A Striking Death

by David Anderson

  “It’s worth a try,” Chappell had said. “You’ve don’t have much else. What’s Nick up to?”

  Lori explained about Sarah Smillie. Chappell had looked at her in disbelief. “Someone Billinger walked with years ago? Tell Drumm to get over to the Dairy Queen and find a box of straws. He can grasp at them as well.”

  Lori could hardly blame Chappell. He was under a lot of pressure. She’d heard this afternoon via the grapevine that now the police union was about to go after the Staff Inspector because he had sidestepped normal safety regulations. She shook her head. Who would want to be a staff inspector?

  The Base Fitness Centre first, she decided. The Prius started up smoothly and she glided quietly out of the parking lot.

  fifty-eight

  Sitting in his car outside Billinger’s house, Drumm was listening to Nellie Furtado’s All Good Things Come to an End while he thought. He had used his phone to do a search of all the Smillies in the city of York; there were eleven in all. He was able to reach six of them; Sarah Smillie rang no bells with any of them. At two of the numbers he had left a message asking to be called back. The remaining three he would have to try later.

  His mind wandered. Why do all good things come to an end? Entropy. Fate. Karma. Who knew? He shoved thoughts of Emily firmly away and forced his mind back to the task at hand. Sarah Smillie.

  He tried the three numbers again. Still no answer. Drumm pulled out his wallet and found the business card of Janet Millbrook from the school district offices. She answered promptly.

  “Detective Sergeant Drumm, Ms Millbrook. York Police Services, VCU. You remember me, I hope?”

  “I do, indeed, Detective.” If Millbrook was surprised to be contacted on a Saturday afternoon, she was doing a good job of hiding it. “What can I do for you?”

  Drumm explained about his fruitless search for Sarah Smillie. “I would like to speak to her but I can’t find anyone who knows her. I need to see her personnel records to see where she went after teaching at Prince Albert Senior Public.”

  “The offices are closed on the weekend, Detective.”

  “Yes, I know. But I still need to see her file. Now, I can try to get a judge to issue a warrant to search the school district records. But that will take a lot of time, and I would just as soon find an easier way. Which is why I thought of my favourite Superintendent of Human Resources.”

  Millbrook laughed. “You sweet talker, you. Did that work on the secretaries when you were teaching, Detective?”

  “Sometimes,” Drumm admitted.

  “Unfortunately I don’t have a key, Detective.”

  “But you know who does, right?”

  “I can probably get you in, yes. Let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ll meet you at the Taj Mahal in half an hour.”

  “Make it an hour, Detective. I have things to do first.”

  “Forty-five minutes, then. I appreciate this, believe me.” Drumm disconnected before she could protest.

  It was actually fifty minutes before Janet Millbrook showed up with the keys to the building. Drumm had occupied himself calling the three numbers again – still no answer – and had fielded one return call from a Smillie who knew nothing about Sarah.

  Millbrook let them in and went straight to a security panel to turn off the alarm system. “That was one of the things I had to do before I came. Find out how to disarm this thing,” she said. She led the way upstairs to her office.

  Drumm found the silence in the normally bustling building to be very odd but it didn’t seem to bother Millbrook.

  “So, you didn’t find talking to Arthur Billinger’s principals helpful?”

  “I’ve only managed to get to two of them so far. And the farther back I go, the less likely I think the chances are of them being any use at all.”

  Millbrook led the way into her offices. “Please sit down, Detective. Back in a minute.” She was back in nine minutes, carrying a sheet of paper. “Got it.”

  Drumm read it over. “Timmins!”

  Millbrook smiled. “I’m afraid so. She transferred up there right after her stint at Prince Albert. It doesn’t say why.”

  “It hardly matters, I guess. But…Timmins.” He stood up. “Right. Thanks so much for doing this. I owe you one.” Drumm was already heading out the door.

  She called to him. “So are you going to have to drive up to Timmins then?”

  He turned and frowned at her. “Geez, I hope not. I hate Timmins.”

