Drumm looked over to the path where a tall bearded man dressed in a jogging suit, gloves and toque stood talking to another uniformed officer. “And that’s the guy who found her?”
The uniform nodded. “He said he was running through and saw something that didn’t look quite right. So he stopped and came over.”
“Did he move her?” asked McDonald.
“He said he could tell right away she was dead, because of the way she looked, but he touched her to make sure, looking for a pulse. She was icy cold, he said.” The breath of the uniformed officer was making little puffs of vapour in the cold air.
“Did he roll her over or anything?” asked Lori.
“He said he didn’t, just touched her to make sure she was gone, and then he pulled out his cell and called 9-1-1.”
“Tell your partner there to get him into the warm somewhere,” said Drumm. “The poor guy looks like he’s freezing.” The officer nodded and Drumm went on, “Who is he?”
The uniform said, “He’s a doctor. A surgeon at YDH. Today’s his day off. Name is Lieberman, I think it was.”
“It’s not his day off anymore,” said McDonald.
The uniform moved off and the four of them watched the doctor get taken into a patrol car. They would interview him later. Right now the focus was on the body.
The police photographer arrived and after a brief greeting, got down to his work. Other uniforms were helping man the security perimeter as a growing number of spectators gathered, attracted by the activity. Drumm watched the familiar scene playing out and wondered if he was getting tired of the business of murder. He felt incredibly dispirited.
The photographer spoke. “I’m ready if you want to move her.”
“We’ll wait for the coroner,” said Drumm. “She won’t be long.” He looked to his right and gestured. “Speak of the devil.”
An older woman was walking briskly down the path, accompanied by two young attendants. “Nicholas,” she said, and nodded to the others. She looked around at the group. “Has she been moved yet?”
“Waiting for you, Sigrid,” said McIntee.
“Right.” The coroner crouched down, gently uncovered the woman’s face and pushed back the hood. There was an exclamation from McDonald. Sigrid swiveled and looked up at him. “You know her?”
“It’s Kathy Walters.” McDonald looked to Drumm for confirmation. “Isn’t it?”
Drumm nodded. “Yes, it is.”
The coroner stood up looking puzzled. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Sorry, Sigrid,” said Drumm. “It’s in connection with another case.”
Lori said, “Kathy Walters? The woman from Cuba? Whose husband fell off the balcony?”
“Fiancé,” corrected Drumm. “Yes, it’s definitely her. The florist.” He looked down at the pale white face, surprisingly calm in death. “I bought a bouquet from her the other day.” He glanced at Lori who looked away.
The photographer resumed taking pictures.
“She looks peaceful enough,” said the coroner. She bent down and started examining the corpse carefully. “She’s young, late twenties, I’d say.”
“She was twenty-seven,” said Drumm quietly. “McDonald met her in Cuba. She was supposed to be getting married soon, until her fiancé died.” He paused. “We think—”
Sigrid Brandt interrupted him. “That this might be the work of the Riverwood Rapist? Just because we’re in Riverwood?”
Lori answered for Drumm. “We ran a decoy operation last week. We were trying to smoke him out. This park was one of the places we thought he might strike. The Albert Street bus runs right along here. I was on it and then I got off and walked along right on that sidewalk there.” She looked down at the body. “I wonder if she did the same thing.”
“We’ll have to find her address. And whether she owned a car,” said Lori.
The coroner continued with her examination. Drumm turned away, not caring to see the brusque and impersonal treatment of Kathy Walters. “There’s something here,” Brandt said. She moved the scarf gently out of the way and they could all see the victim’s sweater and bra pushed up, with a knife protruding from her chest.
“There’s your likely COD. She’s been stabbed,” said the coroner.
McDonald snorted, “Even I could tell that. The knife is still in her.”
The coroner went on, unperturbed, “There’s very little blood because he left the weapon in. What there was is soaked into her pullover and the scarf. See it here?” Brandt proceeded to examine the ski jacket. “There’s no hole in the coat and nothing in the sweater either.”
