A Striking Death Read online

  “So our theory is looking good,” said Lori. “He stood outside under that tree for a while, waiting until the right moment. Then he moved onto the deck, broke the window on the kitchen door, reached in and unlocked it and then went down the hall into the bedroom.” She thought for a minute. “What about the shoe prints? Do they know what brand?”

  Drumm was shaking his head. “Not yet, but they will. Definitely some type of runner, size ten, was all that Ken could say for now.”

  As Drumm was finishing speaking, Staff Sergeant Mark Chappell appeared in the doorway. He nodded to Lori Singh and said, “Where are we at, Nick?”

  Drumm summarized the day’s events and his plans for his boss, then said, “We could use a little more help, sir. Can you spare anyone?”

  “Funny you should say that, Nick. I was just about to assign you another pair of hands. You can have Detective Dick.” Chappell watched Drumm’s reaction with a sardonic smile on his face. “Be careful what you wish for, eh, Detective Sergeant? I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure yet, Detective Singh? I’m sure you’ll get along famously.” Chappell turned and left the office, still smiling.

  “What was that about?” asked Lori. “Who’s Detective Dick?”

  “Detective Richard McDonald,” sighed Drumm. “He was just transferred back into Violent Crimes, which is why you don’t know him. Most everybody calls him Detective Dick – doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, nothing seems to bother him.” He grunted. “We’ll make use of him, I guess.”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Nick?” Lori was curious.

  “Ah… Detective Dick has a bit of a reputation.” He paused. “I think it would be best to wait and you can form your own impressions of the man.” Seeing Lori’s doubtful look, he went on, “He’s a good detective, don’t worry. He’ll work out fine.”

  “If you say so,” Lori said. Then she asked, “Any word on Karl? How’s he doing?”

  Detective Karl Wesson had been their colleague on an earlier case. Normally a solid and reliable officer, Wesson developed a gambling problem which escalated into a potentially career-ending situation when he had been unable to stop his downward spiral. Drumm had managed to cover for Karl without the Police Services finding out and Wesson had taken some vacation time to recover from his addiction.

  “Karl is doing much better, Lori, much better. I try to talk to him every week or so. But he’s embarrassed by what happened, understandably, of course; I’m sure I’d feel the same.” Drumm started tidying up the mess of papers on his desk, and then looked up at her. “You knew he was with Robbery now, didn’t you?”

  “I knew that, yes,” Lori said. “I’m glad things are going better for him. Shame to break up Smith and Wesson though.” She smiled.

  Drumm laughed. “I’d forgotten that! And Smith and McDonald doesn’t cut it, does it?” Lori Singh and Karl Wesson had been teamed together a number of times and somebody at the station had dubbed them, “Smith and Wesson”; the label had stuck. Lori doubted that it would be used again.

  Drumm was ready to go; he still had Emily to deal with. “Get a good night’s sleep, Lori. You’ll need it.” And with that cryptic comment, he headed out the door.

  ten

  For once, Emily was waiting for him when he got home. He parked the Miata behind her bright green Ford Fiesta and smiled. There was never any difficulty knowing where Emily’s car was – it stood out like a blinking neon sign on a dark night.

  Emily was wearing an apron over dark slacks and a white camisole when she greeted him in the hallway. Her slim figure pressed against him enticingly as they kissed. He held onto her, enjoying the feel of her against him, then stepped back, still holding onto her waist, trying to assess her mood. He let her go and then reached up to flounce her hair.

  She pushed his hands away. “Stop it, Nicky! You know I hate that.” But her tone was light and she was clearly in a good mood, he could tell.

  “Why do you think I do it? It’s a man’s job to be a pest.” He looked around. “Where’s Will? And what are you cooking? It smells delicious.”

  She turned and headed back into the kitchen. “I let him out in the back. He’s already eaten. And I’m just doing a stir fry.”

  Drumm went to let Will in and played chase with him in the living room until Emily announced that dinner was ready. Will could keep up the game for much longer than Drumm could, and he was grateful to give it up.

