The Homeless Killer

by Claude Bouchard

  “Why would you say that?” said Frank.

  “I don’t know. Just you being a cop and all,” Robby shrugged and grinned. “I just wouldn’t want you to do anything to make her stop coming by here.”

  He opened the door and Frank walked into the lobby. Rich, the lobby guard turned out to be Richard Dupuis whom Frank had met a couple of weeks earlier on his visit to verify Bédard’s alibi.

  “Good morning Mr. Dupuis,” said Bakes as he approached the guard. “I don’t know if you remember me.”

  Dupuis squinted at Frank for a couple of seconds and smiled in recognition. “Sure Detective, uh…”

  “Bakes. You can call me Frank.”

  “Sure, Frank,” said Dupuis. “You were here about Mr. Bédard the other week. What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping that you might help me identify this woman,” Frank told him as he held out the photo of D’Astous.

  The guard looked at the photo and immediately smiled. “We call her Missy.”

  “Do you know what her real name is?” asked the detective.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Frank,” replied Dupuis, shaking his head.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Bakes enquired.

  “I really don’t know her name,” the guard shrugged.

  “It seems to me that the quality security personnel in a classy place like this would want to know who is coming in and out of the building,” insisted Frank. “Don’t you announce visitors that arrive?”

  “Look, Frank,” said Dupuis, lowering his voice. “The first few times that I saw her, she came in with people who live here. That still happens sometimes like they’re coming back from dinner somewhere or something. The first time she showed up alone, I recognized her, I mean, who wouldn’t. She told me who she was visiting but didn’t say her name. I called up and announced her arrival and was told to send her up. It’s been like that since with me and the other guys.”

  “Who does she visit, Rich?” asked Frank.

  “Different people,” the guard replied.

  “Different people?” Bakes repeated.

  “Quite a few different people,” Dupuis lowered his tone.

  “Can you give me any names?” Frank asked, knowing he was pushing his luck.

  “No can do, Detective,” Rich shook his head again. “I could bullshit you and say I don’t remember who, which is what I’ll do if you go official on me. The people who live here count on our discretion and I won’t be able to find a job anywhere if I break that rule. I’m playing straight with you, Frank. I’ve already told you more than I should have.”

  Bakes looked at the guard for a moment but knew that the man was right. Bullying him in any way wouldn’t get him anywhere and one never knew when Dupuis might be needed in the future.

  “Don’t worry, Rich,” he said. “I won’t go official on you and really, we never had this conversation.”

  “I appreciate that, Detective,” Dupuis replied, looking obviously relieved. “Any time I can sort of help you in the future, feel free.”

  “Thanks, Rich,” said Frank as he headed for the exit. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was past ten o’clock when Allan wandered into Phillips Square, once again looking like the casual tourist out on a stroll. He knew that he was taking risks with his nearly nightly walks of prey, that the more he was out here, the better the chance that somebody might identify him. But his search for those two idiots, Dougie and Bob, had become somewhat of an obsession and he had to find them. How dare they taunt him so, challenging him, in a sense, as if they were invincible to him? He would find them and prove to them how wrong they were.

  In some way, they had actually helped all the other homeless morons out there because since he had started hunting them, his urge to kill just any of these useless beings had ebbed. He now had specific targets in mind and until he found them and taught them their lesson, all the others were safe. Well there had been those three on Saturday but that had not been planned.

  He had lost control on Saturday, made a stupid mistake which could have cost him dearly with so many witnesses around. Fortunately for him, those witnesses were also winos and addicts and lunatics, so it appeared to date that the police weren’t any closer to catching him. Fate had given him a chance and he vowed to be much more careful in the future.

  As he circled towards the south end of the square, he sensed more than heard someone approaching from behind.

  “Hey cig’rette man!” he heard as he turned and saw the grey-bearded drunk plodding towards him. “Howsit going?”

  “Uh, fine,” Allan said uncomfortably. He had no time to waste with this fool and wasn’t keen on the fact that the man remembered him. “I’m sorry but I was just on my way. No time to chat.”

  He started to walk away but the drunk’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “I seen yur buddies!” grey-beard slurred with excitement. “I seen em right here least a coupla times!”

  “You did?” said Allan, moving back closer to the old man.

  “Sure did,” the drunk proudly replied. “Gotta cigarette?”

  “In fact, I do,” said Allan. “Why don’t we sit on that bench there and you can tell me about my buddies while we have a smoke?”

  He headed for the bench, nearly lost in the darkness under some trees, while the old man obligingly followed. Once both were seated, he offered the drunk a cigarette and lit it for him.

  “Now, tell me,” Allan asked. “When did you see my buddies?”

  “Lemme see,” grey-beard thought hard as he scratched his Montreal Expos cap. “Mebbe today or yesserday, and before too.”

  “And you saw them here?” enquired Allan.

  “Right here inna square,” the drunk confirmed.

  “So you’re telling me they come here often and regularly?” Allan pushed.

  “Offen n regrularly,” the Expos cap bobbed up and down. “N I showed em the pitture n I tole em ya was lookin for em.”

