Masters spoke over his shoulder as he locked the weapon away again. “It’s a Japanese Samurai sword. The blade is carbon steel, just over twenty-nine inches long; the whole thing is forty-one inches long and weighs about thirty-seven ounces.”
“A Samurai sword? I had no idea. So I should have been twirling it above my head instead of acting like an idiotic fencer. What do people want with them?”
Masters had finished putting the sword back in the case and turned towards her. “For most it’s a hobby. They collect different swords, get out and practise with them, pretend…Well, you can guess what they pretend. Some just display them on a wall but most buyers use them. You can take lessons on how to fight with a sword. And some people buy them for self-defence.”
“Fascinating,” said Lori, and she meant it. She took out one of her cards and gave it to the manager. “Detective Singh, Homicide. I need some information on a knife if you can spare the time.” She took the knife, still contained in its plastic bag, out of her pocket, removed it from the bag and showed it to Masters.
“Ah,” he said. “A Balisong butterfly knife. I haven’t seen one of those lately. May I?” He reached out and took the weapon from her. He hefted the knife and then flicked his wrist. The blade magically appeared. Masters then went into a skilled routine with the knife, twirling it around in his hand like a cheerleader twirling a baton; the blade popped out, disappeared, came into view again, folded away. Lori couldn’t follow all the movements because the weapon was moving so fast. Masters ended with the knife folded up and resting innocently on his palm. “Nice blade,” he said, and gave it back to her.
“Do you sell these?” she asked.
“Oh, no, they’re illegal in Canada. Have been for years. How did you come by this one?”
“A nasty man stuck it in my cheek. I took it from him.” Lori looked at him calmly. “But he got away. We were wondering where he might have bought it.”
Masters looked at her carefully. “I was wondering about that cut on your cheek. Well, he didn’t get it here, I assure you. We don’t sell them and never have. I don’t need to get into illegal stuff. We do very well with the hobbyists and collectors.”
“But he could have gotten it in Canada?”
“Oh, yes, he could have. There are places where you can get them, for sure. But really, it would be so much easier to pick one up in the States. They’re legal to purchase there, probably cheaper too. He could have just driven across the border into Buffalo and got one. Easiest thing in the world to slip it back into Canada. Lots of places to hide one of these in a car, and what are the chances you’d ever be searched anyway?”
Lori turned the knife over in her hand. It wasn’t even six inches long. “What makes it work?”
“Centrifugal force. Makes the blade pop out and then go back in. And as you see, the handle splits into two pieces. They’re really rather ingenious. This one is from the 1940s. It’s Indian made, most likely from World War II. I would guess it came from an Indian soldier. It’s solid brass, very well constructed.”
Lori said, “Really? I had no idea. And how much would I expect to pay for one of these?”
Masters said, “It’s a collector’s item, and it would depend on its provenance, but I would say it would cost you about $200. American.”
“Would there be any way to trace where it came from?”
“Not really. There’s no serial number, if that’s what you mean. The best you could do would be to find the store that sold it.”
“And there are probably dozens of them, right?” asked Lori.
“At least. Plus illegal dealers, EBay, Craigslist. That sort of thing.”
Lori sighed. “I have no chance. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Likely not, no. It’s a collector’s item but there are plenty of them out there. They’re not scarce.”
Lori put the knife back in its bag and tucked it away out of sight. She looked up at Masters. “My parents are Indian.”
Masters smiled. “Interesting coincidence. Maybe it belonged to your grandfather. Was he a soldier?”
“I don’t really know.” She reached out to shake the manager’s hand. “Thanks for the education. It was really interesting.”
“My pleasure,” said Masters. “And by the way, that little beauty usually comes with a nice leather pouch. I guess he didn’t have it on him when you took it from him?”
“I didn’t really have time to look,” said Lori. “I was rather busy at the time.”
Earl Roth Elementary School was a rural school located on a quiet country road on the outskirts of York. Drumm enjoyed his drive out of the city; it was a chance to visit a part of the region that he didn’t usually get to see. The pine trees that were everywhere in the area were sagging under the weight of the freshly-fallen snow.
“Mr. Whiteside is in class at the moment.” The secretary, young and with a nervous smile, stood behind the counter and waited expectantly.
“It’s important,” said Drumm. “You did hear me say Homicide, didn’t you?” He folded his arms and stared at the woman.
She looked uncomfortably over her shoulder and then said, “Just a minute.” She walked quickly to the back of the office and disappeared around a corner. Shortly she reappeared, followed by a stout woman in a business suit who was holding Drumm’s business card.
“Detective Sergeant Drumm? I’m Muriel Atkinson, principal of the school. I understand you want to chat with Aaron Whiteside.”
Drumm nodded. “I do.”
“What’s it about?”
“I can’t tell you that. Where is he, please?”
“He’s with a student, a very needy student, actually. Can you wait?”
“No, I can’t. May I suggest that you go to wherever he is, relieve Mr. Whiteside and send him down here? As soon as possible? Or I can go and talk to him in front of the student if you prefer.”
The principal frowned and looked irritated. “That won’t be necessary. Just a minute, please.” She gave Drumm an unfriendly look and left the office.
