A Striking Death

by David Anderson

  Drumm leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “There were stories that maybe something…improper…had gone on during some of the homework club sessions. I’m trying to think…”

  “What do you mean, improper?” But Drumm thought he knew already.

  Sarah was frowning. “God, this is awful. It’s bringing it all back. Why I left teaching, I mean.” As Drumm was looking puzzled, she went on. “I can’t stand gossip. And the school was full of it; people standing around in the halls, talking in whispers. Stopping when I came along. It was a very cliquey school. I hated it.”

  Drumm knew exactly what she meant. “You thought they were talking about you?”

  “Sometimes they were, I’m sure. But I meant that I hated the fact that narrow-minded people gossiped so much. Not just about me.”

  Drumm asked, “And there was gossip about Arthur Billinger and his homework club?”

  Sarah’s forehead wrinkled as she thought. “I don’t remember anything specific. I just have this vague memory that maybe he had done something inappropriate.”

  “Like touching?”

  Sarah frowned. “Could be. Like I said, I can’t remember.”

  Drumm persisted. “So, you say there were stories that Arthur Billinger had touched kids inappropriately. Surely the principal and the school district would have investigated?” Drumm was thinking back to his conversation with Ellen Clarke where she had sworn there had been nothing improper in Billinger’s relationships with his students.

  Sarah looked uncomfortable. “No, I’m not saying that! It wasn’t anything official; it was just rumours and gossip. And I can’t even remember who or what was said. I’m sorry; I’m not much use, am I?”

  “You’re being very helpful, Ms Smillie.” Drumm stood up. “One last thing: can you remember the names of any of the students who would have been in this homework club?”

  Sarah stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding! They weren’t even my kids.”

  Drumm wasn’t at all surprised. He thanked Sarah Smillie for her time and went thoughtfully back to his car. He looked up at the bleak sky and shivered. He would be glad to get out of here and back to York.

  sixty-five

  Drumm had been right, Lori thought. There had been many, many calls to the tip line, once the sketch of their suspect had gone out.

  “I think I saw him at the grocery store this morning!” One excited woman had called that in. The store in question was in York’s east end. Mr. Muscles had also been spotted in the west, north and as far away as Hamilton. Lori sighed. Sometimes enlisting the media’s help was more trouble than it was worth.

  Sue Oliver strolled over to Lori’s desk and pulled up a chair. The older woman sat back wearily in her seat. “I hope you’re making more progress than I am.”

  Lori snorted. “I wish. This suspect has been seen everywhere from Vaughan to Vancouver. It all takes so much time.”

  “Thought you’d like to know, we talked to the other two servers from Danny’s. They were a dead end.” Oliver leaned over and straightened a pile of folders on Lori’s desk. “Anything new on Kinsky?”

  Lori shook her head. “He’s still in a coma. They say he may never wake up.”

  “And you’re sure this Kinsky thing is connected to the two murders?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Lori sat back and reached behind her to undo her hair. It cascaded down to her shoulders. She shook her head, making the dark tresses swing about her face. “Oh, that feels better.”

  “I’m envious. I wish I had hair like yours.” Oliver tugged on her ponytail ruefully.

  “I don’t know, I think a bit of grey looks good. And long hair is such a pain.”

  Oliver’s cell phone buzzed. She looked at it, grimaced and rose from her chair. “Gotta go. We’ll catch up later. Nick’s back soon?”

  Lori nodded. “I expect to hear from him shortly.”

  She turned back to the pile of folders. She pulled out the report from the hospital on McDonald’s injuries. Tear in femoral artery. Exsanguination. Blood alcohol concentration: 0.06%. Even though she knew she should be used to it, the impersonal nature of the report bothered her. She didn’t like Dick McDonald much but it was hard to read about him this way. She closed the folder and put it back in the pile. There was nothing surprising here. Dick had been stabbed and he had almost bled out. He was lucky to be alive. He wasn’t legally impaired but he shouldn’t have been drinking, and it was possible that the alcohol had slowed him down just enough. They would never know for sure.

