A Striking Death Page 9

  “Lori, I’m sorry, I don’t have time. Let’s get together later at the Pig and Whistle. Four thirty. Make sure Dick comes too.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

  twenty-nine

  Drumm parked the Miata carefully in a spot right at the edge of the lot. Even though he was late and this would mean a longer walk, he always tried to make sure the Miata was as far away from other vehicles as possible. So far he had been successful – there were no dings or scratches on the sides at all.

  The City of York Forensic Services building was a modern two story structure located a short distance from the Police Services offices. The morgue was in the basement.

  Drumm stopped suddenly on the sidewalk just in front of the revolving entrance doors. “Shit!”

  Startled, the woman behind him swerved at the last moment to avoid a collision. He apologized, and then thought rapidly. He had forgotten to take his blood sugar reading. That was Emily’s fault; she had driven it right out of his mind. And since she wasn’t coming home, there was Will to think of. He’d forgotten all about him. He would have to call Tom, his dog walker. Tom could be relied upon to help out at the last minute – Lord knows he had done it often enough before – but he usually preferred more notice. That call would have to be made right now.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” He started entering the numbers.

  thirty

  The Pig and Whistle was actually called The Cat and the Fiddle but for some reason, Drumm could never remember its proper name. He had a mental block in the beginning, he supposed, but now it was just a habit to call it that. For a Canadian pub, it was a decent imitation of the real thing, although he was sure a Brit or an Irishman would scoff at it.

  Located in a small downtown shopping centre, it was handy for those who worked and lived in the heart of the city. Drumm slid the Miata into a parking space several slots over from Lori Singh’s Prius and glanced at his watch. He was very late. He hurriedly left the parking garage and made his way into the pub.

  It was dark and quiet inside, the main reason he preferred to come here. He found his two colleagues sitting at a booth in the back. They were eyeing each other like a matador and bull, Drumm thought.

  “I owe you two, big-time,” Drumm said. “It’s been a bitch of a day. My apologies. Have you eaten?”

  “We were waiting for you,” said McDonald. “Been drinking a bit, though.” He grinned.

  “Let’s order then.”

  “I’m not all that hungry,” said Lori.

  “I’m not either,” said Drumm. “Just something light then.”

  The server arrived and the orders were placed.

  “Right,” said Drumm. “Dick, fill me in. First, though, tell me: what in God’s name are you drinking? Is that a Guinness?”

  McDonald grinned again. “It is. And not my first. Right, love?”

  Lori gave him a frosty look and took a sip from her club soda.

  “I was able to reach Levine’s brother. Frederick Levine. He lives in Alberta; he’s a retired accountant. He was upset but not overly so, I’d say. They didn’t have much contact, it seems. When the body is released, he’ll look after the arrangements.” McDonald sipped his Guinness.

  “Did he shed any light on Levine’s life? Any idea of who might want to kill him?” Drumm asked. His coffee had just arrived. He started in on his sixth cup of the day.

  “They hadn’t seen each other for years, and didn’t talk much. Frederick knew Daniel was gay – Frederick’s married, by the way – and he said that he’d known forever. He didn’t know about Arthur Billinger, though. He wasn’t much help.”

  “I didn’t expect him to be,” said Drumm. “Another dead end. What about Daniel’s phone records?”

  “Useless. No calls in or out last night, just three calls this morning from the nosy neighbour. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. I’ve checked all the people he called for the past month and all the incoming numbers. There’s diddly squat.” McDonald had some more of his Guinness. “I also looked into everything else I could think of about our Mr. Levine and I got exactly nowhere. The lovely Ms Singh here had already checked his financials and police record. I talked to his utility companies, examined his employment records, even his library card – you name it, I looked at it.”

  Drumm sat back, looked at Lori. She was being quiet.

  Their food arrived.