Drumm wandered out of the office out into the foyer and occupied himself inspecting a display case filled with student art. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.
“They’re papier-mâché insects,” said a voice from behind him.
Drumm turned to see Aaron Whiteside. Dressed in a track suit and wearing running shoes, he looked like he’d just come from the gym. Drumm raised his eyebrows. “Were you working out?”
Whiteside looked down at his shoes. “The clothing, you mean? I always dress like this. I spend a lot of time in the gym with the boys, and if I’m not doing that, I’m often sitting on a classroom floor somewhere. I can’t wear good clothes – they just get ruined.. But just now I was in the library with Jake.” He looked down at Drumm. “What’s so important? I just talked to you last night.”
Drumm stared at him. “Yes, but today I would like the truth.”
“What? I told you the truth yesterday. What do you mean?”
Drumm waited patiently.
“Seriously, Detective, Jake needs me. He’s autistic and he gets squirrelly when he’s with someone new. I can’t leave him for too long with Mrs. Atkinson.”
“Then you’d better give me the whole story about what was going on with the six of you, hadn’t you?” Drumm stood with his arms folded and waited.
Whiteside looked around and said, “Come on – let’s talk over here.” He led the way to a small conference room and closed the door. “Now, what’s this about?”
Drumm leaned back against the door and said, “It’s about the lies you told me yesterday, you and your wife. Today I want the real story about what might have been bothering Mike Kennedy. And, what was going on between him and you.”
Aaron looked searchingly at him, then sat down heavily. His customary smile had disappeared. “Alright. Deb and I didn’t quite tell you everything last night. Mike was definitely upset that Thursday – or was it Wednesday? The day he died
, I mean. I don’t know everything that was bothering him but I was part of the reason. He and I had a bit of a disagreement.”
“Go on,” said Drumm. “A disagreement about what?”
Whiteside looked away, then back at Drumm. “It was about Deb.”
“Yes?”
“I thought he was paying too much attention to her.”
“You thought he was hitting on her?” asked Drumm.
“Yeah.”
“What was he doing exactly?”
“You have to understand, he was drinking like a fish, and Deb wears some skimpy bikinis. His eyes were all over her and he was sitting too close to her a time or two. Well, it was pretty obvious he was hoping for more. So I talked to him privately about it.”
“Did anyone else notice what he was doing?” asked Drumm.
“Just Deb, I think. It made her uncomfortable.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I asked him to knock it off. I told him that Deb was feeling uncomfortable and he should pay more attention to Kathy.”
“And how did he react?”
“Well, he didn’t like it. I mean, we didn’t scuffle or anything but he was all puffed up and belligerent. Like I said, he was drinking a lot. He wasn’t normally such a dick. But in the end he just walked away. He said something like, ‘Ah, forget it. What’s it matter anyway?’”
“And you didn’t tell me this yesterday because…?”
Whiteside avoided Drumm’s eyes. “You’re a homicide detective. You’re investigating Mike’s death. That means you think someone killed him. I had a little argument with him. Maybe you would think…” His voice tailed off.
“That you threw him over that railing?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. The idea is ridiculous.” Whiteside sat up straight and crossed his arms.
“You’re big enough to have done it easily.”
“But I didn’t. He fell off accidentally. The police said so. He was drunk.”
Drumm moved to open the door. “And very likely you are right. Keep this chat to yourself, please.”
Whiteside stood up also and said, “I don’t understand why you’re looking into something that’s none of your business.”
Drumm turned. “I keep asking myself the same thing.”
Drumm was sitting at his desk, looking morosely at the clutter, when a shadow loomed over him.
“What is it about you, Drumm, that I don’t like?” The unpleasant voice of Staff Inspector Drennan grated in Drumm’s ears and he looked up. “Could it be the fact that you don’t obey direct orders?” He closed Drumm’s door with a powerful shove and advanced until he was right in front of his desk. Drumm stood up.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Drumm adopted a look of innocence.
“I just had a call from a principal, a Muriel Atkinson. She phoned to complain. It seems you went to her school and demanded to interview one of her staff. You were rude and unpleasant, she said.”
“An official complaint, sir?” Drumm was unperturbed.
Drennan said, “Not yet. I managed to settle her down.” He pointed a finger at Drumm. “You were meddling in that Cuban thing, weren’t you? I specifically told you to leave it alone and yet you see fit to harass some teacher about his vacation.” Drennan’s voice was rising and Drumm could see some heads turning through the window of his office.
“He’s an educational assistant, actually. Sir.” Drumm smiled. “Not a teacher.”
“Who cares? You had no business being there.” Drennan clasped his hands behind his back. “Now, let me make this clear to you, Detective Sergeant. If I hear of any more investigations on your part into this Cuban affair, then I will personally bring you up on charges. You will be in the Disciplinary Hearings Office before the day is out. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, sir.”
“Neither you nor any other member of Homicide is to have anything else to do with this. As far as the YPS is concerned, an accidental death occurred in Cuba and it has nothing to do with us.” Drennan turned as if to leave. Then he stopped. “And if I were you, I would get the Riverwood Rapist behind bars soon. Very soon. I am losing patience.” He opened the door and left, not waiting for a response from Drumm.
