So much for not saying anything, thought Drumm. “Is there somewhere we can talk for a few minutes?” He looked around.
“Back here.” Charlotte led the way to an office in the rear of the store. She moved a pile of clothes off a chair and said, “Have a seat.”
Charlotte Gill was elegantly dressed in blouse, sweater and slacks, clothing that no doubt came from Flights of Fancy. She was looking at him expectantly. “It’s about Mike, is it? What’s made you change your mind?”
Drumm ignored this. “I’m here unofficially, Mrs. Gill. I’m just taking an interest, as it were. It’s a bit unusual, what happened to your friend. And I have some time at the moment…”
Charlotte looked at him carefully. “Well, if you say so. How can I help?”
“I’d just like to get your views on the relationship between Mr. Kennedy and Kathy Walters.”
“They loved each other.” Charlotte was firm.
“Yes. But the argument they had that day – was that usual?”
“No, it wasn’t. They didn’t fight, at least not that we could see. What happened in Cuba was just a one-off. Mike had too much to drink, Kathy got upset…” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “I would likely have reacted the same way. He was getting hammered. And that wasn’t the first day he had done it.”
“Did you like him?”
“Mike? Sure. I mean, he was okay. He was funny and kind and he treated Kathy well. Most of the time, that is. When he wasn’t drinking.”
“Why do you think he was drinking so much? It was a bit unusual, wouldn’t you say?”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Yes, it was. I mean, there were plenty of people at that resort who were hitting the bars but Mike seemed to be really overdoing it.”
Drumm thought of the huge drinking mug Kennedy had apparently been using and could only agree. “Your husband and Mr. Kennedy worked together, I understand.”
“At Metro Grocers, yes.”
“Did your husband ever say anything about his relationship with Mr. Kennedy?”
Charlotte stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Did they get along well?”
“They were friends. They got along great. In fact, Mike got Sean the job there.” Charlotte stared at him. “Why are you asking these questions, Detective Sergeant? What are you implying?”
Drumm said, “I’m not implying anything. You asked me to investigate and I’m just trying to establish some background on the people who knew Mr. Kennedy best.”
Charlotte stood up. “Well, I suggest if you have any more questions, you talk to Sean yourself. I really have to get back to work now, Detective Sergeant.”
Drumm stood up also. “I understand. Sorry to take so much of your time.” He turned to go. “Please, Mrs. Gill, remember that this is unofficial. I am just making some routine enquiries.”
“I won’t say anything, Detective Sergeant.”
I doubt that, thought Drumm.
Drumm’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he was sitting in the mall’s food court enjoying a sandwich and a bottle of water.
“Nick, how much more of this do you want us to do? It’s cold out here. And we’re not getting anywhere.”
“Stop whining, Dick.” But Drumm was smiling. “Wear some warmer gloves next time.”
McDonald said, “I am seriously saying this is a waste of time. We haven’t found anything at all. If this guy wrapped up his finger with something, he took it with him. Simpson and Morgan and I have gone over every inch of ground along that blood trail and we haven’t found so much as a mouse dropping.”
“Are they as cold and whiny as you?” asked Drumm.
McDonald laughed. “Morgan’s nose is as red as Rudolph’s and Simpson just gets quieter and quieter.”
“What about the canvass?”
McDonald sighed. “Nothing there yet, either. People didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything or they’re not home or they’re lying…”
“Everybody lies, Dick,” said Drumm. “You know that.” He paused. “I’m having a tasty BLT at the moment. I suggest you do the same. All three of you. Get some food and get warm. But then finish the job. Knock on those doors again. And when you’re done with that, start getting the word out to the doctors in the area that we’re looking for a gunshot wound to a finger. If he didn’t go to a clinic or hospital, maybe he went to his own doctor. We need a lead on this guy.”
Drumm could hear McDonald curse. “There are hundreds of them! I think I’ll have a cigar instead.” He disconnected.
