An Indecent Death Read online

  “Let’s get this poor girl out of here, then,” said Brandt. “I’m done with her for now.”

  Much later that evening, Detective Sergeant Drumm relaxed at home in his favourite chair, Will at his feet. He had drunk half a bottle of beer and felt better for it. He supposed he should do something about food before his blood sugar forced him to. In a moment.

  The rest of his day had been filled with the routine procedures that always accompanied a murder investigation. A painstaking ground search was conducted all the way from the parking lot to where the body was found, and in a circle around the site itself. A number of cigarette butts were picked up in the parking lot, and quite a lot of trash found and bagged along the trail. Drumm didn’t envy the fisties who would have to sort through the discarded coffee cups, cans, water bottles, candy wrappers and other junk that was picked up and carefully set aside. There were also four straws, a small piece of red plastic, several paper tissues, eleven cents in coin, a bit of rope and a weather-beaten map of the park. All of this was discovered between the parking lot and the body. Drumm supposed they were lucky that was all there was. It was unlikely that any of it was of any significance whatsoever but it all had to be examined.

  After the woman was removed and taken to the morgue, the soil under the corpse was sifted. There was only a rusty, flattened can under the body. There wasn’t much to go on, and the shallow grave was clearly the work of a man in a hurry, as Lori Singh had said.

  The path from the parking lot was thoroughly examined but it was hard-packed gravel. There were no tracks of any type visible on it. Neither were there any identifiable tracks or footprints between the trail and the burial site. It had been a mostly dry spring so far and the ground was quite hard.

  Two access points into the park over near the lake were identified and searched and nothing found. While they were near a road, both were in rough ground with thick bush. Drumm thought he could safely rule these out as a way of getting the body into the park.

  Drumm drank some more of his beer and got up to make himself a sandwich. It was all he could handle even to do that much, the way he felt tonight. Will got up with him, in hopes of further food. He had been fed first but was always on the lookout for more.

  Back in his chair with his food and a second bottle of beer, and with Will crunching industriously on a carrot, Drumm continued to review the day. The Jacksons had been questioned thoroughly but they had no more to say to him than Wesson. They had simply been unlucky today; the woman in particular seemed pretty shaken.

  Drumm sipped his beer, his feet up on a hassock, leaning back in his recliner, plate on his belly. The four cars in the parking lot were investigated, all of the owners accounted for. Two belonged to single older men with dogs, one to an elderly lady out for her morning exercise, and the last to a middle-aged couple who were walking their two dogs. All of them had been on another path in a different section of the park, and they all passed each other at various points. Drumm doubted that any of them had anything whatsoever to do with the murder. All were checked out and none had a record of any sort. No one else was found who had been in the park that morning, no cyclists or joggers, but they would keep trying. Drumm had a uniformed officer scheduled to be at the park for the next couple of days, specifically to question all visitors.

  All in all, it wasn’t much to go on. He reached down and gave Will the remains of his second sandwich, which he was suddenly too tired to eat. It was gone in a heartbeat.

  Drumm had ended his workday by asking the other detectives to meet in the morning. Being busy all day was good for him, but there was still the problem of Emily to consider. Would he call her tomorrow? Was the Pope Catholic? Tired as he was, Drumm still felt a little thrill of anticipation contemplating the prospect of meeting Emily. Yes, despite everything it would be good to see her again.

  three

  Wesson arrived first for the morning meeting, dressed in his customary slacks, crisp blue shirt with matching tie and a pullover sweater. A sharp dresser, he looked fit and muscular in his form-fitting clothes. Drumm supposed that a prematurely balding man needed to accentuate his good points, and Karl Wesson was a handsome figure of a man, despite the thinning hair. He wasn’t at his best this morning, though – he looked tired and strained. Wesson put a batch of folders down on Drumm’s desk.

  “Greetings, Karl. How is life treating you this morning?” Drumm and Wesson had worked together on a number of cases. They knew each other’s routines well, and their relationship was a cordial one.