“So he undid her coat – or she did – and then her clothing was pushed up. Then he stabbed her?” Drumm mused.
“It seems so,” said the coroner. “It looks like he punctured the aorta. She might have died quite quickly, within a minute or so, or she may have lasted longer. Sometimes, when the knife is left in like this, the victim has a better chance of survival. It didn’t help this woman though. It looks like she was stabbed, he left the blade in her, and she collapsed onto the snow.”
“That’s hard to do, getting the heart like that,” remarked McDonald.
The coroner looked at him and nodded. “Either he was very good or very lucky – to miss the ribs.”
“Anything else, Sigrid?” asked Drumm.
Sigrid stood up and looked down at the body. “I’m not sure yet if she was assaulted sexually. She’s wearing panties which may or not have been pulled back into place – I can’t tell.. But with her breasts exposed like that, it’s certainly possible he raped her and then killed her. Let me get her back to the morgue and I’ll tell you definitively, of course. I’ll get you a more accurate TOD as well if I can, but for now I’d say about ten hours ago. You can see she’s in rigor but it’s complicated by these freezing temperatures. She’s been lying here for hours though, that’s definite.”
McDonald bent down and searched the victim’s pockets, and stood up with a brown clutch purse and a set of keys. He opened the purse and looked through it. “It’s her all right; she lives on Woodburn Terrace. That’s just over there, so very likely she was on the Albert Street bus.” He showed Drumm and Lori Kathy Walters’ driver’s license. “She’s got a license to drive but there’s no car key on this ring.”
McIntee moved away to organize his team. Lori watched the instructions being given and said, “The snow’s so messed up, I don’t think we’ll be able to learn anything from this crime scene.”
“No,” agreed Drumm. “I don’t expect them to find much.” He paused. “If this was the work of the Riverwood Rapist, then he would have been waiting for her here in the park.”
McDonald said, “And he would have fallen in behind her back there a bit. Then he would have forced her into this spot.”
“It’s a bit different, though, isn’t it?” said Lori. “I mean, it’s out of sight of the street but not the pathway there. Anyone might have seen.”
The three of them moved slightly so that they could see more of the park, and the fisties spread out, searching.
Drumm said, “Even if he stood still in one area waiting, I don’t think they’ll be able to spot anything. Look at the ground: there are tracks everywhere. Dogs, kids…and that looks like ski tracks there. It’s not exactly praline snow, is it?”
McDonald laughed. “You mean pristine, I think.”
“Exactly,” said Drumm. “Unless he was smoking and left a bunch of butts behind…”
“He’s never left that kind of thing behind before,” said Lori. “He won’t have this time either.”
McDonald said, “You know, there’s something else different, isn’t there? This woman’s face is unmarked. There’s no sign that he stuck a knife into her cheek or neck, like he did with you, love.”
“No, Lori said. “He stuck it into her heart instead. And don’t call me love.”
McDonald only smiled cheerfully. “And the knife: it’s completely different. D
id you notice the short handle? It must have a long blade, though, to reach the heart. But it’s completely different from that butterfly knife.”
“Well, he would have needed a new weapon,” Lori pointed out. “Since he lost his other one.”
“But why kill her?” demanded Drumm. “Why this woman, when he let all the others go? It’s a very different m.o.”
“Well,” Lori said quietly, looking from one to the other. “That might be my doing. I hurt him and I didn’t let him have his way. He’s an angry man – possibly that pushed him over the edge. And maybe he panicked before he could finish what he wanted to do.”
“You think so?” asked Drumm. He looked at her and then at McDonald. “The other thing that is wrong is the timeline. This one happened much sooner than the others. We wouldn’t have expected another attack for a few days yet.”
McDonald said, “Maybe he’s decompensating. Or trying to show off. ‘Shoot at me, will you? I’ll show you.’” He looked at Lori. “Sorry, love.”