Drumm smiled and went back to his sandwich. The canvass looked like being a dead end. There had been plenty of those in this case. He thought about the Riverwood Rapist and his shot-off fingertip. It was strange that he hadn’t visited a hospital emergency room or one of the walk-in clinics. Or maybe it showed that they weren’t dealing with a dummy here. He thought some more. An idea came into his head. Yes, that was worth pursuing.
The head office for Metro Grocers was located in a new industrial park in the west end of the city. It was a three-storey structure, all blue glass and steel, located in the middle of many other similar buildings.
Drumm shut off the Miata, got out and looked at the huge pile of freshly-plowed snow in the parking lot. This would stay for months, long after the weather had turned mild again. Just now it was approaching the size of a small ski hill. He shook the snow off his shoes and entered the building.
He found Sean Gill on the third floor, occupying a corner office. Dressed in a suit and tie, Gill stood up and shook Drumm’s hand. “Detective Sergeant Drumm. I heard you were coming. Please, have a seat.”
Of course you did, thought Drumm. While removing his coat and scarf, Drumm studied the man. He was taller than himself, probably six foot three, and he was clearly in good shape. He was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and his black hair was receding at the temples. His face was still showing the tan of his recent Cuban vacation.
“You’re looking into Mike’s death? How is that? You don’t have jurisdiction, do you? At least, that’s what Char said.” Gill was sitting back in his chair.
“It’s just an unofficial thing. Just some routine enquiries.” Drumm uttered the familiar phrases without really thinking.
“Unofficial? What does that mean? You’re here on your own time?” Gill was frowning and his tone was sharp.
Drumm realized that Sean Gill would need careful handling. “Not exactly, Mr. Gill. It’s a delicate thing, when a Canadian dies in Cuba – or any foreign country for that matter – we have to try to cooperate with the local police. You understand, we have to operate a little bit differently, a little more under the radar.” Drumm hoped this police-speak would satisfy Gill.
Gill stared at him. “We were told that Mike died accidentally. Isn’t that true then? What do you believe? Do you think those three Cuban guys killed him? Kathy said you think that might have happened.”
Drumm said, “Not at all. I have no opinion on the subject.” That wasn’t quite true, of course. “What I said was, the Cuban police think he might have been thrown off the balcony. But on balance, they think he was most likely to have fallen over accidentally because he was drunk.”
Gill visibly relaxed. “I see. But I don’t quite get why you’re here. If it happened in Cuba and it was an accident…”
“I’m just trying to get some background.” Drumm’s voice was soothing. “The death was unusual and your wife and Kathy Walters are concerned.”
Gill leaned forward. “You think I had something to do with it? Char said you were asking her questions about me.”
“No, no, not at all. I’m just trying to get the complete picture. There were six of you there. I’ll talk to all of you eventually.” Drumm paused but Sean Gill said nothing further. “You knew him well? You must have, if you worked together.”
“Yes, I knew him pretty well. We were good friends. He got me this job here. Years ago, that was. But I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t f
or Mike.”
“So I heard. A good friend, indeed.” Drumm looked around the office. “What do you do here?”
“I’m a buyer,” said Gill.
“What does a buyer do?” asked Drumm.
Gill laughed. “I buy. I’m responsible for the produce. We have a lot of suppliers, and a lot of stores.”
“I guess you must. And Mike Kennedy?” asked Drumm.
“He was a bean counter. Mike worked in accounting.”
Drumm nodded. “Was he okay? Was anything bothering him, do you know? Ms. Walters said he seemed distracted before the holiday. Did you see any sign of that at work?”
Gill shook his head. “Bothering him? No, not that I knew about. She said that? It’s news to me.”
“Okay. But she was pretty definite that something was bothering him.” Drumm watched Gill shake his head again, with a puzzled look on his face. “No? Alright, fine. I was just wondering why a man would drink so much when he was on holiday. Especially when it seems he didn’t when he was at home.”