  And it didn’t matter now anyway.

  sixty-six

  Drumm called Lori once he had deplaned and was back in the airport terminal. He found a quiet spot in the corridor, where he stood with his back to the wall and watched the flow of travellers exiting the main Arrivals hall. Many had family and friends anxiously waiting for them. He filled Lori in on the results of his meeting with Sarah Smillie.

  “Do you think it was worth the trip then?” she asked.

  “Time will tell. But we’ve got another lead, at least.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “What’s next is I’m going to go into the men’s room and check my blood sugar. Then I’m heading home for a bit. I’ll see you at the station shortly.”

  He could hear Lori talking to someone in the background. Then she said, “Sooner rather than later, Nick. Chappell wants a conference as soon as you get here.”

  “Shit. Okay, see you soon.”

  Drumm ended the call and started walking. It was interesting how his life had changed. Up until a few days ago, he had kept his diabetes secret, even from Emily. Now he was openly discussing it on the phone with a colleague. And he felt good about it, too. Relieved that someone else knew about his little problem.

  Will was all over him when he opened the door an hour later. Drumm set his bag down and then he chased Will around the house for a few minutes. Then he fed him and let him out in the back yard.

  Drumm made himself a sketchy dinner consisting of a sandwich, some raw carrots, yoghurt and fruit. He knew he had to hurry back to the station but his blood sugar had been on the low side at the airport and he needed to look after himself.

  Will yipped at the door to be let in and Drumm obliged, and then sat down in front of the television to enjoy his supper. This was something he was still trying to learn to do: slow down and take care of the important business in his life. A few years ago he would have rushed back to the station from the airport. He liked to think he was smarter now, his recent collapse notwithstanding.

  He fed Will some carrots and then gave him the yoghurt container. The dog licked it clean and then looked up at him. “That’s all, buddy. And I have to go again. Sorry.” He reached down and petted Will’s head. “I’ll make it up to you soon.”

  sixty-seven

  Chappell looked worse, much worse. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked haggard and worn. He was sitting behind his desk and he was tapping rhythmically on his desk pad with a pen as he listened to Sue Oliver speak. Drumm thought he looked old and vulnerable.

  Oliver finished and there was silence in the office except for the knocking of the Staff Inspector’s pen. Chappell was staring out the window. The tapping stopped and Chappell looked at them all.

  “That one’s cleared, then. At least there’s that.” He looked down at his desk briefly, then back up. “The last I heard, Dick was doing much better. He should be ready for visitors soon. Thank God.”

  “How’s Celeste, sir?” Drumm asked.

  “What you’d expect. Still shaken but keeping her chin up. She was always a trouper.” Chappell looked at Lori. “What about this Kinsky thing?”

  Lori uncrossed her legs. “I just had an update. It doesn’t look good. He has extensive head trauma, swelling and bleeding on the brain and he isn’t expected to survive. We have a guard posted for security and in case he wakes up, but it’s doubtful he will.” She glanced at Drumm. “We thought about telling the med
ia he was dead, to help keep him protected, but decided against it.” She cleared her throat. “Um, we thought another murder wouldn’t be a good thing to announce just at the moment.”

  Chappell stared at her, then Drumm. “A good thing? No, it wouldn’t be a good thing. Smart thinking.” His tone was sarcastic. “So, Kinsky isn’t likely to tell us anything at all?”

  “No. I’m afraid not,” said Lori.

  “But you think he was done by the same man as Billinger and Levine?” Chappell was looking at Lori but Drumm answered.

  “We do, yes. It’s just too much of a coincidence. Three gay men, all with ties to the same restaurant.”

  Chappell switched his attention to Drumm. “You’re just back from Timmins. Was it worth your time and the department’s money?”

  Drumm looked at him steadily. “I believe so, yes.” He outlined his conversation with Sarah Smillie.

