The restaurant was busy this morning, with a long line of vacationers helping themselves to the breakfast offerings at the buffet. As usual the lineup was longest at the omelet station where the chef cooked breakfasts to order. There was a constant stream of people coming and going. And there were many groups of people standing and talking animatedly, something he didn’t usually see. He wondered briefly what might be causing it and then remembered the body on the pathway. Of course. Death always made for good conversation.
McDonald finished his coffee and searched in his pocket for a convertible peso. He liked to leave a tip for the staff whenever he could; they were so poorly paid, and worked such long hours. Besides, you never knew, it might pay off in fringe benefits with one of the waitresses at a later time.
He stood up and made his way to the exit. As he came out into the lobby, he stopped to look around and survey his surroundings, as he did every morning. The foyer was open to the air on two sides with a roof over the central area so that bright sunshine and sea breezes filled the space. He loved the lush tropical vegetation, the birds flitting around and most of all, the heat, which was building even at this early hour of the day. This morning there was a bright green lizard sunning itself partway up a wall.
As he stood there enjoying the warm Cuban morning, he became aware of a couple that he knew slightly; they were obviously looking for something as their heads surveyed the busy scene. They noticed him, the woman pointed at him, and the two of them made their way quickly towards him.
“Dick! Got a minute? We need to talk to you. Please.” It was the man talking, and McDonald vaguely remembered his name was Sean. Or was it Stan? “Over here?” The man led the way to a quiet corner of the lobby; McDonald reluctantly followed. This was not the way he had pictured his morning unfolding.
The woman spoke first. “You’ve heard?”
McDonald moved slightly so that he had his back to the wall, with a good view of the lobby. He was puzzled. He studied the woman in front of him, an attractive twenty-something with long brown hair, dressed in shorts, sandals and a lightweight blouse. Her name was Charlotte, he recalled. She was agitated and she had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and she was clutching a tissue in her hand. “Heard? You mean about the body?”
“That’s it,” Sean said. He was tall, dressed in shorts, sneakers and a muscle shirt with a Montreal Canadians logo on it. He was much more composed than his companion. “It’s Mike. We’re pretty sure it’s Mike.”
“Of course it’s him!” Charlotte rounded on her partner and practically shouted the words at him. “Those were his shorts, and the same shirt he had on yesterday!”
Sean put his hands around Charlotte’s neck and pulled her into an embrace. He looked over at McDonald and said, “It’s Mike. Yeah, it’s him.”
McDonald said, “I’m sorry…Mike? I don’t know who that is.” He ran his hand through his hair. He barely remembered these two, let alone someone named Mike. He looked around the lobby, wishing he could move along and get out and enjoy the sun.
Charlotte pulled away from Sean and stared at the detective. “You met him the other day. At the bar. Remember?” Realizing from McDonald’s expression that he clearly didn’t recall, she went on, “We were getting refills at the pool bar. That’s where we first met you. We’re Sean and Charlotte, remember? Mike was there too. We got talking while we waited in line and we all introduced ourselves. That’s when you told us you were a cop.”
McDonald said, “I remember now. Sorry. I meet so many people.” He looked at the couple in front of him who were now holding hands. “And this body on the walkway – this is your friend, Mike? The guy I met in line at the bar?”
Sean nodded. “Mike Kennedy, yeah, we think so. He came down with Aaron and Deb and Kathy. And us.”
McDonald looked helplessly at them. “I’m sorry….Aaron and Deb and Kathy?”
Charlotte was crying quietly. “Kathy is Mike’s fiancée. They’re going to be married in June.” She blew her nose with the tissue. “Were going to be married.”
“Aaron and Deb are our friends, too,” said Sean. “The six of us flew down from Toronto together.”
McDonald said, “I see. That’s really a shame. Very upsetting for all of you.” He looked at his watch. The morning was rapidly disappearing. His snorkelling expedition was waiting. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
McDonald started edging away but stopped abruptly when Charlotte grabbed his arm.
“Wait!” she said. “Please. We need your help. We don’t know who else to talk to.”
McDonald stopped and stared at her. “What? My help? With what?”
“With Mike, of course.” Charlotte was dabbing at her eyes. “We want to know what’s going on. And nobody will tell us anything.”
McDonald felt his snorkelling morning slipping away. He stared narrowly at the couple, shading his eyes against the sun. Where were his sunglasses anyway? “You can’t be serious! I’m on holiday here, same as you. I came down here to get away from this sort of stuff. And you want me to investigate? Is that really what you’re saying?”
Sean shook his head. “Not investigate, no, just talk to the cops and let us know what’s going on. These Cubans just scowl at us and walk away.”
“Geez, I can’t believe this,” said McDonald.
Charlotte Gill looked at him imploringly. “Please, we don’t know what else to do.”
McDonald felt like saying, I’m on holiday! Leave me alone! He sighed. “Let’s find a table and sit down somewhere private.”
The three of them made their way to a shaded patio on the edge of the beach with a view of the ocean. There was a small bar which was shut at this time of the morning, and the whole area was surrounded by palm trees. It was a secluded spot often frequented by early risers who wanted to watch the sunrise with their morning coffee but it was empty just now.