  Much later, after the meal was eaten, the dishes washed up and the dog walked, he and Emily were sitting on the couch and watching television. Some sitcom was on but they weren’t really concentrating on it. They were enjoying each other’s company, snuggling together like a couple of amorous teenagers. At times like this, Drumm thought he could stay with Emily forever. Kissing her, he took note of her lovely skin, the small wrinkles around her eyes, the tiny mole on her left eyelid. She appeared much younger than her forty-five years, unlike him. Maybe it was her vegetarian diet or the yoga she practised. Whatever it was, she was slim and sexy, and just now he was enjoying the sight of her breasts through her camisole.

  Emily eased him away from her and asked, “So, what time tomorrow, Nicky? Can you really get away?”

  “I’ll find the time somehow, Emily, I promise.” Drumm was thinking about his plans for the next day. “I want to see your office – it’s time I did. Let’s say one o’clock. But I can only do a half hour, okay?” He looked anxiously at her, to see if her mood would change or there would be an explosion.

  It seemed everything was fine, however, as Emily leaned forward and kissed him. “A half hour will be fine, Nicky,” she said. “I know you’re busy.” She grinned mischievously. “Do you want me to wear this camisole tomorrow afternoon?”

  “That ratty old thing? Nope, it’s time you got rid of it. Hands up!”

  Emily smiled and obediently raised her arms. Drumm grasped the bottom of the camisole and pulled it slowly over her head.

  eleven

  Tea for Lori Singh, coffee for Drumm: that was the usual morning routine when the two of them were working a case together. A selection of baked goods completed Drumm’s morning offering to his colleague. Today’s selection was a couple of croissants and a cherry Danish. The morning treat was a habit he had gotten into years ago; he found it helped everyone get off to a good start.

  Lori Singh thanked Drumm for the tea and helped herself to a croissant. She didn’t particularly like them but she didn’t want to hurt her boss’s feelings, and besides, the Danish would be too sticky. It was funny, she thought: he bought all this sweet stuff and then rarely had any of it for himself.

  Drumm sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “Slight change of plans, Lori. Now that we have Detective McDonald assigned to the case, the two of you can go back to the neighborhood and canvass the neighbors again. It will give you a chance to get to know him. I’m going to head over to Bookworm.” At Lori’s nod, he continued, “If you turn up anything interesting, call me. And afterwards, start digging into the background on Billinger, Garmand, Bailey, Carlson too, I guess, and anyone else that turns up this morning. Arthur Billinger first, of course. See what you can find out.”

  “Alright.” Lori had finished her tea.

  “What about that Louisa Billinger. Do you want me to contact her?”

  “No, I tried last night. I spoke to the administrator of the nursing home she’s in. She told me that the old girl’s dementia is so bad that she isn’t aware of anything anymore. She hasn’t known her brother for years now.”

  “So there wasn’t any contact between them?”

  Drumm said, “He called her once a year, apparently, at Christmas. So she could hear his voice. And that was it.”

  Lori sighed. “So we’ll get no help there. Alright then.” She thought for a few seconds. “Where is Detective McDonald, anyway?”

  “He’ll be waiting for you at Billinger’s house. He lives over that way, it turns out, and so I told him just to meet you there. Saved him dri
ving here when there was no real need for it. Let me know how you get on.”

  Detective Richard McDonald was waiting in front of Arthur Billinger’s house, leaning indolently against his car and sipping from a can of Coke. He watched Lori park her Prius behind his rather dirty Grand Prix. He pushed himself away from his car and waited for her on the sidewalk.

  “Hello, love,” he said. “You must be Detective Singh.” He looked her over carefully. “Well, this won’t be half bad, will it? Nick told me you were a looker but he was understating it, wasn’t he? I’m Richard McDonald.” He made no move to shake hands, merely lifted his can of Coke in a mock salute.

  Lori said, “You’ve got dirt on your ass.” She pointed at the back of his pants. She was inwardly annoyed but she was determined not to show it. She hated being called ‘love’. “I’m Lori Singh. Pleased to meet you, Richard.”