  Between mouthfuls of salad, Drumm said, “That was good work with the urine, Dick. Ken confirmed the sofa cushion had piss on it, so we now know where he was killed. He was sitting there when someone came in and choked him from behind.” He took a sip of coffee and looked at Lori. “How did you get on with Bailey?”

  Singh pointed her spoon at Drumm. “I hope I never have to talk to that asshole again. He was as obnoxious as ever.” She ate some of her soup. “He said he was with a friend last night.” She put her spoon down and checked her notebook. “A Richard Mulcahy. They met up after work and went drinking. I talked to Mulcahy and the bartender at the dive they went to. Bailey’s story checks out. It’s unlikely he’s our guy.”

  Drumm had finished his salad and coffee. He called the waitress over and asked for more coffee and another beer for McDonald. Then he summarized his conversation with Guido Moretti.

  “So the bald businessman with the diamond stud may or may not exist,” said Dick. “Like we knew before.”

  “Right,” said Drumm. He sighed. “I have some more results on Arthur Billinger. Sigrid estimated the number of blows to the head as twenty-five or thirty. Way over the top, she said. He was likely dead after two or three hits. The killer was very angry, clearly.” He looked at the two of them. “I can’t imagine how worked up he must have been to hit him that many times. Anyway, what else? Um, there was triazolam in his blood, consistent with his taking one pill that night to help him sleep. And he had earplugs in.”

  “Did the fisties turn up anything?” asked Lori.

  “Fingerprints in the house were Billinger’s and Levine’s and some unidentified on various inoccupied things like the coffee table and front porch railing. They definitely confirm the killer gained entry by the kitchen door.”

  McDonald grinned at Lori and winked. “So, no unidentifieds on the kitchen door or the bat, just in innocuous areas?”

  Drumm replied, “Right, the bat was wiped clean of prints. Those other ones are probably just visitors or tradesmen. Let’s see, what else? The only DNA recovered was from Billinger and Levine.”

  “What about the bat?” asked Lori.

  Drumm had some more coffee. He was beginning to feel a little light-headed. Maybe the caffeine would steady him. “It’s a Louisville Slugger, and it’s been around. Ten or twelve years old, maybe. They can’t tell for sure, but it’s been well used. No tape on the handle, some chunks taken out of it. You know, like a kid had hit rocks with it at one time. It was beaten up enough that some small pieces of it came off in Billinger’s skull.” Drumm grimaced. “There’s almost no chance of tracing it, when it’s that old. Still, we have to try.” He looked at McDonald. “You can handle that, Dick. But Louisville Sluggers are sold everywhere; you can even get them on Ebay and Amazon.”

  McDonald said, “I’ll try. And Levine’s autopsy?”

  “He was on his way to a heart attack, it seems. His arteries were starting to clog. We’ll get the tox results in a couple of days. He was strangled, and then hung up.” Drumm had some more coffee. “He had astigmatism in both eyes and weighed two hundred and nineteen pounds. Whoever hung him up in that garage was strong. Or had help.”

  “Or used a pulley,” said McDonald. He took out his wallet. “I don’t think we really care about his astigmatism, do we? Anyway, I’ve got to get going.”

  Drumm raised his hand. “I’ve got this, Dick. To make up for being late. You head out. And we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  McDonald drained his glass and stood up. “Thanks, Nick. Much appreciated. As was your company, love.” He winked at Lori again and saun
tered away, putting his leather jacket on as he went.

  Lori watched him go. “Ass,” she said.

  thirty-one

  Drumm must have had a gallon of coffee, Lori reckoned, by the time they left the Cat and the Fiddle. And he’d had only a small salad to eat. They had stayed on chatting about the case for a while after McDonald left. Lori had stuck to soda water and Drumm had kept drinking coffee. She’d never seen him so talkative or so edgy.

  And now here they were in an almost empty, echoing parking garage and he wasn’t looking well at all. He was sweating in the cool air, his hands were shaking as he held his car keys and he looked like he was about to fall over. They were standing beside his Miata and she was wondering what her course of action should be.

