No worries, she thought. I’m up to it. We’ll get this guy before he hurts anyone else.
thirteen
Drumm’s face was tingling and his fingers were turning numb. It was so cold that the snow squeaked under his boots, a sure sign of sub-zero temperatures. Even Will in his fur coat was unhappy. As a rule he liked cooler weather but when it was this cold, the snow balled under his paws and he became a miserable Sheltie. Just now he was limping badly, like a runner pulling up lame in a race.
“Just a few more minutes, Will, and we’ll be home.” The dog had done his business but they still had to complete the block. He could never give Will as much exercise as he needed and deserved but he always tried, even when it was frigid out. So they were going to complete this route, despite the temperature and the early hour.
Drumm hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. After he had picked up Lori, stood the team down and completed his paperwork, it had been very late, or early, depending on how one looked at it. And then he was up well before he was ready to look after the dog. Still, Sunday was ostensibly an off-day for him, so he would have time for an afternoon nap.
He watched a car slide by in a swirl of blowing snow, its tires loud on the snow-packed pavement. Will didn’t care for the noise and started, pulling away from the road. His limp was even worse. Drumm reached down and picked the dog up. “God, Will, you’re going on a diet! You weigh a ton.” The Sheltie just looked at him and licked his lips, not used to being carried.
By the time he reached his home, Drumm’s arms were aching and he was puffing; his lungs hurt in the cold air. Lugging a twenty-pound Sheltie several hundred metres was no joke. Drumm gratefully put the dog down on his freshly-shoveled walkway and let him complete the last few steps himself. At least the unplanned transport of the dog had warmed him up a bit. As soon as they were in the house, Will sat down and worried at his paw. Then he was up and trotting around the house, all signs of a limp gone.
“Amazing how that works.” Drumm looked at Will, currently lapping up water, and smiled. “I do all the work and you need a drink.” The dog finished lapping, looked at him for a few seconds and strolled over to his favourite spot by the window and flopped down.
What was he going to do about Drennan? And the media? Drumm pondered these questions while he took off his winter clothes, put some music on and started making coffee. The soothing strains of Enya’s Only Time filled the kitchen. Who can say where the road goes? He couldn’t, that was certain. He couldn’t make Drennan go away, so he would just have to learn to live with him. As much as possible Drennan could be ignored but Drumm would have to make sure he followed his superior’s instructions to the letter. Even then he knew that Drennan would be finding fault and pressuring him. Well, let him, he thought, it wouldn’t be the first time. Drumm had his supporters in the YPS too, and he thought he could safely weather whatever Drennan threw his way. Probably. As for the media, Drumm wasn’t too worried. He supposed that one of them would eventually track him down but he would just stonewall, praise Drennan and use police-speak.
His thoughts turned to last night’s operation. Everyone had done well, especially Lori, but there’d been no payoff. He thought Lori had looked nervous just before she got on the bus but she had performed very capably, and there had been no sign of tension when he picked her up afterwards. They would repeat the whole show tonight, same route, and hope for a different result.
Should he be doing anything else? He didn’t think so. They were doing increased patrols, they had the suspect’s useless sketch up in stores and other public locations – it had been released to the media as well – and they had checked the known sex offenders in the area. Short of randomly stopping and questioning men who fitted the description – actions they couldn’t legally perform – he didn’t know what else the YPS could do.
His doorbell rang. Will got up quickly and started barking. Drumm glanced at his watch. Eight in the morning? He closed the kitchen door to Will’s noise, went to the front door and looked through the spyhole. He could see a young woman shivering on his porch. He opened the door and wasn’t sure for a second what he was seeing.
The young woman, who was dressed in a bright blue parka that he could now see, said, “Detective Sergeant Nicholas Drumm? I’m Susan Benitez with CN24/7.” She produced a microphone which she had been hiding behind her back. As she did, Drumm saw a man carrying a camera on his shoulder step around a parked van on the street and come up his walkway. There was a red light on the camera; Drumm stared at him, mesmerized for the moment.