  “Oh, call me Dick. Everyone does.” He brushed away the dust from his pants. “Detective Dick, actually! Good name for an investigator, don’t you think?” He said this with a big smile and a loud voice. “Yeah, Nick said to look out for a gorgeous Indian babe driving a pale-green tree-hugger car. And here you are, love.”

  “Don’t call me love, please. I don’t like it.” He was trying to bait her! “And I doubt Detective Sergeant Drumm said anything of the kind.” She paused while she looked him over. “How long have you been with the YPS?”

  “Oh, years and years, love. But I’ve just been transferred to the VCU. Glad it happened, too.” And he smiled at her.

  Lori saw a tall, slender man with a thin face and sandy-coloured hair. McDonald looked like he was in his late thirties. He was wearing a leather jacket against the cool fall air, and black slacks. There was still dirt on the back of them. “Don’t call me love – it’s Lori.” She waited to see his reaction but he just raised his Coke can again slightly and smiled. He did have a nice smile, she thought, even if he was an ass. A sexist ass, too. She wondered how much of it was genuine and how much an act. Aloud she said, “We need to divide up all these neighbours. How about you start on this side, and I’ll do the other? We talked to most of them yesterday but a few were missed. And maybe overnight some of them remembered something new.”

  He looked across the street, then back at her. “Sure,” he said. He tipped up the Coke and drained the last drops from it and then dropped it on the sidewalk where he crushed it with his heel.

  He was wearing boots, Lori noticed, cowboy boots they looked like. With pointed toes.

  “I just need to have a quick smoke first.” McDonald pulled out a pack of Marlboros from his inside jacket pocket. A lighter materialized in his right hand and a cigarette was lit and in his mouth in no time.

  Lori looked down at the crushed can on the sidewalk, then at the smoke issuing from McDonald’s nose, some of which was already assaulting her senses. She resisted the urge to step backwards, and the even stronger urge to bop her new colleague on the nose, and sighed inwardly. Best not to show any reaction at all, she realized. But this case might turn out to be more difficult than she’d thought it would be, if she had to spend a lot of time with McDonald..

  twelve

  Bookworm was a cheery-looking place located on Queen Street in the older part of York. Drumm stood looking at the outside of the shop with its brilliant yellow exterior, the huge picture of a rather fiendish-looking worm emerging from a bright red apple-shaped book and a crowded display bin on the sidewalk. “Gently Read”, the sign on the bin said, but the volumes inside looked like they had seen better days.

  Drumm pushed on the door, which opened with the sound of a tinkling bell, and entered. Inside was bright and cheery too, not at all the dusty and crowded old shop he had been expecting. This store was modern and clean with the books neatly arranged on the shelves. There was a mix of new and used, he could see. He was about to pull a book off a shelf at random when a man emerged from behind a curtain at the back. He was rubbing his hands together as if trying to dry them.

  “Morning! Need any help?”

  Drumm showed his badge and said, “Detective Sergeant Nicholas Drumm, sir. With the York Police Services. And you are…?”

  “Daniel Levine. I’m the owner. What’s this about?” Levine was short and overweight. His welcoming smile had turned into a frown of worry.

  Drumm was about to speak when the bell tinkled again behind him and a customer entered, an older woman. He waited while she paid for a book Levine had ordered especially for her. After she had left, he said, “Perhaps you will lock up for a few minutes while we have a chat? In the back? Ten minutes at the most, I promise you.” Drumm was polite but his manner made it clear he expected compliance.

  Levine’s frown had returned. He locked the door without comment, turned around a little sign that read, “Back in fifteen minutes”, and switched off the lights. He led the way to the back of the store where there was a washroom and a small office. Levine indicated a chair to Drumm and sat down himself at a desk.

  “Now, Detective, what’s this about?”

  “I’m with Violent Crimes, sir. I’m sorry to tell you that one of your employees was found dead yesterday morning in his home. Arthur Billinger.”

  “Art’s dead?” Levine had an uncomprehending look on his face. “What happened? Was it a heart attack?”

