A Cuban Death

by David Anderson

  He had been concerned about Lori’s state of mind after she was assaulted and fired her weapon. Tonight’s dinner, though, had reassured him and he’d been impressed by her composure. She was tough and resilient and he was confident that she’d handle the SIU interview capably. They’d gone through what she might expect from the interviewers and the kinds of answers she should give. By the end of the dinner, they were both feeling very content, and he’d realized he needed to get going or he would never want to leave the warmth of her apartment.

  “Sorry about the flowers,” he’d said, pointing at the drooping bouquet on the table. “I’ll do better next time.”

  Now he was pulling the Miata into the last empty space in visitor parking. The Whitesides’ building was a high-rise, part of a complex of three. He’d never been called to this complex before so he guessed it was a low-crime area. He locked his car and pulled his coat tighter against the cold as he entered the lobby. The wind was stronger still and the snow was beginning to pile up in drifts against the walls of the building.

  Drumm had called ahead to make sure the Whitesides would be in. They hadn’t seemed surprised to hear from him, no doubt having heard from their friends that he was making the rounds.

  Their apartment was cheery and warm, comfortably but not lavishly decorated and he’d been offered a drink and food which he had declined. The three of them were sitting in the living room taking stock of each other, on the kind of furniture which could only come from a store like Ikea.

  Aaron Whiteside was tall, black and muscular and he was looking at Drumm with amusement on his face. Drumm guessed his height at six foot six and he had the build of a middle linebacker. He was wearing a red polo sweater, zippered at the neck, and Drumm could see the muscles bulging underneath it. He had a friendly face, and he was clean-shaven; his head was covered with dreadlocks.

  Drumm said, “I know you work for the school board, Mr. Whiteside, but what exactly do you do?”

  Aaron Whiteside’s face broke out in a smile. It was obviously something he did a lot. “I’m an EA, Detective Sergeant.”

  Drumm was surprised. An educational assistant? In his experience most were women. He said as much now.

  “No, you’re right. Most EAs are women. But more and more men are getting into it.” He showed his teeth again. “I’m pretty popular, actually, just because I’m male. Lots of schools are looking for male EAs, because there are so many boys that need help these days.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that you’re the size of Mount Everest, either,” said his wife. Deborra Whiteside was much shorter than her husband, maybe five foot nine. Her red hair fell attractively to her shoulders; she was wearing jeans and a thick white sweater. Drumm knew that they were both in their late twenties.

  “And you’re a legal secretary?” asked Drumm. “Where?”

  “Peterman, Horner and Smith,” said Deb Whiteside. “On King Street.”

  Drumm nodded. He’d never heard of the firm. He looked at Aaron Whiteside. “So you’re an EA and you work for the York District School Board. How is it that you were in Cuba?”

  “What do you mean? We were on holiday.” Whiteside’s voice was puzzled.

  “But you were supposed to be in school, weren’t you? I mean, it wasn’t March Break. I didn’t think you could get the time off.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Whiteside. “You’re right, normally I wouldn’t. But I had just started with the YDSB – I was working at a group home before – and we’d already booked and paid for the trip. So York let me have the week off. It was an unpaid leave, though.”

  “Why the change in jobs?”

  Aaron Whiteside smiled again. “More money!”

  Drumm nodded. “By now you two know that I am looking into the death of your friend, Michael Kennedy.” He looked at the two of them. “Unofficially,” he added.

  “So we’ve been told,” said Deb. “But I don’t know how we can help you.”

  “You can start by explaining how you knew him. You were all friends. How did that come about?”

  “We went to high school, the five of us. Not Kathy,” said Aaron. “We hung out together at school, Char and Sean started dating then; so did Deb and I. We lost touch for a few years but then we got back together through Facebook. And someone had the idea of going to Cuba as a group.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Look how it turned out,” said Deb.

  “Did you see your friend getting drunk?” asked Drumm, after a short silence.

