A Cuban Death

by David Anderson

  “I thought, maybe…there was a chance,” said Gill.

  “We found it on her body,” said Drumm quietly. “You were never going to find it in her apartment, which you knew, because a moment’s thought would have told you. You must have known she would have had her phone on her. Everybody carries theirs with them.”

  “Which you probably knew as well,” said McDonald. “Didn’t you check her pockets after you killed her?”

  Gill looked at McDonald who had completed another circuit and was now standing in front of him again. “What? I didn’t kill Kathy!”

  McDonald turned and looked at Drumm. “He doesn’t sound convincing, does he?” Then he turned back to Gill. “Did that even sound convincing to you?”

  “I swear…”

  McDonald interrupted him. “Where did the knife come from? Your kitchen, maybe? Has your lovely wife noticed one missing from her set?”

  Gill looked at McDonald and then back at Drumm. “You’re both crazy. I didn’t kill Kathy. We were friends. Why would I want to kill her?”

  “I thought you were lovers.” McDonald was sneering.

  Before Gill could answer, Drumm said, “Why? Now we come to it. You killed her to shut her up. She knew something, and you became aware of it, and you had to stop her from telling what she knew.”

  Gill was staring at him. “Knew something? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do,” said Drumm. “Kathy Walters knew that you killed her fiancé.” He put his hand up to stop Gill from speaking. “Oh, she didn’t know right away, not back then in Cuba when it happened. She just realized that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t until you were all back home that she figured out that maybe Mr. Kennedy hadn’t just fallen accidentally from his balcony, but that you had thrown him over. And probably she didn’t want to believe it, because you were all friends, and Kennedy had gotten you your job.”

  “This is stupid,” said Gill. “I never—”

  “So you killed her,” went on Drumm. “You waited for her when she got off the bus, you threatened her and made her undo her coat and pull up her sweater. Then you stuck that knife into her, coldly and cruelly, and you did it to protect yourself. That little woman had no chance against you. You planned it well, didn’t you, especially considering you didn’t have much time? It was just luck that she lived in Riverwood, but good luck for you, you thought. You could make it look like the Riverwood Rapist had done it, and Kathy Walters was just another assault victim. Only this time, the rapist went too far.”

  Gill looked at him and said, “Good imagination, Detective. But it never happened.”

  “Detective Sergeant to you,” said Drumm. “And yes, it did happen. She called you from the store that night she died. She called you just before she closed the place. Why would she call you at nine o’clock on a Friday night? She told you something you didn’t want to hear, didn’t she? She said she needed to talk to you, and it was about what had happened in Cuba. She knew you’d killed her fiancé, because she’d seen something, and she’d put it all together. How did the conversation go, I wonder? ‘Sean, I know you and Mike had a problem. I need to talk to you about it.’? And you panicked and you knew you had to get rid of her.”

  “It’s a good story, Detective, but it’s all make-believe,” said Gill. He was sweating slightly.

  “We talked to your wife, you know,” said McDonald. “She said you went out that evening for an hour or so. Between about nine fifteen and ten fifteen.”

  “I went out to a convenience store,” said Gill. “I bought some junk food. I had a craving.”

  “Should be careful with that crap,” said McDonald. “Junk food will kill you in the end.”

  Gill ignored him and turned to Drumm. “I didn’t kill Kathy and I had nothing to do with Mike’s death either.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a lie,” said Drumm. “I paid a visit to your employer. It was most eliminating. It seems that there’s a problem with some money that’s gone missing. Quite a lot of money, actually. An audit is ongoing – you weren’t aware of that, were you? Metro is doing it quietly, and they’re conducting this audit because Mike Kennedy put his suspicions in front of them. He was suspicious of you. My guess is that he didn’t want to believe it, that his friend, the one he had recommended for the job, could be stealing from the company.”

  “Kind of explains how you and your wife could afford such a huge mortgage, doesn’t it?” said McDonald.