  Drumm looked at the bookshop owner carefully. Levine appeared to be genuinely surprised, or maybe stunned was a better word. “No, sir, not a heart attack. The VCU isn’t called in when people die of natural causes.”

  Levine looked bewildered. “I’m sorry…VCU?”

  “Violent Crimes Unit, sir,” Drumm said patiently. “Mr. Billinger was beaten to death.”

  “Beaten to death! But what…how… Who would want to do that?”

  “That’s what we need to find out, Mr. Levine. I understand he was employed here?”

  “That’s right, Art worked here part-time. Usually Thursday and Friday nights and all day Saturday. More, if I asked him to.” Levine was looking dazed. “You said he was beaten to death? When?”

  “Late Monday night, sir. In the wee hours. He was found Tuesday morning by a teacher friend, Cameron Garmand. Do you know Mr. Garmand?”

  “I’ve met him a couple of times, yes. Tuesday morning? He has coffee on Tuesdays with Cameron.”

  Drumm resisted the urge to say, “Not any more, he won’t.” Instead, he said, “That’s right. Mr. Garmand was the one who called 9-1-1.” After a pause when Levine didn’t say anything more, Drumm asked, “How long had he worked here?”

  Levine spoke slowly, almost as if he were in a trance. “About five years. Ever since he retired, really.”

  “He was a teacher, I understand?”

  “That’s right, a French teacher.” Still speaking slowly.

  “Teachers get good pensions, Mr. Levine. Why would he work here? Surely he wouldn’t need the money?”

  Levine was shaking his head. He was regaining his composure, Drumm could see. “No, he didn’t need the money. Not that I paid him much anyway, just minimum wage. But he wanted to keep busy. And a bookstore suited him. He was a literate man. But…you say he’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s a shock. How did you two meet?”

  Levine’s eyes shifted away from Drumm, then back again. “We met in a bar. Years ago, that was.”

  A suspicion had been growing in Drumm’s mind; he wondered if it was correct. “Which bar was that, sir? Do you remember?”

  “I should, Detective, I still go there occasionally. Danny’s. On Fifth Street.”

  Drumm’s suspicion was confirmed. Danny’s was a gay bar. Drumm had been there a couple of times. It was a combination bar and restaurant with a small dance floor, a place where gay men could hang out together. Drumm recalled seeing a drag show the last time he had been there. It was known to the police but it wasn’t a trouble spot. There were rarely any problems at Danny’s. Levine was looking at him, waiting.

  “What kind of relationship did you and Mr
. Billinger have then, Mr. Levine?”

  Levine sat back in his chair. “We were lovers, Detective.”

  thirteen

  Lori Singh and Detective Dick had finished the second canvass of the neighbourhood. She had done one side of the street, he the other. Lori had finished first, and was forced to wait for some time while McDonald completed his assigned houses. Whenever she looked for him, he seemed to be engaged in animated conversations with Arthur Billinger’s neighbours. Just now, for example, a middle-aged woman was laughing at something the detective had said.

  McDonald finished with her and came down the driveway, shooting Lori a little wave as he did so. He seemed to be in a good mood.

  Lori waited until he was right up to her before she asked, “Get anything?”

  McDonald took the time to get another cigarette into his mouth before answering. “Love, I didn’t get diddly. Had some nice chats, though. I was quite taken with that sheila there.” McDonald indicated the woman with whom he had just been talking. “Left her my card. Maybe something will come of it, you never know.”

  “Do you mean with the case? Or with her personally?”

  “Oh, the case, love,” McDonald said. “Definitely the case. Although she is living alone, it seems. How about you? Did you get anywhere?”

  “Bailey’s story seems to be true, at least as far as it goes.” She consulted her notebook. “I found two neighbours who saw him come home around eight-thirty last night. Mr. Drummond at number forty-two was walking his dog and saw his truck arrive. And Mrs. Krawcyk, number thirty-eight, looked out through her curtains and saw his truck sitting on his driveway around the same time. So we know he came home when he said he did. But if he went outside again and over to Billinger’s house, nobody I talked to saw him.”