An Indecent Death Page 17

  Callaghan said, “You know that Sarah was a show-off. She enjoyed dressing ‘down’, as it were, showing off her body to maximum advantage. I suggested to her that she take it to another level, let me take some pictures.” He grinned. “She loved the idea! So, she let me take some shots in a bar, and on the street, and here. And at school, of course.” Callaghan finished fiddling with the laptop and passed it over to Drumm.

  The first picture showed Sarah dressed in a short, white skirt and a button-up blouse. She was sitting at a small, round table in a bar, the photographer, presumably Kevin Callaghan, seated beside her; the bartender clearly visible in the background. Drumm scrolled through the pictures one by one. In each succeeding picture, the skirt went higher and the legs further apart, until Sarah had her knees wide apart, her skirt bunched at her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties. Drumm looked up at Callaghan. “You took these?”

  “Yes. She was in the mood. As you can see.”

  Drumm could see. Sarah Noonan was clearly enjoying herself. She had a mischievous grin on her face, her tongue protruding a little. Scrolling on, Drumm saw Sarah undoing her blouse one button at a time, until her breasts came into view. They were large and braless of course, and she was definitely enjoying sitting in a public place as good as naked. Drumm looked at Callaghan again. “Could anyone see her doing this, Mr. Callaghan? Or was it all for you?”

  “I had the flash turned off, so I don’t think anyone else noticed what we were up to, no. But I’m not sure that would have made any difference. She was a minx that day.”

  Drumm was suddenly and vividly reminded of Emily. She could be minx-like, too. Not last night, though. No, definitely not last night.

  The next few shots weren’t as clear. They had been taken in the dark in a vehicle and outside in what looked like a parking lot. The blouse was undone, with Sarah’s breasts on display. A few photos showed her from the rear with the skirt pulled up. After that there was a series of pictures inside. Drumm recognized the living room in which he and Callaghan were sitting. Sarah was completely nude in most of these, sitting in a chair with her legs over the arms, then leaning over the chair. Drumm went through these quite quickly, anxious to be done with these lewd photos. It felt wrong looking at these pictures of a dead woman, even knowing that she had been more than a willing participant. The last six photos had been taken at Elmdale Elementary School. Drumm recognized Sarah Noonan’s classroom. In these shots she wasn’t showing as much. She was sitting behind her desk, a big smile on her face, her sweater pulled up to her chin with two hands, no bra. The last one had been taken from above, looking down at her lap, past the curve of her breasts to her exposed legs, wide apart and sans panties. Even though she wasn’t showing as much in this one as in the earlier shots, Drumm found this last picture of Sarah to be the most disturbing of all, sitting in a school classroom as she was.

  Drumm asked, “All of these photos were taken by you?” At Callaghan’s nod, he continued, “You realize that these pictures put your relationship with Ms Noonan in a more sinister light? This is quite a bit different than what you told us at school when we interviewed you.”

  “Sinister? I don’t think so! What do you mean?”

  “You lied to us before. And you clearly had a deeper relationship with Sarah than you let on. And we haven’t been able to establish that you were at Rama like you said you were.”

  “I was there! Didn’t you look at the security camera footage?”

  “We’re still checking. What about last night, Mr. Callaghan? Where were you?”

  “Last night? Why on earth do you care about last night?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Last night I was with a friend in Toronto. I got home late, about midnight. Do you mind telling me why?”

  “Lynnette Cranston was hit on the head last evening, on the way home from her workout.” At Callaghan’s expression of dismay, Drumm went on. “She’s fine, just a bit shaken up. It might have been just a mugging, or it might have been connected to Sarah’s murder. We’re checking into it, asking everyone what they were up to. I’ll need the name and number of your friend in Toronto.”

  Callaghan nodded and went to get paper and pen. When he returned, Drumm said, “Do you know what GHB is, Mr. Callaghan?”

  “GHB? No, what is it?”

  “It’s a drug, and it’s used to knock women unconscious. It’s often called the date rape drug. Sarah Noonan had it in her system. Do you have any idea how that might have happened?”