  Aaron looked at Deb, then back at Drumm. “Yes. He was really putting it away.” Before Drumm could speak, he went on, “And no, we don’t know of anything that was bothering him. Do we, Deb?”

  “No.” She looked away.

  “I see.” Drumm looked from one to the other. “So, as far as you know, everything was fine. Everything was fine between Mike and Kathy, everything was fine between the six of you.”

  “That’s right.” It was Deb speaking, almost defiantly, Drumm thought.

  “But he and Kathy had been arguing. Everyone agrees on that,” Drumm pointed out.

  “It wasn’t anything serious,” Deb said. “It was just a little tiff.”

  “Ummm,” said Drumm. “And when was the last time you saw him? Mike, I mean?”

  Aaron spoke. “It was late afternoon sometime. We saw him by the pool.”

  “Did you six spend all your time together?” asked Drumm.

  Aaron answered. “No, not at all. Deb and I would go off sometimes and do our own thing. So would the others. But we’d usually join up for meals, and we’d spend some time together at the beach or the pool.”

  Drumm stood up. “Sounds like heaven right now.” He gestured at the window where the snow was rattling the pane. “This can go away anytime it likes. I’ve had enough of it.” He moved towards the door. “Thanks for your time; sorry to interrupt your evening. Please, keep this to yourselves.”

  The Whitesides stood up also. “Do you think someone killed him, then?” asked Aaron. “Is that why you’re asking these questions?”

  “Not at all,” answered Drumm. He started putting his shoes on. He stood up and said, “I’m asking these questions because your friends Charlotte and Kathy came to see me. They were concerned. And Mr. Kennedy’s death was a bit unusual.”

  “He was very drunk,” said Deb. She had her arm around her husband’s waist.

  “He was,” agreed Drumm. “And very likely he just took a nasty tumble off his balcony.”

  “That’s what that Cuban detective told us,” said Aaron. “That he lost his balance and fell to his death. Poor Mike.”

  “That is probably what happened,” said Drumm. He opened the door and turned back to them. “Stay warm,” he said.

  It wasn’t until he was back in the Miata, navigating his way slowly homeward through the driving snow that he remembered Drennan’s admonition to hold a press conference that afternoon. Not only had he failed to do it, he had occupied himself with talking to people who had nothing to do with the Riverwood Rapist at all. And he’d had dinner with a colleague, a very pleasant dinner. He was actually surprised that Drennan hadn’t called to reprimand him.

  It wouldn’t really matter. He would hold a press briefing tomorrow morning and give the Staff Inspector some excuse or other for the delay. Drumm grinned. Keep the wolves at bay while he did his job. And keep them away from his people. Drumm’s expression sobered when he realized they would still have to get through the SIU investigation. He wasn’t really worried about that but it would take up more of their time. It was just another distraction they didn’t need.

  twenty-five

  The media briefing room was full. Drumm stood at the lectern, the media relations officer just to his right, and waited for the throng of journalists to quiet down. Dressed in a suit and tie for the occasion, he waited patiently with a half-smile on his face. He’d briefly considered wearing his full uniform but quickly dismissed the idea. Time enough for that when they actually m
ade an arrest. This was just an opportunity to throw a few scraps to the hungry hordes.

  “I have a short statement to give,” said Drumm. “And then I’ll take a few questions.” He paused and cleared his throat. Speaking to the media like this didn’t bother him. In his former incarnation as a teacher, he’d had plenty of experience talking to large groups. It wasn’t that he pictured them naked, like some public speaking manuals advised, it was rather that he knew what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He was a confident speaker, fluent and articulate, and he understood that he looked good when he spoke. It was a tremendous advantage to know that he could spar with the media wolves and come away relatively unscathed. Not that he could take them lightly; slip up and they would tear him to shreds. To be followed by a similar ripping from Staff Inspector Drennan.

  He looked down at his notes and began. “Wednesday evening there was a seventh sexual assault on a female victim in the area of York known as Riverwood.” He paused and looked directly at one of the cameras. “We have reason to believe that this was the work of the same man that we have been seeking for the past few weeks in connection with six other sexual assaults.” He paused for breath. “The difference in this latest attack is that the female victim managed to inflict some damage on her attacker.”

