A Striking Death

by David Anderson

  “I couldn’t find his school records,” Lori said. “That’s no surprise. But I did wonder how someone who needed help in eighth grade could get a job in a bank.”

  “People change,” said Drumm. “Or maybe he had a connection that got him in at the bank. Who knows? In any case, it hardly matters. I’m more interested in this house of his.” He looked closely at the picture of Forrest’s house that Lori had printed out. “I don’t see a rear entrance, just a side door. We’ll put a cruiser in the alley and another one on John Street here.” He pointed at the photo. “Oliver and Morgan can take the side door and you and I will go in the front.”

  “I phoned a few minutes ago, pretending to be doing a survey,” said Lori. “He’s there.” She smiled. “He didn’t want to do a survey. A good thing, too, because I would have had to make up some questions pretty quick.”

  “Good. Let’s go get him.”

  When everyone was in position, Drumm and Singh parked on the street in front of Forrest’s well-lit house. Getting out, Drumm noted that the rain had finally stopped and the stars were trying to make themselves seen against the glow of the city. It was cold enough to see his breath. He was still wearing his suit. The visit with Dick seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Lori, who had changed into dark pants and a sweater, was right beside him. She must be freezing, he thought. Oliver and Morgan were waiting on the sidewalk. “Everyone ready?” he asked.

  The curtains were drawn on all the windows. Drumm and Singh went up to the front door. There was no doorbell so Drumm knocked loudly and waited. He knocked again. Drumm looked at Lori. “There are lights on, but nobody’s home?”

  Stepping off the porch, the two detectives walked around to the side of the house opposite from Morgan and Oliver. The grass was wet on Drumm’s shoes. He could see light coming from an uncurtained basement window. Stooping and peering in, he could see a man lying on his back on a bench, lifting weights.

  “It’s Forrest,” he said. “He’s got a home gym.”

  “He’s wearing earbuds,” said Lori. She looked at Drumm. “How do you want to play this?”

  “Like this.” Drumm rapped on the window with his fist, as loud as he dared.

  The effect was dramatic. Forrest released the bar and sat up, staring at them. He took the earbuds off.

  Drumm put his badge up against the window and gestured back towards the front door. “Open it,” he said, loudly.

  He and Lori could see Forrest stand up and leave the room quickly. They saw that he was short and dressed in sweatpants and a tee-shirt, and then they were hurrying back to the front of the house.

  Arriving back at the front walkway, they were in time to see the front door open. Forrest came rushing out, put his head down and barrelled into Drumm, knocking him backwards. Forrest staggered, and then started running towards the street. Lori stuck her foot out and Forrest tripped and went down on one knee. He was up in an instant and tearing across the lawn, with Drumm right behind him.

  Drumm could see Sue Oliver and Ryan Morgan coming from their side of the house, could see also that they were going to be too late. He put on a burst of speed and launched himself in a flying tackle at Forrest, wrapping his arms around his waist. The two men went down in a tangle of legs and arms and Drumm was dimly aware that some part of him was hurting. He put all his weight on top of Forrest and realized the man reeked of sweat.

  Drumm could feel that Forrest was going to heave him off – the man was as strong as an ox – and he tried desperately to keep him under control, when suddenly, Forrest let out a cry and stopped struggling. Drumm saw Sue Oliver’s foot come down on the back of Forrest’s head and push his face into the grass.

  “Don’t move!” It was Morgan’s voice. “You can get off him, Nick.”

  Drumm gratefully rolled away and lay on his back, panting. He got to his feet slowly, aware of a painful right knee, and watched as Lori grabbed Forrest’s arms and handcuffed him. Morgan, who’d had his gun out and pointed, put his weapon away, Oliver took her foot off Forrest’s head, put her gun away also and the two detectives helped the suspect to his feet.

  “Nice job, Nick,” said Oliver. “Nice suit too.”

