The Homeless Killer

by Claude Bouchard

  He opened up Photoshop and quickly scanned through the video again, making a couple of satisfactory selections. The photo of Dougie was excellent, a full face, close-up, nice and crisp. The one of his buddy, caught in the background, wasn’t as good, more of a profile shot but recognizable nonetheless. He cropped each of the photos, getting rid of useless surroundings then stitched them together side by side into a new document. He sent the image to print and in a moment he had a quality 8 x10 photo of the two bums.

  He gazed at the print and smiled as he whispered, “I’m going to get you, boys.”

  Chapter 17 – Wednesday, July 19, 2006

  “Come on, ladies!” cried out Joy Chang as she led the group through a high paced aerobics routine. “I said pump it up, not lump it up! Move it, make it burn!”

  She watched them as a group and was quite proud as it was a difficult routine and they all had it. Their synchronization was to the point of perfection and nobody was missing any steps anymore. As they continued, Joy started concentrating on each student individually, looking for those little quirks which might need some correction.

  She got to Manon and smiled to herself. Manon D’Astous was in her mid-twenties and had the body of a dancer, an athlete and a top model all rolled into one. She was certain that the girl did not have an ounce of fat on her anywhere, yet she had all the right curves in all the right places.

  Just as Joy was turning her attention to the next student, a memory flashed in her mind.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she thought, suddenly gripped with strange sensation. It wasn’t panic but definitely at least a mild form of anxiety.

  She glanced up at the big clock on the studio wall. Fourteen minutes to go.

  ‘Concentrate,’ she told herself, not wanting to misstep her own routine.

  She kept up her lead flawlessly and continued to encourage her class as she counted down the minutes in her head. Before too long, the remaining time was finally up. She called out her goodbyes to the group and quickly left the studio for the instructors’ lounge. She had an urgent telephone call to make.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Homicide, Nelson,” Joanne answered the phone.

  “Hello, Detective Nelson. I don’t know if you remember me. It’s Joy Chang. We met…”

  “Of course I remember you, Joy,” said Joanne. “How are you doing?”

  “I-I’m fine,” the woman replied, her tone somewhat anxious. “Uh, I’m calling about that case with my car?”

  “Yes, the Lévesque case,” said Nelson, her pulse picking up a notch. “What is it, Joy?”

  “Well, I was giving a class this morning, it just finished, actually,” Joy started hesitantly. “I don’t know how to say this exactly. There’s a student in my class. Her name is Manon and, uh…”

  “Go ahead, Joy,” Joanne encouraged. “What about Manon?”

  “Ok,” said Joy, taking a deep breath. “This student, her name is Manon D’Astous and she’s been taking my classes for a while. Anyhow, during the class this morning, I suddenly remembered that a few months back, maybe four or five, she saw me take out my spare key for my car.”

  “I’m very happy you called, Joy,” said Nelson, starting to scribble some notes. “Ok, so her name is Manon D’Astous. Tell me more specifically about when she saw you take the key.”

  “I had finished my last class for the day,” Joy recounted, “And Manon was in that class. We left the building at the same time and we were chatting. I got to my car and couldn’t find my keys because I had left them in the car.”

  “But are you sure that Manon saw you taking the spare key out?” Joanne queried.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Joy stated emphatically. “She was standing right there. We even talked about it.”

  “Tell me what you talked about,” Nelson requested, still scribbling.

  “It’s like I was saying,” Joy explained. “We were chatting, I think about the routine in class, and she walked right up to my car with me while we talked. When I noticed my keys weren’t in my purse, I looked in the car and said ‘Shit’ or ‘goddamn’ or something and told her ‘I left my keys in the car’. She said something like ‘Oh damn,’ like she felt bad about it for me. I smiled at her and said not to worry, I had a spare. Then I pulled the spare out while she was there and she said something like ‘Good for you. I should get one of those’ or something like that. It was all very innocent and normal at the time. That must be why I didn’t even remember it.”