“Detective Sergeant Drumm, can you tell our viewers when you’re going to make an arrest? Who’s the suspect?” The woman thrust the microphone into his face.
Drumm collected himself. “Good morning, Susan,” he said smoothly. “It’s a bit early to be out ringing my doorbell, isn’t it? And rather cold, too.”
Benitez pulled the microphone back and said, “You could invite us in where it’s warm then, Detective Sergeant Drumm.” She saw Drumm shake his head and said quickly, “What about that arrest, Detective Sergeant? When can the women of York feel safe again?”
Drumm said, “The women of York can feel safe right now. As Staff Inspector Drennan told them the other day, the YPS is on top of this.” He could see that the reporter was about to pull the mike back so he raised his hand to stop her. “As for who the suspect is, you know I can’t release that information yet. It might compromise the investigation. We’ll be making an announcement in due course. And that’s all I have to say at the moment.” He turned and walked back into the house, closing the door on the broadcaster’s protests.
Drumm moved into his living room and looked around the curtains. He saw Benitez turn around and speak to the cameraman. Drumm saw the red light go out and the man take the camera off his shoulder. The detective strode back to his front door and yanked it open. He marched out to the pair, who were still standing on his walkway.
“Don’t turn that on again,” he said to the man, who stopped lifting the camera. Drumm pointed at Benitez. “You’ve got a helluva nerve, coming to my personal residence. How did you find out where I lived?” The YPS was extremely careful about divulging its staff’s personal information.
Benitez smiled. “Sorry. I can’t reveal my sources.”
Drumm said, “I’ll find out.” He pointed a finger at her. “You can count on it. And I will remember this. I don’t appreciate being questioned in my slippers on a Sunday morning in the freezing cold.”
“You could have invited us in,” Benitez pointed out.
“As if,” said Drumm. “You could have come to the station and requested an interview.”
“Been there, done that,” said Benitez. “And got nowhere.”
“You show up here again and I’ll have you arrested. I’ll do it myself. You’re trespassing.”
“No, you won’t, Detective Sergeant,” said Benitez. “And next time we’ll keep the camera on for the duration.”
Drumm turned on his heel, went back into his house and closed the door. Rubbing his frozen hands together, he moved to the kitchen where he could hear Will still barking. He opened the door and ruffled Will’s fur, then stood up and took a sip from his coffee mug. Drumm grimaced. The coffee was cold. He sighed and went to make another.
He thought about what he had just said. Considering it had been a surprise attack, he didn’t think he’d done too badly. At the very least he’d bought some time. He thought he’d been cool and composed while on camera. He grinned. Certainly cool. His hands were still cold. You never knew for sure how you’d look on television but he thought he’d escaped alright. CN24/7 had a sound bite they could use for the next few days. He would still have to deal with the other media but that was easily done. He’d be sure to say nice things about Drennan.
Drumm frowned. It was troubling that they had found out where he lived. He would look into that. The media in the city had become more and more aggressive over the past few years. Just in the
last six months they had camped out for days at the mayor’s home, waiting for her to drive to work in the morning and return at night. In between they had dogged her at City Hall. All because of some allegations of wrongdoing – never proven - on the mayor’s part. At the time, Drumm had watched the coverage and didn’t think much of it. Now that he was a target himself, he could better appreciate how the mayor must have felt.
Drumm realized that his off-day was off no longer. There was too much to do. He thought. Breakfast first, check his blood sugar, shower and then off to the station. There was some investigating to do.
fourteen
“What are you doing here?” Lori stood in the doorway of Drumm’s office. “It’s Sunday. You’re supposed to be at home, walking Will or something.”
Drumm gestured at the chair and Lori sat down. “I could say the same thing about you. Except the part about Will.” Drumm looked at her. Lori looked very smart in matching blue jeans and jacket with a pale blue shirt underneath. “How do you manage to look so good after so little sleep? And you’ve probably been for a run too.”