Gill smiled. “Is that all? Mike just liked to have a good time, that’s what that was. Free food, free drinks - you know.”
Drumm nodded again. “He tried to pick up a couple of girls in the disco. Yet he was engaged to be married and seemingly happy about it. Do you know of any reason why he would do that? Were he and Kathy fighting?”
“Just that day,” said Gill. “As far as I know, it was just because Mike was drinking so much.” Gill looked troubled. “Kathy told me about those girls. I have no idea what he was up to. I’ve never seen him do that kind of thing. And he loved Kathy, that I know.”
“So he and Kathy had a fight and she slept in your room that night. When was the last time you saw him?”
Gill said, “Earlier in the day, sometime in the afternoon. And a little correction, Detective: Kathy slept in our second bedroom. We had a two-bedroom unit.”
“Right,” said Drumm. “I forgot. What time did you all go to bed?”
“Well, Kathy went first, that I recall. Char and I stayed up a bit later but I don’t really remember what time.”
“And you didn’t go out at all?”
“No, none of us did.”
Drumm said, “You probably told all this to the Cuban police.”
Gill snorted. “Did we! They kept us all day. Asked the same questions, over and over.”
“They must have been satisfied,” said Drumm. “Or you wouldn’t be here.” He stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time. Thanks for your cooperation.”
Gill stood up also. “Are you gonna get that guy soon? The Riverwood Rapist, I mean..”
Drumm winced. “I sincerely hope so.” He moved to go and then turned. “If you think of anything else you forgot to tell me, please let me know. And let’s keep this conversation to ourselves, shall we? Remember, it’s unofficial.”
Sean Gill gave a sketchy salute and a half smile. “Will do, Detective.”
As he left, Drumm wondered about that smile. He didn’t care to be mocked, but maybe it had simply been his imagination.
Drumm was standing in the hallway like a teenager on a first date, a bunch of flowers clasped in front of him. There was melting snow on his hair, on his eyebrows, on his coat and even on the tops of the flowers. When Lori opened the door, he was looking ruefully down at them.
“These are for you,” he said. “But I’m afraid I may have killed them. Do lilies like the snow?”
“Not so much,” said Lori. “Come in.” She took the bouquet from him and said, “They’re lovely. I’ll put them in some water. Hang that wet coat up, take your shoes off and sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Drumm sat on her couch and looked around her tidy apartment. He’d been here before and it wasn’t much changed from his previous visit. Lori returned and put a vase containing the wilting flowers on the table in front of him.
Drumm stared at the blooms. “They don’t look very good, do they?”
“It’s the thought that counts,” said Lori. “Thank you. Um, how long were they out in the cold?” She sat on the chair facing Drumm.
“About six hours,” said Drumm, with a smile. “Too long?”
“Possibly, yes. What’s the occasion?”
“Well, I just felt badly about what happened to you. It was my fault and I just wanted to come over here and tell you that once more. I’ll make sure it never happens again. Not that that’s of much use.”
“Forget it,” said Lori. She was pleased that Drumm had taken the time to visit her. “It happened, it’s over and done with.” He started to speak but she raised her hand and interrupted him. “Forget about it, I said. Let’s move on. What have you been doing all day while I’ve been lolling about here?”
Drumm looked her over. “You don’t look like you’ve been lolling about. You look much better, actually. Had a workout, did you?”
Lori said, “Yes, I did, or tried to. But only after a hot bath and a good, long sleep. But you didn’t answer me, what have you been up to?”
She saw Drumm look at her as if he were trying to decide something. After a pause, he said, “This is for your ears only.” He reflected. “I guess you can tell Dick, but no one else.”
Intrigued, she listened as he told her about the death of Mike Kennedy, McDonald’s involvement, his conversation with the Cuban investigator and the interviews he’d had with Sean Gill, Charlotte Gill and Kathy Walters. It took him some time.
At the end she said, “I’ll make some tea. Or would you rather have a beer?”
