“Too bad you already ruled her out as a potential suspect.”
“We never ruled out anyone.”
“No, you just tried to give me the impression that you had.”
“So what if I did? I already told you I didn’t want you sniffing around my case.”
“Well, I’m not letting this one go. Which is why I went ahead and saved you the trouble of having to track this lady down,” I said, pointing at Wendy in one of the photos. “Turns out she’s got quite an interesting story.”
“Goddamn it, Jed. Start talking.”
“Quid pro quo, Detective.”
Rya glared scornfully. “Fine,” she said. “I suppose you’d like me to go first.”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“The print on the racquetball.”
“Ran it through CCRTIS. No hits.”
“How about Johnny’s autopsy?”
“It was performed this morning.”
“I want a copy of the report.”
“Can’t do it.”
I tapped my index finger on the photos. “Then good luck finding out where these came from.”
“Hold on. I said I couldn’t get you a copy of the report. But I can tell you exactly what’s on it.”
“Good enough.”
“Official cause of death was a deep knife wound to the throat. No surprise there. Slash severed his carotid artery. Mamba was probably already dead before he was dragged over to the Porta-Potty.”
I tried to imagine what must have gone through Johnny’s mind while he bled out. I wondered if he had discovered that Ginger had died. I hoped for his sake he didn’t.
“Were you aware that ‘Johnny Mamba’ was your friend’s real name? He had it legally changed and everything.”
“Yeah, I know. We were at wrestling boot camp in Calgary together when he came up with the snake gimmick. He wanted to be a hardcore version of his childhood hero, Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts. Johnny was pretty psyched. I drove him to the Vital Statistics office.”
“I don’t know what it is with you wrestling people. Can’t you just show some respect and be grateful for the name your parents gave you?”
“Rya?”
“What?”
“Can we get back to the report?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “My apologies, Mr. Hammerhead.” I sighed. Rya scooped up some shredded pork with a French fry.
“Body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between seven-thirty and nine o’clock, which fits with your timeline of events.”
“Toxicology?”
“Negative. There were no traces of narcotics in his system and his blood alcohol level was zero.”
“Any evidence of previous drug use? Cocaine? Steroids?”
“Nope. Not recently, anyway. The Coroner even mentioned that he appeared to have been living a very healthy lifestyle.”
That was mildly comforting. I’d never known Johnny to have ever had any issues with substance abuse, but I’d also known people in the business over the years who were awfully good at hiding some pretty addictive habits. Pro-wrestling promotions often had their own narcotics hookups — both performance enhancing and recreational — and with a guy like Bert Grasby at the helm, I wouldn’t expect XCCW to be any different. It also meant that the chance of Ginger’s kidnapping being used as some kind of cover for a drug-related murder was pretty slim.
“Okay, Ounstead. Time for some pro quo.”
“Hold on. What about Johnny’s mobile? Did you trace the call that came in from the kidnapper?”
“Dead end. We figure it was a burner.”
“Was the snake examined?”
“Yes, the silver in its teeth was just aluminum foil.”
“Then how did it die?”
“Who cares? It was examined for evidence. There was none.”
“What happens to Ginger now?”
“Enough questions, Jed. I’ve been more than generous. Your turn.”
“Last question, Rya, I swear. I just want to know what happens to the snake.”
“The SPCA disposes of it.”
“When?”
“Whenever they pick the damn thing up from the morgue.”
Maybe I was getting sidetracked, but that scrap of aluminum foil in Ginger’s teeth was bothering me. I reminded myself that just because Johnny fawned over the reptile it didn’t mean that the kidnapper would have. They could have kept Ginger locked up in a pantry for all I knew.
“That pistol-whipping is becoming more enticing by the second,” Rya said.
I pushed my thoughts aside and filled her in on my interview with Stormy and her hiring of another private investigator. Without mentioning Melvin’s name, I explained that I convinced the PI to give me copies of the photos and how I used them to track down Wendy Steffen. Rya was clearly irritated that I had beaten her to a potential witness. I gave her Wendy’s contact information and reminded her that nothing I had done was damaging to her case.
“You left out the PI’s name,” Rya said.
“Don’t worry, it’ll come to me,” I replied, knowing full well that I wasn’t ready to give up my last bargaining chip just yet.
Rya stood up and grabbed a cardboard sleeve for her latte. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a lift back to the precinct if you tell me the name of the PI when we get there.”
“What’s your plan? To bribe me with donuts?”
“Actually, I thought you might like to hang around the cop shop for a while.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because an arrest warrant was issued for Stormy Daze one hour ago. She’s being brought in as we speak.”
SEVENTEEN
The traffic light turned yellow. Rya blipped the siren and flashed the reds and blues on the Crown Vic’s rear-view mirror and visors as we zoomed through the intersection.
“What do you have on Stormy?” I asked.
“Not much. The ITO was a little thin.”
An ITO, or Information to Obtain a Search Warrant, is a police compilation of all the information regarding a case and its relevance to the location they wish to search.