  There was a sudden murmur of voices from the crowd. Drumm held up his hand and waited for them to settle. “Specifically, she was able to damage the middle finger of his left hand.” Drumm carefully indicated the appropriate finger; it wouldn’t do to flip the bird to the entire city of York. “So, we are asking the citizens of York to help by reporting to the police any person they see with an injured middle finger on their left hand.” He stopped and looked directly at the camera. “Do not approach this man, if you should see him. He is considered dangerous. Report it to the police and do not attempt to speak to him.” Drumm stopped reading and looked at his audience again. “I’ll take some questions now.”

  “Detective Sergeant Drumm, what’s keeping you from an arrest?” It was Susan Benitez. Naturally, thought Drumm. “We were told you knew who the Riverwood Rapist was and an arrest was imminent. Why the delay?”

  Drumm was prepared for this. “These things take time, Susan. Knowing who committed a crime and finding enough evidence to convict him in a court of law are two very different things.”

  Before Benitez could ask a follow-up question, Drumm pointed at a reporter for the Sun-Times. “Brent?”

  “Detective Sergeant Drumm, if you didn’t have enough evidence to apprehend this man, then why were we told that an arrest was imminent? Wasn’t that announcement premature?”

  Drumm smiled inside. The reporter had asked the question just the way they’d planned it. “I didn’t make that announcement, Mr. Hodgson.”

  “What did she do to his finger?” The question came from the rear of the room. Drumm couldn’t see who asked it.

  “I’m not prepared to give any more details on that,” said Drumm. “I’ll just say that the injury was significant and noticeable.”

  “Did she bite it off?” It was the same voice. The question elicited some laughter.

  “Next question.” Drumm looked around the room.

  Susan Benitez said, “Is it true that this latest victim was a police officer working undercover?” She had a little smile on her face as if to say, Gotcha!

  For the first time, Drumm was rattled. How the hell did she know that? There was a delay while he looked down at his notes and then back up at his questioner. “I can’t comment on that, Susan.” He could see she was about to speak so he said quickly, “That’s all I have time for now, folks. Thank you.” He turned and made for the exit while the media officer moved to the lectern.

  Susan raised her voice and called out, “Can we have the name of the officer, Detective Sergeant Drumm?” Then came a babble of voices.

  Drumm made his escape and paused to wipe his forehead. That had been a close call. He had been doing pretty well, he thought, until that last question. Where did she get her information from?

  But Drumm was pretty sure he knew.

  “They televised it live. CN24/7, I mean. They do the breathless, breaking news thing pretty well, I have to say.” Lori was standing in his doorway, leaning against the frame. “You looked good, very much in control.”

  “Until that last question.” Drumm frowned, put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I would ask how she knew but I think we know, don’t we?”

  “He put her up to it?”

  “Of course he did,” Drumm replied. His desk phone rang. He reached forward to answer it. Drumm listened for a few seconds and mouthed Drennan to Lori. She nodded and pushed away from the doorframe. Stay, he mouthed again. He pointed at the chair. She nodded again and sat down, crossing her legs.

  Drumm spoke into his phone but his eyes were on Lori. “I decided to wait until this morning to talk to them, sir, to see if we got anything from the knife or the fingertip. We got some partials from the knife but the fingertip is too badly damaged to be of much use. Aside from the DNA, that is.” Drumm listened again.

  “We haven’t been able to match the prints to anyone, no.” Drumm paused and listened again.

  “I have no idea, sir. It came out of the blue.” There was another pause. “A leak? Not from here.” He smiled sardonically at Lori while he listened some more.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t appreciate it. But I didn’t ask the question, I just answered it.” Drumm listened again. “No, I didn’t put him up to it.” He winked at Lori and mouthed, Yes I did!

  Lori put her hand over her mouth to cover a laugh.