Lori laughed. “I feel like crap. But thanks. And yes, I did a run, but I cut it short because of the cold.”
Drumm nodded. “It’s brutal. Will froze his paws off this morning.” He yawned. “You did well last night. Ready for more tonight?”
“Of course. But why are you here? There’s nothing new, is there?”
“Not really. But there’s a complication.” Drumm related his encounter with the reporter from CN24/7.
“That’s awful! At your house! But how did she find out where you lived?”
Drumm frowned. “I don’t know, but I can guess.”
“Drennan?”
“I would think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, who else? It will be hard to prove, though.” Drumm sat thinking.
Lori leaned forward. “Nick, do you want me to find out?”
“If you have time, yes. Yes, I would. It would be hard for me to look into this. But you…” He sat back and looked at her. “You might be able to find out something. It’s not a big deal but I’d like to know.”
“Like to know what?” Dick McDonald had appeared in Drumm’s doorway, a coffee cup in his hand.
Lori swiveled in her chair and looked at him. “It’s still not Monday. God, you can’t stay away from this place.”
McDonald smiled at her. “Look who’s talking, love.” Then he repeated, “Like to know what?”
Drumm explained again about the reporter’s morning visit and McDonald laughed.
“Out in the cold in your slippers, freezing your watusi off! That is definitely cruel and unusual punishment.”
“I’m sure you’ll see it on the news later.” Drumm looked at his watch. “They’re probably running it already.” He stood up and started pacing restlessly. He stopped and turned to McDonald. “Since you’re here, do you want to start? I could use you.”
McDonald finished his coffee and threw the cup in the garbage can. “I’m your man.” He turned to Lori and winked. “And yours too.”
Lori sighed. Drumm sat down again and showed McDonald the ring that Lori had found. He removed it from the evidence bag, turned it over in his fingers and gave it to McDonald.
“It’s been dusted for prints but they got nothing. It’s a cheapie, you can see. The stone is just blue glass. The gold isn’t gold, it’s some kind of painted metal alloy; you can see the paint is wearing off a bit there on the inside. Lori found this at the scene of the last rape. It might belong to our guy, it might not.”
McDonald turned to Lori and said, “Well done, you. I’m impressed.”
Lori stuck out her tongue at him.
Drumm went on. “I want you to do a couple of things. See if you can find out where it came from. Start with a proper jeweller. They’ll probably laugh at you but they can maybe point you in the right direction.”
McDonald nodded.
“More importantly, I want you to go and talk to the six victims. See if they remember whether or not the guy was wearing a ring. We’ve already interviewed them, of course, and no one mentioned a ring, but then, we didn’t ask them specifically. Show it to them, would you, and see if they recognize it.” Drumm leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He smiled. “That should suit you, Dick. Interviewing a bunch of women.” His smile disappeared. “But go easy on them. Some of them are pretty traumatic. Start with the last one. Janice Lange.”
Dick stared at Drumm, and then smiled, recognizing another of Drumm’s infrequent malapropisms. “You mean traumatized, I think. But I get you.”
Lori stood up. “I’ll join him later. I want to check out that other thing first.” She raised her hand as she saw Drumm was about to speak. Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.” She looked at McDonald. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I look forward to it,” he said. “You have the loveliest almond-shaped eyes, did you know?”
“So I’ve been told,” said Lori.
fifteen
“It’s cheap junk.” The jeweller had a look of disdain on his face. “We wouldn’t have anything to do with that sort of…merchandise.” The jeweller, a dapper older man, had clearly been about to use another word to describe the ring. McDonald noted that he hadn’t even touched it, just looked at it critically, and moved it slightly with a pen so that he could see inside the band.
McDonald had stopped at this store because it was on his way to the mall where he knew there were two others. Spencer’s Jewellers – he’d been passing it for years and never been in. He was vaguely surprised to see it was open on a Sunday but he supposed these days it was necessary.