  Back at his car, Drumm stood outside and thought. He had found Sarah Smillie. She might prove to be helpful, she might not. Timmins was at least an eight hour drive to the north. He looked at the overcast sky and shivered. It would be much colder up there. And what would Chappell say if Drumm buggered off up north, chasing a will-o-the-wisp of a hope? He knew what the Staff Inspector would say and it would hardly be polite. Better to call her first and see if this Sarah Smillie even remembered Arthur Billinger. Then he could go from there. Yes, that’s what he should do.

  fifty-nine

  Drumm got back to the station in time to see the conclusion of the Matthew Wilson interrogation. There was still a group of people watching the monitor outside the interview room. Attacking a cop was not a popular activity, and there were a lot of civilian and uniformed personnel who wanted to see how this would turn out.

  Wilson was exhausted and his answers were barely audible. His lawyer appeared morose, obviously wanting desperately to be somewhere else. Sue Oliver, realizing that enough had been accomplished for the day, called an end to the session. Wilson was led away, back to his holding cell, and his lawyer practically ran past Drumm on his way out of the building.

  Sue Oliver came out of the room last and was greeted with applause from the audience. She smiled and curtseyed, then noticed Drumm. “A word with you, Nick.” She followed him into his office.

  “Good job, Susie.”

  “Thanks. Did you see it all?”

  “Almost none of it. Just the end. But I gather he copped to it?”

  Susie was leaning against his doorframe. “It’s down. The little bastard doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together. He just gave it all up. And his lawyer sat there and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

  Drumm sat on the edge of his desk. “Why? Why did he stab him?”

  Oliver frowned. “Dick startled him. Wilson had the knife in his hand because he said he was creeped out. It was spooky in the backyard, he said. And he was scared. He’d seen a black cat earlier, he said.” She looked at him in disbelief. “Can you believe it? The guy’s a moron, Nick. You’d have to see the whole interrogation to believe it. But basically, he was there to get a peek at Chappell’s wife get naked. He likes older women, the fucking little weasel. Dick got up behind him, and startled him. He turned around quickly and saw Dick, didn’t know who he was. The knife was in his hand and he just reacted. He doesn’t remember doing it, he says.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Oliver tugged at her ear. “Yes, I do. He’s too stupid to lie. I think Dick got too close, and Wilson just turned around and stabbed him instinctively. He couldn’t know he’d hit the femoral artery. It was just Dick’s bad luck that he did.”

  Drumm repeated, “Good job, Susie.”

  “I’ll have another go at him tomorrow but I think we’ve already learned everything there is to know. I’ll get you a copy of the full report when we’re done.”

  “Thanks, Susie.”

  Oliver waved at him and left.

  sixty

  Drumm’s hands were freezing. He should have worn gloves. And a toque. He would have to dig them out of storage as soon as he got home. Aside from the chilled hands, he was enjoying this walk with Will. The cold air was invigorating and helped focus his mind.

  He glanced up at the wispy clouds which were galloping overhead like thoroughbreds. There was something about the October skies that stirred his blood, even at night. Will liked the
chilly evenings, too, frisking about like a puppy, snapping at his lead and wanting to chew Drumm’s shoelaces.

  Drumm made the final turn onto his street. He found himself hoping there would be another car parked on his driveway, and he was strangely disappointed to find it empty as usual.

  Inside he let Will off his lead; the dog immediately trotted over to get a drink. Drumm went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Corona. He had a swallow and then called Lori.

  “How did you make out?”

  He could hear Lori sigh and yawn. “There are a ton of fitness centres in York. Did you know that?” She didn’t wait for an answer and went on. “What I want to know is why are there so many overweight people around with so many places to work out? Anyway, I started up at Base Borden and managed to get to them all, and the Boxing Club. I showed that sketch to every manager, every trainer, anybody I could think of that might know our man.”

  “And you got nowhere.”