  “We inherited some money,” said Gill in a low voice; he was clearly shaken.

  “No you didn’t,” said Drumm. “Kennedy was distracted for some weeks. He was thinking about something, trying to make up his mind. It was why he was so quiet at home, and why he was drinking so much in Cuba. He knew his friend was dirty and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.” Drumm looked at Gill. “It bothered him. It bothered him a lot. And he talked to you about it, didn’t he, sometime down there in Cuba? Probably the day he died. And you knew you were screwed, but you thought maybe there was a way out. You listened to him and it seemed that only he knew what you were doing, so you saw your chance and you took it. You were outside on his balcony and you knew he’d been drinking all day. What happened? Was he leaning against the railing and you grabbed his legs and shoved him over? I wonder exactly how you did it.”

  “None of this is true,” mumbled Gill.

  “And then, when you were allowed to leave Cuba and come home, you thought you’d got away with it,” said Drumm “Except Kathy wouldn’t let it go, would she, and you were starting to get a little desperate. So, just in case, you came up with a backup plan. If it came to it, you would kill Kathy and point the finger at someone else. If it wasn’t the Riverwood Rapist – and you couldn’t be sure the police would attribute her death to him – then it would have to be someone else who knew her.”

  “Which is when you thought you’d screw your other friends,” said McDonald. He had stopped circling and was standing, leaning against the wall. “You helped yourself to some of Deborra Whiteside’s hair when you were over at their place. And then you made sure you stuck some of her hair to the knife before you left the body. “You’re a cool customer, I’ll give you that. You knew we’d find that hair and suspect Deb Whiteside. Or maybe her husband Aaron.”

  “This is all a big fantasy,” said Gill. He seemed to have regained his composure a little.

  “And maybe all of this would have worked,” said Drumm. “Except Kathy Walters kept a journal. And in it she wrote down her suspicions of you and what you had done to Mike. She saw you, didn’t she? She knew you didn’t stay in the whole night.” Drumm moved forward and got very close to Sean Gill. “I mentioned this journal to Aaron Whiteside when we questioned him. We released him and he called you almost immediately to tell you about how we had treated him and his wife. I knew he’d call you because you people are such good friends, you’re always updating everybody on what we do and say. And surprise, surprise, a few hours after I tell Aaron Whiteside that Kathy kept a journal but we don’t have it yet and are going back the next day to do a thorough search, you show up in her apartment looking for something.” Drumm straightened up and moved to the door. “That’s what you were really doing in her apartment, you were looking for her journal.”

  “Not some stupid, non-existent photos,” said McDonald.

  “You can’t prove any of this,” said Gill, but the expression on his face said otherwise.

  “We’ll see,” said Drumm. “We have the journal, and what she wrote in it.”

  Drumm and McDonald closed the door to the interview room to find Lori Singh outside waiting for them. She had a smile on her face.

  “You really are a fearful liar, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh.

  “Not true,” protested Drumm. “Almost everything I said is true.”

  “Except that whole part about the journal,” said Lori.

  “Well, it could have been true. She might have had a journal. And she might
have written down her suspicions.” Drumm smiled.

  “You’re taking a chance, though, aren’t you?” asked Lori. “I mean, Kathy talked to Gill. What if it wasn’t that she saw him go out?”

  “A bit of a chance,” admitted Drumm. “But she must either have seen Gill come or go. What else makes sense? She was sleeping in their suite that night after all. I’m guessing she saw or heard him come back in after he killed Kennedy. And it would have been very late at night. What good reason would he have had to leave the unit?”

  “Why didn’t she mention it to the Cuban cops then?” asked McDonald. “She could have.”

  “She was in shock, not thinking straight. She’d been told he fell off accidentally. The other thought that had been put into her head was that he killed himself.” Drumm shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe he told her he went down to the beach for a skinny dip and to keep it quiet so his wife wouldn’t know or something like that. It was only after she got home that she started connecting the dots and began to suspect him.”

