It was only later on, after dinner in fact, when he still couldn’t find them, that he realized where they must be. He must have had too much beer, he thought, not to have figured it out sooner. He recalled the phone call Perez had made. The five of them were being interviewed somewhere and that was why he couldn’t find them. And since he had no idea where that might be, and wouldn’t have been able to get in anyway if he did know, he gave up worrying about it. Perez would release them when he was done with them and that was all there was to it. McDonald set about trying to enjoy what was left of his Thursday. There was a middle-aged German woman over at the bar that he’d spotted earlier.
He headed over to try his luck.
seven
It had been a long, boring shift, as it almost always was. Working on the assembly line day after day, making the same old thing. Seatbelt harnesses – who knew she would spend her life assembling such a mundane part of a vehicle. She was lucky to have the job, she knew, when so many people were out of work. But earning just above minimum wage when she had a university education was hard to take. Janice had gotten her degree in English literature and sociology and what earthly good was that now?
As she often did, Janice was going over all of this in her mind as she sat on the cracked vinyl seat, waiting for the bus to take her most of the way home. There were only three other passengers, not uncommon for this time of night. Janice glanced at her watch: approaching eleven-thirty. She glanced out the dirty window, the pane grimed with road salt. She stamped her feet to keep them warm. The bus was freezing, as it always was. She was nearing her stop.
Janice stood up and made her way to the rear doors. The bus wheezed to a halt and she exited carefully, not wanting to slip on the snow-covered sidewalk. Last week she had taken a nasty tumble, jarring her hip. If she had been seventy-six instead of twenty-six, she would have broken it, she was sure. As it was she had a nasty bruise which had turned yellowish-purple and covered an area the size of a dinner plate.
The bus pulled slowly away and Janice made her way briskly along the sidewalk. She pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck and mouth; the northerly wind combined with the below zero temperature made for a very cold night. Although the sidewalk was mostly bare, there were patches of ice here and there and Janice kept her eyes down for fear of slipping.
Maybe she should quit this crappy job and go back to school. She could get her teacher qualifications, except that there were no jobs to be had at the moment. But she could be a substitute, possibly. Or maybe she should go to college and get qualified in travel and tourism. Or as a hairdresser. Janice chuckled to herself at the thought of an English literature major cutting people’s hair. That would hardly be an improvement over what she was doing now. This same fruitless mental exercise occupied her most nights on her way home to her cramped apartment.
It was because she was looking down at her feet that she had no warning. One minute she was thinking about working as a travel agent, booking holidays to the sunny south, and the next she felt a strong hand forcing her scarf into her mouth. The hand covered her nose as well and she had trouble breathing for a minute. She squirmed and tried to grab the hand but instantly she felt a sharp jab against her left cheek and a voice saying, “Don’t move.” The words were spoken in a low, deep voice and the tone left her in no doubt as to what she must do. She stopped resisting.
“Left,” said the voice, and forced her to move towards some bushes. Things were happening so fast and she was into the bushes and thrown down onto the hard ground before she fully understood what was happening. She had time to see that there was a small, empty space in this garden, if that was what it was, and that it was surrounded by thick, snow-covered shrubbery. They were completely hidden from the street, she could see.
Janice was dazed and winded from the fall and worse, she had landed on her bruised hip. She was aware that her side was aching and that there was something warm trickling down her cheek – blood? Her attacker stooped over her and turned her roughly onto her back; he dropped down to his knees and suddenly the knife was pointed unwaveringly at her right eye.
“Don’t make a sound. Or this eye goes out.” Confused as she was, Janice noticed small things: wiry hair on his fingers, a voice that was hoarse and husky, and cold, blue eyes which stood out in his ski mask like faraway stars in the night sky. It was those eyes, more than the words he spoke, that made her keep as still as she could – there was hate in those eyes, hate such as she had never seen before.
Her attacker took her scarf in his left hand and shoved it roughly into her mouth. She gagged to feel the rough material between her teeth and filling her throat. Fortunately her nose was clear.
“Keep still.” The knife point was suddenly prodding her skin directly below her eye. Janice stopped squirming instantly.
The man put the knife down on the snow beside them and undid the zipper on her ski jacket. He pulled the coat apart, revealing her sweater and jeans. He put his hands on the neck of her sweater and yanked downwards, ripping off the buttons. Roughly, he pulled up her bra, exposing her breasts to the freezing air. Next his hands went to her jeans and he undid the top button. Then he yanked hard, popping all the others and dragging the jeans and her panties down.
Terrified, Janice tried to sit up but the knife was magically back in his hand and pricking her in the cheek; his left hand had a firm grip on her shoulder.
“Don’t,” he said, and Janice stopped struggling. “Turn over.” She got onto her knees.
Oh, God, she thought. Not like this, not like a dog.
But she had no say in it at all.
