They were in an empty parking lot, hidden from the street by buildings, and surrounded on three sides by dark, windowless walls. Lori had time to see a dumpster and piles of what looked like construction material beside it before she felt a sledgehammer blow to her back. She pitched forward, breaking her fall with her hands at the last moment. Two hands grasped her by the shoulders and turned her over. She lay there gasping, looking up at her attacker.
He was tall and seemed to tower over her. He was wearing a black ski mask, black track pants and a black, zippered windbreaker. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly but his hands were bare, the left one holding what appeared to be a switchblade knife.
He squatted, putting one leg on either side of her; the knife was pointed unwaveringly at her right eye. “I’m not happy, bitch. You spoke.” The rasping voice was angry. Now that he was closer, she could see his eyes.
Lori contemplated trying to throw him off but he was holding the knife too close to her eye, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough anyway. She concentrated on staying absolutely still. Think, think! What would he do next?
“Unzip your coat. Do it!” The voice was low and demanding.
Lori slipped off her mittens and slowly pulled the zipper down on her ski jacket.
“Faster!”
Lori completed the job and waited for his next move. Where was Drumm, and the rest of the team? She’d given the code word. Get here! Her mind was screaming.
The Riverwood Rapist had pulled the knife away from her eye and was eyeing her. “You’re a looker, aren’t you? I’m going to take my time with you.” He reached out and grasped the neck of Lori’s sweater.
“Wait!” Lori gasped. “It’s new. I just bought it. Let me pull it up. Please. I don’t want it ruined.” And if you let me do it, I think I can pull the wire out of the way at the same time.
The man let go and rasped, “Go on, then. Hurry.” He had been squatting above her all this time but he now changed his position to kneel, one leg on either side of her. The knife was in his left hand and he was twirling it now, like a cheerleader with a baton.
Lori grasped the bottom of her sweater and pulled it up. She made sure to get her brassiere and the wire as well and pulled everything up as high as she could, baring her breasts to the cold night air. She was still wearing her scarf. Please don’t take it off. You’ll find my earpiece if you do.
He wasn’t interested in her scarf. He was staring at her chest. He said, hoarsely, “”Unzip your jeans. Hurry! Do it.”
Lori thought desperately, Where is Drumm? With hands that were rapidly turning to blocks of ice, she undid the clasp on her blue jeans and slid down the zipper. Her attacker immediately put down his knife, grabbed her pants and pulled them violently down. He looked for a few seconds and then he grasped her by the waist and turned her over.
“Up!” he grunted, and she felt his hands grab her on either side and pull her up. His hands were icy cold. He slapped her hard on the rear end.
Her mind was racing. Where the hell was Drumm? This pig was going to rape her. Where was her back-up team? She realized that if her attacker was going to be stopped, it was up to her to do it.
Lori was still wearing her ski jacket, which was hanging loosely on either side; her hands were planted on the frozen pavement. She took her weight off the right one and reached into the inside pocket of her jacket where she had secured her Glock earlier. She pulled the gun out and put her finger on the trigger.
Her attacker had stopped for a few seconds and Lori guessed he had been lowering his track pants. She suddenly collapsed her weight and did a roll to her right, lying on the ground facing him with the gun in her right hand.
He was fast, very fast. As soon as she had flopped to the ground, he had pulled up his pants and stood up, the knife in his left hand. He was turning away as she struggled to bring her gun to bear on him. Lori’s scarf and rucked-up clothing were in her way and her finger was so cold that she had trouble holding the gun and depressing the trigger properly. You’re not going to get away, you’re not!
“Stop! Police!” Lori screamed out the command.
The man hadn’t hesitated. He had started running across the parking lot towards the dumpster. Lori had time to fire one shot and then another before he disappeared around the garbage bin. She thought she heard him cry out.