“Tea is fine.”
“Good, because I don’t keep any beer in the apartment.” She smiled.
Lori returned in a few minutes with two mugs. “But why are you getting involved in this?” she said as she sat down and crossed her legs. “It didn’t even happen in Canada!”
Drumm sighed. “I know. And at first that’s what I told the women. But you know how we get that little feeling when something’s not right?”
Lori nodded. “Or when someone is lying.”
“Yes, but these women weren’t lying. It’s just that there was something about it that got me thinking. And, to be honest…”
“Yes?”
Drumm grinned. “Drennan ordered me not to get involved.”
“So naturally you did.”
“Naturally.” Drumm smiled again. “If it hadn’t been for that, I would have sent those two ladies on their way and thought no more about it.”
“But now…?” said Lori.
“But now, we are unofficially investigating.”
“We?” said Lori. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, for the moment. But I am shortly going to talk to the Whitesides and see what they have to say.” He stood up. “Thank for the tea.”
“Sit down,” said Lori. “You haven’t even finished it. And you’ve got to eat. I’ll make you some dinner before you head out.”
Drumm hesitated. “I didn’t come over here…”
Lori stood up and pointed at the sofa. “Sit. That’s an order, sir.”
Drumm sat down and Lori laughed. “I wish that worked all the time.” She started to move towards the kitchen and then stopped. “On second thought, don’t sit. You can help.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lori smiled to herself. It would be fun to cook for a man again. Especially Drumm.
twenty-four
Detective Richard McDonald lit the Cohiba and inhaled gratefully. A parking lot wasn’t the greatest place to enjoy a cigar but he couldn’t smoke in the YPS building. He strolled over to the park and stopped on the path. The lamp standards were making pools of light in the darkness, snaking along through the snow as the walkway curved away into blackness. McDonald blew out a huge cloud of smoke and felt himself relaxing. His leg ached, his head hurt and his fingers were cold but at least his day would soon be over.
The canvass had not gone well. The best the three detectives could do was a vague report of someone running along
.
“Might’ve seen a guy,” said a drunken fool of a man who had answered his knock. His breath reeked of beer and McDonald could see a cluster of bottles arranged on the kitchen table behind him. “I’d just got up to take a piss and I looked out the window to see if it was snowing.”
McDonald was impatient. “Well, did you or didn’t you? Or were you too hammered to tell?”
The man scowled at him. “Might have, I said. It was dark.”
“This man you might have seen,” said McDonald sarcastically. “Which way might he have been going?”
The drunk had pointed towards Queen Street. “Might’ve gone that way.”
McDonald sighed. “And what did he look like?”
The man stared at him. “It was dark.”
That was all they had as far as witnesses. Lori’s attacker, shot finger and all, had made his escape without anyone else noticing, so far as they could tell. And once again, there had been no security cameras anywhere in the area. There were a couple of red light cameras further along Queen that he would check but McDonald wasn’t hopeful they would show anything.
He, Simpson and Morgan had begun contacting the many physicians in York but it was a slow process and they hadn’t crossed too many doctors off the list.
McDonald looked at his cigar. You just couldn’t beat a genuine Cuban. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was under a palm tree, listening to the surf.
The snow was falling again as Drumm made his way towards the apartment building where Aaron and Deb Whiteside lived. There was only an occasional vehicle to be seen on the roads; most people had heeded the forecasters’ advice to stay home. Another ten centimetres of snow was expected along with strong winds from the north. The snow was being driven across the road by the strengthening breeze and Drumm realized he would likely have a much more difficult time getting home. Visibility was already deteriorating.
His stomach felt pleasantly full. He and Lori had enjoyed a simple dinner; she had whipped together a mild chicken curry while he had made a Caesar salad. They had chatted companionably in the warmth of her kitchen, sipping Chardonnay, and the Riverwood Rapist had seemed a million miles away.
A Cuban Death Page 14