  Drumm looked at his pants, soaking wet, grass-stained and with a rip in the knee, then felt his jacket. At least one seam had gone, he was certain. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s pretty much done. But at least now we can arrest him. For assaulting a police officer. With his head.”

  “You okay?” asked Morgan. He was holding onto Forrest’s arm with a strong grip, but the suspect had his head down and was hunched over, clearly in pain.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” said Drumm. “Sore knee is all.” He gestured at Forrest. “Better than him, anyway. What happened to him? Is he just winded?”

  Sue Oliver laughed. “You could say that. Lori kicked him in the goolies!”

  Drumm turned and looked at Lori who was smiling wryly. “Detective Oliver, the correct terminology is, ‘I used appropriate force to restrain a violent offender.”

  Drumm said, “You kicked him in the nuts?” He laughed. “Too bad you didn’t have pointed shoes. Come on; let’s get him to the station.”

  seventy-two

  Forrest was in the interview room and he appeared to be asleep. At least, on the monitor he had his head down on his folded arms and he hadn’t moved for some time. About all that could be seen were his muscular arms and the back of his head.

  Lori opened the door and entered the room. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Oliver, Morgan, Chappell and Drumm were watching outside on the monitor. Drumm had taken off his ripped and soiled suit jacket and he had borrowed a shirt from Morgan. It was way too large for him, of course, but at least it was dry. He couldn’t do anything about his pants.

  The scraping of the chair caused Forrest to sit up, and he blinked his eyes and yawned.

  Singh and Forrest studied each other. The suspect was calm and his arms were now folded across his chest. There was no sign of the man who had charged into Drumm like a bull. He looked like a bouncer, with his short cropped brown hair and tightly-stretched tee-shirt. He certainly didn’t resemble the bank official that he was.

  “John Forrest, you’re entitled to legal counsel if you want it,” said Lori.

  “Don’t need it.”

  “Suit yourself. Just so you know you can have a lawyer present if you wish. And this is being recorded.” Lori pointed to the cameras mounted in two corners of the room.

  Forrest shrugged. “Why am I here? I didn’t do anything wrong.” He sounded bored.

  “You assaulted a police officer. Detective Sergeant Drumm. You charged into him and knocked him over.”

  “I didn’t know he was a cop! He came banging on my window in the dark; what do you expect?”

  Lori smiled. “He showed you his badge. Remember?”

  “I didn’t see any badge. I didn’t know who he was.” Forrest was still sitting with his arms folded. Then he leaned forward. “I’m going to file a complaint against him and you. Excessive force. You kicked me in the nuts.”

  “File away,” said Lori. “You have that right. But it didn’t happen. You were running away after striking a police officer and you were restrained. There were officers present at the scene who will testify to that.” She paused and waited for a response that didn’t come. “Why did you run?”

  “I was afraid. I thought he was a mugger. Or a home invader.” Forrest was almost sneering.

  “Nope, just a cop looking for a murderer. I think he found one, too.”

  “Me? A murderer? You’ve got the wrong guy. I work in a bank.”

  Lori took a photograph out of the folder she had brought in and pushed it across to Forrest. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got. I’ve got a dead young man named Olaf Kinsky; he was found beaten in an alley after he’d spent the evening at a bar called Danny’s. He died in hospital later. That’s what he looked like when we found him. I’ve got a witness who places you in Danny’s the Saturday night t
hat Kinsky was assaulted.”

  “Danny’s? Sure, I was there. I go to bars sometimes. So what? It’s not a crime to go drinking. And I’ve never seen that guy before.” Forrest still had his arms folded.

  Lori took two more photographs out of the folder and laid them out on the table. “Arthur Billinger. Daniel Levine. Two more dead men. Murdered. One beaten with a blunt object, the other hung up like a sack of meat. Recognize them?”

  Forrest barely glanced at the pictures. “I don’t know those men either,” he said contemptuously. “You’re saying I killed them?”

  “They went to Danny’s too. And we have another witness who will swear you were scoping them out. Three dead men, all being watched by you before they died. Quite a coincidence.”