Which was just as well, because there really wasn’t anything he could say in his defence. Drumm sighed. It was time to get cracking on that idea.
twenty-six
Drumm’s office was full of sunshine on this Saturday morning, a welcome sight to the three weary detectives. Perhaps it was the brightness of the day but Drumm thought Lori looked better, not so tense as she had been lately. McDonald appeared to be his normal flaky self.
“How’s the leg, Dick? Ready to go skiing? It’s a perfect day for it.” Drumm gestured towards the bright sunshine streaming in through the window.
“It’s better every day. But schussing down the slopes of Horseshoe Valley? I am not ready for that. Besides, who has time?”
“I didn’t know you were a skier, Dick,” said Lori.
“I’m not, love.” McDonald grinned at her. “I’m a lover.”
Drumm said, “Right. Changing the subject quickly… Our guy has still not turned up anywhere. Dick, you’ve got nowhere with the local doctors?”
“We haven’t visited all the quacks yet – Simpson and Morgan have a few more to contact – but it doesn’t look like he has sought medical attention anywhere in York.” McDonald stretched and yawned. “Maybe he wasn’t as badly hurt as we thought.”
“And the knife hasn’t led anywhere either.” Lori filled the two men in on what she had learned about the butterfly knife.
Drumm said, “Damn! It’s a shame about that knife. I was hopeful it might prove useful. Oh well.” He leaned forward. “I had an idea about the finger.” He looked at McDonald. “That was a serious injury, Dick. I mean, there was all kinds of traumatic there. Ligaments, tendons, all that good stuff. He must have had it seen to.”
“Trauma, you mean,” said Dick. “But we’ve checked most of the doctors, and all the clinics and hospitals. He hasn’t been in.”
“But what if he looked after it himself?” asked Drumm.
Lori said, “You mean, you think he was a surgeon and he sewed it up himself?” She looked thoughtful. “I never considered that. Could he do that, though? I mean, how?”
“Not a doctor, no,” said Drumm. “A veterinarian. And it would be awkward and difficult but it could be done.” He looked at the two of them. “By now I think we would have heard if a doctor had a finger injury. It was on the news, don’t forget, and somebody would have reported it. Unless the doc is on holidays – that’s a definite possibility. But Dick and the other two have investigated nearly all the medicos in York. A vet, though -- he has access to drugs and he’d be able to sew up a wound, right? I mean, they have to do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“Like getting your cat neutered,” said Dick. “The vet has to snip off…”
Lori interrupted him hastily, “It’s worth looking into, for sure.”
Drumm nodded. “So I did, last night. There are dozens of vets in York: private practice, clinics, mobile vets, animal hospitals… I had to start somewhere so I narrowed it down to the ones located in the Riverwood area, or nearby. It turns out there are five altogether.”
Lori nodded. “You want us to look into these. We’ll get on it.” She stood up.
“Wait,” Drumm said. “Not so fast.” He motioned for Lori to sit down again. McDonald smirked at her.
“All of these places have websites or Facebook pages. And they show the location and services offered, the hours they’re open and that kind of thing. Also pictures of the staff in two of the five cases. Three of them don’t have any mention of the staff at all, so I have no idea who works there. But those first two, they both have male veterinarians.”
“And what do these vet dudes look like?” asked McDonald. “D
o any of them have pale blue eyes?”
“The photos are inconclusive,” said Drumm judiciously. “However, since one is obviously from China or Japan or some such place, he isn’t in the mix. There is another one who is definitely elderly. Although older men have proved to be capable of rape before.” Drumm looked at the two of them who were waiting for him to continue. “I think it’s an idea worth pursuing, and since I have a dog, I thought I might check some of these places out. One in particular interests me.”
“Why?” asked Lori.
“Because it looks like a small practice. Fewer staff, fewer people to notice if something was wrong. So, I thought I’d take Will in for a visit. He’s due for his rabies shot.” He smiled. “Kill two birds with one stone.”
“So to speak,” said McDonald. He stood up. “Give me one and I’ll get over there. After I finish up with the docs.”
“And I’ll look after a couple,” said Lori. She stood up also.
“I’ll do the other two,” said Drumm.
The phone on his desk rang.
“Homicide, Drumm.” He listened and his face became still. “Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at the others. “Looks like he’s struck again. And this time he killed her.”
They formed a semicircle: Drumm, Lori, McDonald, a uniformed officer and Ken McIntee, head of the Forensic Investigation Services team, looking down at the body. The woman was on her back in the snow, dressed in snow pants and an unzipped ski jacket. The hood on the jacket was up, with pink earmuffs visible on her sideways-turned head. One closed eye and part of her cheek could be seen but most of the woman’s face was obscured. Her blue scarf looked like it had been thrown onto her chest; the end of it was obscuring her mouth and chin. She had on black boots and the one hand that could be seen was wearing a pink mitten. The snow all around was disturbed into a confusing jumble.
A Cuban Death Page 16