  “Well, I’m happy that you did remember it,” said Joanne. “Would you have her address or phone number?”

  “Not with me now,” Joy replied. “But we do have that information on file in the office. I hope that I’m not getting her into any trouble.”

  “This is probably nothing, Joy,” said Nelson, “But we do have to check it out, you understand.”

  “I do,” admitted Joy. “That’s why I called you. It’s just that Manon seems like such a nice person and she’s so pretty and such a great dancer. I certainly hope that this is nothing, I guess is what I’m saying.”

  “Let’s just see where it goes,” Joanne replied.

  “Alright,” Joy agreed. “Let me get to the office and I’ll call you right back with her address and phone number.”

  “Thanks, Joy,” said the detective, “And thank you again for calling.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Allan strolled along Ste-Catherine, crossed Union and sauntered into Phillips Square. It was not quite nine o’clock and although the sun had set some ten minutes earlier, slight traces of daylight lingered. He looked around casually as he walked, hands in his pockets. He noticed three bums sitting on a bench under the trees near Cathcart and leisurely made his way towards them.

  When he was close enough, a half dozen feet away, he stopped and stretched, looking perhaps like a tourist out for an evening stroll. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and proceeded to light one up.

  “Hey, Mister,” one of the drifter’s called from the bench in a raspy voice. “Spare a smoke?”

  Allan turned towards the men as if noticing them for the first time. He moved closer to them, eyeing them carefully.

  “Ain’t gonna bite ya,” muttered the cigarette seeker. “I’s juss askin for a butt if ya got an extra.”

  He was an older man, probably in his late sixties with mounds of clumpy grey hair spilling out from under an old, dirty Montreal Expos baseball cap. The bottom of his face was covered with a thick, tangled grey beard. What remained visible of his face was wrinkled and brown like old, tan leather.

  “Sure, no problem,” said Allan with a smile. He pulled out his pack and gave the old man a cigarette.

  “How about you gents?” he asked the other two, having noticed the craving look in their eyes.

  “Well, if ya got too many,” cackled the skinny little grey man in the middle. The third man, maybe a few years younger than his compatriots said nothing but nodded nervously.

  “Here you go,” said Allen, handing out two more cigarettes and then offering his lighter.

  The three lit up and pumped the cigarettes ferociously as if it were their first in months. Perhaps it was.

  “Nice evening,” commented Allan, making conversation.

  “Bah, too sticky,” muttered the grey beard from which the smoking cigarette protruded. “Cain’t sleep worth shit when it’s too sticky.”

  “It’s better n pissin rain,” the nervous one piped up before giggling to himself for a few seconds then growing quiet and stone faced once again.

  “Is this your usual hangout?” Allan asked.

  “Here, there, everywhere,” muttered the beard, obviously the group’s spokesman. “Whatever,”

  “I was just asking,” Allan explained, pulling a copy of the print from his pocket, “Because I’m looking for a couple of fellows and thought that maybe you might know them.”

  He unfolded the photo and held it out to the beard. “Would you know these guys? I think their names are
Dougie and Bob.”

  The old-timer took the image and held it up to his face, squinting into a grimace as he examined it. “Cain’t say I do. But mebbe I’ll see em round sometime.”

  “Alright, no problem,” Allan shrugged. “They were here yesterday for that big lunch.”

  “Good dogs, Hot dogs,” squealed the nervous one, launching into another run of private giggles.

  “Cain I kip this?” asked grey-beard, holding up the print.

  “What for?” Allan asked. “You don’t even know them.”

  “Juss ain’t got lotsa pittures like this.” The old man muttered, clutching the photo tightly as if it was a prize.

  “Uh, sure, I guess,” Allan replied indifferently. These guys were useless, he wanted to do a little more searching before going home and had a few prints with him anyway. “Well, I’ll be on my way, gentlemen. Have yourself a nice evening.”