  “Scoping them out? That’s bullshit.”

  Lori shook her head. “No, I don’t think it is. I think that’s exactly what happened. I think you went to Danny’s to find targets and then killed them later.”

  “You have a good imagination, honey.”

  Outside in the viewing room, Sue Oliver turned to Drumm. “She’s not getting anywhere.”

  Drumm said, “No, it’s okay. She’s doing fine.” He nodded at Chappell. “Time to bait him a little.” Drumm opened the door to the interview room.

  Forrest looked at him as he entered. “Well, well, if it isn’t the other cop who assaulted me.”

  Drumm said, “No, Johnnie, that didn’t happen. It was the other way around. You assaulted me. And there are four officers who saw it all.” He waited while Lori quietly left the room and then he sat.

  Drumm leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “Are you a gay boy, Johnnie?”

  “What? Me? Get serious.”

  “I think you are.” Drumm pointed at Forrest’s fingers. “No wedding ring. You hang around gay bars and you’re checking out other men. Of course you’re gay. Doesn’t seem to matter about age, either. Young or old, you go for them all. You’re definitely into the alternative lifestyle.”

  Forrest uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “I am not a fag,” he said, pointing his finger at Drumm. “Maybe you are, though.”

  Drumm ignored him. “You’re gay all right, Johnnie boy. You’ve got all the signs. But hey, it’s okay. Don’t you know? It’s cool to come out of the closet these days. It’s alright to be gay.”

  Forrest’s neck was turning red. “I…am…not…gay.” He practically spat the words out.

  Drumm was unperturbed. “I have two witnesses who say differently, Johnnie. They say you were practically drooling over these guys at Danny’s. Especially the young blond one.”

  Forrest just glared at Drumm.

  “Danny’s is a well-known gay bar. And you like to hang out there. It’s pretty obvious, Johnnie.”

  “I’m not gay. Not now, not ever.”

  “But you’re a liar, Johnnie. So why should I believe anything you say?”

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Of course you are, Johnnie. Arthur Billinger was your French teacher when you were in grade eight. But according to you, you don’t recognize him. You were shown his picture and you denied knowing him. That’s a lie.”

  Forrest squirmed in his seat. He started to speak but Drumm interrupted him.

  “That was at Prince Albert Senior Public School. Arthur Billinger taught you French in grade eight.”

  “Alright, he was my French teacher. I see that now. But I didn’t recognize the picture when she showed it to me.” Forrest reached out and picked up one of the photos. “I can tell it’s him now.”

  Drumm smiled. “More lies. You knew him right away. And I have to ask myself, why would Johnnie tell me such a fib? Either because he killed his good old French teacher, or because he’s gay and doesn’t want anyone to know that he liked his old French instructor. Really liked him.”

  “I didn’t like him! I couldn’t stand him!” Forrest was agitated.

  Outside the interview room, Oliver said to Chappell, “Forrest seems to be taking the bait.” Then to Lori she said, “Does Nick really think he’s gay?”

  Lori shook her head. “No.”

  Drumm continued. “So you killed him. You couldn’t stand him, and you beat him to death. Makes sense. The question is: why couldn’t you stand him? Grade eight was a long time ago. Must have been something pretty important.”

  “I didn’t kill him!”

  “Oh, we both know you did. It was the homework club, wasn’t it, Johnnie?”

  “What? You know about the homework club?”

  Drumm leaned forward. “Johnnie, I know it all. I know about Sara Liccio, about David Bowness, Kyle Mollett, Tim Arnio and even Matt Wilson. He’s in jail now too, by the way.”

  Forrest’s eyes were darting around the room. “So you know about the homework club. And those other kids. So what?”