“Speaking of timelines, I want you two to get on that,” said Drumm. “I’m going to stay here for some while yet. I’ll get the doctor’s statement. You find out her movements last night. Go through her home. And when you’re done with that, do a thorough check on her friends.”
“Her friends?” asked McDonald.
Drumm looked at him expressionlessly. “Yes, Dick, the Gills and the Whitesides. I want a complete background check done on them, and their movements yesterday And anyone else you can think of.”
“Maybe you’ll need to send me back to Cuba? For some deep background?” McDonald looked hopeful.
“You wish.” Drumm looked over at the street where a brightly-coloured van had pulled up to the curb. CP24/7 was written in large blue letters on the door. “Oh, God, look who’s here.” As he spoke, Susan Benitez got out of the van and looked their way. “I wonder if Drennan gave her a call.”
“They always show up at these things,” said Lori. “More likely they just listened on their scanner. Or maybe someone called in with a tip.”
“Whatever, she’s here now.” Drumm smiled. “But she won’t get anything out of me.”
twenty-seven
Drumm sat back in his seat and looked around the restaurant. This time in the afternoon, the place was nearly devoid of customers. The business of dealing with Kathy Walters’ crime scene had taken a long time and it wasn’t over yet. Drumm sipped from his glass of beer and reflected on the morning.
Ken McIntee and his team of forensic investigators had departed, having thoroughly searched the area. But in fact, they had come up with little. A couple of cardboard coffee cups had been collected, as well as a discarded black glove. The fisties had taken casts of some footprints in the area. Drumm had some hope that the glove might prove useful and possibly the footprints, but more than likely they would not. The park had been full of footprints – it was in a busy neighbourhood – and probably all this so-called evidence would be of no use. The coffee cups looked like they had been there for some time and at best would probably have the fingerprints of the servers at the nearest Tim Hortons.
The crime scene was still cordoned off, with an officer on duty to make sure that the scene remained undisturbed. Drumm would visit it again later but he was certain they had collected all the evidence there was to be gathered. There was something not right about it, though, and he wanted to have another look at the park to see if he had missed anything. Outdoor winter crime scenes were always difficult, especially when they were battling wind and snow.
The coroner would be doing the post tomorrow and it was conceivable that her examination would reveal more. Possibly there was something to be learned from Kathy Walters’ clothing, or maybe Sigrid would find a substance under the florist’s fingernails other than plant material. They would certainly learn more about the knife and how it had been used, the contents of her stomach, the time of death and how long she had been lying there abandoned in the snow before the young doctor had stumbled upon her.
When interviewed by Drumm, Dr. Lieberman had very little to add. As a physician working in a busy hospital, he was used to death and he was calm and composed when responding to Drumm’s questions. He’d noticed something odd in his peripheral vision when jogging through the park, something that wasn’t usually there. He’d stopped to figure out what it was and then gone over to investigate. He checked for a pulse in her throat but he knew as he was doing it that she was dead. The doctor left her there while he went back to the path and called, and then stood guard to make sure no one else disturbed the scene. He hadn’t been sure why she died but she was young and she was in Riverwood and he’d suspected the worst. Drumm could only commend Dr. Lieberman for the way he’d handled things.
Lori had called to report on their progress. Kathy Walters’ Friday appeared to have been a normal one. Her shop opened on time and Lori had found a witness who saw her closing up shop at nine o’clock in the evening. She’d had a late dinner at a restaurant across the road from her store, and this was apparently something she did quite often. The server at the restaurant told Lori that Kathy Walters usually took a bus home. They hadn’t been able to locate the driver on that route yet to confirm that she had done so that night but all the signs pointed to it.
Lori had been through Kathy Walters’ apartment. It was comfortably if cheaply furnished, and judging by the number of photographs of her and her fiancée, revealed a woman in love with Michael Kennedy. Lori had found a folder with details of wedding preparations and men’s toiletries in the bathroom. It was likely that her man slept there from time to time. Kathy Walters’ financial situation wasn’t great but she was making do. Her computer showed a business that was earning enough to give a decent living. Lori had found a credit card debt of about fifteen hundred dollars, including a Cuban vacation, but a line of credit that was at zero. In short, the florist was what she appeared to be: a hard-working young woman, struggling to build up her business.
