The K Handshape

by Maureen Jennings

  Katherine frowned. “So we have nothing to put Taylor in the area of Deidre’s apartment?”

  “None.”

  “I’ll pass that along to Ed. Maybe he can have Mr. Torres re-interviewed. Anything else?”

  “Just that Ed expected to have information on the exit and entrance vehicle licence plates later today.”

  “Fantastic. We’ll break for now. Thank you everybody.”

  I’d brought my lunch upstairs so I could do a bit more work on my test case but I’d barely opened up the CD when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,”

  Leo entered. “Hi, Chris. Sorry to bother you, although that’s all I seem to be doing these days. I’ve got some news I wanted to share.”

  “Sure. No bother. Have a seat.”

  I dragged forward my only guest chair. The offices were tiny, as I told you. He didn’t sit down but stood near the door as if he might have to make a dash for it at any minute. His alarm monitor was on overdrive.

  “I’ve just been in with Katherine and she told me that they can’t find Sigmund.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. Ed Chaffey phoned the bank where Sig works and they said he’d called in sick. They got hold of Trudy but as far as she knew he had gone to a special seminar on investing that the bank was holding. The bank says there is no such seminar. Of course, she’s in a complete state now and is convinced he’s been murdered as well. She left a message with Janice that she’s coming to Orillia and she’ll meet me at my condo in…,” he checked his wristwatch, “an hour from now.” He stared at me. “My God, Chris, what’s he playing at?”

  “I don’t know, Leo. There might be a perfectly simple explanation. You said his mother is a control freak. Maybe he’s gone fishing and doesn’t want her to know.”

  “Fishing? Oh right. I see what you mean. She’s got radar like a bat and if you wanted to do anything she didn’t approve of, which was a lot of things, you had to get pretty sneaky about it. And I have the sense that my poor son has learned to be very sneaky indeed.”

  “What’s Ed have to say?”

  “He’s got out an alert to all patrols. He’s been gone for several hours though and if he is for whatever reason doing a bunk he could be across the border by now.”

  He glanced up at my Paddington Station clock that I had on the wall.

  “Shoot, I’d better go and get ready to meet Trudy.” He gave me a rueful grin. “Of my two wives, I’d deal with Loretta any time. She can be overwhelming if she’s got a bee in her bonnet or a cause of some kind to fight for but at least she’s straightforward. We like each other, actually; we just shouldn’t have got married. Trudy on the other hand is like dealing with a feather pillow with teeth. You think you’re grabbing something all soft and squishy and you suddenly find yourself with a bite mark on your hand. A deep one, I might add.”

  At that moment, my desk phone rang. Leo waved and mouthed, “I’ll see you later,” and left. I answered the phone. It was Ed Chaffey.

  “Chris, we’ve got Zachary Taylor in custody.”

  “Fantastic! Where was he?”

  “At the post office. I’d alerted the clerk there to let us know if he came in and sure enough he did. I had an officer there within two minutes.”

  “How is our man?”

  “Not sure. He’s stone deaf and it’s impossible to communicate with him. Apparently McCloskey had to write out that he wanted him to come to the police station to answer some questions. I’ve been in touch with the social worker at the language centre, a Mrs. Scott, and she has agreed to come and interpret. I was hoping we could have the use of your services as well.”

  I almost leaped out of my chair. “I’ll be over right away. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  The interview room at the station was bare and functional with a table, a telephone, four hard chairs. Ed ushered me in. Mrs. Scott, who had met us in the station lobby, followed behind. A female constable was sitting opposite Zachary Taylor, who actually had his head on the table like a kid in school having nap time. He didn’t stir when we came in.

  “What’s happening, Molly?” asked Ed.

  “Nothing, sir. He put his head down and fell asleep about ten minutes ago.”