  Drumm got up and walked around behind Forrest’s chair. The other man’s head swivelled around as the detective passed behind him. Drumm stopped, just behind Forrest’s left shoulder. “Here’s what happened, Johnnie. Arthur Billinger was gay and he supervised a homework club. Most of the kids in it were boys. One day, maybe after school or maybe before school, he came on to you. You were most likely alone together at the time. What I don’t know is, how far did it get? Since you’re gay too, you probably liked it, at least at the beginning.” Drumm moved back in front of the table again and leaned forward, resting his hands on the flat surface. “Did he ask you to give him a blow job? Or did he want to do you? Did you arrange to meet later at his house and take it further? Were you his…particular friend?”

  Forrest’s face was red and he was on the edge of his seat. “I was not his particular friend! I told you, I hated his guts! And I’m not gay!”

  “Was it after school? Did he grab your leg?”

  “No!”

  “Somewhere higher, Johnnie? Did he rub up against you? Did he grab your ass? Was that it?”

  “It wasn’t like that!”

  Drumm stood up straight. “No? What was it like then? Tell me. Was it before school?”

  Forrest said nothing.

  “I can see it would have been terrible. When I was a youngster I wouldn’t have wanted a man kissing me.”

  Outside Chappell turned to Lori asked, “Is Nick homophobic, Lori? Or is all this just an act?”

  Lori was surprised. “Of course he’s not!” Then she looked abashed. “Sir.”

  When Forrest said nothing, Drumm continued. “Did he, Johnnie? Did he give you a big wet one?”

  “No! He didn’t kiss me.”

  “He didn’t? What did he do then?”

  “It was one noon hour. I was in the gym, backstage. I can’t remember what I was doing there.” Forrest was sullen. “There was a little storage room; nobody ever went there. All of a sudden Billinger was behind me and he was looking at me funny. I’d seen that look before.” Forrest swallowed. “He must have been waiting for me to go somewhere private like that room.”

  “He was looking at you funny? What’s that mean?”

  “He was looking at me! Like he wanted to grab me, or he wanted me to touch him.”

  Drumm sat down. “He didn’t do anything, though? He didn’t touch you?”

  “He was going to! I got out of there before he could!”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He asked me what I was doing there.”

  Drumm stared at Forrest, who was sweating. “So let me make sure I have this right. Arthur Billinger was in a room with you alone. He didn’t touch you, and you didn’t touch him, but he was looking at you funny. He asked you why you were in the room. Do I have that right?”

  “The old prick was after me!”

  Drumm steepled his fingers. “What did you mean when you said you’d seen that look before?”

  Forrest looked away.

  Drumm persisted. “He’d looked at you that way before?”

  Forrest stared down at the table. “Not him. My stepfather.”


  “Your stepfather. Johnnie, are you telling me your stepfather sexually abused you?

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?” Drumm asked quietly.

  “It started when I was nine. It was still happening when I had Billinger for French.”

  “In grade eight.”

  Forrest looked up and nodded.

  “So your stepfather was sexually abusing you for years, starting in what – grade four? Did you tell anyone about it?”

  “No.” Forrest was speaking very quietly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he put a knife to my throat and said he’d kill me if I told anyone.”

  Drumm thought, the same old sad story. It happened so often. “When did it stop?”

  Forrest got a nasty smile on his face. “It stopped when he fell down the basement steps. He’d had too much to drink, as usual. Broke his neck. That was when I was in grade nine.”

  Drumm thought, I wonder. “Did you push him, Johnnie? Help him down the stairs a little?”

  Forrest smiled. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”

  “It would be completely understandable if you did, Johnnie. Being abused for all those years. I probably would have done the same thing myself.”

  Forrest just kept smiling.

  “Let’s leave that for now. So you thought Mr. Billinger was coming on to you. You thought he wanted a sexual relationship with you. Even though he never touched you, or had you do anything to him. Even though he never said anything about it. You knew somehow he wanted to have sex with you. It’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it? Maybe you were imagining it all.”

  “I wasn’t imagining it! He was after me! And he did touch me.” Forrest glared at the detective.

  “You just told me he didn’t, Johnnie.”

  “He didn’t touch me then, in that little room. I got away from him.”