  “Nick –”

  On the word, he leaned backwards against the car and then started sliding downwards. It happened in slow motion and it reminded her of the way ice cream flowed off a cone on a hot day. He just melted towards the cement floor.

  She reached out to arrest his collapse but he was a large and heavy man and his momentum carried the day. He ended up sitting down heavily beside his car while she fell awkwardly, half on top of him. Lori scrambled onto her knees and put out her hand to touch his hair. His head was slumped forward between his knees.

  “Nick!”

  His head rose slowly. She could see his eyes were unfocused, his forehead was slick with sweat and he was shaking uncontrollably. This was more than a little dizzy spell, she realized.

  She pulled out her phone.

  “What…are….doing…?” He was speaking in a strained voice.

  “I’m calling 9-1-1. You’re in a bad way.”

  He started shaking his head slowly. “No!” It took a big effort for the next words to come out. “No call….diabetic…..just need….something…eat.”

  Diabetic! She’d had no idea. Lori thought quickly. She had an energy bar in her car. If ever a man needed energy….

  She was back with the food in no time. She unwrapped it quickly and started feeding it to him. He clutched her hand and took the bar away from her.

  Lori sat back on her haunches, watching him. He was still slumped against the side of his car, slowly munching on the energy bar. She looked around the parking garage; the section they were in was deserted. That was a good thing in some ways, she realized, but it also meant she had to deal with this on her own.

  He was looking a little better but certainly in no condition to drive. She stood up. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Stay put.”

  He waved a hand weakly in response.

  There were some vending machines just inside the mall entrance. There wasn’t a great selection but with the coins she had, she was able to get a chocolate bar and something else made with “genuine fruit”. She doubted that claim but it was the best she could do in the circumstances.

  By the time she returned, Drumm had finished the energy bar and he had stood up and was leaning against the Miata. She gave him the snacks and grabbed his arm just above the elbow. His muscle felt like iron. “Come on.”

  Drumm resisted. “I’m fine. Just need a minute.”

  “You’re not fine. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “No!” He stopped dead and she couldn’t pull him any further. “No hospital. Nobody knows.”

  So. He had diabetes and he was hiding it. “You want to keep this a secret, do you? OK, then, we’ll take you home. Come on.”

  “No, I can drive. Just give me a minute.”

  Lori reached out quickly and snatched his keys which were still in his hand. “A few minutes ago, you looked like death. You still might fall over at any moment. You’re in no condition to drive. I’ll help you over to my car. I’ll take you home.”

  Drumm shook his head. “No, I’m okay.”

  “You’re not!” she said fiercely. She took his arm again and pulled, harder this time. He stumbled and put his other arm around her to keep his balance. She could feel him hard against her side and his hand briefly brush her breast before he regained his equilibrium.

  “Fine. You win.” He sounded weary.

  The drive to his home was conducted mostly in silence. Drumm slowly ate the two snacks and then fell asleep, his head resting against the side window.

  She had to wake him up when they arrived, help him to his feet and up to the front door. She tried to assist him as little as possible in case any of his neighbours were watching, but it was dark and late in any case. There was an eager-looking Sheltie waiting just inside. “You must be Will. Give me a minute here, sweetie.”

  She helped Drumm into his living room and a seat on the couch.

  “Emily?” she called.

  “She’s not here. And she doesn’t know.” Drumm was looking better. “I’m okay now, Lori. Those snacks did the trick. I’ll make myself something else and get to bed. You go on home now.”

  Lori was doubtful. “You sure? I don’t mind staying.”

  “Go home, Lori. And, please, don’t tell anybody about this. I’d be grateful.”

  Lori could see that he was embarrassed and that he wanted her gone. “Of course I won’t.”

  She went to the front door. “Take your time in the morning, sleep in. Look after yourself.”

  Drumm had followed her to the door. “We’ll see.” He put his hand out and touched her shoulder lightly. “Thank you.”