  “I got nowhere,” agreed Lori. “Or almost nowhere. The owner of Snappy Fitness thought he might have seen him before. Might have. Of course, I pressed him on it and he was so vague, it was useless.” Lori paused.. “I don’t know, Nick, it was pretty discouraging. This killer is either very lucky or very good. Either way, I pretty much wasted a whole afternoon.”

  “It’s like I said, he might well have gotten the muscles from working out at home,” said Drumm. “But we had to try.”

  “How did you get along with Sarah Smiles?”

  Drumm gave her the whole story.

  “Timmins! Of all places to transfer to.”

  “Helluva place,” Drumm agreed. He drank some more beer.

  “Are you going to go?”

  “I called her. She couldn’t talk to me for long because she was heading out to a wedding. She remembered Arthur Billinger, though. She didn’t know he was dead. She sounded upset after I told her. I asked her if she had any idea who might want to kill him. She said she’d think about it but then she had to go.” Drumm shrugged. “It’s hard to know for sure but she might have something to tell us.”

  Lori asked again, “So, are you going to go see her?”

  “I talked to Chappell about it. He just about laughed in my face when I told him. But I kept at him. He eventually gave in, probably just to get me out of his office. So, yes, I am flying up tomorrow morning. I have an early flight.” Drumm stopped and looked at Will who was nosing about the kitchen looking for food scraps. “I tried to get Chappell to agree to your going too but that he wouldn’t do. He said the department couldn’t afford to pay for two fares.”

  “That’s okay, Nick. I think I can live without going to Timmins.” He could hear her laugh. “So, what do you want me to do next?”

  “You know what’s going to happen. There will be a flood of calls about that sketch because it went out to all the media. You’ll have to deal with all of that. I’ll give you my principal list and you can talk to as many of them as you can fit in. There’s still the bat to try to trace, as well.”

  Lori said, “You think the Smillie woman is more important than these former principals?”

  Drumm thought for a few seconds. “I do, yes. She’s more recent, for one thing. And her manner, when I talked to her earlier, made me think she might have something useful to tell us. I’m probably wrong.”

  She laughed. “But if you are, at least you’ll always have Timmins.”

  Drumm snorted. “Right. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He disconnected and looked at Will, who was contentedly lying down and staring at him mournfully. He sat down on his haunches and scratched the dog’s head. “What do you say, Will? Want to come with me? No? That’s okay, it’s probably a waste of time anyway.”

  sixty-one

  From his seat in his corner, the killer had a good view. He had asked for this table because it was dark, out of the way and it allowed him to see without being seen. As an extra precaution, he had on a Blue Jays baseball cap which he had pulled low over his face. His jacket was black and he had the collar turned up for further protection. He sat hunched in his seat and as far back out of the light as he could.

  He looked around. The place was full of fags. Over there at that table, for instance, two young men in fancy suits were sharing some wings and a pitcher of beer. Their eyes were glued to each other as they talked and every now and then, if he watched carefully, he could see their fingers touch. Fags.

  At the end of the bar he could see a couple of middle-aged men nursing Scotches. Their knees were pressed closely together. Occasionally one or the other of them would let his hand drop down and brush the inside of the other’s thigh. More fags.

  The killer watched the staff as well. Danny’s was busy this Saturday night and the servers and bartender were run off their feet. Every seat at the bar was occupied. He thought he was fine. He saw no one paying any attention to him. Just in case, he didn’t plan to stay long. At least, not inside. There was no one on the dance floor yet but that was sure to change.

  That booth over there was where he had seen Billinger and Levine eating dinner and enjoying themselves. Disgusting old pricks. He smiled suddenly as he thought about what had happened to them. Four young women were sitting there now, laughing and eating and drinking. The killer approved.

  And all by himself, a youngish man with long, blond hair sat at a table for two, a tall glass of white wine in front of him. He was a fag, too, the killer was sure. He was sitting there checking the place out, just as the killer was. Blondie’s head was turning casually as he sipped his wine, and his eyes were appraising the clientele. More than once, the killer noticed, the young man’s eyes had run over him. Even as he looked, the killer noticed the blond man’s eyes settle on him again.