  I had a chance to study Taylor. He hadn’t removed his red-checked hunting jacket or wool toque and the long fair hair that straggled from beneath it looked unwashed. He was unshaven and there was a strong smell of cigarettes in the room with a top note of sweat and dirty clothes. Except that he looked so young and vulnerable, if you met Zachary Taylor standing on the street, you might expect him to ask for spare change.

  “Chris, I’m going to go into the video room with Molly and let you do the interview. We don’t want to be accused of intimidating the guy. We’ll need you, though, Mrs. Scott. Where to you want to sit?”

  “I’ll sit beside Miss Morris.”

  Ed and the constable left. A moment later, Molly’s voice blasted over the intercom.

  “Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”

  “It isn’t us who’re deaf,” remarked Mrs. Scott.

  “Lower the volume a touch, will you?” I replied, talking at the back wall where the video cam was located in an inconspicuous aperture. “Am I coming in clearly?”

  “Fine.” This was Ed. “We’re all set here. Let’s get going, shall we?”

  Zach kept on sleeping.

  “Will do. Mrs. Scott, will you wake him up?”

  She reached over and touched Zach’s hand. He was awake immediately, staring at the two of us with fear. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in a long time. However, even looking like he did, there was no mistaking his resemblance to the child he had fathered, little Joy Larsen.

  He made an unintelligible sound and Mrs. Scott immediately signed something at him.

  He answered in kind.

  “He wants to know why you’ve brought him to the police station.”

  “Tell him we want to ask him some questions…” I stopped, suddenly realizing I wasn’t sure if he knew that Deidre was dead. Unless he was her murderer, of course.

  “If you carry on speaking,” said Mrs. Scott, “I’ll interpret as we go.”

  “We understand you are a friend of Deidre Larsen.”

  He made a knocking motion with his clenched hand. “Yes,” said Mrs. Scott. “Why do you ask?” He looked alarmed. “Has something happened to her?”

  Good acting, psychopathic dissociation, or real concern, I didn’t quite know.

  “When did you see her last, Zachary?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, about a month ago, I think. You’re scaring me. Please tell me why I’m here and why you are asking these questions.”

  His gestures were large and frantic and it was odd to hear Mrs. Scott interpreting them in a cool, calm voice. “Has she made a complaint against me?”

  “No, why would she?”

  “No reason, it’s just that…” He dropped his hands and Mrs. Scott stopped speaking.

  “It’s just that, what?”

  “She can get mad about things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “She didn’t like it if I tried to see her uninvited.”

  “In what way did you try to see her?”

  “I went to her old apartment to try to find her. I guess she doesn’t live there anymore. She was just subletting anyway. I probably scared the wits out of the poor old lady who’s there now. Is that it? Has the old lady made a complaint?”

  “No, she hasn’t.”

  Zach’s eyes were fixed on Mrs. Scott and he signed rapidly, punctuating his gestures with grunts and half-pronounced words.

  “Did Dee make a complaint about that? I just wanted to talk to her and maybe she thinks that’s pushing her boundaries. I didn’t mean to scare the lady. I wanted to talk to Deedee. I didn’t know she’d moved.”

  “What did you want to talk to her about?”

  Zach shifted his gaze and scowled at m
e.

  “Do I have to answer that? It’s my business,” said Mrs. Scott.

  “I cannot force you to answer any questions, this is simply an interview, but it would help us with our enquiries if you would tell us more about your relationship with Deidre.”

  “What enquiries?”

  I groaned to myself. We hadn’t charged him with anything and couldn’t at the moment. He didn’t have to say a thing. In spite of myself, even knowing how deceptive some killers could be, I liked him. There was an intelligence in his eyes, not at all the same as the cunning I’ve seen in the eyes of psychopaths. Once I was interviewed for one of the Toronto news channels when there was a uproar about yet another vicious murder. “Can you tell who is a murderer?” the interviewer had gasped at me. “If so, how?” “It’s all in the mouth,” I replied. “Psychopaths seem to have full lips pinched at the side.” I was younger then and hadn’t learned to pick my words carefully for the media. The interviewer had a field day with that quote. “How very scientific,” she said. “I know a lot of people that description would apply to.” I’d been teased unmercifully at the station. I should have got them to flash a sign on the screen, Do not attempt to do this on your own, consult a professional. However, I stick by what I said. It is in the mouth. And forget all that crap about psychopaths being charming. If you spend much time in their company you can see easily how superficial that charm really is. The icy thermocline is only inches below the surface.