  Callaghan stared at him. “Date rape? Surely you don’t think I gave it to her? I didn’t need to drug her to have sex with her! Those photos prove that, surely?”

  Drumm in fact did think it highly unlikely that Callaghan had slipped GHB into Sarah Noonan’s wine but he wasn’t going to admit it. Instead he said, “I’ll need your laptop as evidence. And a tour of the house and property, if you please.” When Callaghan showed some reluctance, Drumm went on. “I’ll get a warrant if you insist.” He waited politely.

  Callaghan said, “No, no, it’s OK. I’ll show you around. But I can’t imagine what you think you’ll find.”

  “You never know.”

  In point of fact, Drumm saw nothing of interest in his inspection of Callaghan’s property. The house was just a house, with normal rooms (a lot of them), the yards just as mundane, and every bit as neglected in the back as in the front. There was an old wooden shed containing the normal array of garden tools. Callaghan owned a rusty wheelbarrow with a soft tire and Drumm looked at it carefully, but it was caked with old dirt and appeared not to have been used for some time. Drumm thought it unlikely that it had been employed to trundle Sarah Noonan’s body out of her apartment. He didn’t find a tarpaulin or a wine bottle or wine glass anywhere. A waste of time, as he had mostly expected. Except that it wasn’t really a waste of time when you eliminated possibilities.

  Drumm was now on his way to Pierre Pepin’s address. The Miata cruised along and he had the windows down, the better to enjoy the cool air. It had been an exceptionally fine and dry spring so far and Drumm was trying to get the most out of it. He didn’t expect to learn much from Pierre Pepin after the interrogation he had been given at the office, but he had asked Lori Singh to meet him there. Maybe her feminine charms would elicit some disclosure from the custodian. Drumm had a search warrant as well, but they wouldn’t toss the place until he and Lori had a chance to question Pepin some more.

  Lori Singh met him at Pepin’s, dressed casually in blue jeans and a Western-style checked shirt. Drumm greeted her and saw that she was surprised at Pepin’s choice of home.

  “He lives in a trailer?” Lori found that odd. The street was mostly neat bungalows but this stretch had three mobile homes side by side. Pepin lived in the middle unit which had been made to look as much as possible as a regular home. There was a wooden porch attached to the side and plenty of landscaping had been done. Pepin’s trailer looked well-maintained.

  “So it seems.” Drumm looked at his watch. “We’ll have some help here in about fifteen minutes to execute the search warrant. Let’s see if he’ll talk to us.”

  Pepin wouldn’t let them in but did agree to speak to them through his screen door.

  Lori asked, “We were wondering, Mr. Pepin, if you had thought of how that silk stocking had been put in your desk? Do you have any idea who might have put it there?”

  Pepin looked at her suspiciously. “I already tol’ you, I don’t know, me.”

  “Is there anyone at school who didn’t like you, sir?” Lori was doing her best to get on his good side. Drumm could see it wasn’t working, though.

  “No.”

  “Who might have been able to get in your room and open your desk, Mr. Pepin?” Lori persisted.

  “Anybody get in. The room always unlocked. Door usually open.”

  “And the desk?”

  “Dat’s easy to get in too. Lock doesn’t lock good. Sometimes I just bang it with my hand, it open.”


  Drumm knew that to be true, having watched the principal open it quite easily with a paperclip. Behind them he heard a car door slam and then another, and he knew his reinforcements had arrived. He fished the search warrant out of his pocket and explained to Pepin that a judge had granted the police the right to search his property. He watched as the custodian read it through the screen and became angry. Pepin stood aside as the other officers and Lori Singh entered his home. Drumm left Lori to calm Pepin down and went around the back to search the property.

  Later on, joining up with Lori again, he asked, “Anything?”

  “No, sir, the place is clean. Nothing resembling GHB, no women’s clothing of any type. No computer or laptop. Mr. Pepin appears to be squeaky clean. What about you?”