  “Too sticky,” the beard muttered again as Allan walked away. “Cain’t sleep worth shit when it’s too sticky.”

  Chapter 18 – Thursday, July 20, 2006

  It was just a little after nine o’clock when Joanne Nelson and Tim Harris turned onto Place Victor-Hugo.

  “This one here,” Joanne pointed to one of the townhouses.

  “And that’s the car in the driveway,” confirmed Tim as he looked at the plate on the BMW Z4. “Nice digs and wheels for someone I couldn’t find any employment info on.”

  “These townhouses go for at least 400K,” Joanne agreed. “This should be an interesting chat.”

  They climbed out of the car and went up the walkway and steps to the front door.

  “Let’s hope she’s home,” Harris commented as he rang the doorbell.

  They only had to wait a moment before a very attractive young woman opened the door. She wore very short, powder-blue Adidas shorts and a short, white tank top. Her shoulder length, dirty blond hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and she was barefoot.

  “Yes?” was all she said as she eyed them warily.

  “Manon D’Astous?” asked Nelson as she held up her identification.

  “Yes,” the woman replied as she studied the ID. “What’s this about?”

  “We would have a few questions for you Mrs. D’Astous,” Joanne informed her. “May we come in?”

  “That would be Ms. D’Astous,” corrected the woman, looking annoyed. “I was going to run shortly. What exactly is this about?”

  “Your name came up recently in an investigation we’re working on,” Harris informed her. “We’d like to ask you a few questions to try to clear this up.”

  “My name came up?” said D’Astous, puzzled. “Very well, come in if you must but I’d appreciate if you did this quickly. I have things to do.”

  She turned and headed down a short hallway and then disappeared to the left, leaving them to close the door. Joanne and Tim exchanged quizzical glances and followed the woman into a comfortable living room.

  “Have a seat, I guess,” D’Astous gestured impatiently towards a leather loveseat while she perched on the edge of a matching recliner.

  “You have a very nice place,” Tim complimented. “May I ask what you do for a living?”

  “Is that pertinent to the investigation you’re working on, Detective..?” D’Astous asked in an icy tone.

  “Senior Detective Tim Harris,” he replied coolly. “And, no, it doesn’t have to do with our investigation.”

  “Then, I suggest you ask the questions you came here for,” she retorted. “You’re already disturbing my schedule.”

  “Very well,” Nelson replied briskly. “Ms. D’Astous, do you train at the Sleek’n’Fit gym downtown?”

  “Yes, I do,” replied the woman. “What is this about?”

  “Do you know Joy Chang?” Joanne continued, ignoring D’Astous’ question.

  “Yes, Joy is my aerobics instructor,” D’Astous answered, annoyed but appearing slightly concerned. “Did something happen to Joy? I saw her only yesterday.”

  “Nothing has happened to Joy,” Harris responded, all business. “Do you recall an incident with Joy in the parking lot of the gym a few months ago?”

  “Incident?” D’Astous asked, perplexed. “What kind of incident?”

  “Think back four or five months,” Harris insisted as they watched her intently.

  “I’ve always gotten along well with Joy,” said the woman, becoming a bit flustered. “We’ve never had any altercation of any kind.”

  “We didn’t say anything about an altercation, Ms. D’Astous,” Joanne corrected. “You can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that happened with Joy in the parking lot about four or five month’s ago?”

  “Let me see,” said D’Astous, putting on an expression that seemed to indicate intense concentration.

  After a moment, her face brightened suddenly and she said, almost cheerfully, “Do you mean when Joy had left her keys in the car?”

  “Yes, that’s what we are referring to,” Nelson said quietly and waited.

  “Well, yes, I uh, I remember that now,” said the woman, seeming uneasy. “But, as you said, that was months ago. What is this all about?”

  “Ms. D’Astous, what else do you remember of that incident?” Harris asked.

  “Well, uh, Joy was concerned, initially anyway, about the keys in the car,” D’Astous started, assuming her ‘concentrated’ look again. “But then she remembered that she had a spare.”