  “I understand, sir.” Drumm put down the phone and looked at Lori. “He hung up on me.”

  “What do you understand?”

  Drumm looked solemn. “That I am to find this S.O.B. and make an arrest. Very helpful. And I am to hold no more press conferences.” Drumm smiled. “That is fine with me.”

  Lori said, “He tried getting you to hang yourself and it didn’t work.”

  “So the next media availability will be his doing and he can control the message. That’s the plan, for sure.” He waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Something to do with Cuba?”

  “No, no, I want you to steer clear of that for now.” Drumm moved some papers around on his desk. “I put in a rush request to the lab on that knife. Here it is. You heard what I told Drennan about the prints. The knife itself isn’t a spring-assist model, like I thought. It’s what’s known as a Balisong butterfly knife. Apparently, people often mistake them for spring-assisted knives.” Drumm smiled briefly. “Like I did.”

  “So you want me to find out more about this knife?”

  Drumm nodded. “I do. Sign it out of evidence, and then see what you can find out about it. Where the creep might have bought it, and so forth. About all I know is that they are prohibited weapons in Canada.”

  “Alright,” said Lori, standing up. “You look good in your suit, by the way. You should wear it more often.”

  Drumm looked down at himself. “I hate the damn thing.” He pulled at his tie. “And this makes me feel like I’m choking.”

  “And where’s Dick?” she asked.

  “Detective McDonald is plowing through the extensive inventory of York physicians and surgeons.”

  “I would expect your press conference will help with that,” said Lori. “Surely any doctor who saw or heard you will get in touch with us.”

  “Let’s hope so,” agreed Drumm. “But more likely all we’ll get is a bunch of useless tips.”

  Lori discovered from a simple Google search that there were many, many places to buy knives in Canada through an internet store. Actual bricks-and-mortar retail locations were harder to find but there was a store in the Westwood Mall called Wizards and Warriors that sold knives. Also, apparently, reading some more on their website, axes, machetes, spears, swords and flashlights.

  She en
tered the store a short time later, the knife hidden safely inside a pocket of her jacket. Wizards and Warriors was a little shop tucked away in an obscure corner of the mall. Despite the time of day, the place was busy. The clientele and staff were exclusively male, mostly younger. The merchandise was an eclectic mix of clothing, backpacks, games, flashlights and other things she couldn’t identify from the front of the store, but primarily it sold sharp objects. It was rather disconcerting to see so many instruments of death arranged so neatly in such fascinating displays. There were spears on the walls and a whole section of machetes with wicked-looking blades and every type of knife she had ever seen and many more that she hadn’t. She wandered over to a display case to admire a curved sword under glass. Dragonfly Katana, read the label: $699.

  “That’s a thing of beauty,” said a voice behind her. “I can get it out for you if you like.”

  Lori turned to see an older man dressed in jeans and casual shirt looking enquiringly at her. James Masters, read his nametag. And underneath, Store Manager.

  “Please,” said Lori impulsively.

  Masters smiled, took out a set of keys and unlocked the display case. Gently he lifted out the sword. Lori put out both hands and the manager placed it carefully on them. It was surprisingly light for such a large object. It was more than a metre long, with a gently curving blade and a teal green corded handle.

  “It comes with a scabbard too, of course,” said Masters. “It’s black lacquered wood. I’ll go get it if you like.”

  “No need,” said Lori hastily. “I’m not going to buy it. I’m just wasting your time, really. I’m a detective, here to ask you some questions about another matter.” She made as if to give it back but the manager stopped her.

  “No worries,” he said. “But give it a try in your hand. See how it feels.” He stepped back.

  Lori looked at him doubtfully but did as he said and swished the sword around in her right hand. She felt a silly but also a little bit like a swashbuckling pirate. Lunge, parry, lunge… If only she’d had this thing when the Riverwood Rapist had attacked her. She could have done some serious damage. She gave the sword back to the manager. “Thank you. I enjoyed that. What type of sword is it?”