McDonald sat down with his back to the bar so that he had a view of the beach and the buildings behind them and gestured to the others to sit. They wanted him to be a policeman? While he was on holiday? Then he would act like a cop and take charge. “Right. Let’s start at the beginning. You’re Sean and Charlotte. Last names? Are you married?”
“We’re married, yes,” said Sean. “And the last name is Gill. Sean and Charlotte Gill.”
“And you flew down from Toronto with this Mike Kennedy? And his fiancée, Kathy? And Aaron and Deb? Who are all these people? Last names, please.”
Charlotte spoke in a low voice. McDonald could barely hear her above the sound of the waves on the beach and the rustling of the palm branches. “Kathy is Kathy Walters. She’s a florist. She has her own shop. Aaron and Deb are married. Aaron and Deborra Whiteside. We’ve known them for years.”
“How do you know them?”
Charlotte said, “Sean and Mike work together for one thing. But we all go back a long time, to high school. Except Kathy. Mike met her about a year ago. They were going to be married in a few months.”
“Yes, in June you said.” McDonald looked at Sean Gill. “You and Mike worked together. I remember you told me you were at Metro Grocers.”
Sean nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Charlotte here is in retail. And Aaron works for the school board and Deb is a legal secretary. But who cares? Why do you want to know?”
McDonald said, “You’re asking me to find out what’s going on with a dead stranger in a foreign country.” He was speaking in slow, measured tones. He smiled briefly at the two of them. “I need to know who’s asking.”
Sean Gill started to speak but McDonald cut him off. “Where are the other three? Kathy Walters? And Deborra and Aaron Whiteside?”
Charlotte stood up. “I’ll go and find them.”
The two men watched her walk hurriedly back towards the resort. McDonald wished he had one of his Cuban cigars with him; it would be pleasant to sit here now and enjoy his cigar while he watched the surf….
“We had Kathy with us last night in our suite,”
said Sean. “She and Mike had an argument; she slept in our second bedroom.”
McDonald turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. “And they’re getting married in a few months?”
Sean shrugged. “It happens. Anyway, this morning Kathy got up early and went back to her room. Mike wasn’t there. She got worried and went looking for him. She came across the scene on the pathway…” Sean’s voice trailed off. “Well, you know what she saw. She couldn’t get through, she couldn’t find out anything at all. So she came running back to our place. Of course, she didn’t have a key so she had to bang on our door to get in.” Sean shrugged. “We were up by then anyway. The three of us went to get Aaron and Deb. Then we split up. They were going to try and find something out from the resort people, we would look for you.” Sean stared out at the beach. “And here we are.”
McDonald looked back towards the resort where he could see Charlotte Gill returning with a very tall and muscular black man, an attractive, redheaded woman and a much shorter blonde who would have been pretty except for her red eyes and blotchy complexion.
“I found them in the lobby,” said Charlotte, once they arrived.
Introductions were made and the new arrivals sat down. Not surprisingly, the upset blonde woman turned out to be Kathy Walters.
“Get anywhere?” asked Sean.
Aaron shook his head. “Nobody would tell us anything. Not the front desk people, or the security guards. We even tried the clinic but they wouldn’t talk either. All we got was rumours and gossip from some of the guests.” He looked around helplessly and shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t help that we don’t speak Spanish.”
“I don’t either,” said McDonald. “And I’m an Ontario cop on holiday in a foreign country. I have no jurisdiction here. None.” Aaron started to speak but McDonald cut him off. “But I haven’t said I won’t help.” He looked at the five of them. “So long as you all realize that I’m not likely to get anywhere.”
“I think I can speak for all of us,” said Charlotte. “We’d just appreciate any help you can give us. We don’t even know how he died.” She looked over at Kathy who was weeping quietly, her head slumped forward.
“I can help with that, at least,” said McDonald. “He fell from some height, almost certainly from a balcony.” He sat back and crossed his arms.
Aaron looked surprised. “He fell? From a balcony? How do you know?”
“I’ve been a detective for a long time. You get to recognize the signs. He fell from above. From quite a long way up.” He looked at the group ranged in front of him, all watching him with rapt interest. “You didn’t know?”
“We weren’t sure what happened to him,” said Kathy, speaking for the first time. Her voice was low and husky and she was staring at the detective with intense eyes. “You’re sure he didn’t just pass out? Or maybe have a stroke or something like that?”
As if, thought McDonald, with all that blood? Aloud he said, “He fell. From somewhere in the hotel. And that leaves three possibilities.” He stood up and stretched and said, “I’ll see what I can find out.”
The five young people watched him walk away. “Three possibilities?” said Kathy. “What did he mean?”
Sean looked at the others. Aaron shrugged. Sean said to Kathy, “I imagine he meant that one of three things happened to Mike. Either he fell accidentally, maybe because he was sick or dizzy or…”
“Drunk,” said Kathy. She was staring at Sean with a hopeless look on her face.
“Or drunk,” agreed Sean. He said nothing more.
Kathy stared at him and a horrified look gradually came over her face. “Oh! He means Mike might have jumped.” Her hand went to her mouth. “No! He wouldn’t have done that! He wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have killed himself!”