  “Do you remember where she kept this spare key?” Joanne queried.

  “It might have been elsewhere in her purse,” suggested the woman vaguely.

  “Think, Ms. D’Astous,” Harris insisted again.

  “Oh, yes,” D’Astous exclaimed brightly once more. “She had it in a magnetic box of some sort somewhere under the car.”

  “Did you ever remove that spare key from Joy Chang’s car at any time since you learned of its existence?” Tim enquired.

  “Me? Of course not!” D’Astous retorted indignantly. “Why would I do that? I have a car of my own.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone else of that key’s existence and of its location?” Nelson asked.

  “No. What is this?” the woman was becoming flustered again. “Am I being accused of something here? Should I be calling my lawyer?”

  “We’re just asking questions,” Harris replied calmly. “Nobody is accusing you of anything.”

  “Well, it certainly seems that way from where I’m sitting,” D’Astous shot back in anger. “As I told you, I didn’t even remember that ‘incident’ as you called it until you forced me to remember it. Are we about done here because I have other things to do?”

  “Just one more thing,” Tim answered as he pulled an 8 x 10 glossy photo from the leather portfolio he carried. “Have you ever seen this car?”

  He held out the photo to D’Astous who took it and looked it over. “I’ve seen cars like it. The Sebring is a popular vehicle. I suppose this is Joy Chang’s car.”

  “That’s correct,” said Tim as he took the picture back and put it away.

  “Well, if you’re confirming to me that the car is Joy’s,” D’Astous said with a touch of sarcasm, “Then, yes, I have seen that car, as you already know.”

  “Well, we thank you for your time,” Harris said formally as he stood and Nelson followed suit. “And we apologize for disturbing you.”

  “I certainly would appreciate being forewarned in the future,” said the woman with a frosty tone. “You know the way out.”

  They made their way out, both noting the solid click of the deadbolt behind them as soon as the door was closed.

  Once they were back in the car, Joanne commented, “Wasn’t she the uncooperative little bitch?”

  “Bad actress too,” Tim added as he started the car. “She knew what we were asking about from the start with the key but did the big puzzled show before finally remembering.”

  “Definitely something fishy about her,” Nelson agreed. “We’ve got some more d
igging to do. One thing though that I didn’t get.”

  “What’s that?” asked Harris.

  “Why did you want her to identify Joy Chang’s car in that photo?”

  Tim looked up and smiled as he turned onto Notre-Dame.

  “Now, we have her prints.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Chris and Jonathan, a.k.a. Dougie and Bob strolled along Ste-Catherine in the late afternoon sunshine.

  “I’m getting to like this,” Jonathan said with a smile. “Not a care in the world, just hanging around downtown and taking in the sights.”

  “It probably helps that we’re sleeping nights in an air-conditioned penthouse condo with a full bar, food galore, wide-screen TV,” Chris replied. “Need I go on?”

  “Nah, I think you have a point,” Jon nodded.

  He noticed a dollar store they were coming up to and gestured. “I need some gum.”

  “Hope we don’t get kicked out,” Chris quipped.

  “I’ve got money,” Jonathan shot back, shaking the coins in his paper cup.

  They entered the store and were immediately eyed by the Asian man at the cash register behind the counter. However, several customers were waiting to pay and when the man saw that Jon took a pack of gum and got in line, he paid them no mind.

  “Hey, can you move it!” the big, burly man just ahead of Jonathan suddenly bellowed at the cashier. There were four other customers ahead of him.

  The cashier ignored the man and continued dealing with his current client.

  “I’m talking to you, asshole!” the burly man yelled again. “I don’t have all fucking day to buy this shit!”

  “Then don’t buy shit and get out!” the Asian snapped back without even looking up.

  “Listen, you little fucking…” the big man started forward but immediately felt a hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

  He turned around sharply and found himself staring down at a dirty, tattered-looking bum.