  “Morning, Nick. I am ready for anything. Especially food.” Karl helped himself to a cranberry muffin and a coffee. Drumm briefly wondered if something was bothering the other detective but then dismissed the thought; it wasn’t his business. Karl was organized and efficient and that was all that mattered.

  Lori Singh appeared in the doorway, looking smart in a knee-length skirt and sweater, underneath a longish leather jacket. “Good morning, you two. Left anything for me?” She helped herself to a muffin and the tea that she preferred.

  “Right. Let’s get started,” said Drumm. “Karl, summarize the possible MPs again.” On his desk were several photos of yesterday’s victim which he turned around now so that the other two could see.

  Karl opened the top folder on Drumm’s desk and spread out three photos. “Well, like I said, there are only three missing females from the past ninety days. Number one disappeared the twenty-third of March – name of Kelsey Somers, age 17. She left high school in the late afternoon and never made it home. An extensive search was conducted in the area but she hasn’t been found.” Karl cleared his throat. “It was thought she had run away, maybe gone to the city. She had an argument with her father, and maybe she decided to clear out. They’re looking for her in Toronto but she hasn’t turned up.”

  Drumm looked at the photo of Kelsey Somers and then up at Wesson. “It’s not her, is it? There is a certain resemblance to our Jane Doe but we don’t think it’s Somers, do we?” He glanced at Lori Singh.

  “The clothing on the body is right: short skirt, see-through blouse, tube top. Those are the kind of things a teenager might wear.” Singh was sipping her tea in between sentences. She pointed at the victim photo and went on, “But even with the dirt and the contorted face, you can see that this is a much older woman.”

  Wesson also was comparing photographs. “I agree. This is not Kelsey Somers.”

  “Right. The Somers family will be relieved,” said Drumm. The news of the discovery of a body had inevitably gotten out and been on the morning newscasts. “MP number two?”

  “Carla Maragoni, age 48. Went missing April 12. She left work at a the restaurant where she was employed as a server. Never made it home. Reported missing by her landlord on April 15. Lived in a run-down building on Dufferin Street. The landlord went in search of his rent and entered her unit when she didn’t respond to his knocking. He said it looked like she’d skipped out. She left behind some cheap furniture, a few odds and ends.” Karl put his notes down and pointed at the Jane Doe photo. “It’s not her. Hair colour is wrong, the age is wrong.”

  “Lori?” Drumm asked.

  Singh frowned and shook her head. “Definitely not her. And the clothing isn’t right for a middle-aged waitress.”

  Wesson said, “Right, we’re all agreed then. Number three MP is Sarah Noonan, age 32, seventh-grade teacher at Elmdale Elementary School. Lives alone. Reported missing by her friend, Lynnette Cranston, who supplied a picture. They were supposed to work out together Saturday morning. The police were notified when Sarah didn’t turn up and didn’t answer phone calls. Her apartment was empty and her car was in the lot; no sign of her, though.”

  Lori Singh had finished her tea and she now got up to dispose of her cup and napkin in the garbage can. “There’s not much doubt, is there?” she said, returning to her chair. “The photos look similar, the timeline is right, and the age is bang on.”

  Drumm leaned back in his chair, sipping the last o
f his coffee. “What about family, Karl? Is there a husband or parents that can positively identify the victim? Before we get prints from Brandt, I mean. And the prints may not help anyway. I don’t know why a teacher would ever have been fingerprinted.”

  “There’s a separated husband, Nick.. The name is Terry Noonan. Ms Cranston said that he and Sarah have been apart about a year.”

  “Right, start with Mr. Noonan, Karl.” Drumm was standing now. “Do the full check on him and get him to ID his wife.”

  “Sure,” said Karl. “And where will you be?”

  “Me? Lori and I will be heading over to visit Sigrid, and experience the joys of the morgue.”