“Of course he didn’t, Kathy,” said Charlotte. She reached over and took both of Kathy’s hands in hers. “He wouldn’t do that. Probably he felt sick and went out onto the balcony for some fresh air and lost his balance. That’s what happened.”
Kathy looked at her with a blank expression that was quickly replaced by sick grief. “Oh! The third possibility…someone pushed him over.” Her hand went to her mouth again. “Somebody might have thrown him off! Oh God, Mike!” She started sobbing uncontrollably.
Deb stood up. “She needs to lie down, Char. This isn’t doing her any good at all. She can come with Aaron and me if you like.”
“It’s okay, we’ll take her back with us. Right, Sean?” Charlotte Gill looked at her husband.
“Absolutely.” Sean was nodding his head vigorously. “Come on, Kathy. Easy does it.” He put his hand under her elbow and helped her stand up. Kathy looked like she was going to protest but then subsided.
“Alright,” Kathy said. Her voice was quiet. “If you say so.”
five
Lori Singh examined herself critically, her head twisted around and tilted downwards to get a good view of her backside. She was dressed in one of her running outfits and the full-length mirror revealed all. The pants were tight and black and the long-sleeved top was pale lilac, and she had always thought she presented well dressed like this. Now she wasn’t so sure. She brushed her damp hair out of the way and had a good look.
Two weeks ago Dean had told her that he liked women with “big cabooses”. She’d looked at him sharply, then tried to check out her back view. They were in his bedroom at the time with no mirror available, but she’d had a good look when she got home. She wasn’t getting larger down there, was she? She didn’t think so – well, at least not by a lot – but Dean obviously did.
She enjoyed Dean’s company; he was cheerful, intelligent and a good tonic for her. But he was also unambitious and downright lazy at times. She had known the relationship was ending, had known from the beginning that it wouldn’t last. She’d met Dean on a previous case. He was a bartender at a gay bistro, she was a detective with the York Police Services. He wasn’t gay – no, definitely not – and he was good fun. He was years younger than her and made no demands of her, surprising in such a young man. He was understanding of her weird police hours as well.
They’d spent a lot of time eating and drinking together, visiting the craft breweries in the area, even taking a trip to Niagara Falls. Many of their get-togethers, though, were just sex, pure and simple, after they were both finished their shifts. And lately the relationship had reached that stale, nearly-done stage where much of the fun had gone out of the encounters. She knew she would be ending it soon even if he didn’t do it first, and his comment about large backsides had decided her. They’d broken it off a week later with no regrets.
Now here she was, one week into a new exercise routine, and checking herself for signs of progress. It was a tough regime she had set herself: up early for a half hour of yoga. Lori followed that with fifteen minutes of free weights and then some tea and a banana. Then it was out into the dark, cold (and often snowy) day for a run. Bundled up against the biting wind, she would finish her exercise with a gasping ascent of a staircase in her neighbourhood park, like some Indian version of Rocky Balboa mounting the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Then, sweating and tired, she would walk back home for a shower and breakfast before heading off to work. And hopefully, by the time spring arrived and she could get back to cycling, she would have lost some pounds, redistributed some more and be happier with her look. She liked exercising and she liked being fit, and she was determined not to become like so many cops she saw, stressed and overweight.
Lori checked her watch, yawned and headed to the shower. It was time to get to work.
She liked the new building housing the York Police Services. The old place had been driving her crazy, with its cramped quarters and dated equipment. It had been a depressing environment much of the time, she now realized, and while her spirits didn’t exactly soar when she entered this building, she usually looked forward to her day. Lori parked her Prius in her designated spot (another advantage to the new arra
ngement) and entered the YPS headquarters.
A few minutes later she poked her head into Drumm’s office to say hello. He was tilted back in his chair with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head; he appeared to be asleep.
“Don’t let Drennan see you like that, Nick.”
“I am not resting, as it may appear to you. I am contemplating the evidence. With my eyes closed.” Drumm spoke without moving.
“Such as there is. Back in a minute. I want some tea.”
By the time she returned, Drumm had assumed a more orthodox position, sitting upright in his chair and reading a file. Lori stood in the doorway, blowing over her mug.
“No muffin today?” Drumm asked, looking up.
“No muffin today,” Lori agreed. “Or tomorrow, or the next day…”
“How’s the new program going?”
Lori grimaced. “I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to run in the dark and cold. It’s the highlight of my day.”
Drumm smiled. “I admire you for doing it, especially when you don’t need to. You look fine to me.”
Lori felt a little frisson of pleasure. “Anything new?”
Drumm looked down at the file. “Not really, no. No new attack overnight at any rate. But then it would be ahead of schedule if it had happened yesterday.”
At the moment the Riverwood Rapist was their top priority. It wasn’t a red-ball case, not quite, but it had the potential to become one. No one had been killed – yet – but the media were taking more of an interest with every assault and asking questions every day. They were demanding to know what was being done and what progress was being made. At the moment it was still a local story but if it ever became national, well, then, the pressure would mount exponentially.
A Cuban Death Page 3