McDonald had called as well. He had done background checks on Aaron and Deborra Whiteside, as well as Sean and Charlotte Gill. None of them had a criminal record and only Sean Gill had any driving infractions. He’d been caught once for speeding and once for running a red light. There wasn’t much in that. He’d worked for Metro Grocers for three years. More interesting was McDonald’s inability to find out much about Aaron Whiteside’s stint at the group home which he had said was his previous employment. So far McDonald had struck out – he couldn’t find any record of such a job. Deborra Whiteside’s law-firm employer seemed to be very satisfied with her work – she’d been there about a year – and their financial situation was perfectly normal.
The Gills were a different story. They had a large mortgage on a sumptuous new home in a trendy part of York, a residence that looked like it was probably more than they should be able to afford. So much was easily found out but to get into their bank accounts would require a court order and they had no probable cause to do that. Drumm wondered how a retail clerk and a buyer for a grocery chain could afford to own a million-dollar home, but it was possible they had money from another source. McDonald was still trying to find out.
There were still no reports of medical personnel with damaged fingers. And plenty of tips were coming into the police hotline that had been set up. Simpson and Morgan were doing their best to check these out.
Drumm drained the last of his beer from his glass, left some cash on the table and stood up. It was time to go and get Will.
As a rule, Drumm’s dog didn’t like visits to the vet. It was as if Will had a sixth sense and knew that something bad was about to happen when he was put in the car. It was no different this time; even though Drumm hadn’t said anything, the dog seemed to know he was going for a shot and he sat down on his haunches and refused to move. In the end Drumm had to pick him up and carry him out to the car, where Will sat morosely on the front seat, licked his lips and stared out the front window.
The veterinary office w
as located in a small strip mall that also boasted a fish and chips take-out restaurant, a dry cleaning establishment and a real estate office. Grange Veterinary, the neon sign over the door read. Drumm found a spot to park amidst the piles of snow and carried Will to the entrance. He put him down, opened the door and then had to pull the dog inside. Will definitely did not want anything to do with this place. Inside there was some shelving with pet food bags and a countertop with a small office behind it. To one side of the counter was a door which presumably led to the examining rooms and storage areas in the back.
A tired-looking middle-aged woman dressed in green hospital-type scrubs appeared behind the counter. “Help you?”
Drumm noted the unwelcoming expression on the woman’s face. With that and the rather dingy nature of the place, he wondered how they managed to stay in business. If it weren’t a police matter, he wouldn’t want to be here, and he certainly didn’t blame Will for wishing to get out. “The name is Drumm. It’s my first visit. I have an appointment for my Sheltie here to have his rabies shot.”
The woman looked down at her desk calendar. The place was so run-down they didn’t even have computerized records, thought Drumm. Compared to the modern, beautifully-equipped animal hospital where he normally took Will, this place was a dump.
“Bring him back here,” said the woman. “Through the door.”
Drumm attempted to pull Will through the door but the dog simply sat and refused to move. Sighing, Drumm bent down, picked up Will and shouldered his way through the door. There was a short hallway in front of him; the woman was standing waiting in a doorway to his right. Drumm carried the dog past her and deposited him on the examining room table.
“Doctor Grange will be right in,” the woman said dispiritedly, and she closed the door.
“And thank you very much,” said Drumm. “Thanks for welcoming me. Thanks for telling me Will is cute. Thanks for nothing.” He started petting Will and playfully boxing with him but the dog was having nothing to do with that. He just sat and squirmed. Drumm had to keep a firm hold on him while he looked around the room. The arrangement was cramped and a bit strange, he thought. Standing where he was with the dog on the table, he was squeezed into a corner and wishing fervently he was elsewhere. “Don’t worry, Will – we won’t come here again.”
A Cuban Death Page 17