the street, and then a small pool out on the sidewalk, as if he stopped for a bit. Then it looks like he was running, the distance between the drops shows that. There’s a lot of blood, and the drops continue for several hundred yards, and then around a corner. Then the drops stop, like he got into a car. Or a white van.”

  Drumm and Lori were still standing by the gate. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

  “I was able to get here pretty fast,” she said. “We may have a couple of witnesses, too. An older couple heard the shot and came to their front window. They saw someone running away. I left one of the uniforms to talk to them.”

  Drumm remembered the couple in their bathrobes standing outside the house. “With that amount of blood, the bastard could be in trouble. Let’s hope he bleeds out too in his car somewhere. But if he doesn’t—”

  “Notify all the hospitals and clinics to be on the lookout for a gunshot victim.” Lori interrupted him. “I already did that. And I made it clear that this was a special case, which we are particularly interested in. And, of course, every cop everywhere is on the lookout for this asshole. The description was a male, dark clothing, average height, bent over, like he was holding his side.”

  By law, in the province of Ontario, all hospitals and walk-in clinics had to notify the local police if a gunshot victim came in for emergency treatment. When a law enforcement officer was involved, the chances of the wounded attacker escaping justice were slim and none. Every available resource that York Police Services possessed, as well as those of all the surrounding jurisdictions, would be mobilized.

  “We’ll get him, Nick.”

  Drumm nodded. “We will. Well done, Lori.” The two detectives had moved back near the shed. “Let’s go talk to those witnesses.”

  They went back into the house and found Celeste Chappell still sitting in the kitchen. She’d been cleaned up a little but she looked worse than ever. The female police officer was still with her and still trying to settle her down.

  As they went by, Drumm said
in a low voice, “Somebody should get her out of here and cleaned up. When she’s calmer and had some sleep, we need to talk to her and go over her story again. She probably didn’t see the bastard who did this but she might be able to tell us something useful.”

  Lori nodded. They had reached the street and looked at the dozens of spectators who were still huddled on the far side of the tape. Aside from emergency vehicles, pulsing lights and people coming and going, there wasn’t much to look at. Drumm wondered as always what kept them standing out in the cold.

  “What keeps them here?” he said aloud.

  Lori smiled grimly. “Blood,” she said.

  forty-eight

  The old couple’s name was Horgan, William and Verna Horgan. Drumm and Lori had followed the two of them back into their home which was right across the street from Celeste Chappell’s house. The Horgans were clearly suffering from the cold and were grateful when Drumm had suggested they move indoors.

  “Is this the room where you looked out?” asked Drumm. He and Mr. Horgan were standing in the living room by the window.

  “Yes. We’d opened the curtains a little, as you can see, and we were both looking out when we saw somebody running.”

  From the couch where she was sitting beside Mrs. Horgan, Lori asked, “Why were you looking out in the first place?”

  Mr. Horgan turned to face her. “Because of the gunshot, of course.”

  “You knew it was a shot, and not fireworks or something else?” Drumm asked.

  “I was in the Canadian Forces,” said Mr. Horgan. “I know a gunshot when I hear one.” He pulled his bathrobe tighter around him. He was tall and thin with a full head of silver hair. He carried himself with authority, Drumm had noticed, and held himself very straight.

  “Okay, go on,” said Drumm.

  “We were in bed when we heard it. I got up immediately and came in here. It sounded like it was nearby, maybe across the street. Verna followed me in here and we were both looking out to see what was going on. And we saw the fellow standing out on the sidewalk, looking up the side of Celeste’s house.”

  “Was that person dead?” asked Mrs. Horgan from the couch. She was as thin as her husband but much shorter. They were both sixty-four, according to the information they had given. “He looked dead when they loaded him into the ambulance.”

  Drumm kept his face carefully blank. “No, Mrs. Horgan. He’s not dead, just injured. But your neighbour Celeste is alright.” Then he addressed her husband. “You saw the suspect out on the sidewalk, you said. What else did you see?”

  “He was bent over, and he was holding his left side, like he had been hit. He was looking down at the ground or himself maybe, and then back up Celeste’s walkway. He was there for maybe ten or twenty seconds.” Horgan looked squarely at Drumm. “He was hit, I’d swear to it. Was it him that was shot? Or the other fellow?”

  “Not just yet, sir,” said Drumm. “Carry on, please. What happened then?”

  “He took off down the street, that way. He was running, well, shuffling, really.” Horgan pointed down the road. I couldn’t see him any more after a while and that’s when we called 9-1-1. At least, Verna did.”

  Lori spoke to Mrs. Horgan. “Were you looking out the whole time, too?”

  “Yes, we both were.”

  “You saw the same thing?” Lori continued.

  “Yes.”

  “What did this person look like?” asked Lori.

  “We couldn’t see his face,” Horgan said. “He had a hood pulled down and he mostly had his back turned to us. I couldn’t tell whether he was white, black or Chinese. Medium height, say five foot ten. He looked like he was a large man, though. Maybe one hundred eighty pounds? But it was hard to tell because of the dark clothing he was wearing. Like maybe a black sweatshirt and black pants.” Horgan stopped.

  Drumm asked, “How about his hands? And his feet? Did you notice what he was wearing? Boots? Shoes?”