  “Gill’s right, though,” said Lori. “You’re going to have a hard time proving what he did. It’s mostly circumstantial.”

  “He had a serious fiddle going on at work,” said Drumm. “That’s not circumstantial. He’d created a whole chain of fictitious suppliers that he was paying with false invoices. That money was going into his pocket. Kennedy found out about it and that gives Gill motive to kill him.”

  “Why didn’t Metro Grocers tell us about this?” asked McDonald. “You’d think someone there might have had the sense to let us know what was going on.”

  “They were keeping it very quiet,” said Drumm. “Until they finished the audit. And the one guy there who knew the whole story was on holiday. He didn’t know Mike Kennedy had died under suspicious circumstances.”

  “But the rest, though?” asked Lori. “Is it enough to put Gill away for murder?”

  “That’s for the Crown Prosecutor to decide,” said Drumm. “But she’s taken cases to trial with less. And won. It’s a pretty strong case, even if it’s circumstantial. But we’re not done yet – I have still got another card to play.”

  “Which is?” asked Lori.

  Drumm winked. “You’ll have to wait for it.”

  thirty-three

  There was a stiff breeze coming from the north, making an already cold day even worse. Her cheeks were tingling and her fingers were turning numb but Lori persevered with her walk, leaning into the wind. She hunched deeper into her coat and pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and kept moving. The sidewalks were deserted and no wonder: anyone with any sense was indoors, or if they had to go out, driving in a warm vehicle.

  But Lori had been restless, and she had suddenly found the York Police Services building confining and claustrophobic. She’d felt that she couldn’t spend another minute in the place, watching suspects through a window or listening to the same office chatter that she’d heard a hundred times before. She had to get out for a change of scenery, even if it was a cold and wintry day.

  She turned the corner and headed down another road, as windswept and deserted as the last one. How could it be that no matter which direction she headed, the wind was in her face? Lori picked up the pace and turned again, onto a residential street. This way was better, more sheltered and with a more pleasant vista.

  Lori knew that part of what was bothering her was the memory of her near rape. As hard as she tried, she could not forget being handled like a piece of meat, the cold, blue eyes of her attacker and the knife to her face. It wasn’t a matter of willpower, of simply telling herself to forget it; it didn’t work that way. She wasn’t having nightmares, at least not yet, but her concentration was lacking and she found herself drifting away mentally when she shouldn’t.

  She followed the avenue around a curve and slowed down a bit. Finally she was starting to warm up a little. She realized she had been practically racing along and she slowed her pace even more.

  The other issue that had been weighing on her mind was the SIU investigation. Everyone had said it was a good shooting, that she had nothing to worry about and she knew her colleagues’ statements backed up what she’d said. Her interview had gone well, as well as could be expected given the adversarial nature of the process. But still, until the SIU report was released and she was exonerated of wrongdoing, it felt to her like she was under a cloud. She would feel so much better once their investigation was completed.

  Lori turned the final corner and headed back to the station. She had warmed up considerably now and she felt better mentally and physically. A walk usually did that for her, even if it was in Antarctica-like conditions.

  She opened the door and entered the building. If not jumping up and down with enthusiasm, she was at least mildly interested in what might come of the Sean Gill interview.

  Gill was waiting in the interview room with a sullen and resigned look on his face. He looked, if anything, worse than before, despite the passage of the hours.

  “You again! I’ve got nothing more to say.” Gill’s voice was defiant.

  Drumm and McDonald had entered the room and sat down facing Gill. Drumm had a folder with him; he took three photos out of it now and placed them on the table in front of their suspect.

  “There’s no point doing that, Nick,” said McDonald. “Didn’t you hear him? He’s got nothing more to say.”

  Drumm ignored him and said, “This is your friend, Kathy, that you killed last Friday night.” He pointed at the first photo. “That’s what she looked like when we found her in the snow Saturday morning, to be gawked at by anyone passing by.” His finger moved to the second picture. “And that’s what she looked like when we removed her scarf. There wasn’t much blood because you left the knife in.”