Finally, at long last, she could hear a siren in the distance. She was still lying on the frozen ground. She looked down at herself and pulled down her sweater. Quickly she struggled to do up her pants and make herself presentable again. She was shaking – with cold, with anger, with humiliation, with fright – and she realized she was close to going into shock, if she wasn’t there already. Lori forced herself to take deep, even breaths. Control your mind, then your breathing.
When she was calmer, she walked over to the dumpster, gun drawn, and looked carefully around it. As she thought, this was the only vehicle exit from the lot. Her attacker was nowhere in sight. He had disappeared into the dark streets. There were low-rise apartment buildings and back alleys everywhere in this part of the city, and it wouldn’t have been hard for him to make himself scarce. As she watched, a police car with lights flashing came around the corner in a controlled skid and headed towards her. Another one followed it, and then she could see Drumm’s car further behind. Lori advanced towards the reinforcements, putting her gun back into her ski jacket. She stopped and put her mittens back on.
The cavalry had arrived.
twenty-one
“He brought me down there.” Lori pointed at the alleyway. As she did so, McDonald emerged, gun drawn. He was breathing hard and favouring his leg. When he saw the collection of police in front of him, he stopped, put his gun away, and slowly limped towards them.
Drumm ignored McDonald. Drumm was upset, and pacing around in his agitation. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I am cold. I am tired. I am hungry,” Lori said, eyeing him. “But mostly I am pissed off. Stop that walking around, would you? You’re making me dizzy.”
Drumm stopped and looked at her. “Sorry. You have every right to be angry.”
“What happened?” McDonald and Lori said it at the same time.
“As soon as you got off the bus, I started getting static. I tried telling you to call it off but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“I couldn’t hear you at all,” said Lori.
“I didn’t hear anything either,” said McDonald. “And I stayed on the bus like we planned.” He looked at Lori’s dishevelled appearance. “I wish I’d gotten here sooner.”
Drumm said, “The whole thing was a screw-up. I heard you tell me about the white van but only barely, and then I lost sight of you. The damned thing was blocking my view.” He stopped to look as a couple of other unmarked police cars arrived and Detectives Simpson and Morgan got out. “So I went past and I couldn’t see you, and I couldn’t hear anything. We were all calling out to each other but nobody knew where you were. I thought maybe you were in that empty lot we talked about, or maybe in one of the abandoned stores, so I wasted time checking.” Drumm started pacing again and then caught himself. “I got back in the car and went around the back and that’s when I heard the shots fired.”
“Me, too,” said McDonald. “I heard those and started running. Well, hobbling. Not as fast as I used to be.”
Drumm said, “So what happened, Lori? Was it him?”
“It was him.” Lori recounted most of what had just taken place, omitting the details. “He’s every bit as vicious as they said he was,” she concluded.
Drumm looked at her for a few seconds, and then the gaggle of police surrounding them. “Two shots?” was all he said.
“Yes. Over here.”
They found the two casings without difficulty. Drumm looked at them, gleaming dully in the pulsing light from the cruisers. “Did you hit the bugger? I hope?”
“I don’t think so, but he may have yelled something. By the time I got to my feet and looked a
round that dumpster for him, he was nowhere to be seen.” Lori was pointing towards the cluster of vehicles.
“We’ll do a thorough search anyway, of course. Dick, organize that, will you?” Drumm looked at McDonald who nodded and moved towards the uniformed officers. Morgan and Simpson were already casting about like terriers, looking for evidence. Drumm looked at them shuffling around, heads hunched down into their coats, and he took Lori by the arm. “Come over here.”
They moved over close to a wall where they could speak privately.
“How bad was it?” Drumm was speaking in a low voice.
Lori thought, He nearly violated me! Aloud, she said, “It wasn’t good. But no harm was done.” She took him by the arm and said, “It wasn’t your fault. Nothing bad happened. I’m not seriously hurt, just a cut or two and a few bruises. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Did he…?” Drumm hesitated, clearly reluctant to put into words what he wanted to ask.
“No,” Lori said quietly. “But it was a near thing.”
