A Striking Death Page 7

  “Mr. Levine, did you have a monogamy agreement with Art?” Lori asked. “I mean, some gay couples do, some don’t.”

  Levine shook his head. “No, no we didn’t. I thought about bringing it up with Art but I never did.”

  “So Art could have had a bunch of other sexual partners, and not only would you not have known, you both would have been okay with that?” Lori was skeptical.

  Levine looked miserable. “He wouldn’t have done that. And no, I wouldn’t have been okay with that.”

  Drumm asked, “What about this bar – Danny’s, I think you said – where you met Mr. Billinger? Did he still go there? By himself? Or with you, for that matter?”

  Levine put his head in his hands. “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “Which?” Drumm asked.

  Levine looked up. “Which what?”

  “Did he go to Danny’s with you or by himself?” Drumm was leaning forward, impatient.

  Levine looked unhappy. “Both, I think.” His voice was low, almost inaudible. “We were there together on a few occasions. One time….”

  “Speak up, please,” Lori said. “One time…?”

  Levine spoke more loudly. “One time we were having drinks there after work. A Saturday night, I think it was. There was a guy sitting at another table by himself. He kept glancing over at us. At Art, I mean. He obviously wasn’t looking at me. I asked Art about it later. He denied knowing him. I think he did, though.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Lori.

  Levine sighed. “It was just this guy’s manner. It seemed obvious to me he was interested in Art. Maybe surprised to see him with someone else.”

  Drumm said, “But Art said he didn’t know him. And you didn’t believe him. You thought maybe they’d met there before, is that it?”

  Levine sat up straight. “Yes. That’s why I think Art had gone to Danny’s without me.”

  “How long ago was this?” asked Lori.

  “About three or four weeks ago, maybe? I can’t remember.”

  That would agree with what Mrs. Stephens had said about an argument, thought Drumm. Aloud he asked, “What did this fellow look like?”

  Levine said, “It was a month ago! Do you really expect me to remember?”

  Lori said, “Try, please. What was he wearing?”

  “A suit and tie, I think.”

  “Height? Weight?”

  “I don’t know. He was sitting down. Average, I guess.”

  “Hair colour?”

  Levine looked puzzled, and then smiled briefly. “I just remembered. He hardly had any. His head was mostly shaved. What he had was grey.”

  “So he was an older man?” asked Lori.

  “In his forties, maybe.”

  Drumm said, “You’re doing very well. Do you remember anything else? Anything distinctive about him? Tattoos, jewellery, accent?”

  “I didn’t hear him speak. But he had a stud in his ear. It sparkled in the light, so maybe it was a diamond.” He thought for a few seconds. “His right ear it was. But that’s it, I can’t think of anything else. And I have to get home. It’s been a tough day.”

  Drumm said, “Yes, that’s enough for today.” He stood and accompanied Levine out into the corridor. “Are you planning on leaving the city at all? If so, please let us know before you go.”

  Levine shook his head tiredly. “You think it was me, don’t you? No, don’t bother to deny it.” He walked slowly down the hallway and said over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll be around when you want to accuse me some more. I’m not planning on going anywhere at all.”

  “One last thing,” asked Lori. “What size shoes do you wear?”

  Levine looked down at his shoes, then back up at the detective. “Ten,” he said. “Why?”

  “Just routine,” said Lori.

  Back in the office, Drumm said, “What do you think? Murderer? Grieving lover?”

  “Well, his distress seems genuine enough. But I don’t know about this bald, diamond-studded guy in Danny’s.” Lori yawned behind her hand. “Do you think he’s real? First Levine couldn’t remember anything, and then we get a pretty good description. Seems too good to be true.”

  “We’ll get over to Danny’s tomorrow and see if anyone there can confirm that this guy exists.” Drumm yawned too. “Something happened up on the roof, Lori. When I went up with the coffee, he was right over at the edge, looking down. It looked like he was getting ready to jump. I thought he was going to jump. I moved him back from there in a hurry.”