  She was about to open the door when she paused and turned. “What about your car?”

  “I’ll take a cab. See you at the office.”

  Lori walked slowly out to her car. Suddenly she felt very tired.

  As she drove home, she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. The way Drumm had looked sliding down the side of his car. The feel of his hand when he accidentally brushed her breast. That final gentle touch on her shoulder. She shivered.

  thirty-two

  He thought he was safe. Even though the police hadn’t been fooled by his plan to make Levine’s murder look like a suicide, he still thought he was alright. He hadn’t left any traces, he was pretty sure of that.

  He’d gotten in and out of that disgusting old prick’s house as clean as a whistle. It had been helpful that the kitchen door was unlocked. He hadn’t been counting on that. It was a nice bonus. And then to find him asleep on the sofa. All he’d had to do was walk up behind him and slip the rope around his fat neck and pull.

  His nose wrinkled at the memory. The fat slob had pissed himself. He’d done his homework on that, too, so he knew it might happen. But still, reading about it and experiencing it were two different things.

  And the weight of him! He’d nearly busted a gut getting him into the garage and hoisted up. But he’d figured it all out in advance and used the ladder. And all the many months of lifting weights, that had been the real secret. Strong like bull. He grinned at the well-worn phrase.

  Billinger had been much easier. Asleep like that, he was a sitting – correction - lying duck. The killer grinned again. A lying duck – that was a good one.

  Then he frowned. He’d left the bat behind and maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. But it was so old, he didn’t think there was any way they could trace it back to him. He shook his head. No, that would be alright.

  That first kill, though - it had been such a rush, in more ways than one. He’d been so nervous, so much on edge. And then in such a hurry to get out of there. Had he made any mistakes? He didn’t think so, but….. He told himself not to worry. The police hadn’t come calling, had they? They hadn’t a clue, not even a sniff as to who he was.

  He was in the clear. He’d gotten away with it. Killed the old bastard. And his fag lover. Disgusting creeps, both of them. The world was better off without them.

  It had gone so well, been so easy. Should be just be content with what he had accomplished? There were more out there like them. He’d seen that for himself at that shitty bistro place. What was it called? Danny’s, that was it. Maybe some of them were like Billinger. Trouble wa
iting to happen. Maybe he should do something about that.

  The killer started thinking.

  thirty-three

  Lori Singh was in her dressing gown when she opened the door to Drumm’s knock. Her hair was untidy and he had clearly woken her up.

  “Sorry to be here so early, Lori. I woke you up. I apologize.”

  “Come in.” She stepped back, let him enter and closed the door behind him. “It’s time I was getting going anyway. Isn’t it? What’s the time?”

  “Just past five-thirty.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “Five-thirty. So. Make yourself some coffee.” She pointed towards the kitchen and moved towards the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Drumm busied himself opening cupboards and drawers. He found a jar of instant coffee, a mug, a spoon and the kettle on the stove. This he filled with water.

  “There’s milk in the fridge if you want it.” Lori had returned quietly and was watching him from the kitchen doorway.

  “Thanks.” Suddenly he felt awkward. She was still dressed in her light blue dressing gown, but she had brushed her hair.

  “I shouldn’t have barged in like this, but I wanted to talk to you.” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the boiling kettle. “Want some tea?”

  She shook her head. “Too early. Bring your coffee in here.” She led the way to the living room and sat in a comfortable-looking armchair. She crossed her legs, carefully arranging the dressing gown. Only her feet and ankles were showing. She was barefoot. She sat back, stretched and gave a big yawn, which she did her best to cover with her hand.

  Drumm took a seat on the couch and put his mug on the coffee table in front of him. He still felt ill at ease. “This is a nice apartment, Lori. It smells new.” The furniture was a dark green, chosen to complement a pale green area rug. The space was dominated by a large print showing a mountain scene; he was pretty sure it was Banff National Park. There were plants everywhere. The overall effect was calming and peaceful.