Drumm visibly relaxed. “It’s a good thing you had your gun with you. But why did you? I mean, we decided you’d be unarmed.”
Lori looked down at her feet. “I know. I should have told you.” She looked up at Drumm. “But it was just a feeling I had – last night – that there was someone watching me. And there was the problem with the radio. I didn’t feel safe, I guess.”
Drumm looked at her searchingly. “I see. You should still have told me. About that feeling you had. And the Glock. And listen, if anyone asks, when the SIU gets involved, for example, then our plan all along was to have the gun on you. I’ll make sure the others know.”
Lori nodded.
There was a call from over near the dumpster. “Hey.” Morgan was beckoning to them.
Drumm and Lori walked over.
“Looks like you did hit him, Lori,” said Morgan. He was smiling. “Poor man, it looks like he’s missing a piece.”
Lori stared at the ground. There was something red and bloody lying in the snow. “What is it?”
Morgan laughed. With the cold, his beefy face was even redder than usual. “It’s not his willy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Lori kept her cool. “No, he had that tucked away.”
Morgan grinned. “It’s the tip of a finger, I do believe. The up-yours finger, I would say.”
Drumm bent over and peered at the mess in the snow. “I think you’re right. The middle finger it is. Looks like from maybe the first knuckle down. Let’s mark it for now. We’ll get it to the lab later.”
Detective Simpson had left the group and was searching carefully along the attacker’s trail. “Here we go.” He pointed down at a drop of blood on the snow and carefully marked it, then moved further along. “There’s another.” He and Morgan started walking slowly along the street, heads down and flashlights sweeping back and forth..
“Blood trail,” said Drumm. “Good shooting, Lori.” He turned to McDonald. “Get K-9 here, Dick. We’ll see if we can nail this bastard.”
“Over here.” The voice came from behind them where a uniformed officer was pointing at the snow.
They walked over to see an object, half-buried in the snow and what looked like a brass handle gleaming dully in the light from the officer’s flashlight.
“Definitely good shooting, Lori. It looks like you hit his knife hand,” Drumm said.
“It was just luck,” she said.
McDonald reached down and carefully picked up the object, which was indeed a knife with a wicked-looking blade. He shone his flashlight on it. “Odd-looking thing,” he remarked, turning it around so they could all see it. “The handle is split. And the blade is hidden.”
“I thought it looked like a switchblade in his hand,” said Lori.
“It’s not,” said Drumm. “It’s what’s called a spring-assist knife. He must have had it closed when you shot him. I’m not sure what type it is, though. Bag it, Dick, and bring it along.”
McDonald nodded and put the knife into an evidence bag. Then he took out his cellphone.
“Wait. Come with me a minute, you two.” Drumm moved the three of them a short distance away. “We’ll soon have our Special Investigations Unit friends with us,” said Drumm. “It’s officially a police shooting now. Dick, after that call to K-9, get the team together. We need to have a wee chat.” He looked at Lori. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. You were attacked, you fired your weapon to defend yourself with the first shot, and the second to stop a dangerous offender. There’s no way you did anything wrong.”
Lori nodded, obviously unsure. “It was the second shot that hit him, then.”
“Looks like it,” agreed Drumm. “It’s your first shooting, right?”
“It’s the first time I’ve used my gun for anything other than practice,” admitted Lori.
“You’ll feel a little strange for a bit. That’s natural.” Drumm was sympathetic. “You might even feel guilty. And there will be a bunch of paperwork to complete. Plus these SIU interviews to get through. But it’ll be okay. It was a good shooting.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” said Lori. She looked Drumm straight in the eye. “Just sorry I missed. That bastard was going to rape me. When I fired, I wanted to kill him.”
Drumm looked at her, surprised. Then he said, “It’s completely understandable. But I wouldn’t tell the SIU that.” He grinned. “Nope. I wouldn’t.” He took her by the arm. “Come on, let’s get you some tea.”
twenty-two
“The Homicide Department will try, as much as possible, to have a normal day.” Drumm, coffee and croissant in front of him, sat at his desk. McDonald and Lori Singh occupied the two chairs and sipped coffee and tea respectively. “If the SIU lets us, that is.”