  Drumm smiled ruefully. “The same. Nothing to see. Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”

  Drumm and Lori enjoyed a quiet lunch together at a small café. He took the opportunity to get to know her a bit better, avoiding discussing the case as much as possible. So Drumm asked about her bike-riding and other interests and she in turn discovered that he and Emily were back together. Drumm didn’t tell her about last night’s argument, though. As Karl was away for the day on business related to another case, it was just the two of them and Lori decided to broach a couple of subjects with Drumm. She’d never have a better opportunity.

  “I’m a bit worried about Karl,” she said.

  “Karl?” Drumm was surprised. “Why?”

  “He doesn’t look good, like he’s not sleeping properly. And he seems distracted, like something’s on his mind. He’s not working out, either, which is quite disturbing. You know how fanatical he is about his fitness.”

  Drumm said, “I didn’t know that about the workouts. Interesting you should bring this up today, though. I got a call from Mac Pilson from the Guns and Gangs unit this morning. Karl’s involved with them on a case from last year. He was supposed to meet Mac this morning and he didn’t show up on time. He turned up eventually, nearly an hour late, Mac said. Pilson wasn’t impressed.”

  Lori stared. “Karl late? That’s unheard of. Something is definitely wrong then.”

  Drumm mused, “It would seem so. I’ll have to have a chat with him.”

  “Another thing, Nick.” Lori paused. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  Drumm said, rather dryly, “You could be sure I’d tell you if you had. What do you mean exactly?”

  There was no easy way to say this, thought Lori, and she might be dooming her career, but she was determined to have her say. “It’s just that I don’t think you’re using me properly. Most of what you ask me to do is routine, dull stuff, like background checks or canvasses. And my opinion doesn’t seem to count for much. Am I a part of the team or not? Do I matter as much as Karl, or not? Because sometimes it seems like I’m just the token female, the one who gets the ‘talk to the female witness’ jobs. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying all this but it’s how I feel. I want to be more than just your ‘woman detective’ or even worse, your ‘Indian detective’.”

  Drumm looked surprised for a minute and then he sighed. “Lori, I respect your abilities as a detective, first and foremost. I don’t see you as a woman or as Indian, I see you as an investigator. I use you in what I think is the best way to help solve the case. I’m sorry if you don’t agree with that, but I’m afraid that’s the way it is. I don’t have time to try and figure out whether you will like the assignments I give you.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I just think I am ready for a bigger role.”

  “Duly noted, Detective Singh. And I appreciate your comments about Karl.” Drumm looked at his watch. “We’d better head out.”

  Lori regretted the formality that had crept back into their conversation. She hoped it was temporary. And she wasn’t sure if she had worsened her situation or not. Drumm was clearly not pleased; that much was obvious.

  They headed back out to Hillsdale Park. On a sunny Sunday afternoon in May they expected it to be a busy place, and indeed it was. Drumm had trouble finding a parking spot even though it was a large lot. Hillsdale Park was a favourite destination for Toronto picnickers, and there were plenty of these, speaking a multitude of languages, as well as dog walkers and other local residents enjoying an afternoon in the sun.

  It was Drumm’s habit to revisit crime scenes, to see if the situation was as he remembered it, and in hopes that something new would occur to him. More than once in the past, he’d gained some fresh insight from a second look at where a crime had been committed. Drumm equated it with doing a crossword puzzle, when he could be completely stumped, even after fifteen minutes of staring at a clue. Then, some time away from it, a fresh look, and usually he could get the word right away. He wasn’t expecting that with this case, just hopeful, and determined to cover all the bases.

  So he and Lori strolled along the trail, periodically dodging joggers and chattering family groupings. Drumm said, “Do you remember where that small piece of red plastic was found, Lori? I seem to recall that it was just up there, near that large rock.”

  Singh pulled out her notebook and consulted it briefly. “Good memory. It was just past it, on the right. Do you still think it’s from Bill Deans’ bumper?”