  The Coroner’s place of business was bright light, gleaming metal surfaces and antiseptic smells. It was cold, unfriendly, unwelcoming and nasty. Yes, nasty, thought Lori Singh. That wasn’t too strong a word. Part of her was annoyed with Drumm for making her come to the post-mortem, even though she knew it was good training for her. It was a part of detective work that had been missing from her resume and she knew she needed to be here. She hadn’t been expecting it, though, that was the problem. She thought that was the reason she was feeling queasy, her breakfast beginning to roll around in her stomach like a witch’s brew. If she’d known she was going to spend the morning watching a young woman get cut open, she would have had nothing to eat at all. She could have prepared herself much better.

  “Another first for you?” Sigrid Brandt was sympathetic, head turned, looking at her. She was part-way through the post-mortem, rubber gloves and mask in place. A wisp of grey hair was getting in her eyes, Lori saw. She wanted to reach out and tuck it away for the older woman.

  Lori determined not to show her discomfort. She didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid she might vomit, so she just nodded. Damn it, she wouldn’t throw up, she wouldn’t! And maybe talking to herself helped because she started to feel better. Maybe she didn’t look as cool as Drumm did, standing there so unconcerned with his arms folded, calmly watching the whole show with an air of indifference. But she had things under control and was able to watch the Coroner with detachment.

  The autopsy proceeded in its ritualistic and relentless fashion, with Drumm watching and asking occasional questions and Lori taking notes.

  Sigrid Brandt was thorough and spoke both for the record and their benefit. “Five foot eight, one hundred twenty-five pounds. The usual moles and beauty marks, a small dragon tattoo just above the left nipple.” She went on, “Cause of death was strangulation. The hyoid bone is intact. The ligature mark around her neck is consistent with some type of synthetic material. It wasn’t rope or cord or fishing line or wire or anything like that. More likely a scarf, pantyhose, maybe a stocking or something similar. I can’t find any other suspicious marks on the body, no bruises or puncture wounds, no evidence that she was hit recently, and there’s nothing under her fingernails.”

  Brandt looked at Drumm, “This woman was in good shape, fit and with well-defined muscles. But I can find no evidence that she defended herself at all, or did any damage to her assailant.”

  Lori observed and took more notes as the organs were removed, inspected and weighed. The stomach was opened, its contents examined. “Looks like white wine, tuna, vegetable soup and pasta.” The Coroner looked up at Drumm and Singh. “Nothing remarkable here. Stomach contents are an unreliable way of determining time of death, of course, but it looks like she died a few hours after eating her last meal. I’ll have the lab confirm that.”

  Drumm nodded, then said, “Sigrid, we’ll be on our way. Get the full report to me as soon as you can, please.”

  “Of course I will, Nicholas,” said the Coroner. “But the tox results take time. You know that.” She looked squarely at him. “I can’t rush them, not even for you.”

  Drumm sighed. “I know, Sigrid. Sorry.”

  The two detectives made their way back to their vehicles, stopping beside Lori’s Prius.

  Something was bothering Lori. “The Coroner said she wasn’t pregnant and she hadn’t given birth. And she said she wasn’t raped. But how can she be sure?”

  “She meant that there was no violence done to the genital area. We won’t know about sexual activity until the rape kit is analyzed. She might well have been sexually active just before her death but if so, there’s nothing to see. This wasn’t a case of someone being violently assaulted and then murdered. Looks like she was just strangled, maybe while she was sleeping. Possibly she was drugged – she didn’t put up any fight at all.”

  Lori said, “Those were nice clothes she was wearing.”

  The woman had been wearing a good quality black miniskirt, quite short, no shoes, no panties and no bra, just the sheer black blouse over a white tube top. The Coroner had found a simple gold chain inside the blouse. It was broken, likely damaged during the final choking. She had a sapphire ring on the ring finger of her right hand, no purse and no wallet.

  “She was killed late Friday evening or early Saturday morning,” Drumm said.

  Lori nodded. “It’s consistent with the party clothes she was wearing. The sort of thing a young woman would wear to go to a rave or a pub, after a hard week at school.”

  “Or maybe just a night out with her boyfriend,” said Drumm. “Maybe some guy was about to get lucky. Could be she dressed that way for her lover. Or maybe she always went around like that. Or maybe her killer took her underwear as a souvenir. There are too many unknowns right now, for sure.” He looked at his watch. “I’m ravening. Do you fancy something to eat?”