  I realized Zach was watching me intently. I had to tell the truth. However, I had the feeling it was not going to be easy.

  “Zachary, I’m very sorry to tell you that Deidre Larsen is dead.”

  Mrs. Scott signed and I saw his face turn white. A strange sound came from his throat, very similar to the one that Joy had made.

  “How? What happened?”

  “Her body was found in the lake early Wednesday morning.”

  “Not suicide? She wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “No. She was murdered.”

  He dropped his hands to his lap, put back his head, and howled, a deep primitive cry that pierced to the heart. Mrs. Scott waved, trying to get his attention. Finally he lifted his hand and his fingers frantically shaped a sign I now knew.

  “No! No! No!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  It wasn’t possible to go any further with Zachary Taylor. He was completely distraught, refused to pay attention anymore, and sat with his head in his hands, moaning.

  “He probably has questions himself that he wants answering,” I said. “Ask him if that’s the case.”

  She did but he didn’t seem to take it in and ending up waving her hands away as if they were irritating insects. Ed and the constable came back into the room, and at his request, Mrs. Scott tried to communicate to Zach that we did have to question him again at a later date and he mustn’t leave town.

  He refused to look at anybody and we decided to leave him alone. Ed made sure there was a constable assigned to keep an eye on him and we left him in the interview room with Mrs. Scott, who was valiantly persisting with her efforts.

  Ed closed the door behind us.

  “While you’re here, why don’t you come and meet Tiffany Nowland? She’s got some printouts on the licence plates. Do you want a coffee?”

  “Machine?”

  “No, I wouldn’t dare. There’s a kitchenette at the end of the hall. There’ll probably be a pot of more or less fresh coffee on the burner.”

  Like hundreds of offices around the country, socializing occurred in the kitchen nook where both officers and civilians, as we call them, were taking a break. I don’t know who had ultimate responsibility for keeping the coffee on the go but this pot was good, hot and fresh. The three other constables eyed me curiously but Ed didn’t stop for introductions and, coffee in hand, I trotted after him down the hall to the central area, which like ours was divided into cubicles.

  Tiffany Nowland was sitting at her computer station, staring at the screen. She was young, a bit on the plump side, and bespectacled in smart narrow trendy glasses. In the current fashion she wore a cardigan over a lacy camisole which revealed just enough cleavage to make the guys distracted. She made me feel a tad old and staid.

  Ed introduced us and she thrust out her hand. “Glad to meet you, Ms. Morris. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  That’s always an awkward remark to handle. What’s the comeback? All good, I hope? From whom? I let it ride and returned her handshake.

  Ed tapped my arm. “I’m going to leave you in Tiff’s capable hands. I’ve got some urgent paperwork I must do. I’ll be in my office when you’re done.”

  Tiffany reached for a file folder in a lower drawer and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes strayed downward as he left.

  “I’ve studied the case notes to date and I have arranged the lists in as logical an order as I could in accordance with the information as I have been g-given it.” She had a rapid delivery that made her occasionally stumble over her words. She swivelled in her chair and handed me the first printout from the thick file.

  “I’ve tried to make things easier by making rainbow printouts. Each piece of information is on a different coloured sheet. First, the white sheet. These are times relating to cars only. So, we have our subject, a Deidre Larsen, entering the premises at 7:35. We don’t have her exiting but I understand that is because her car had a flat tire and she found some alternative method of leaving. Correct so far?”

  She peered at me over the top of her glasses.

  “That’s the way it’s looking at the moment.”