“How’d you get the Justice of the Peace to sign off on it?”
Rya smirked. “Rumour is he’s a pro-wrestling fan.”
“You know, they’re never who you expect,” I replied. “I once got asked for an autograph at the Toronto Symphony.”
“You went to the symphony?”
“Is it so hard to believe that I’m a little cultured?” Rya’s eyebrows jerked upward like they were on fishhooks. “It was a special Music of Star Wars concert, okay? The guy who plays C-3PO was there as a special guest. I got my picture taken with him and everything.” Rya smiled softly, although I couldn’t tell if it was because she thought I was cute or a dork.
“There still had to be enough circumstantial evidence to issue the warrant,” I said.
“There is. Her alibi is bullshit.”
“No spin class?”
“Stormy had a friend at Fitness World doctor the logs to make it look like she swiped her gym card around the same time Mamba was killed. We also have the testimony of her neighbour, who was getting ready to take out the trash when he witnessed Stormy shrieking at Mamba in the hallway outside of her condo. The nosey bastard watched the entire thing through his peephole.”
“What were they fighting about?”
“The neighbour only got bits and pieces. But he swears he heard Stormy threaten Mamba’s life right before he got in the elevator and left. Two weeks later he was dead.”
Johnny had probably gone to t
alk to Stormy about the altercation at the restaurant. But instead of resolving things with his ex he wound up receiving another death threat. I held up the envelope containing Melvin’s photographs. “So these pictures — ”
“Are a crucial piece of evidence,” Rya said, cutting me off. “They give us a clear motive, and along with the testimony of Wendy Steffen, will be a lynchpin in the Crown Counsel’s case.”
“Can’t you just submit the pix without knowing where they came from?” I asked.
“We can, but unless we are able to locate and identify the source it’s unlikely they would carry much weight in court. The defense would simply argue that the photos are hearsay evidence. That’s why I need you to honour our deal, Jed. I don’t want run this upstairs only to have you screw me over later.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well . . . not without at least buying you dinner first.”
Rya cranked the wheel, turning off Cambie Street into the underground parkade at VPD Headquarters. Things seemed to be lining up nicely for Rya and her case, and all signs clearly pointed to Stormy as Johnny’s killer. But I wasn’t sold just yet. Instead, a single question kept kicking around the inside of my head — why kidnap the snake? As a smokescreen perhaps? A way to divert suspicion from the pre-meditated murder of a lover? If that was her intent, then why do it so soon after the incident at the restaurant? Stormy had to at least be smart enough to realize that publicly threatening the life of one’s intended victim just weeks before their murder would be a surefire way to get your name to the top of the suspect list. I tried to point this out to Rya but she paid it no mind, instead saying something about how such stupidity was often seen in crimes of passion.
Maybe she was right. Maybe Stormy just wanted to hurt Johnny in the worst way possible and saw the snake as her ticket. I suppose the thing that gnawed at me the most was that Johnny had withheld his deteriorating relationship with Stormy from me when we met. I even asked him point blank if there was anyone who would have had motive to hurt him but he drew a blank. Which meant Johnny had either lied to me or he truly didn’t believe that Stormy was capable of kidnapping Ginger.
As I followed Rya through VPD headquarters toward the Homicide Squad bullpen, I felt a white-hot spark of anger ignite within as I considered the ramifications of Stormy Daze actually being the person responsible for Johnny’s death. If it were true, then she was already in police custody, which meant any chance of me getting my hands on her first was gone. I felt a slow burn inside at the thought of being denied a chance to confront the murderer myself. Until now I had been content to compartmentalize my feelings and focus on the investigation. But if Stormy really was guilty, then it was all over. All I could do was wait for the lawyers to do their morally ambiguous tap dance and hope that the traditionally lenient Canadian criminal justice system delivered a verdict that was just.
Rya took Melvin’s photos and went to find her boss. She instructed me to wait at her desk where I proceeded to engage in some subtle snooping. Her desktop was bare save for a stack of files, a password protected computer, and a framed five-by-seven photo of her and my father at his retirement party. In the picture they were wearing party hats and smiles, yet I could see a hint of sadness in both of their expressions.
Upon her promotion to the Homicide Squad, Rya was partnered with my pop and the two spent six years together working high profile murders in Vancouver. But before the legendary Frank Ounstead hung up his blues, he dedicated his last years on the force to grooming Rya as his protégé. I think he intended to pass on his experience and wealth of knowledge to an adept replacement. I doubt he expected to wind up developing a father’s love for his young female partner.
I put the picture down and tried to sneak a peek at some of the files on Rya’s desk but stopped when I caught the eye of a grizzled detective who was meandering about the office. He tugged his pants up and under his sagging belly and started toward me. That’s when the yelling started.
“Quit fucking pushing me, asshole!”
Her hands cuffed behind her back, Stormy Daze stood toe-to-toe with one of the arresting officers who was escorting her through the bullpen. The overweight cop forgot all about me and shuffled over to lend a hand. Together he and the uniformed officers directed Stormy toward the hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. But not before she spotted me.