  “You think he’s suicidal?” Lori was surprised.

  “I don’t know. Could be.”

  “Well, if he is, why, do you think? From guilt, or is he just upset over the loss of his partner?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not ruling him out as a suspect. He certainly had a reason to be mad at him.”

  “Maybe,” said Lori. “But I’m not convinced.”

  twenty-one

  The usual routine was too much for him this evening. He didn’t have the strength to make dinner and he wasn’t hungry anyway. Sitting and watching television was unappealing, and it didn’t seem appropriate somehow. Art was dead! Enormous sadness filled him. What was he going to do without him? How was he going to find the strength to go on?

  In his darkened living room, Daniel Levine was sitting on his couch, his head back, resting. His feet were up on the footrest; he was physically and emotionally exhausted, too tired to move. After his interview at the police station, he had been taken back to Bookworm to pick up his car. He had driven back home in a daze, hardly aware of what he had been doing.

  Levine closed his eyes. The police thought he had done it! He could see the look in their eyes, especially the woman. They thought he had killed Art! It was too much. He couldn’t cope with it. He closed his eyes in despair.

  twenty-two

  The wind in her face was cold but Lori found it exhilarating. She loved an early morning bike ride in the autumn. This time of day there were few people about and she could usually enjoy solitude at Hillsdale Park. She wheeled into the entrance to the parking lot which was empty of cars as she had hoped it would be. Puffing a bit with the exertion of the little climb she had just done, she headed across the pavement and on to Blue Heron Trail. Her breathing eased quickly; she was in good shape after a summer of cycling.

  Lori shivered, partly because of the chill, and partly because she was passing the spot where Paula Noonan’s body had been discovered in the spring. There was no trace of it now, of course, but a young seventh-grade teacher had been found strangled just off the path. She and Drumm had worked on the case together. Ancient history.

  Her favourite spot was just ahead. Lori sprinted for the final section and then coasted to a stop. She propped up her bike against a tree, took off her helmet and backpack and sat down on her log to look out at the lake. It was more of a pond really, and it wasn’t deep, but it was still large enough to attract hundreds of Canada geese. There weren’t that many here right now, maybe a hundred and fifty or so, but it was still October. Come November the numbers would go up – one fall she had counted almost eight hundred – and then one day they would all be gone. Flown south to their winter homes in South Carolina or wherever it was they went. She would have to look it up one day. Maybe they went to the Caribbean? She had no idea.

  Lori took an energy bar and a banana out of her pack and began to eat while she watched the geese. There were twelve of them on the grassy area just in front of her, about thirty feet away. There were three males on guard duty, all watching her carefully while the others plucked at the grass. Not much to eat there; she was surprised they hadn’t headed out to the cornfields yet, their usual practice. The males continued to eye her distrustfully.

  “I’m harmless,” she called to the geese. “I don’t even have my gun with me.” Detectives with the Violent Crimes Unit carried a Glock 27 when they were on duty. Many carried them off duty as well, although Lori didn’t normally do so when she was
riding her bike. Fortunately, York was not yet a very dangerous city. The problems of Toronto, just to the south, had not yet made their way to its northern neighbour. Or at least, not much. That was beginning to change, though.

  Lori sat peacefully, enjoying the changing sky, and not minding the cold. She watched the geese and the geese watched her.

  In her backpack, her phone rang. Lori sighed. So much for her peaceful morning.

  “Detective Singh? This is Louise Stephens. I’m sorry to call you so early but it might be important.”

  “That’s alright, Mrs. Stephens. I was up and about. Have you thought of something else then?”

  “What? Oh. No. It’s Daniel. I’m worried about him and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Daniel Levine? Why, what’s the matter?”

  “Something must be wrong. His lights are still on. And his car is on the driveway.”

  She really was a nosy old woman, thought Lori. “Mrs. Stephens, I’m sorry but you’re not making sense. His lights are on…?”