McDonald looked at the man’s name plate: Daniel Withers. “Mr. Withers, I was on my way to SouthGate. There’s a couple of stores there…”
Withers interrupted him. “Don’t bother, I’ll save you the trip. They wouldn’t sell anything like this either. I’m telling you, it’s junk. No reputable jeweller carries stuff like this.”
“Who would then?” McDonald picked up the ring and turned it idly in his hand.
“You could try the dollar stores, I guess. Maybe Dollarama? There’s one just down the street.”
“I know it,” said McDonald. “So it’s probably imported from someplace like China?”
“Very likely,” said Withers, who had clearly lost interest. His eyes were following a woman customer who was looking at a display case. “You’ll have to ask them.”
McDonald had asked them. The lady manager at the Dollarama store looked at the ring and said they might have sold it, maybe some years before, but it was not part of their stock at the moment. She didn’t recognize it at all.
“And where do you get your costume jewellery?” McDonald asked.
“Well, of course, all our merchandise is purchased centrally. I don’t have anything to do with that. Most of it comes from an importer, though; this kind of thing would almost certainly be brought in from China.”
She’d given McDonald a number to call at the company headquarters. “They’ll be able to give you the importer’s address, at least. Sorry, that’s the best I can do.”
McDonald thanked her and went out to his car, where he lit up a cigarette while he thought. He would contact the importer and find out if they had ever brought this particular ring in, but what good would that do? Even if they said yes, he would be no closer to finding the guy who wore it. Likely the best he would be able to do would be to find which stores actually sold the thing. And from there it would be a longshot indeed to find an employee who remembered selling it to anybody. It would almost certainly be a complete waste of his time to pursue this. Still, that was what detective work often was, and Drumm had asked him to do this job.
McDonald pulled his coat tighter about him and took another drag on his cigarette. He tried blowing a smoke ring into the chilly air but his lips were too cold. At least it was sunny. He thought about Cuba; just forty-eight hours earlier he had been on a hot, sandy beach, with a
cold beer. Now he was standing in a dirty parking lot with freezing fingers. He dropped the cigarette and ground it under his boot heel and took out his cellphone.
Lori had gone back to her desk and thought. Eventually she had gotten up and went in search of the Media Relations department. She had found a young woman sitting by herself at a desk working at a laptop. There was no one else in the office.
Lori introduced herself and sat down in a swivel chair in front of the woman’s desk. She looked around and said,” I thought there’d be more people here.”
The young woman laughed. “It’s Sunday! Nobody’s here. I wouldn’t be here either except I’m behind on this damn thing.” She pointed at the laptop and shook her head. “I don’t think I’m going to catch up either.” She stood up and leaned forward to offer her hand. “My name’s Cindy, by the way. Cindy Rasmussen. Intern extraordinaire.”
“An intern!” Lori smiled. “So that means you do all the dirty jobs and don’t get paid.”
Cindy had long blonde hair, blue eyes and she was wearing a little too much makeup. “Actually, I do get paid,” she said. “But it’s not enough, not what a journalism graduate should be earning. Anyway, what can I do for a homicide detective?”
Lori said, “I’m wondering how easy it would be for a TV reporter to get my home address? If he called this office, I mean.”
Cindy frowned. “Not easy at all. They’re paranoid about that kind of thing here. He’d be turned down flat, I can tell you that for sure. Has one called you then?”
“So, if a reporter wanted a comment from me, and called you here at the office wanting my cellphone or home address…”
“He’d be told in no uncertain terms to take a hike.” Cindy smiled. “I’ve seen it happen. Why? Has someone been pestering you?”
“Not exactly.” Lori was wondering how much to tell this woman, but she couldn’t see how she could learn anything without her help. Lori decided to trust her. “This has to remain secret, understand?”
A Cuban Death Page 8