  Horgan closed his eyes to think, and then opened them. “No, can’t remember the hands.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Running shoes, white.” He looked pleased with himself. “Just remembered that. You saw them too, right, Verna?”

  Mrs. Horgan looked doubtful. “Not really, Bill. I don’t think so.”

  Drumm was impressed. “That’s an excellent description, sir. Very helpful. Thank you.”

  “That’s from twenty years in the military. Comes in handy now and then.” He looked pleased. “Don’t forget about the hunched over part. He went down the street in a bit of a crouch, kind of crab-like. He had his hand to his side. His left side. That boy was hurt, I know it.”

  “Yes, sir, he was,” said Drumm. “There’s blood all along the sidewalk.”

  “You said boy,” said Lori. “Did you mean that, or was it just a figure of speech?”

  Horgan looked startled. “I never saw his face so I don’t know. It’s just an impression I have, that he was young. Partly because of the clothing, I guess.”

  “What about you, Mrs. Horgan?” asked Lori.

  “I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. “He didn’t move like an old person, though.”

  “Right,” said Drumm, moving towards the door. “We appreciate your assistance, both of you. Thank you. Try to get some sleep now.”

  “And call us if you remember anything more,” added Lori.

  Back out on the street, Drumm and Singh pulled their coats tight against the cold.

  “Not often we get such a good description as that,” said Lori. “I’ll get the new information about the shoes out right away.”

  Drumm stood by himself on the street in front of the Horgan house and took in the scene. It was quieter now and many of the emergency vehicles and spectators had disappeared. The fisties were still busy, he could see, and officers and detectives were actively searching up the road where the attacker had fled. By now he knew that as many residents as possible would have been questioned. If anything important had been discovered, he would have been told, which meant that they hadn’t found the suspect’s vehicle or even received a description of it, to see if it were the same white van. It had probably been parked over on a neighbouring street, as Lori suspected, where everyone was asleep. Wouldn’t matter – they’d get the guy. It was just a matter of time.

  forty-nine

  At six thirty in the morning, the Violent Crimes Unit was normally a quiet place. This Saturday morning it was a hive of activity. Phones were ringing constantly, and there was a stream of people coming and going. A police officer had been nearly killed – all available resources were being utilized to find the attacker. And everything was being coordinated through the Violent Crimes Unit. The new whiteboards had been updated and one whole side had been devoted to the latest case, the knifing of Detective Richard McDonald.

  Drumm had returned from the scene of the crime scene and was sitting in his office. Every bone in his body was tired; even his eyeballs were aching. He’d stopped for the usual hot drinks and treats, but so far the caffeine didn’t seem to be helping.

  Lori came in and sank wearily into a chair. She accepted her tea gratefully. She, like Drumm, was still wearing the same clothes she had put on twenty-four hours earlier.

  “Anything new?” she asked.

  Drumm shook his head. “He’s still in critical condition. But at least he’s still alive. As far as the stalker’s concerned, everybody’s looking, but nobody’s finding. We couldn’t locate any security cameras anywhere near Celeste’s house, no nearby gas stations or red light cameras. We’re drawing a blank on the vehicle, which presumably is a white van. There’s nothing to go on.”

  Sue Oliver, a detective in the Sex Crimes Unit, poked her head into Drumm’s office. “Hey, you two. Staff Inspector wants to see you.”

  “Susie, take a seat. Have a muffin.” Drumm waved her to the other chair. “You know Lori Singh?”

  Oliver perched on the edge of the chair and took a muffin. “We’ve met.”

  “Chappell wants us
both?” Drumm asked. “Anything in particular?”

  “Well, I’m not supposed to say.” Oliver took a bite of the muffin, and then wiped crumbs off her face. “This is tasty. Haven’t eaten yet today. Guess most of us haven’t.”

  “Come on, Sue.”

  Oliver finished the muffin, rubbed her hands together and sat back in her chair. She was a tall, muscular woman in her early forties. She started re-tying her grey-blonde hair back into the ponytail from which it had escaped. “Chappell’s office is a zoo right now, so you can take your time getting over there. I’ll give you the heads-up. I’ve been detailed to take over the investigation into Dick’s attack.” She put up her hand to still Drumm’s protest. “Don’t shoot the messenger. It wasn’t my idea. But Chappell thinks you have enough on your plate with those two murders.”

  Drumm was annoyed but he had to agree it made sense. Sue Oliver had worked with the VCU before and knew what she was doing. And they were now short one detective. “Will it do any good to argue?”

  Oliver smiled. “Give it a try, by all means. And pretend to be surprised, will you? But I don’t think you’ll get anywhere.” She leaned forward. “I’m sorry as hell about Dick. I don’t know him well but I guess you do. Must be tough on you.”

  “I imagine that’s partly what the Staff Inspector is thinking,” said Lori. “He’s trying to make it easier on Nick.”

  Oliver switched her attention to Lori. “Could be. Chappell didn’t share his innermost feelings. I’d better talk to Celeste again and see if I learn anything new.” She stood up. “Anyway, you didn’t hear it from me.” She looked at each of them in turn. “Both of you look like you’ve been run over by a truck. You need to get some rest. When Chappell’s done with you, go home. We’re going to get this guy. You can count on it.” She left Drumm’s office.

  Drumm stood up. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”