  Lori could hear the older woman take a deep breath. “I must sound like a doddering old fool. I’ll try to explain. Daniel always does the same thing in the evenings. He puts the car in the garage, closes the garage door, turns on the outside lights and leaves them on all night for security. Then he closes the curtains and I don’t usually see him again until the next day.” She paused to take a breath. “In the morning when he gets up, he turns off the outside lights and opens the curtains.”

  “I see,” said Lori. “And this morning, the lights are still on?”

  “And his car is on the driveway! He never leaves it out. Never. He’s always worried someone will damage it overnight. And the curtains are still closed.”

  Lori looked at her watch: seven ten. “It’s still early, Mrs. Stephens. Isn’t it possible he’s just a little late today?”

  “No! He’s always up and about by now. Something’s wrong, I know it is. I didn’t want to call 9-1-1, but somebody should check. That’s why I called you. Do you think I should go over?”

  Lori thought briefly. “Why don’t you just try calling him?”

  “I’ve done that – three times! He doesn’t answer, it just goes to voicemail. I left a message the first time asking him to call me but he hasn’t.”

  Lori made up her mind. “You did the right thing calling me, Mrs. Stephens. I’ll take it from here. Just stay in your house. I’ll get a patrol car over to take a look. Keep an eye out for it.”

  Lori cut short the woman’s thanks, anxious to make her phone call and get back. She decided to make two, one to get a patrol car over to Levine’s home, and one to Drumm to let him know about the conversation. It was probably nothing but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Best that he should know about it.

  Calls completed, she mounted her bike and took a last look over her shoulder at the geese that were still doing sentry duty. “You can relax now,” she called out. She started pedaling. Her day had just changed completely.

  twenty-three

  The rocking chair was the ideal place to watch for the patrol car, she decided. If she waited on her front porch, she would look like an anxious old hen. She was anxious and she was old, but she was damned if she would look like a hen. But she was concerned for Daniel. Louise Stephens was no fool; she knew something was wrong.

  From her seat by the front window, she saw the York Police Services cruiser pull up quietly to the curb. A young woman got out, looked into Daniel’s car and then went up to the front door. She rang the doorbell, waited a bit, and knocked hard. When there was no response, not even a twitch of the curtains, the officer turned around, glanced briefly across the street before disappearing around the side of the house. There was a side door into the garage, Louise knew. The wait before the officer came back into sight was endless, but was probably only a couple of minutes.

  The officer reappeared, moving purposefully, and went directly back to her cruiser. Louise saw her use the radio and then the officer’s head turned as she looked across the street again. The conversation was brief; the officer was out of the car again and rummaging in the trunk. What was she after? Louise’s hand went to her mouth.

  It was a yellow roll. Crime scene tape.

  twenty-four

  The body was swaying slightly, ever so slightly, from side to side. The head was tilted slightly to the right and hanging forward, the arms dangling by the sides, toes pointing down. The face was distorted, dark red, the tongue protruding; Daniel Levine had not died a happy death.

  Drumm noted that the bookstore owner was wearing the same clothes as the day before. There was a chair lying on its side just below and to the left of the feet, a six foot stepladder standing just behind the corpse. Drumm’s eyes traveled up to the rafters of the garage. The rope, thin and yellow, was tied around one of the beams; maybe three feet of it showed, the rest was buried in Levine’s neck.

  Drumm looked around the echoing emptiness of the garage, at Lori Singh carefully examining the tools on the walls and recording everything in her notebook. The two detectives were alone in the garage. He felt incredibly sad and defeated.

  “What’s the name of the officer who found him?”

  Lori looked up, and then consulted her notes. “Schiapelli. Lisa Schiapelli. Why?”

  “She did well. Acted quickly, and carefully. So many patrol cops would have messed up the scene. Maybe tried to cut him down. Much better to leave him for us.” Drumm approached Levine’s body and without touching him, peered up at his head.