  “You what?” Allan said quietly as his eyes bore into the man. “What did you tell them that for?”

  “I dunno,” the drunk shrugged and pumped on his cigarette. “Juss like that.”

  “I see,” Allan replied reaching into his vest pocket as he scanned the area to ensure no one was close by. “Just like that.”

  “Juss like that,” the drunk nodded, looking around at the dark trees above him.

  “Well, how about just like this?” Allan said calmly as he turned towards the drunk, pressed his .22 firmly into his side and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 23 – Wednesday, July 26, 2006

  Weather permitting, David Morissette had a pre-work routine which had become engraved in stone over the years. After exiting from the McGill Metro into the Eaton Centre, he’d join the early morning line-up at Mmmuffins to purchase his caffeine fix, a large, double-mocha latte with an orange-cranberry muffin then make his way to the Ste-Catherine Street exit. Once outside, it was two blocks east to Union where he’d cross to Phillips Square. There he would settle down, usually at the same park bench if it was available, and enjoy his breakfast accompanied by whatever paperback he happened to be reading at the time.

  On this particular morning, David was disappointed to note that his usual bench was occupied by an obvious wino. David was somewhat set in his ways but not to the extent of spending the next hour sharing the park bench with a passed out, probably smelly drunk.

  Resigned to his fate, he headed towards the bench past the one where the wino slouched. As he approached he examined the bum out of the corner of his eye. His posture was strange, unnatural. He didn’t seem like someone sleeping comfortably even though he was completely motionless.

  Curiosity getting the best of him, David slowed his pace then stopped some ten feet away, directly in front of the old man. No, the drunk was not moving at all. Getting an odd sense that something was wrong with the man, David approached slowly, pausing between steps.
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  “Hey mister,” he called out softly. “Are you ok?”

  Getting no response from the man, not even the slightest mumble, snore or stirring, David willed himself to step closer still.

  “Hey buddy,” he said louder from just a step or two away. Nothing.

  He took a final step and reached over towards the man. Stopping for a moment, he took a deep breath, placed his hand on the drunk’s shoulder and shook him a bit.

  In response, the drunk toppled over to one side then tumbled to the ground face down, limbs askew, still motionless.

  “Holy shit!” gasped David as he backed away, not even realizing that he had dropped his muffin and coffee.

  With trembling hands, he fumbled for his cell phone and dialled 911.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “This bastard is starting to get on my nerves,” McCall muttered as he slipped under the yellow tape.

  “And we can safely assume it’s him,” replied Frank as they headed towards the activity around the body. “Victim had the same photo of Dougie and Bob on him.”

  “Who found the body?” Dave asked wearily, watching the crime scene techs as they scoured the area around the bench.

  “Gentleman by the name of David Morissette,” Bakes replied as he consulted his notes. “Works as a recruiter right in that building for Champlain Personnel Services. He has a morning ritual of breakfast and a bestseller, usually right here on this bench. Came up this morning and found the dead guy.”

  “What do we have so far?” the captain enquired as he lifted the tarp covering the dead man to have a look. “Has the M.E. been here?”

  “Yeah, Tony’s already had a look at the body. They should be taking it away any minute now,” said Frank. “Gunshot, close range, like the barrel was pressed against the guy. Powder burns on his clothes and skin. Small calibre, probably a .22 but no shells this time. Tony thinks there probably were two or more shots based on the entry wound.”

  “How do you shoot someone right downtown, out in the open without anybody hearing a thing?” said the frustrated captain.

  “Come on, Dave,” reasoned Bakes. “This happened late on a Tuesday night so probably not too many people were around. Press a .22 semi-automatic up against a guy wearing a lumber jacket like this guy has on and pop it a couple of times, you’re not going to get sonic booms.”

  “I know that,” McCall said dryly. “I’m just pissed off, that’s all.”

  “Hey, you,” a voiced called suddenly from behind them.

  They turned to see two bums standing in the square, just beyond the tape, looking towards them.

  “Yeah, you,” one called to Dave and Frank. “C’mere. Wha’s goin on?”

  “Let’s see what they want,” the captain said, his tone serious while his detective suppressed a grin.

  As they approached the two vagrants, Dave called out, “This is police business, gentlemen. Stay behind that tape.”

  “Genlamen,” the second bum giggled and poked his buddy in the arm.

  “Tha’s us. Genlamen,” the first one laughed back as he attempted to assume a gentlemanly posture.

  “Alright, guys. There’s not much for you to see here,” McCall announced in a loud, commanding tone as they came up to the bums.

  “Nice suit, Dave,” the first bum, Dougie, said in a low voice.

  I’m heading to Lévesque’s funeral at ten,” McCall replied with a slight smile. “What’s up?”

  “We happened to get here just before the first cops arrived,” said Dougie. “Your victim is the guy who had told us that the killer was looking for us.”

  “So, what’s he planning to do,” murmured Dave. “Kill everyone he’s talked to?”

  “Couldn’t tell you,” Bob replied. “It’s possible if he’s breaking down but I think that’s stretching it. I’m thinking that they simply ran into each other and the old guy pissed him off.”