  Drumm said, “Probably it’s not. But if he was trying to get his vehicle in here, it would have been dark and he would have been nervous. It’s possible in his rush, he could have misjudged things and bashed into that rock. I’ve asked the lab to check and see if the plastic piece might have been from a Chevy Equinox.”

  “Was there room to get past the barrier back there at the parking lot, though?” Lori Singh sounded skeptical.

  Drumm had looked carefully at it on the way by and he’d already decided that it was possible. But he said, “Let’s go back and check.”

  Lori took a look at the gap between the concrete barrier and the wooden post. “It’s just possible, I guess. But a tight squeeze.”

  They walked back along the path to the area where the body had been found. There was nothing to mark the spot anymore, as the yellow crime scene tape had been removed. But they had no difficulty locating it. Drumm and Singh stood staring down at the scuffed ground, then they looked back towards the parking lot.

  “Let’s go, Lori. There’s nothing to be gained standing here. And we’re starting to attract attention. Show me these geese of yours.”

  “There won’t be any around at this time of day. It’s way too busy.”

  “Well then, show me where you like to sit.”

  They arrived at the spot where she usually dismounted from her bicycle and wheeled it to a secluded vantage point. “It’s just over here.”

  Drumm was reminded of his lunchtime encounter with Emily. That had been on a different day, at a different park, but standing with an attractive woman looking out over the lake, he couldn’t help but remember the circumstances. And without knowing it, he got a little smile on his face. He became aware that Lori was looking at him a little strangely, and then he realized what he had been doing. “My apologies, I was daydreaming.” He paused, then said, “There’s nothing left of her here, Lori. Nothing at all. I’m afraid this has been a complete waste of time. Let’s head out.”

  Lori walked side by side with her boss. Privately she agreed with him that there was nothing left of Sarah Noonan at the park, but not that it had been a waste of time. After all, she’d had a nice lunch with Drumm, and said what was on her mind, even though it was possible that she had now annoyed and offended him. And she had alerted him to her concern about Karl. If Drumm was the man she thought he was, he would deal with her comments fairly and she would be better off in the long run. And if he wasn’t who she thought he was, then she would have to transfer, that was all. There were worse things in life than that.

  Drumm felt agitated and discontented but he was trying not to show it. Sitting outside on his back patio with Emily beside him, he attempted to enjoy doing nothing. The problem was that his mind wouldn’t let
him.

  Emily had been waiting for him when he got home, sitting quietly on his front porch, smartly dressed in a skirt and blouse and her leather jacket on her lap. She had her briefcase beside her, having come directly from work. She was apologetic and teary.

  “I’m sorry, Nicky. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just upset, I overreacted. Forgive me, please?”

  Drumm had taken her in his arms and said that of course he would forgive her, but inside he was thinking, here we go again.

  They had gone in, prepared a nice dinner, enjoyed it outside in the warm weather and were now relaxing with their drinks, white wine for Emily and a Corona for him. His blood sugar was under control and shortly they would take Will for his evening constitutional. He should be happy.

  What to do about Emily? Having agreed to get back together with her again, he was determined to try and make things work, but what could he do differently? His job took a lot of his time and she simply didn’t seem able to handle it, despite her counseling. Emily insisted she was better, but if so, it wasn’t obvious to him. Should he end things now, before allowing himself to get entangled even further?

  Then there were Lori Singh’s comments to consider. Was she right? Was he indeed not treating her fairly? Or was he rather, as she had implied, using her improperly, as a token female, Indian officer?

  He had to talk to Karl, too, and find out what was troubling him. Because clearly something was. Maybe Wesson was pissed at him, too. Everyone else seemed to be: Emily, Lori Singh, Mark Chappell.

  Drumm sighed. At least Will was happy with him. He looked over at Emily. She looked so beautiful, her face golden in the waning evening light. He hoped it would all work out. “Ready, Emily? Ready, Will? Time to scamper.”

  eighteen

  “I’m looking for Detective Drumm.” The speaker was an older woman, with grey hair and glasses. She held a card in her hand, Wesson noticed.