  “Good. She was clocked exiting the building at 10:43 p.m. I allowed for between six and seven minutes for her to get to her car and discover the flat tire. I’ve given her another six minutes to have some kind of interface with a person or persons as yet unknown with whom she accepted a ride. It could have been less time than that, so to play it safe, I’m making the departure from the lower end of the lot 10:50 p.m., and from the upper end, say, 11:10 p.m. Now it is possible that she sat in somebody’s car for an undetermined length of time and could have left after our 11:10 parameter but I am going on information I received that she was trying to get to Memorial Park by eleven and would have wanted to leave as soon as possible. I am correct about that, am I not?”

  “You are correct.”

  There was something about Miss Nowland, young as she was, which made me speak in complete sentences.

  “Obviously, I can pull up a lot more information but I thought it would be easier in the beginning to proceed as logically as we can. There was a concert that night and we’re looking at more than three thousand cars so the more we pare it down the better. Are you with me so far?”

  I nodded. She reminded me of David but she was nicer.

  “Good. Now, if you look at that blue spreadsheet, you can see I’ve organized it into columns. The first one on the left gives the time of exits from the lot between 10:50 and 11:10. Next column is the make of car, colour, year, and licence number; next the address, name of registrant for all of the said vehicles. The fourth column is the time that the car entered the lot. In brackets, I’ve put how long they stayed in the casino. I thought that might be helpful. The last column indicates any infractions such as unpaid parking tickets or fines that have been registered to that particular vehicle. I highlighted those in yellow for easier viewing. Of the seventy-five cars that exited during the designated time period, four had infractions, all in the form of unpaid parking tickets, except for one, a Mr. Adams, who is driving with his licence suspended.” Another pause for me to catch my breath. Miss Nowland was indeed awesome. “It might not be relevant to our enquiry but I’ve passed that information on to the duty sergeant.”

  “That’s good thinking.”

  She handed me a green printout. “Just working with these numbers alone I ran as many permutations and combinations as I could think of. This sheet puts the vehicles in order according to colour; you never know, if we get
a sighting on red cars, for instance, this is helpful. I can arrange them in any other order as you require. Year and make of car, that sort of thing.”

  I nodded in admiration. “Can you pull up any camper vans? Blue and white, older model?”

  She swivelled around to her computer, tapped at warp speed. “I’ve got one here but it’s silver, last year’s model, and it exited at 9:36. Any good?”

  “Probably not. But I’ll get back to you if necessary.”

  She took another printout from her folder. “This sheet lists according to registered address starting with all those local to Orillia. That is to say, all those highlighted in blue are registered locally, brown indicates the surrounding areas within comfortable driving distance, red is other. By that I mean still Ontario but farther away. Black is out of province.”

  She gave me another sheet, violet in colour. “These are arranged in order of elapsed time in the casino with shortest time first.” She beamed at me. “You never know what might be important, do you?”

  I could only agree. I did a quick glance down the column. Not surprisingly, Sigmund was at the top. He’d been driving a red 2004 Mazda Miata six-cylinder. Nice car — expensive. He was clocked in at 8:11 and he exited at 8:47. That was quite consistent with his story and what we’d seen on the videotape. The conversation with Deidre hadn’t lasted long and he’d gone straight out of the building. The person at the bottom of the list, a Cal Shreyer, had stayed in the casino for sixteen hours!

  “This is sheet four, beige. As I understand it, the time of death for our victim may have been as late as 2:00 a.m. Subtract half an hour of driving distance from the casino to Memorial Park, work backwards, and you have exit times from 10:45, which is tight, to 1:30 a.m.” She pursed her lips. “This last time would have our victim sitting in a car for at least four hours. Given the public nature of the parking lot, I thought it was not likely that she was killed while she was on casino premises but I suppose we cannot totally rule that out, can we?”

  I considered it. The struggle with Deidre could have been short and violent, but as Tiffany said, the risk of being seen was a high one. Nevertheless, we’d have to cast a wide net in our call for witnesses. I said as much.