  “Why did you do that, Sean? Didn’t you want to keep the knife as a souvenir?” McDonald was leaning back in his chair.

  Gill said nothing so Drumm went on, pointing at the third picture, “And that’s what the wound looked like when the knife was removed.”

  Gill swallowed but all he said was, “I didn’t kill her. I have nothing else to tell you.”

  Drumm leaned back also and said, “Suit yourself. We don’t actually need you to say anything else. We’ve got plenty to put you away. Twenty-five years minimum for first-degree murder, ineligible for parole, and that’s on top of whatever you’ll get for the embezzlement and B & E. I just thought you’d like the chance to help yourself make things a little easier.”

  Gill looked unhappy but he shook his head. “No. I didn’t kill her.”

  McDonald said, “I think it’s time this weasel got a lawyer, Nick. He’s gonna need one.”

  “Didn’t want one before, don’t need one now,” said Gill defiantly.

  “Okay,” said Drumm. “As you wish. I should tell you, though, you’re shortly going to have to make a tough decision.”

  McDonald looked at Drumm curiously as Gill said, “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  “Give me a minute,” said Drumm. He stood up, gathered the photos, put them back in the folder and said to McDonald, “Watch him for a few.” Drumm left the room.

  He was back in a couple of minutes, and following behind him was a man with grey hair, dressed in a cheap-looking black suit and green tie.

  “May I present again, Lieutenant Colonel Jorge Misael Perez? Dick, you remember Lieutenant Colonel Perez? And Mr. Gill, I am sure you recall this fellow.” Drumm smiled complacently and remained standing, as did Perez.

  McDonald stood up, surprised, and extended his hand. “Hola, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “Hola,” said Perez unsmilingly. He shook McDonald’s hand quickly and then stared at Sean Gill.

  “What is this?” said Gill. “What’s he doing here?”

  The three detectives stood standing making a semicircle, and none of them said anything. They just looked at Gill.

  “He can’t be here,” said Gill. “This isn’t Cuba. We’re in Canada.” Gill’s voice was risin
g. “He’s got no business being here.”

  “Actually he does,” said Drumm calmly. “Since he was invited by the York Police Services. He’s here because you killed Michael Kennedy in his country.”

  Gill looked from Drumm to Perez but he didn’t say anything.

  “What you may not know, Mr. Gill, is that Canada and Cuba have an extradition treaty.” Drumm was smiling. “It’s fairly complicated in some respects but as far as you’re concerned, it’s simple. Cuba has provided the Canadian government with a formal extradition request for you, and they want us to arrest you provisionally under an extradition warrant.”

  “What?” asked Gill.

  “They want to cook your goose for throwing your friend off that balcony,” said McDonald. He turned to Perez. “Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Colonel?”

  “I do not understand ‘cook your goose’,” said Perez.

  “He is here to take you back to Cuba and put you on trial for Michael Kennedy’s murder,” said Drumm.

  “He can’t do that!” said Gill, his eyes darting from Drumm to McDonald to Perez.

  “He can, and he will,” said Drumm. “That’s what an extradition treaty means, you see. With our permission, you can be arrested here by this man provisionally and taken back to Cuba.” He paused. “With our permission, I said. If we say the word, the process begins and you will be off shortly for a Cuban trial. Hey, at least it will be warm down there.”

  Gill said nothing, just stared at Perez.

  “Naturally, we don’t really want to do that. We’ve got you up on all those embezzlement charges for one thing, and for another, there’s the murder of Kathy Walters. You did that one as well, and we want you to see the inside of Millhaven as soon as possible.” Drumm walked around behind Gill and the man’s head turned to look at him. “Now, we have plenty of evidence to put you away for that killing, but it’s just possible that a jury may see it differently. It’s unlikely but it is possible. A full confession, though, that would be a different story. Cut and dried – we’d hardly even need a trial.”