“Hey! Ounstead!” I stared blankly at Stormy, who was bucking against her restraints like a busty bronco. “You gotta help me! I didn’t do this!”
“Shut up,” growled overweight cop, as he dragged Stormy forcefully by the arm.
“You saw me that night! You know I loved him!”
She continued to beg for my help as the officers ushered her away, her panic-stricken voice echoing throughout the corridor long after she had faded from view.
EIGHTEEN
Inspector Richard Cornish didn’t like me. Maybe it was because he had never cared for my dad. Maybe it was because I was a civilian who had dug up evidence on a case before his detectives did. Or maybe it was because after invoking her right to counsel, Stormy Daze had requested that I visit her in her interrogation room.
“No way,” barked Cornish. “I’m not going to jeopardize the Crown’s entire case just so this bum can play cop.”
“Don’t let the shaggy mop and designer stubble fool you, bub,” I said. “This is a carefully crafted look.”
Cornish looked at me like I had just spoken Klingon. Rya kept pressing him. “She already said she’d sign a waiver. There’s no risk.”
“There is if he does something to set her off,” said Cornish. “You saw the state she’s in. Her lawyer could argue she was not of sound judgment at the time of her request.”
“I trust him, Inspector. More importantly, Stormy seems to trust him. Who knows what she might let slip to a friendly face before her counsel arrives?”
Cornish crossed his arms and shifted his gaze to me. “This isn’t a night club, bouncer boy. Can you play it cool long enough to see what she has to say?”
“Inspector, my old man used to make me memorize the Reid technique’s nine steps of interrogation and quiz me on family road trips. Believe me, I’ll be just fine.”
Cornish begrudgingly gave Rya the go ahead. While she went about ensuring Stormy’s request would be properly documented, I observed Johnny’s possible murderer through the two-way mirror. Gone was the cynical sexpot I had met before, replaced by an anxious woman shifting uncomfortably on a plastic chair. When I entered the cramped interrogation room ten minutes later, I could see the relief wash over her.
“Thank God,” she huffed, as I took a seat across the desk from her. “You have to get me out of here.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Stormy looked at me like I had just slapped her across the face. “Because I’m innocent.”
“You are?”
“What the fuck, Ounstead?” she screamed, leaping up and pounding her fists on the desk. “You think I killed him too?”
“Honestly? No, I don’t.” Stormy nodded triumphantly and eased back into her chair. “But there’s an overwhelming amount of evidence that suggests otherwise.”
“Bullshit.”
“I know about his new girlfriend, Stormy. I saw the photos you hired Melvin Van Lowe to take of Johnny and her together.”
I glanced at the two-way mirror, knowing that behind it Rya would be pleased that I finally revealed my source’s name. Stormy slumped in her chair. She was silent for several moments.
“I never knew the little slut’s name,” she finally said.
“That didn’t stop you from threatening her life. Or Johnny’s. And you did it in a public restaurant.”
“He was cheating on me!” she bellowed.
“Which makes for one hell of a motive,
” I replied.
“Look, I lost it, okay? I was upset and said some stupid shit I didn’t mean. Since when does having a bad temper automatically make someone a murderer?”
“So when Johnny came to see you at your apartment and you threatened his life again, that was what? Just another tantrum?”
“How do you know about that?”
“It doesn’t matter. One time is a slip up, Stormy. Anything more is a pattern.”
Stormy crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t think I should talk any more without my lawyer.”
I leaned forward, gravitas seeping into my voice. “I can buy that the death threats were you blowing off steam. I can understand you having an affair of your own and lying to me about your new lover’s toothbrush in your bathroom.” She gasped slightly, a stunned look on her face. “But what I can’t figure out,” I continued, “is why you would go to the trouble of concocting a fake alibi if you truly are innocent.” Her tough exterior finally cracked. Stormy let out a stifled sob, pinching the bridge of her nose as she quietly wept.
“I want to believe you, Stormy. But you need to tell me where you really were the night Johnny was killed.”
“I was with someone else,” she blurted out.
“Who?”
“You have to swear you won’t tell anyone. And you have to promise me that they won’t either!” she yelled, jabbing an accusatory finger at the two-way mirror.
Rya slipped into the room and took a seat beside me. “Ms. Danielson, I assure you, anything you reveal with regards to a homicide investigation will remain confidential.” Stormy wiped her nose on her sleeve and eyed Rya dubiously.
“You can trust her, Stormy.” Stormy sniffled and nodded begrudgingly.
“His name is Eddie Grist. He’s a talent scout for Border City Wrestling.”
Rya glanced at me with a raised eybrow as she jotted down the name in her notebook. “It’s an independent promotion based out of Windsor, Ontario,” I explained.
Rya scribbled that down as well. I leaned forward in my chair and looked Stormy in her bright blue eyes, which due to all the tears seemed to almost be sparkling.
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