It was close to eleven o’clock in the morning. They’d all had a late night and needed time off to recharge their batteries.
“Anything new from last night?” asked Lori.
“Not that I’ve heard,” said Drumm. “I thought the dogs were our best bet but it seems I was wrong.”
The K-9 team had arrived about an hour after the shooting. The pair of German Shepherds had done their job and excitedly followed the blood trail. It led down the street, onto the sidewalk and then into a back alley for a half mile or so but then it had abruptly stopped at an intersection. The officers figured that their suspect had used a rag or something similar to stanch the bleeding, or maybe he’d just shoved it inside his pants pocket. The dogs were able to continue tracking for a short distance but then they had lost the scent. Their man had managed to escape.
“I’ve just finished checking again with the hospitals and clinics,” said McDonald. “Nothing. Nothing last night, and nothing this morning.”
“Maybe he went out of the city?” asked Lori.
“Maybe, love,” said McDonald. “But if so, we’ll hear about it.” He thought for a second. “Perhaps he’s just put a bandage on it.”
Lori help up her middle finger to McDonald. “Imagine the tip of this shot off. A bandage wouldn’t do the job, would it? I’d need stitches. I’d need a hospital or a clinic, or I’d be risking infection or gangrene. Plus it would hurt. A lot.”
“You just gave me the finger,” said McDonald. But he was smiling.
“Children, children,” said Drumm. “Stop scribbling.” He put his fingers together. “So this is where we are, as I see it. Thanks to Lori, our guy will soon have to seek medical treatment. When he does, we’ll have him. We just have to wait. In the meantime, the lab will analyze that finger to see if the DNA matches the semen samples we have. We’ll know that soon enough. But I don’t think there’s much doubt it’s the same guy.”
“We weren’t scribbling, Nick, we were squabbling,” said Lori. “I’ll go back to where I was attacked last night and see how things look in the daylight. Maybe we missed something.”
“No, you won’t,” said Drumm, leaning forward. “You’re taking the rest of the day off. Go home and ge
t some rest. That’s an order.” He pointed his finger at her. “You’ve been through an ordeal. Take the day to recover. No arguments. Like I suggested last night –you shouldn’t even have come in today.” He waited but she said nothing. Drumm went on, “Dick can go back and look at the scene. And he can follow the route and check out where we lost your attacker. I think your leg is up to that. Alright, Dick?”
McDonald nodded. “I can handle it.”
“And see if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary last night. Take Morgan and Simpson too. Where are they, anyway?” Drumm looked around.
McDonald shrugged. “Sleeping?”
Drumm frowned. “Maybe someone saw a man running, or heard something. Maybe you’ll find a bloody rag.”
McDonald stood up. “Right. On my way.”
Drumm said, “Wait, before you go, I wanted you to hear this as well. It wasn’t the damned batteries that messed up our communications. It was something to do with a faulty circuit. That’s what was making it cut in and out.”
“Good to know,” said McDonald. He left the room.
“Lori, I’m serious,” said Drumm. You get on home now.”
“I know. I will.” She leaned forward and said in a quiet voice, “What are you going to do about Drennan?”
Drumm shrugged. “Do? There’s not much to do, is there? If he’s out to get me, then I can’t stop him.”
“Have you been visited by any more reporters?”
“I’ve been dodging them. But I won’t be able to keep that up indefinitely. Thank God, no one has shown up at my house again. Not that I’ve been there much lately.”
Lori asked, “Are we going to release it that there was another attack? It will make things worse for you.”
“I’m going to let Drennan decide that one,” said Drumm with a sigh. “It might be helpful if the public knew we were looking for a guy missing a fingertip. But I know that whatever I chose would be wrong. So let him have the responsibility.”
A Cuban Death Page 12