There was a short delay while she guessed he was lowering his pants and then she felt him pushing up against her. Janice tried to make her mind go blank. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening. I’ll be home soon…
The pain was sudden and intense and she almost collapsed. He used one strong arm to support her and thrust himself into her over and over. She lost track of time; he seemed to take a long while. Eventually she realized he was done because she felt him withdraw. She collapsed on the ground, too weak and dazed to think straight.
“Good bitch,” said his voice. And he slapped her on the rear end. Janice cried out weakly into the scarf. She heard some small noises as he stood up and adjusted his clothing. Then he kicked her hard in the side.
Janice felt something snap inside her. That’s my rib, she thought. And then she fainted.
eight
McDonald sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked over at the sleeping woman beside him. She was lying on her stomach with one arm on the pillow and the other beside her and the sheet had slipped down to expose her nude body. She looked just as good like this as she had last night in the bar. What was her name? Inge, that was it, and she was from Frankfurt. Or was it Hamburg? He hadn’t really been paying attention and it didn’t matter anyway. She had been more than willing to drink with him, it turned out; she was on vacation with a friend and the friend had hooked up with some young South American guy. Inge had been feeling a little lonely and a little put out. McDonald hardly had to work at it. She had been all over him and it was she who had suggested a walk on the beach which led to sex on a lounge chair, and that led to…Well, he couldn’t recall everything but they had ended up here in his room. She was like a tigress in bed and his only regret was that they hadn’t met earlier in the week. As it was, he only had one more night before he flew back.
Should he wake her? Looking at her rear end was getting him excited again. He reached out to caress her and she murmured appreciatively.
“Liebchen,” she said drowsily.
Of course he should wake her.
Later he stretched out on a lounge chair on the beach enjoying a Cohiba Behike. One of the fine things about Cuba in his opinion was that they had no ridiculous restrictions about smoking. Like in Canada, where lighting up had been banned in so many places that it was almost impossible to enjoy tobacco anywhere, and certainly not in public space
s. There were even rumours that smoking would soon be forbidden in private vehicles and homes. But here in Cuba he could sit out in public and enjoy his cigar in a huge cloud of aromatic smoke and nobody would say anything about it. Inge had taken herself off to find her friend and they had agreed to meet up later. Life was good, his leg was getting better, he had a hot woman all lined up for tonight and three more cigars to smoke before he left.
McDonald suddenly got a frown on his face. Off to his left he spotted some familiar faces arriving: Kathy Walters, the Whitesides and the Gills. It was obvious they had seen him and they headed down the sand towards him. His time alone was obviously at an end.
“Pull up a pew,” he said to Sean, who was the first to arrive. He indicated a neighbouring sunbed. He blew out another large cloud of smoke.
Sean Gill wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Do you have to do that?” he asked. “Is it even legal?”
McDonald winked. “Perfectly.” He looked at the group of five who were now arranged in front of him in a semi-circle. “If you don’t mind me saying, you all look like hell. Where have you been? I was looking for you yesterday and you disappeared.”
Aaron dragged a sunbed across in front of the detective, blocking his view of the ocean, and he and his wife sat on it. The Gills did the same and McDonald made room for Kathy Walters to sit on his lounge chair.
“We’ve had a hell of a time,” said Aaron. “Yesterday morning we were taken by the Cuban police.”
“Kidnapped,” said Deb. Even as tired as she obviously was, she was a fine-looking woman with her freckles and red hair gleaming in the sun. But she was obviously angry.
“Kidnapped?” McDonald said. He looked at Aaron’s huge frame and the muscles bulging under his tee-shirt. “I find that hard to believe.”
“We weren’t kidnapped,” said Aaron, contradicting his wife, who gave him a dirty look. “We were taken for questioning and we weren’t given any say in it.”
“All of you?” asked McDonald.
It was Charlotte who answered. “All of us. Even poor Kathy here.”
McDonald said, somewhat sheepishly, “I’m afraid I may have had something to do with that.” He explained about his conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Perez and mentioning their names. “But you must have realized that they would want to talk to you. We would do the same in Canada.”
“Would Canadian cops keep us for twelve hours? In dirty, smelly holding rooms? With no lawyers? And almost nothing to eat or drink?” Sean was angry and his voice rose as he spoke so that he was almost shouting by the time he had finished.
“No,” said McDonald. “No, we wouldn’t do that. But this is Cuba – different country, different rules. And you were Mr. Kennedy’s friends – and fiancée – and you knew him best. Of course they would want to question you.”
“That they did,” said Aaron. “Over and over again, separately and in pairs, and all together.”
“I’m sorry,” said McDonald. “It’s a shame you had to go through that.” He had a good idea about the sorts of questions that would have been asked. What time did you see him last? What sort of mood was he in? Why was he so drunk? Why weren’t you with him? You’re friends aren’t you? He looked at the five tired and angry faces. Four, he corrected himself: Kathy’s looked tired and defeated. “What did they tell you? Anything at all?”
Sean said, “They said it was an accident. They said he’d been drinking all day, that he was drunk, in fact. They said he probably went out on his balcony to get some fresh air, that he may have felt dizzy and he lost his balance and fell over.”