  The killer looked away, stifling his revulsion. Wouldn’t do to let Blondie see how he felt. He picked up his beer and drained it. Time to go. He ignored the young blond man as he left. Later, my friend. Later.

  sixty-two

  Drumm was impressed with the Prius. It had a nicely appointed interior, comfortable seats and lots of legroom. He hadn’t been in it before but he found it quiet inside, a fact which he had just remarked upon.

  “What I like is the back-up camera,” said Lori. “It makes it so much easier. Now I enjoy reversing.” Lori had insisted on driving him to the airport; they were nearing Pearson International. The traffic had been light this quiet Sunday morning. There was a misty rain falling and it was cold.

  Timmins would be unpleasant in this sort of weather, Drumm thought. And he’d forgotten his raincoat. He supposed he could always buy another one if he needed it, but he was returning home tonight. How bad could it get?

  “You’re going to have a long day,” said Lori. “But better than driving, that’s for sure.” She pulled the car over to the curb in the drop-off area at Terminal One and shut off the engine. “You’re sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I don’t mind.”

  Drumm shook his head. “It’s not necessary. I’ll take the Airport Service. Thanks for the lift. I’ll call when I get there.”

  He was striding into the terminal when his phone buzzed. He stopped and looked at the display, then back at Lori who was still sitting in her car. She was peering at her phone too. He walked back to the car through the cold drizzle and opened the door. “An assault on Chestnut Street?” he said. “You know where that is, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “It’s close to Danny’s. We’re both thinking the same thing.” She turned the key in the ignition. “I’ll go and check it out. And you make sure you catch your plane. I’ll call you later.”

  Drumm watched the Prius until it was out of sight and then hurried into the terminal.

  sixty-three

  “His name is Olaf Kinsky. He’s twenty-eight.” The ICU nurse was brusque but not unkind. “He’s in a coma but right now he’s stable.”

  “What happened to him exactly?” asked Lori.

  “He has a fractured skull, three broken ribs, a c
ollapsed lung, facial lacerations and various other scrapes and contusions. His nose is broken. He has most likely sustained some brain damage. He was suffering from hypothermia as well.” The nurse looked down the hall, clearly wanting to be on her way. “What happened? That’s your job, isn’t it? But it looks like someone beat him to a pulp. Put the boots and fists to him, I would say.”

  “He’s in a coma? Any idea when I might be able to talk to him?”

  “No.” With a curt nod, the nurse moved off.

  Thanks for nothing, thought Lori. She went over to Kinsky’s bed and stood looking down at him. Hooked up to all the equipment and lying there still and quiet amidst the soft beeping of the machines, he looked more dead than alive. He had probably been good-looking, she thought, with that blond hair, but it was impossible to tell that now with his face all swollen and bruised.

  She walked back out into the waiting room and sat down to think. The business of an active hospital flowed around her but she hardly noticed. Kinsky had been found by a Sunday morning jogger out for an early run. It hadn’t been raining then, apparently, which may have saved Kinsky’s life, because surely the combination of low temperatures, rain and the beating would have killed him otherwise. Probably the attacker or attackers thought he was dead. Kinsky must have the constitution of an ox, she thought.

  The Good Samaritan had called 9-1-1 and Kinsky had been transferred by ambulance to Southeastern District Hospital. Uniforms would probably have arrived as well and taped off the scene, although with the rain, there might not be much to see. She would have to get over there and take a look.

  Lori arrived at Chestnut Street to find an unhappy-looking uniformed officer hunched against the rain in his yellow rain slicker. Behind him Lori could see Sue Oliver and another detective talking. Chestnut Street was actually an alley, narrow and short and squeezed between some rather unsavoury-looking buildings. Warehouses? Offices? Lori wasn’t sure which. The alley was littered with trash and slick with rain.