  “And you think that was worthwhile?” Chappell was clearly sceptical. “Rumours and gossip about something that might have happened ten years ago?”

  “Unless you tell me differently, sir, I’m going to pursue it.”

  Chappell waved his hand wearily. “Whatever. I have more faith in the tips that are coming in.” He raised his hand to still Drumm’s protest. “Never mind. That’ll do for now. Keep me up to date.”

  The three detectives stood up and started to leave. Chappell remained seated. From his desk, he said, “Get me some good news. Soon.”

  sixty-eight

  Drumm was in his office, trying hard to remain optimistic. On a cold, cloudy Monday morning with rain in the forecast, a badly injured colleague in the hospital and two unsolved homicides, he was having some difficulty. There was hope, that was about all he could say.

  Last night had been tiring. Flights always enervated him, and after the meeting with Chappell, he and Lori had sat around the station discussing the case. It was late when he got home and then he’d taken Will for a long ramble in the dark. The dog revelled in the cool weather and frisked along like a puppy. He was obviously enjoying it, so Drumm had lengthened the planned excursion to an hour and a half. And then he was too wired to get to sleep, so he had spent much of his night turning restlessly in bed. Thoughts of Sarah Smillie, Emily and Arthur Billinger whirled around in his head. Eventually he had drifted off and managed to get a few hours of rest.

  Drumm looked at the mess that was his desk and started sorting through all the recent paper that had accumulated. He scanned the Coroner’s report on Dick McDonald and set it aside. Nothing surprising there.

  “A suit and tie. I don’t see that often.” Lori came into his office and sat down. She took the cup of tea that he offered but declined the other treats.

  “Trying to lend a little class to the place.” Drumm picked up his coffee and said, “Seriously, I need a little spark today. Maybe dressing like Chappell will help.”

  Lori smiled in commiseration. “We’ll get there. Thank you for the tea.”

  Drumm opened another folder. This one contained the transcript of Sue Oliver’s interview with one Matthew James Wilson. “You’re welcome. As always. Have you looked through this?”

  Lori nodded. “Yes. Sue did a good job. He cops to everything.” She sipped her tea. “It was such a stupid thing. Should never have happened. And reading that, I could almost feel sorry for Wilson. Almost.”

  Drumm snorted and put the transcript down. “That’s something. A detective feeling sorry for someone who attacked a cop.”

  “I said ‘almost’. He was carrying a knife, and he knew how to use it. But if you read that, you’ll see he’s a few bricks short of a load.” Lori stood up. “I’ll get to work and leave you to it.”

  Drumm waved at her and picked up the interview transcript again and read it through. It was engrossing and his coffee grew cold as he absorbed the details. He could see what Lori meant. Wilson clearly didn’t have much of a clue. He set the transcript aside and scanned the other documents in the folder.

  Employment records, financial records, driver’s license. Sue had been thorough, as she always was. Something caught his eye. Schools attended: Prince Albert Senior Public School. Drumm sat up straight. Prince Albert! Dick’s attacker had gone to the same school where Arthur Billinger had taught. He looked at the information again. Wilson was just twenty-three, which meant that ten years ago he would have been thirteen and in grade eight. And that meant Arthur Billinger would have most likely been his French teacher. Definitely would have been his French teacher, in fact, because Billinger had done all the intermediate classes on rotary.

  Drumm stood up and hurried out to find Lori. “We may have something here.”

  She looked at the report. “You think it’s more than coincidence? You think Wilson might have something to do with Billinger’s murder?”

  “I don’t know but we have to talk to him. He’s over at Donlands, I assume?”

  “He is.” Lori looked at her watch. “We have something to do first, though. Apparently Dick’s woken up and he’s asking for us. We have to go see him.”

  “What! That’s great news.” He thought about it. “But it’s bad timing, too. He’s conscious, is he? And he wants to see us? Both of us?”

  “Yes, even me, apparently. The nurse said he was asking for the two of us.”