  Lori blinked. Ravening? Oh – he meant ravenous. She realized she was starving as well, her earlier queasiness long gone. What was it about an autopsy that made a person hungry? “I’d kill for a curry,” she said. “Come on, I’ll buy.”

  four

  It took Wesson most of the morning to locate Terry Noonan. Karl had discovered that he was a truck driver for a local firm, Hobbes Transport. His job took him all over the area and sometimes out of the country. This particular morning he had driven a load of auto parts down to Oshawa and was due back at the depot later in the morning. Karl decided it was best to wait for his return rather than try to intercept him somewhere on the road. He occupied himself by thoroughly checking out Noonan’s work area.

  Karl showed his badge to the manager of the facility. “We just need to talk to him about some routine matters,” Karl said. “Has he worked here long?”

  “Five years, more or less.” The manager was an older man, thin, fortyish and with a nervous manner. “Terry’s a good driver. Shows up on time, does whatever I ask him.”

  Karl tentatively labeled the manager, whose name was Douglas Madsen, as a smoker with a Type A personality, the kind of person who finds it difficult to sit still. At the moment he was shifting from foot to foot, clearly wanting to be somewhere else, and his thin face appeared anxious.

  “I won’t keep you long, Mr. Madsen,” Karl said reassuringly. “Just a couple more questions, if you don’t mind. Has Mr. Noonan been doing much driving lately?”

  “Lately? Nope, we’ve been real slow. None of the guys has had much work.”

  “How about on the weekend?” Karl asked. “Was he driving for you then?”

  “Hell, no. This weekend just past? No. Today’s his first job since Tuesday. He was joking about it this morning. Said that if I didn’t get him some more jobs, he’d have to go somewhere else. Least I think he was joking.” Madsen suddenly appeared thoughtful.

  “Do you socialize with him, Mr. Madsen?”

  “Socialize?”

  “You know,” Karl said. “Like, go out for a drink after work? That kind of thing.”

  Madsen snorted. “Nope. First, I don’t like him enough to go drinking with him. He drives good but that don’t mean I want to drink a beer with him. And second, he’d rather be off with a woman.”

  “He’s married though, isn’t he, Mr. Madsen?”

  A wary look came over the manager’s face. “Yes, he’s married. Least I
think he still is. He and Sarah have been separated for the best part of a year now.”

  “Do you know Mrs. Noonan then, Mr. Madsen?” asked Karl.

  “I know her, yeah, but not well at all. That’s to say, if she walked into this yard just now, I’d recognize her. Good looking woman.” The manager was looking fidgety by now. “Look, I gotta go. Anything else, ask Terry – he’ll be back any time.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Madsen. I’ll just poke about a bit while I’m waiting, if that’s okay?”

  The manager just waved a hand at him as he hurried away.

  Karl located Terry Noonan’s locker but there was nothing for him to see as it was locked. The employee part of the office building consisted of a vending machine, a small table, a few chairs and some lockers. Karl supposed that when your employees spent ninety-nine percent of their time somewhere else, you didn’t need to worry much about décor.

  Terry Noonan himself showed up a little later. Through a small, grimy window, Karl watched him park his rig. The name “Terrible Terry” was lettered on the cab with a picture of what looked like a wolverine. Karl let him drop off his paper work before approaching him by his locker.

  “Mr. Noonan? Detective Karl Wesson, York Police Services. May I have a word with you, please?”

  Like most of the people Karl met, Terry Noonan immediately got a guilty look on his face. “Me? What for? I haven’t done anything. You can ask Doug, I keep my logs all up to date. Never had a problem with them.” Noonan was a stocky, well-built man, with powerful shoulders and well-developed arms. Karl estimated him to be about six feet tall, two hundred pounds. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a red golf shirt and dirty blue jeans, tight around the crotch. He had a rather rounded face, dark, wavy hair, and a couple of days’ stubble on his face.

  “It’s nothing to do with your job, Mr. Noonan,” Karl told him. “Let’s sit down here.”