  Lori said, “She said she knew immediately he was dead because he was so still. She felt for a pulse and he was cold. She knew there was no point trying CPR. So she left and called it in.”

  “She did well,” Drumm repeated.

  Lori looked at him. “You’re taking this hard.” She sounded surprised.

  Drumm put his hand on his forehead and rubbed back and forth. “I am, yes. I liked him. I guess I felt sorry for him.” He looked around the garage which smelled faintly of gasoline and oil, then back up at Levine’s body. “I don’t like seeing him like this, hanging like meat in an abatory.”

  Lori looked puzzled. “Abatory? Do you mean abattoir?”

  Drumm nodded, distracted.

  “You had an idea that he might kill himself, didn’t you, Nick? Last night at the station, up on the roof, you said he was right over at the edge. You thought he might jump.”

  Drumm’s thoughts were far away. “Did I say that? Yes, I guess I did.”

  “And now he has. Off a chair. Not so high, but effective enough.”

  Drumm looked at her. “Are you blaming me, Lori?”

  “No! No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Nobody could have known he’d come home and do something like this.”

  Drumm said, “No worries.” He looked up at the corpse, still swaying slightly. “Ever seen a hanging before, Lori?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be so sure this is one,” said Drumm. “A suicide, I mean. There are some things that aren’t right.”

  Singh stared at him. “Aren’t right?” She looked at Levine’s corpse. “Do you mean that someone killed him? How do you know?”

  “In a minute.” Drumm moved towards the door that led into the house. “Come on, I want to take a look inside the house before Sigrid and the fisties get here.”

  He wouldn’t talk any more about the body hanging in the garage. “We’ll see what Sigrid thinks,” was all he would say. They inspected the house and its contents, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in any of its rooms. There was no suicide note and everything seemed to be where it should be. Kitchen, living room, dining room, two bedrooms, and bathroom were all what one might expect from a bachelor living on his own. Daniel Levine could have used a good maid service but otherwise, there was nothing suspicious to be seen.

  Singh took a quick look at the basement which was full of junk and didn’t appear to be used much.

  Drumm was inspecting the door that led fro
m the kitchen to the outside patio. It was an old wooden model, the type that locked with a key in the knob. “Wouldn’t take much to jimmy this lock open,” he said. “I’m surprised he would have such a flimsy thing if he was concerned about security.”

  Drumm and Singh went out on the patio and had a look at Daniel Levine’s backyard. The view was of a patchy lawn, a couple of pine trees and some neglected gardens. Peering around the corner of the house over the fence, they could make out Louise Stephens’ house.

  “She must have good ears to overhear an argument from here,” said Lori.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” He paused and cocked his head, listening. “Come on, Lori, we’ve got company.”

  Going back into the house, they spoke briefly to Ken McIntee and his FIS team who were just getting started. Sigrid Brandt was in the garage with her assistant, examining the body.

  “Hello, Nicholas. Sorry to see you again so soon.” The Coroner’s voice sounded hollow in the empty garage.

  Drumm smiled briefly. “I feel the same, Sigrid.” He waited and watched as she methodically went about her business.

  The Coroner paused to push a lock of her grey hair back into place. She gave Drumm a sideways glance. “You realize this is almost certainly a homicide, Nicholas.”

  “I wasn’t sure but I’m not surprised to hear you say it. It doesn’t feel right, doesn’t look right.” Drumm leaned against the garage wall, watching.

  “Well I’m surprised!” said Lori Singh. “It looks like a hanging to me. He didn’t kill himself?”

  Brandt stopped and looked at her. “It’s a hanging alright. But that’s not what killed him. He was strangled first, and then hung. Someone wanted to make it look like he killed himself.” She pointed up at Levine’s neck. “See the marks? A ligature strangulation, which is what this is, leaves a completely straight bruise. You can see it there, just under the rope. Hanging leaves a completely different bruise. Once he’s cut down, and we’ll do that soon, we’ll see everything much more clearly.”