  “Okay then, let’s trot over and see Dick, and we’ll talk to Wilson after that.” He looked at her. “This could be it. This little shit might have done all three.”

  Lori looked doubtful. “But his motive? He injured Dick accidentally. There’s no proof he hated gays. And he had already been arrested when Kinsky was attacked.”

  “I know. I’m just hoping, that’s all.” He checked his watch. “Come on, time to go. Prius or Miata?”

  McDonald was lying in bed looking thin and pale. His head was turned towards the door, and he gave a weak wave of the hand when he saw them appear.

  Drumm went up to the bed and grasped McDonald’s hand. Lori stood just inside the door and waited.

  “Dick! It’s good to see you. You look like hell, though.”

  “And thank you very much for that,” McDonald whispered.

  Drumm moved two chairs close to the side of the bed.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello, love?” McDonald was trying to smile but it turned into more of a grimace.

  Lori walked over to the edge of the bed and put her hand on McDonald’s arm. “Thank God you’re alright,” she said. “You had us worried there.”

  “I don’t feel alright,” said McDonald. “Especially with that cold hand of yours on my arm. You’re freezing!” McDonald’s voice was rasping and hoarse.

  “Sorry.” Lori took her hand away and sat down.

  Drumm looked at his colleague appraisingly. “Hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”

  McDonald smiled. “Some,” he said. “But this little gadget on my finger helps with that.”

  “You’re damned lucky, you know,” said Drumm. “For two reasons. If Celeste had been a little slower to react, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I know,” whispered McDonald. “Believe me, I know. The doctor filled me in. I don’t remember most of it.” He closed his eyes and rested for a minute. Then he opened them. “What’s the second reason?”

  Drumm laughed. “If that little bastard’s aim had been just a bit different, he would have got your johnson. Or worse. And then you’d be talking in a much higher voice, instead of that silly whisper you’re using at the moment.”

  McDonald smiled wanly. “Have you ever seen so many machines in your life?” He looked at Drumm. “I’ve put a lot of people to a lot of trouble. I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

  Before Drumm could speak, Lori said, “You shot the kid who attacked you and he’s been arrested. You caught the jerk who was stalking Celeste. Mission accomplished, I would say.”

  “That’s right, Dick,” said Drumm. “You got the guy.” He waited for a reaction, and when there was none, said, “Did you talk to this Wilson at all?�
��

  McDonald shook his head slightly. “No, didn’t have time.” His voice was much weaker.

  Drumm stood up. “We have to go. You need to sleep and recover.”

  McDonald raised a hand. “Wait. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For screwing this up. Big-time.” He looked at Lori. “Won’t happen again, love.”

  Lori looked at him and smiled. “It better not,” she said.

  Drumm turned up the long winding driveway that led to Donlands Correctional Centre. Lined with mature maple trees, the entrance road with its grassy verges was in stark contrast to the bleak facility that awaited the visitor. Even with most of the trees bare and dark in the wet, Drumm always enjoyed the approach to the jail.

  Wilson was brought to the interview room in handcuffs and they were left alone with Dick’s attacker. Lori and Drumm faced him across a conference table, surrounded by white-painted walls in a space devoid of any other furnishings.

  “Matthew James Wilson,” said Drumm.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Wilson said dully.

  Drumm introduced himself and Lori. He looked at Wilson carefully. The young man’s face was unmarked, and he thought how in the old days, someone who attacked a police officer would have been a punching bag for everyone in the force. Hell, any cop would have had a go at him. Now, though, with the Special Investigations Unit detectives ready to pounce, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and prisoner rights groups advocating for criminals, police forces had to be extremely careful. Wilson looked like he hadn’t been touched.

  Wilson’s head had been shaved and the whiteness of his scalp contrasted sharply with the tan of his chubby face. He had blue, close-set eyes and a prominent nose. In the blue prison jumpsuit it was hard to tell but Drumm figured he could afford to lose at least twenty pounds.