McDonald nodded. “Perez told me the same thing.” He looked at the five of them. “Were you given any indication as to when it happened?”
Kathy spoke in a tired voice. “They just said sometime in the night. What does it matter anyway. He’s gone.” She started crying quietly.
McDonald said, “You’re right. It hardly matters now.”
He stood up. His cigar was finished and he buried the remains of it in the sand. “I wasn’t much use to you, I’m afraid. But at least you know what happened. If you want some advice, try to enjoy what remains of your holiday. Get some sun, swim in the ocean, go for a sail. It will do you all good.”
Charlotte Gill stared at him incredulously. “You’re really an asshole, aren’t you?” She gestured at Kathy. “Do you really think she’s going to ‘enjoy her holiday’ now? Or any of us?” She stood up. “Come on, Sean. We’re leaving.”
McDonald shrugged his shoulders and walked down to the water. That’s what you get for trying to help, he thought.
nine
Drumm parked his Miata in the staff parking lot, which was mostly empty at this time of the morning, and looked at the car ruefully. It was impossible to keep a vehicle clean in York in the winter. The streets were either slushy and wet, covered with snow or bare with dried salt everywhere. Either way a car was always dirty, no matter how many times it was washed. Spring couldn’t come soon enough as far as he was concerned. His ride, a convertible Limited Edition Mazda Miata MX-5, was filthy and he’d had it washed only two days ago. The ice-blue colour was barely visible under the grime. Maybe he should put it in storage for the winter, but that would mean he’d have to buy another car, and he didn’t want to do that.
Drumm shook his head and headed into the building, anxious to get inside. It was supposed to be cold and snowy today. The sky was grey and threatening, in anticipation of the ten centimetres of snow that was expected. Fortunately it wasn’t windy but it was still cold enough to make his hands chilly through the thick gloves he wore.
His phone was ringing as he entered his office and his cell vibrated in his pocket at the same time. Which one to answer? He chose the one on the desk and was relieved to feel the other one give up.
“Homicide. Drumm.” He listened for a minute or so and took some notes. “Right. I’ll get over there ASAP.” He hung up and sighed. Another one. He checked his cell to find a text telling him the same thing. Drumm hung up his coat and went to get a coffee. When he returned, Lori Singh was sitting in a chair in his office.
“You’ve heard, then.” asked Drumm. “And why are you here so early?” He sat down behind his desk and took a sip of his coffee.
“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” said Lori. “And I wanted to beat the snow.”
“Too much exercise, my dear.” Drumm looked at his notes. “Janice Lange, age twenty-six. Got off a bus on Parkside Avenue, raped and left by the side of the road just before midnight last night. It fits the pattern.”
“I agree. But why are we only hearing about it now?” asked Lori.
“That I don’t know,” said Drumm. He stood up and reached for his coat. “Get yourself something hot, and let’s scoot over to the hospital.”
York District Hospital was only a short distance from the YPS headquarters, so Lori was still nursing her tea when they arrived. They found Janice Lange in an examination room, by herself. She would have been an attractive brunette, Drumm supposed, if it weren’t for her wan complexion, dishevelled hair and the nasty cuts on her face. She looked like she was freezing, too, dressed in a hospital gown and sitting up on the bed, with the thin sheet pulled up over her knees. She seemed to be favouring one side.
Drumm introduced himself and Lori and asked, “Are they looking after you alright?”
Janice Lange shrugged. “I just want to get out of here.”
Lori asked, “Do you want something hot to drink? You look frozen.”
“I’d love some coffee but they say I can’t have anything until they’ve completed the examination.” She grimaced. “Whenever that is. The nurse left a while ago and said she’d be right back.”
Drumm looked at the untidy hair, the pale face and the dark circles under the eyes and he felt immensely sorry for the girl. If he’d had a daughter, she would have been just about this age. “Do you feel up to telling us what happened? How you ended up in this predicate?”
The girl lo
oked at him strangely. “Do you mean predicament? I should think it was obvious.”
Lori said hastily, “He means, why did you wait? The assault happened last night, correct? Why wait until the morning to come to the hospital?”
Janice turned her tired eyes onto Lori. “Because I couldn’t decide what to do. When I woke up in the snow…after it happened, I mean…I was confused and tired. Exhausted, really. I just wanted to get home.”
Lori nodded sympathetically. “He knocked you out, then? How long were you unconscious, do you know?”
Janice Lange pushed a strand of loose hair back with her hand and winced. “Not long, I guess, or I would have got frostbite, I think. A minute or two, maybe. And he didn’t hit me over the head or anything.”
Drumm asked, “But you fainted? Is that what happened?”
Janice looked at him. “Yes. He kicked me in the side, hard. He broke a rib – I could feel it go.” She looked down. “That was after he called me a ‘good bitch.’”.
Lori sucked in her breath. Then she said, “So he kicked you and you fainted. You were only out for a short time and you woke up dazed and confused and you decided to get home because you were exhausted. Is that right?”
A Cuban Death Page 5