  “Either way,” said Dougie, “He’s starting to fall apart. His fuse is getting real short and he’s getting trigger happy.”

  “Alright, let me know if you find anything,” said the captain then raised his voice. “So come on, guys. Get a move on. Nothing for you here.”

  “Issa free country, stupid cop!” Bob called out angrily for the benefit of other onlookers before the two of them staggered away.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Pierre Lévesque had been a hard working and popular politician as well as a friendly, likable man. Consequently, he had developed a rather large network of friends, colleagues and acquaintances in both social and business circles and, as one would expect, in the municipal, provincial and federal political arenas as well.

  His spouse, Christiane, had decided, according to Lévesque’s wishes and her own preferences, to get the formalities and ceremonies relating to his death over and done with as quickly as possible so that she and their families could grieve in peace. To this effect, only a few simple phone calls had been required to organize a private viewing for family and close friends on the Tuesday followed by this day’s more grandiose service.

  Although Christiane would have preferred a private service as well, family, friends and close colleagues of Pierre had convinced her that he deserved to be well remembered, just as all those who held him in endearment deserved a chance to bid him farewell. Upon Montreal Mayor Gérard Séguin’s suggestion, Montreal’s historic Notre-Dame Basilica, originally built between 1672 and 1683, had been chosen as the location for the service and the mayor had personally seen to making the necessary short-notice arrangements.

  Traffic was a mess when Dave arrived at the Basilica and he was pleased that he had accepted Director Savard’s offer to ride with him with the director’s driver.

  They left the car, made their way through the crowd waiting to get in through the central entrance for available public seating and headed to a much less crowded entrance identified for VIPs. Within moments, they were inside and seated within the cordoned reserved section closest to the apse.

  The basilica had a seating capacity of 2,700 and Dave estimated that it was already more than half-full with people still streaming in.

  “Quite a turn-out,” he murmured to Savard.

  “Pierre was quite a popular man,” replied Savard.

  He offered a small smile and quietly added, “I haven’t been putting pressure on you just because I’m a pain in the ass. I’ve been getting my fair share of pressure to get to the bottom of Lévesque’s case, just so you know.”

  McCall smiled and nodded. He liked Savard and did not envy the man’s position. He personally had decided not to climb higher in the hierarchy as he hated the politics that accompanied the top positions.

  As he waited for the ceremony to start, he looked around the reserved area and noted a number of familiar faces. There were high level business executives whom he recognized from newspaper and magazine articles. A few entertainment celebrities were scattered here or there and of course, a number of political honchos were present. In the front row to one side were the provincial premier, his spouse and Mayor Séguin, similarly accompanied. He also obviously recognized Borough Mayor Bernard Laforge as well as his new Deputy-Mayor Jacques Bédard, seated next to a familiar looking woman, no doubt Mrs. Bédard.

  The first amplified notes of a classical guitar rendition of The long and winding road, Lévesque had been a Beatles fan, filled the great room and brought the murmuring crowd to a hushed silence. Pierre Lévesque’s final celebration with family and friends had begun.

  Chapter 24 – Thursday, July 27, 2006

  It was 2:43 a.m. when Dave McCall awoke with a start and sat up abruptly in bed.

  “Holy shit,” he exclaimed as his mind cleared but the realization which had woken him remained.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Cathy asked drowsily and she rolled over towards him.

  “Nothing or maybe something big, I don’t know yet,” he whispered to her then kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

  He climbed out of
bed and headed into the bathroom. Ten minutes later he returned to the bedroom, showered and shaved, and started getting dressed.

  “Where’re you going? What time is it?” Cathy murmured dreamily.

  “I have to go to work, baby,” he whispered soothingly. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

  As she started softly snoring, he kissed her again, finished getting ready and headed for the garage.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The ringing persisted as Frank Bakes tried to escape it. As he awoke, he realized it was the phone and fumbled for the receiver.

  “Hello?” he mumbled as he looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. 3:27.

  “Frank, sorry to wake you,” said Dave, his voice excited. “I need you to get down here as soon as possible.”

  “What’s up?” Bakes asked, becoming quickly alert.

  “I’ll explain when you get here,” replied McCall. “I’ve got to call Joanne and Tim. See you soon.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Tim Harris, the last one to arrive, had strolled into the conference at 4:07 in the morning. It was now 4:19 as McCall wrapped up the meeting and summarized the plan.

  “So, Frank and I are going to Bédard’s place,” said the captain. “I want to get there before five because, as I learned a couple of weeks ago, he trains at that time, at least some mornings. Jo and Tim, you head for D’Astous’ place and wait for my call. All set?”

  The three detectives nodded in assent.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Robby the doorman’s look was one of recognition and surprise as he saw Frank Bakes pull up in front of Le 1200 Ouest de Maisonneuve and climb out of the car accompanied by another man at 4:42 in the morning.

  “Morning, Robby,” Bakes nodded as the man held the door for them.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” Robby replied, eyeing them curiously.